I sit there, paralysed with fear, guilt and horror. I know I should go up after him, but what can I possibly say? Willa is pulling at my sleeve, demanding to be played with, the conversation thankfully lost on her. And so I pick up the pieces with an unsteady hand and start to play.
As time passes, the afternoon I fainted begins to feel like a dream, slowly evaporating from the coils of my mind. I don’t try touching Lochan again. I keep telling myself that this is only temporary – just until things calm down with Tiffin and he starts to focus on other things and gets back to his usual cheeky self. It doesn’t take him long, but I know the memory is still there, along with the doubt, and the hurt, and the confusion. And that is enough to keep me from reaching out to Lochan.
The Christmas nightmare begins: Nativity plays, costumes to be made from scratch, a disco for the sixth formers which Lochan is the only pupil not to attend. Then everyone breaks up and Christmas is upon us, the house decorated with streamers and tinsel that Lochan nicks from school. It takes the combined efforts of all five of us to carry the tree home from the high street, and Willa gets a pine needle in her eye, and for a few dreadful moments we think we’ll have to take her to Casualty, but Lochan finally manages to remove it. Tiffin and Willa adorn the tree with home- and school-made decorations, and even though the end result is a great lopsided, glittery mess, it cheers us all up tremendously. Even Kit deigns to join in with the preparations, although he spends most of his time trying to prove to Willa that Santa isn’t real. Mum gives us our Christmas money and I go shopping for Willa while Lochan takes care of Tiffin – a system we devised one unfortunate year when I bought Tiffin a pair of football gloves with a pink stripe down the side. Kit only wants money, but Lochan and I club together to get him the pair of ridiculously expensive designer trainers he’s been banging on about for ages. On Christmas Eve we wait till we hear him softly snoring before placing the wrapped box at the foot of his ladder with the words From Santa written on it for good measure.
Mum makes an appearance late Christmas morning, when the turkey is already in the oven. She has presents too – mostly second-hand stuff that Dave’s children have grown tired of: Lego and toy cars for Tiffin, despite the fact he stopped playing with such things some time ago, a second copy of Bambi on DVD and a grubby Teletubby for Willa, which she gazes at with a mixture of confusion and horror. Kit gets some old video games that don’t work with his console but that he reckons he can sell at school. I get a dress several sizes too big that looks as if it probably once belonged to Dave’s ex-wife, and Lochan is the proud new owner of an encyclopaedia, generously adorned with obscene drawings. We all make the appropriate exclamations of joy and surprise, and Mum sits back on the couch, pours herself a large glass of cheap wine, lights up a cigarette and pulls Willa and Tiffin onto her lap, her face already flushed with alcohol.
Somehow we survive the day. Dave is spending the occasion with his family, and Mum passes out on the couch just before six. Tiffin and Willa are cajoled into bed early by being allowed to take their presents up with them, and Kit disappears upstairs with his video games to start wheeling and dealing. Lochan offers to clean up the kitchen and, to my shame, I let him do it and collapse into bed, thankful that the day is at an end.
It is almost a relief when school starts up again. Lochan and I both have mocks, and keeping Tiffin and Willa amused every day for two weeks has taken its toll. We return to school, exhausted, and admire the new iPods, mobiles, designer clothes and laptops that surround us. At lunch, Lochan walks past my table. ‘Meet me on the stairs,’ he whispers. Francie lets out a loud wolf-whistle as he moves away and I swing round in time to see his face turn crimson.
Up here the wind is almost a gale, cutting right through you like slivers of ice. I have no idea how Lochan can bear it, day after day. He is hugging himself against the cold, his teeth chattering, his lips tinged with blue.
‘Where’s your coat?’ I reproach him.
‘I forgot it in the usual morning rush.’
‘Lochan, you’re going to catch pneumonia and die! Would you at least go read in the library, for God’s sake?’
‘I’m OK.’ He is so cold, he can barely talk. But on a day like this, half the school is crammed into the library.
‘What’s up? I thought you didn’t like me coming up here. Has something happened?’
‘No, no.’ He bites his lip in an attempt to hold back a smile. ‘I’ve got something for you.’
I frown, confused. ‘What?’
He reaches into his blazer pocket and brings out a small silver box. ‘It’s a late Christmas present. I wasn’t able to get it till now. And I didn’t want to give it to you at home because, you know . . .’ His voice tails off awkwardly.
I take it from him slowly. ‘But we made a pact ages ago,’ I protest. ‘Christmas was for the kids. We weren’t going to waste any more money than we had to, remember?’
‘I wanted to break the pact this year.’ He looks excited, his eyes on the box, willing me to open it.
‘But then you should have told me. I didn’t get you anything!’
‘I didn’t want you to get me anything. I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘But—’
He takes me by the shoulders and gives me a gentle shake, laughing. ‘Aargh! Would you just open it?’
I grin. ‘OK, OK! But I still object to this pact-breaking without my consent . . .’ I lift the lid. ‘Oh . . . God . . . Lochie . . .’
‘Do you like it?’ He is practically bouncing on his toes, grinning in delight, a glow of triumph shining from his eyes. ‘It’s solid silver,’ he informs me proudly. ‘It should fit you perfectly. I took the measurement from the mark on your watch strap.’
I continue to stare into the box, aware I haven’t moved or spoken for several moments. The silver bracelet lying there against the black velvet is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen. Made up of intricate loops and swirls, it sparkles as it catches the white light of the winter sun.
‘How did you pay for this?’ My voice is a shocked whisper.
‘Does it matter?’
‘Yes!’
He hesitates for a moment, the glow fades and he lowers his eyes. ‘I’ve – I’ve been saving. I had a kind of job—’
I look up from the beautiful bracelet, incredulous. ‘A job? What? When?’
‘Well, it wasn’t a real job.’ The light has gone from his eyes and he sounds embarrassed now. ‘I offered to write some essays for a few people and it kind of caught on.’
‘You did people’s homework for money?’
‘Yeah. Well, coursework mostly.’ He looks down sheepishly.
‘Since when?’
‘Beginning of last term.’
‘You’ve been saving for this for four months?’
His shoes scuff at the ground and his eyes refuse to meet mine. ‘At first it was just extra money for – you know – household stuff. But then I thought about Christmas and how you hadn’t had a present for – for ever . . .’
I’m finding it hard to catch my breath. It’s a struggle to take all this in. ‘Lochan, we have to return this immediately and get your money back.’
‘We can’t.’ His voice wavers.
‘What d’you mean?’
He turns the bracelet over. On the inside are the words: Maya, love you for ever. Lochan x
I stare at the engraving, numb with shock, the silence between us punctuated only by distant shouts from the playground.
Lochan says quietly, ‘I thought – it shouldn’t be too loose, so no one will be able to see the engraving. And if you’re worried, you could always just keep it hidden at home. L-like a lucky charm or something – I mean, only – only if you like it of course . . .’ His voice trails off into silence again.