I want Lochan to say he’ll find a way. I need him to say we’ll both find a way. Together we’ll manage it. Together we’re so strong. Together we brought up a whole family.
‘People can’t separate us!’ I begin angrily. ‘They can’t, they can’t! Can they . . . ?’ And suddenly I realize I’ve no idea. However careful we are, there is always the chance we could get caught. Just as, however much we cover up for Mum, the threat of someone finding out and alerting the authorities gets stronger every day. We have to be so careful; everything has to be hidden, kept secret. One slip-up and the whole family could collapse like a house of cards. One slip-up and we could all be torn apart . . . Lochan’s defeatist attitude terrifies me. It’s as if he knows something I don’t. ‘Lochie, tell me we can stay together!’
He reaches out for me and I crumple against him with a sob. Wrapping his arms around me, he holds me tight. ‘I’ll do everything,’ he whispers into my hair. ‘I give you my word. I’ll do everything I can, Maya. We’ll find a way to stay together. I’ll figure it out, I will. OK?’
I look up at him and he blinks back tears, giving me a bright, reassuring, hopeful smile.
I nod, smiling in return. ‘Together we’re strong,’ I reply, my voice bolder than I feel.
He closes his eyes for a moment, as if in pain, then opens them again and lifts my face from his chest, kissing me gently. We hold each other tightly for a long, long time, warming each other, until the sun gradually begins to dip in the sky.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lochan
In the mornings I shower with the speed of lightning, throw on my clothes, and as soon as I’ve got Tiffin and Willa settled at the breakfast table I run back upstairs with the excuse of a forgotten blazer or watch or book to join Maya, who has the unenviable task of trying to get Kit out of bed in the mornings. She’s usually tying back her hair or buttoning her shirt cuffs or stuffing books into her bag, her bedroom door ajar, and pops out sporadically to shout up at Kit to hurry; but she stops when she sees me and, with a look of nervous excitement, takes my outstretched hand. My heart pounding in anticipation, we shut ourselves in my bedroom. With only a few precious minutes to spare, my foot pressed firmly against the bottom corner of the door, one hand gripping the handle, I pull her gently towards me. Her eyes light up with a smile, hands either reaching for my face, my hair, or sometimes even pressing up against my chest, fingertips scraping against the thin fabric of my shirt. We kiss shyly at first, half afraid. I can taste whether she has used Colgate or just grabbed the pink kiddie stuff while supervising brushing to save time.
It always gives me a jolt, that moment when our lips first meet, and I have to remind myself to breathe. Her lips are soft and warm and smooth; mine feel harsh and rough against them. At the sound of Kit’s slow, dragging footsteps just the other side of the thin wall, Maya tries to pull back. However, as soon as the bathroom door slams, she gives in and slides round so her back is pushed up against the door. I dig my nails into the wood on either side of her head in an attempt to keep my hands under control as our kisses grow increasingly frantic; the longing inside me quells any fear of being caught as I feel the last precious seconds of ecstasy run through my fingers like sand. A shout from downstairs, the sound of Kit re-emerging from the bathroom, feet pounding up the stairs – all signals that our time is up – and Maya pushes me firmly back, her cheeks aglow, mouth stained red with the flush of unfinished kisses. We stare at each other, our hot panting filling the air, but as I press in towards her again, my eyes begging for just one more second, she closes her eyes with a look of pain and turns her head away. She is usually the first to leave the bedroom, striding into the vacated bathroom to splash water on her face while I cross over to my bedroom window and throw it open, clutching at the edge of the sill and sucking in great lungfuls of cold air.
I don’t understand, I don’t understand. Surely this has happened before. Surely other brothers and sisters have fallen in love. Surely they have been allowed to express their love, physically as well as emotionally, without being vilified, ostracized, thrown into prison even. But incest is illegal. By loving each other physically as well as emotionally, we are committing a crime. And I’m terrified. It is one thing hiding from the world, another to be hiding from the law. So I keep repeating to myself – As long as we don’t go all the way, it will be all right. As long as we don’t actually have sex, we’re not technically having an incestuous relationship. As long as we don’t cross that final line, our family will be safe, the kids won’t be taken away, Maya and I won’t be forced apart. All we have to do is be patient, enjoy what we have, until perhaps one day, when the others are grown up, we can move away and forge new identities and love each other freely.
I have to force myself to stop thinking about it or I can’t get anything done – schoolwork, revision, making dinner, the weekly shop, fetching Tiffin and Willa from school, helping them with homework, making sure they have clean clothes for the following day, playing with them when they are bored. Keeping an eye on Kit – checking he does his schoolwork and makes the money he’s given last the week, cajoling him into having dinner with us instead of disappearing with his mates to McDonald’s, making sure he doesn’t skip school and comes home at night. And of course, arguing with Mum over money, always money, as less and less comes our way and more and more gets spent on alcohol and new outfits to impress Dave. Meanwhile Tiffin’s clothes get smaller, Willa’s uniform gets more ragged, Kit complains bitterly about the new gadgets his friends all have, and the bills keep flooding in . . .
Whenever I’m apart from Maya, I feel incomplete . . . less than incomplete. I feel like I’m nothing, like I don’t exist at all. I have no identity. I don’t speak, I don’t even look at people. Being around others is just as unbearable as ever – I am afraid that if they see me properly, they might guess my secret. I’m afraid that even if I do manage to speak or interact with people, I might give something away. At break times I watch Maya over the top of my book from my post on the staircase, willing her to come over to sit with me, to talk to me, to make me feel alive and real and loved, but even just talking is too risky. So she sits on the wall at the far end of the playground, chatting to Francie, careful not to glance up at me, as aware as I am of the danger of our situation.
In the evenings I seek her out as soon as Tiffin and Willa have been tucked in, too early for it to be safe. She turns from her desk, her hair skimming the page of her textbook, and points meaningfully at the door behind me to indicate that the little ones are not yet asleep. But by the time they are, Kit is roaming the house, looking for food or watching TV, and by the time he finally goes to bed Maya is passed out in hers.
Half-term brings little respite. It rains all week and, cooped up inside with no money for outings or even the cinema, Tiffin and Willa bicker constantly while Kit sleeps all day and then disappears with his friends until the small hours of the morning. Late one night, restless and burning with relentless agitation, I pull on my running shoes and leave the sleeping house, jogging all the way to Ashmoore Park, climbing the railings under the light of the stars, running across the moonlit grass. Stumbling through the darkened woods, I eventually find Maya’s oasis of peace, but it brings me none. I fall to my knees before the trunk of a huge oak tree and, making a fist, grate my knuckles up and down its harsh, jagged, unforgiving bark until they are bloody and raw.