I feel an incredulous smile light up my face.
‘So, you see, he can talk to people.’ Francie lets out a wistful sigh. ‘Maybe I can finally get him to go out with me.’
I look back up at the steps again with a smile of delight. ‘Oh my God . . .’ Declan is still there. He seems to be showing Lochan something on his mobile phone. I watch Lochan make a funny gesture in the air and Declan laughs.
Still reeling with shock, I decide to take the plunge and ask Francie the question I’d been wanting to put to her for some time now.
‘Hey, I’ve been wondering about something . . . Do you – do you think that any two people, if they really and truly love each other, should be allowed to be together no matter who they are?’ I ask.
Francie shoots me a look of amusement, sees that I’m serious, and narrows her eyes in thought. ‘Sure, why not?’
‘What if their religion forbade it? If their parents were devastated or threatened to disown them or something – should they still go ahead anyway?’
‘Sure,’ Francie answers with a shrug. ‘It’s their lives, so they should be allowed to pick who they like. If the parents are crazy enough to try and stop them from seeing each other, they could run away, elope.’
‘What if it was something even more difficult?’ I ask, thinking hard. ‘What if it was – I dunno – a teacher and a pupil?’
Francie’s eyes widen and she suddenly grabs my arm. ‘No way! Who the hell is it? Mr Elliot? That guy in the IT department? The one with the tattoo?’
Laughing, I shake my head. ‘Not me, silly! I was just thinking hypothetically. Like we were talking about in history, about society having changed so much over the last half-century . . .’
‘Oh.’ Francie’s face falls in disappointment.
I look at her with a snort. ‘Mr Elliot? Are you kidding me? He’s about sixty!’
‘I think he’s kind of sexy!’
I roll my eyes. ‘That’s because you’re crazy. But seriously though. Hypothetically . . .’
Francie lets out a laboured sigh. ‘Well, they should probably wait until the pupil was over the legal age limit for starters—’
‘But what if she was? What if she was sixteen and the guy was in his forties? Should they run away together? Would that be right?’
‘Well, the guy would lose his job and the girl’s parents would be worried sick, so they’d probably be better off keeping it secret for a few years. Then, by the time the girl was nineteen or so, it wouldn’t even be a big deal any more!’ She shrugs. ‘I think it would be kinda cool to go out with a teacher. Just imagine, sitting in class, you could . . .’
I tune her out and inhale deeply, frustrated. There is nothing, I suddenly realize, nothing that can compare to our situation.
‘So nothing is taboo any more?’ I interrupt. ‘You’re saying there are no two people who, if they love each other enough, should be forced apart?’
Francie thinks for a moment and then shrugs. ‘I guess not. Not here, anyway, thank God. We’re lucky enough to live in a country which is pretty open-minded. As long as one person isn’t forcing the other one, then I guess any love is allowed.’
Any love. Francie isn’t stupid. Yet the one kind of love that will never be allowed hasn’t even crossed her mind. The one love so disgusting and taboo, it isn’t even included in a conversation about illicit relationships.
The conversation haunts me over the following weeks. Although I have no intention of ever confiding our secret to anyone, I can’t help wondering what Francie’s reaction would be if she somehow found out. She is an intelligent, broad-minded person with a rebellious streak in her. Despite her bold declaration that no love is wrong, I strongly suspect that she would be as horrified as the next person if she knew of my relationship with Lochan. But he’s your brother! I can hear her exclaim. How could you ever do it with your brother? That’s so gross! Oh God, Maya, you’re sick, you’re really sick. You need help. And the strangest thing is that a part of me agrees. Part of me thinks: Yes, if Kit was older and it was with him, then it would be totally gross. The very idea is unthinkable, I don’t even want to imagine it. It actually makes me feel physically sick. But how to get across to the outside world that Lochan and I are siblings only through a biological mishap? That we were never brother and sister in the real sense, but always partners, having to bring up a real family as we grew up ourselves. How to explain that Lochan has never felt like a brother but like something far, far closer than that – a soul mate, a best friend, part of the very fibre of my being? How to explain that this situation, the love we feel for one another – everything that to others may seem sick and twisted and disgusting – to us feels completely natural and wonderful and oh – so, so right?
At night, after kissing and cuddling and touching each other, we lie there and talk, late into the night. We talk about anything and everything: how the kids are doing, funny anecdotes from school, how we feel about each other. And ever since I spotted him on the steps having a conversation, we talk about Lochan’s new-found voice. Although he is keen to play it down, he does confess to having made a sort of friend in Declan, who initially approached Lochan because they both had offers from UCL. Speaking to anyone else is still something he avoids, but I’m overjoyed. The fact that he has made a connection with one person outside the family means that he can, that there will be others, and that once he goes to university he will finally meet people he has something in common with. And the night Lochan tells me he actually managed to stand up in front of the whole of his English class and read out one of his essays, I let out a squeal that has to be silenced by a pillow.
‘Why?’ I ask, gasping in delight. ‘How come? What happened? What changed?’
‘I’d been thinking about – about what you said, that I should take one step at a time and that, well, mainly that you thought I could do it.’
‘What was it like?’ I ask, struggling to keep my voice a whisper, looking into eyes that, even in the half-light, sparkle with a gentle triumph.
‘Horrible.’
‘Oh, Loch!’
‘My hands were trembling and my voice was shaking and the words on the page suddenly turned into this mass of hieroglyphics, but somehow I got through it. And when I finished there were some people – and not just the girls – who actually clapped.’ He lets out a short exclamation of surprise.
‘Well, of course they did! Your essays are completely amazing!’ I reply.
‘There was also this guy – a guy called Tyrese who’s OK – and he came up to me after the bell and said something about the essay. I don’t know what exactly, because I was still deafened by terror’ – he laughs – ‘but it must have been vaguely complimentary because he slapped me on the back.’
‘See?’ I crow softly. ‘They were inspired by your essay! No wonder your teacher was so keen for you to read one out. Did you say anything back to Tyrese?’
‘I think I said something along the lines of oh-umyeah-uh-cheers.’ Lochan lets out a derisive snort.
I laugh. ‘That’s great! And next time you’ll actually say something a little more coherent!’
Lochan smiles and turns on his side, propping his head up on his hand. ‘You know, recently, even when we’re apart, I sometimes think that maybe I’m going to beat this thing, that one day I might be normal.’
I kiss his nose. ‘You are normal, silly.’
He doesn’t respond but begins pensively rubbing a strand of my hair between his fingers. ‘Sometimes I wonder . . .’ He tails off abruptly, suddenly examining my hair in great detail.