‘Thank you. C-can I go now?’
‘Of course you can, Lochan. But would you just think about it – think about talking to someone?’
I nod, unable to utter another word, grab my bag and run from the room.
‘No, stupid. You’re only supposed to lay four places.’ Tiffin yanks one of the plates off the table and returns it to the cupboard with a loud clatter.
‘Why? Is Kit going to Burger King again?’ Willa nibbles the end of her thumb nervously, her large eyes darting around the kitchen as if looking for signs of trouble.
‘Tonight Maya’s going on her date, stupid!’
I turn from the cooker. ‘Stop calling her stupid. She’s younger than you, that’s all. And how come she’s done her job and you haven’t even started yours?’
‘I don’t want Maya to go out on a date,’ Willa protests. ‘If Maya goes out and Kit goes out and Mum goes out, that means there’s only three of us left in this family!’
‘Actually it means there’s two left ’cos I’m going for a sleepover at Jamie’s,’ Tiffin informs her.
‘Oh no, you’re not,’ I intervene quickly. ‘That wasn’t discussed, Jamie’s mother never rang, and I’ve already told you to stop inviting yourself over to other people’s houses – it’s very rude.’
‘Fine then!’ Tiffin shouts. ‘I’ll tell her to phone you! She invited me herself, so you’ll see!’ He stalks out of the kitchen just as I begin to dish up.
‘Tiff, get back in here or no Gameboy for a week!’
He arrives at ten past seven. Maya has been on edge ever since she got in. For the last hour she has been upstairs, vying with Mum for the bathroom. I even heard the two of them laughing together. Kit jumps up, banging his knee on the table leg in his haste to be the first to greet him. I let him go and quickly close the kitchen door behind him. I don’t want to see the guy.
Fortunately Maya doesn’t invite him in. I hear her feet pounding down the stairs, voices raised in greeting, followed by: ‘I’ll be with you in a minute.’
Kit returns, looking impressed and exclaiming loudly, ‘Whoa, that guy’s loaded. Have you seen his designer gear?’
Maya rushes in. ‘Thank you for doing this.’ She comes straight over to me and squeezes my hand in that annoying way she has. ‘I’ll take them out all day tomorrow, I promise.’
I pull away. ‘Don’t be silly. Just have a good time.’
She’s wearing something I’ve never seen before. In fact she looks totally different: burgundy lipstick, her long russet hair pinned up, a few stray wisps delicately framing her face. Small silver pendants hang from her ears. Her dress is short, black and figure-hugging, sexy in a sophisticated kind of way. She smells of something peachy.
‘Kiss!’ Willa cries, flinging up her arms.
I watch her hug Willa, kiss the top of Tiffin’s head, give Kit a punch on the shoulder and smile again at me. ‘Wish me luck!’
I manage to return the smile and give a small nod.
‘Good luck!’ Tiffin and Willa shout at the tops of their voices. Maya cringes and laughs as she hurries out into the corridor.
There are slamming doors and then the sound of an engine starting. I turn to Kit. ‘He came by car?’
‘Yeah, I told you, he’s loaded! It wasn’t exactly a Lamborghini, but Jeez, he’s got his own wheels at seventeen?’
‘Eighteen,’ I correct him. ‘I hope he doesn’t intend to drink.’
‘You should have seen him,’ Kit says. ‘That guy’s got class.’
‘Maya looked like a princess!’ Willa exclaims, her blue eyes wide. ‘She looked like a grown-up too.’
‘OK, who wants more potatoes?’ I ask.
‘Maybe she’ll marry him and then she’ll be rich,’ Tiffin chips in. ‘If Maya’s rich and I’m her brother, does that mean I get to be rich as well?’
‘No, it means she dumps you as a brother ’cos you’re an embarrassment – you don’t even know your times tables,’ Kit replies.
Tiffin’s mouth falls open and his eyes fill.
I turn to Kit. ‘You’re not even funny, d’you realize that?’
‘Never claimed I was a comedian, just a realist,’ Kit retorts.
Tiffin sniffs and wipes the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘Don’t care what you say, Maya would never do that, and anyway, I’m her brother until I die.’
‘At which point you’ll go to hell and never see anyone again,’ Kit shoots back.
‘If there’s a hell, Kit, believe me, you’ll be in it.’ I can feel myself losing my cool. ‘Now would you just shut up and finish your meal without tormenting anyone else?’
Kit tosses his knife and fork onto his half-finished plate with a clatter. ‘To hell with this. I’m going out.’
‘Ten o’clock and no later!’ I shout after him.
‘In your dreams, mate,’ he calls back from halfway up the stairs.
Our mother is next to come in, reeking of perfume and struggling to light a cigarette without smudging her freshly painted nails. The complete antithesis to Maya, she is all glitter and crimson lips, her ill-fitting red dress leaving little to the imagination. Soon she disappears again, already unsteady on her high heels, screeching up at Kit for having nicked her last packet of fags.
I spend the rest of the evening watching TV with Tiffin and Willa, simply too exhausted and fed up to attempt anything more productive. When they start to bicker, I get them ready for bed. Willa cries because I get shampoo in her eyes, and Tiffin forgets to hang the shower curtain inside the bath and floods the floor. Teeth-brushing seems to take hours: the kiddie toothpaste tube is almost empty so I use mine instead, which makes Tiffin’s eyes water and Willa gag into the basin. Then Willa takes fifteen minutes to choose a story, Tiffin sneaks downstairs to play on his Gameboy and, when I object, gets unreasonably upset and claims Maya always lets him play while she reads to Willa. Once they are in bed, Willa is immediately hungry, Tiffin is thirsty by association, and by the time the clamouring finally stops it is half past nine and I am shattered.
But once they are asleep, the house feels eerily empty. I know I should go to bed myself and try to get an early night but I feel increasingly agitated and on edge. I tell myself I have to stay up to check that Kit comes home at some point, but deep down I know that it’s only an excuse. I’m watching some stupid action movie but I’ve no idea what it’s about or who is supposed to be chasing who. I can’t even focus on the special effects – all I can think of is DiMarco. It’s past ten now: they must have finished dinner, they must have left the restaurant. His father is often away on business – or so Nico claims, and I have no reason to disbelieve him. Which means he has his mansion to himself . . . Has he taken her back there? Or are they in some dodgy car park, his hands and lips all over her? I begin to feel sick. Maybe it’s because I haven’t eaten all evening. I want to wait up and see for myself what kind of state she’s in when she gets home. If she decides to come home. It suddenly strikes me that most sixteen-year-olds would have some kind of curfew. But I’m only thirteen months her senior, so am hardly in a position to impose one. I keep telling myself that Maya has always been so sensible, so responsible, so mature, but now I remember the flushed look on her face when she came into the kitchen to say goodbye, the sparkle in her smile, the fizz of excitement in her eyes. She is still only a teenager, I realize; she is not yet an adult, however much she may be forced to behave like one. She has a mother who thinks nothing of having sex on the floor of the front room while her children lie sleeping overhead, who brags to them about her teenage conquests, who goes out on the piss every week and staggers in at six in the morning with smudged make-up and torn clothes. What kind of role model has Maya ever had? For the first time in her life she is free. Am I so sure she won’t be tempted to make the most of it?