‘Tiff! Time to go!’ I yell as soon as he shoots past us. The game pauses briefly for a free kick and I yell again.
He glances over angrily. ‘Five more minutes!’
‘No. We’re going now. It’s freezing, and you can play football at home with Jamie.’
‘But we’re in the middle of a match!’
The game resumes and I try to get closer, nervously skirting the running, darting, yelling boys, their cheeks ablaze, eyes fixed on the ball, shouts echoing across the darkening playground. As he races past, I make a valiant grab for Tiffin, missing by miles. Behind me, Willa stands pressed up against the fence, coat flapping open, shivering hard.
‘Tiffin Whitely! Home, now!’ I shout at the top of my voice, hoping to embarrass him into submission. Instead, he dives into a tackle, wrong-footing his opponent and dribbling the ball towards the other side of the pitch at lightning speed. He pauses for a moment as a boy twice his size comes hurtling straight for him. Then he draws back his leg and shoots, the ball skimming the inside edge of the goalpost.
‘Goal!’ His hands punch the air. Whoops and yells join his own as his team-mates rush up to slap him on the back. I give him a moment before diving in and dragging him out by the arm.
‘I’m not going!’ he screams at me as the game resumes behind us. ‘My team was winning! I scored the first goal!’
‘I saw that and it was a great goal but it’s getting dark. Willa is freezing and you’ve both got homework to do.’
‘But we always have to go straight home! How come the others are allowed to play? I’m sick of stupid homework! I’m sick of always being at home!’
‘Tiffin, for God’s sake act your age and stop making a scene—’
‘It’s not fair!’ The tip of his shoe suddenly makes violent contact with my shin. ‘I never get to do anything fun. I hate you!’
By the time we locate Tiffin’s missing school bag and I get them both out of the playground, it’s almost dark and Willa is so cold her lips are purple. Tiffin stalks on ahead, his face puce, blond hair wild, deliberately trailing his coat on the ground to annoy me, kicking at the tyres of parked cars in rage. My leg throbs painfully. Four bloody hours till bedtime, I think ruefully. Another hour before they are actually asleep. Five. My God, almost the length of a new school day. All I want is to reach that moment when the house goes quiet, when Kit finally turns down the rap and Tiffin and Willa stop bombarding me with requests. That moment when rushed, half-finished homework is pushed aside and Lochan is there, his smile tentative, his eyes bright, and anything, almost anything seems possible . . .
‘. . . so I don’t think she wants to be my friend any more,’ Willa finishes mournfully, her icy hand buried in mine.
‘Mm, never mind, I’m sure Lucy will change her mind tomorrow – she always does.’
The small hand is suddenly wrenched from my own. ‘Maya, you’re not listening!’
‘I am, I am!’ I protest quickly. ‘You said that – uh – Lucy didn’t want to be your friend because—’
‘Not Lucy – Georgia!’ Willa cries woefully. ‘I told you yesterday that Lucy and me broke up because she stole my favourite purple pen, the one with the blue hearts on it, and she wouldn’t give it back even though Georgia saw her take it!’
‘Oh, that’s right,’ I fumble, frantically trying to recall the conversation. ‘Your pen.’
‘You always forget everything these days, just like Mum did when she used to live at home,’ she mutters.
We walk on for a few minutes in silence. Guilt coils itself around me, cold and unforgiving as a snake. I try in vain to recall the saga of the missing pen, and fail.
‘Bet you don’t even know who’s my best friend now,’ Willa says, throwing down the gauntlet.
‘Course I do,’ I answer quickly. ‘It’s – it’s Georgia.’
Willa shakes her head at the pavement in a gesture of defeat. ‘Nope.’
‘Well, then, it’s Lucy really, because I’m sure once she gives you back your pen, the two of you will—’
‘It’s no one!’ Willa shouts suddenly, her voice cutting through the sharp air. ‘I don’t even have a best friend!’
I stop and stare at her in astonishment. Willa has never shouted at me with such fury before.
I try to put my arm around her. ‘Willa, come on, you’ve just had a bad day—’
She pulls away. ‘No I haven’t! Miss Pierce gave me three gold stars and I got all my spellings right. I told you about it but all you said was Mm. You never listen to me any more!’
Wrenching herself away from me, she breaks into a run. I catch up with her just as she rounds the corner into our street. Forcing her round to face me, I squat down and try to hold her still. She sobs quietly, rubbing her face angrily with the palms of her hands.
‘Willa, I’m sorry – I’m sorry, my darling, I’m so sorry. You’re right. I haven’t been listening properly and that was really mean of me. It’s not that I’m not interested, it’s not that I don’t care. It’s just that I’ve been so busy revising for my exams and I’ve got so much work and I’ve been so tired—’
‘That’s not true!’ She gives a muffled sob and tears spill over her fingers, running down between the cracks. ‘You don’t . . . listen . . . or play with me . . . as much . . . as you did . . . before . . .’
I clutch at a nearby railing for support. ‘Willa, no – It’s not that – I d . . .’ But even fumbling for excuses, I’m forced to confront the truth behind her words.
‘Come here,’ I say at last, wrapping my arms tightly around her. ‘You’re my favourite girl in the whole world and I love you so, so much. You’re right. I haven’t been listening to you properly because Lochie and I are always trying to sort out all the household things. But that’s all boring stuff. From now on I’m going to start having fun with you again. OK?’
She nods and sniffs and wipes her hair away from her face. I pick her up and she wraps her arms and legs around me like a baby monkey. But through the warmth of her arms round my neck, the heat of her cheek against mine, I sense my words have left her unconvinced.
Despite the loud slap of shoes against the concrete steps, he does not lower his book. I stop halfway up the flight of steps and lean against the rail, waiting, the sounds of the playground rising up from below me. Still he refuses to look up, no doubt hoping whoever it is will ignore him and continue on their way. When it becomes clear that this is not going to happen, he glances briefly over the top of the paperback before almost dropping it in surprise. His face lights up with a slow smile. ‘Hey!’
‘Hey yourself!’
He closes his book and looks at me expectantly. I stand there watching him, fighting back a grin. He clears his throat, suddenly shy, a flush creeping into his cheeks.
‘What – um – what are you doing here?’
‘I came to say hi.’
He reaches for my hand and begins to get up, ready to move further up the staircase, out of sight of the pupils in the playground below.
‘It’s all right, I’m not staying,’ I inform him quickly.
He stops and the smile fades. Registering the school bag on my back, the PE kit slung over my shoulder, he looks concerned. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m taking the afternoon off.’
His eyes sharpen and his expression sobers. ‘Maya—’
‘It’s just one afternoon. I’ve only got art and crap.’
He gives a worried sigh, looking bothered. ‘Yeah, but if you get caught, you know there could be trouble. We can’t risk drawing any more attention to ourselves now that Mum’s never around.’
‘We won’t. Not if you come with me and use your Upper Sixth pass.’