‘Willa, for fuck sake, clean up this mess – you’ve got water all over the table!’ Kit protests.
‘I can’t!’
‘Stop being a baby and get the sponge!’
‘Lochie, Kit said the F word.’
‘I’m not eating any more!’ Tiffin roars. ‘And I’m not doing no more tables, neither!’
‘Do you want to fail your maths test?’ Lochan shouts back.
‘I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t care!’
‘Lochie, Kit said the F word!’ Willa wails, angry now.
‘Fuck-a-doodle-do,’ Kit sings.
‘Will you all just shut up! What the hell’s the matter with you!’ Lochan slams his fist down on the table.
Tiffin, seizing on this distraction, leaps up, grabs his football gloves and races out of the house. Willa bursts into noisy tears, slides off her chair and stamps her way up to her room. Kit tips three plates of uneaten runner beans back into the saucepan and says, ‘Look, now you can feed us the same old shit tomorrow.’
With a groan, Lochan puts his head in his hands.
Suddenly I feel awful. I don’t know what I was trying to prove. That Lochan needs me, perhaps? Or was I just trying to get my own back for the silent treatment? Either way, I feel lousy. It would have cost me nothing to chip in and diffuse the situation. I do it all the time, without even having to think about it. I could have prevented Lochan’s stress levels going through the roof, stopped him feeling like a failure as yet another family meal ended in mayhem. But I didn’t. And the worst thing is, I actually enjoyed watching everything fall apart.
Looking exhausted, Lochan rubs his eyes with a wry smile. Glancing at all the leftover food, he tries to make a joke of it. ‘Maya, more runner beans? Don’t be shy!’
He has every right to be angry with the lot of us, but instead he is so forgiving it makes me ache. I want to say something, do something to take it all back, but I can’t think of a thing. Chewing his lip, Lochan gets up and starts clearing away, and I suddenly notice that lately his sore has got bigger, that he has been gnawing at it more and more. It looks so painful, so raw, that to see him bite at it like that makes my eyes water. Getting up to help him clear the table, I remind Kit it’s his turn to do the washing-up and, without thinking, touch Lochan’s hand to get his attention – but this time, to my surprise, he doesn’t pull away.
‘Ouch, your poor lip,’ I say gently. ‘You’re going to make it worse.’
‘Sorry.’ He stops chewing and presses the back of his hand self-consciously against his mouth.
‘Yeah, God, that thing has become really gross.’ Kit seizes the opportunity to chip in, his voice loud and brash as, with a crash, he drops a pile of plates unceremoniously into the sink. ‘The guys at school were asking me if it was some kind of disease.’
‘Kit, that’s rubbish—’ I begin.
‘What? I’m just agreeing with you. That thing’s gross, and if he keeps on biting it, he’s gonna end up disfigured.’
I try giving him one of my warning looks but he studiously avoids my eye, crashing the crockery around in the sink. Lochan leans one shoulder against the wall, waiting for the kettle to boil, staring out of the darkened window. I decide to give Kit a hand with the washing-up – Lochan seems to have ground to a halt and I don’t want to leave the two of them alone together while Kit still has the bit between his teeth.
‘So you’ve finally managed to nail yourself a boyfriend,’ Kit remarks scathingly as I join him at the sink. ‘Who the hell is it?’
I feel my insides clench. Instinctively my gaze flies over to Lochan, who drops his hand from his mouth, his head jolting back in surprise.
‘He’s not a boyfriend,’ I correct Kit quickly. ‘Just – just some random guy from school who asked me out for – uh—’ I break off. Lochan is staring at me.
‘For – uh – sex?’ Kit suggests.
‘Don’t be so childish. He asked me out for dinner.’
‘Whoa – no introductory drink at Smileys then? Straight in there, wining and dining you.’ Kit is clearly enjoying watching me squirm. ‘What guy at Belmont can possibly afford to take a girl out for dinner? Don’t tell me it’s one of your teachers!’ His eyes light up in delight.
‘Stop being ridiculous. It’s a guy in the year above called Nico. You don’t even know him.’
‘Nico DiMarco?’ But of course Lochan does. Shit.
‘Yeah.’ I force myself to meet his look of astonishment over the top of Kit’s head. ‘I – he asked me out on Friday. Is that – can you – is that all right?’ I don’t know why I’m suddenly finding it so hard to speak.
‘Uh-oh, you should have asked permission first!’ Kit crows. ‘You’re gonna have to stick to the curfew, remember. Tell you what, I’ll give you my last condom—’
‘OK, Kit, that’s enough!’ I shout, slamming a plate down on the counter. ‘Go and bring Tiffin inside and then do your homework!’ I’m the one losing it now.
‘Fine! Excuse me for breathing!’ Kit throws the washing-up brush into the sink with a splash and stalks out of the room.
Lochan hasn’t moved from his position by the window, scraping at the sore with his thumbnail. His face looks hot, his eyes deeply troubled. ‘Nico? D’you know him? I mean, the guy’s pretty, uh – you know. He’s kind of got a rep . . .’
I keep my head down, scrubbing the plates hard. ‘Yeah, well, it’s only a date. We’ll see how it goes.’
Lochan takes a step towards me and then changes his mind and moves back again. ‘Do you – do you – I mean, do you like him?’
I feel the heat rush to my face and suddenly I am angry again. How dare Lochan give me the third degree when I agreed to the date for us – for him?
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do, OK?’ I stop scrubbing and force my eyes to meet his. ‘He’s the hottest guy in school. I’ve fancied him for ages. I can’t wait to go out with him.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lochan
It’s fine. In fact it’s great! Maya has finally found someone she likes, and what’s more he likes her back, and they are actually going out together this Friday. Things are coming together for her at long last; it’s the beginning of her life as an adult, away from this madhouse, from this family, from me. She seems happy, she seems excited. Nico mightn’t be the guy I’d have chosen for her, but he’s all right. He’s had a couple of proper girlfriends, doesn’t seem to be looking for just one thing. It’s normal to feel anxious but I’m not going to lose sleep over it. Maya is nearly seventeen after all, Nico only a year older. Maya will be fine. She is a very sensible person, responsible beyond her years; she’ll be careful, and maybe it will work out. He won’t hurt her – not intentionally at least. No, I’m sure he won’t hurt her, he wouldn’t. She is such a lovely person, she is so precious – he’ll see that: he must. He’ll know he can never break her heart, never harm her. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. So fine, I’m going to be able to sleep at last. I don’t need to think about this any more. What I do desperately need is sleep. Otherwise I’ll fall apart. I’m going to fall apart. I am falling apart.
The first rays of dawn begin to touch the edge of the rooftops. I sit on my bed and watch the pale light dilute the inky blackness, a thin wash of colour slowly diffusing the eastern sky. The air is chilled as it blows through the cracks in the window frame, and sparse flecks of rain spatter the pane as the birds begin to wake. A golden patch of sunlight slants across the wall, slowly widening like a spreading stain. What is the point of it all? I wonder – this endless cycle. I haven’t slept all night and my muscles ache from remaining immobile so long. I’m cold but I can’t find the energy to move or even pull the duvet up around me. Now and then my head, as though succumbing to a narcotic, begins to drop, and my eyes close and then reopen with a start. As the light begins to intensify, so does my misery, and I wonder how it is possible to hurt so much when nothing is wrong. A swelling despair presses outward from the centre of my chest, threatening to shatter my ribs. I fill my lungs with the cold air and then drain them, running my hands gently back and forth over the rough cotton sheets as if anchoring myself to this bed, to this house, to this life – in an attempt to forget my utter solitude. The sore beneath my lip throbs with a pulse and it’s a struggle just to let it alone, not chafe it in an attempt to annihilate the agony inside my mind. I continue stroking the covers, the rhythmical movement soothing me, reminding me that, even if I am breaking up inside, all around me things remain the same, solid and real, bringing me the hope that perhaps one day I too will feel real again.