I might fancy him just like everyone else, but I never said I wanted to go out with the guy.’
Francie shakes her head in disbelief. ‘D’you know how many girls would kill for a date with Nico? I think I’d even put Lochan on hold for a chance to snog Mister Latino.’
‘Oh God, Francie. Then you go out with him.’
‘I went over to find out if he was serious and he asked me if I thought you’d be interested! So of course I said yes!’
‘Francie! Tell him to forget it. Tell him at morning break.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not interested!’
‘Maya, d’you realize what you’re doing here? I mean, he may not give you a second chance!’
I drag myself through the rest of the day. Francie isn’t talking to me because I accused her of being a meddling cow when she refused to go back and tell Nico I wasn’t interested. But I honestly don’t care if she never speaks to me again. A cold slab of despair presses down on my chest, making it difficult to catch my breath. My eyes ache with suppressed tears. By mid-afternoon even Francie is worried, breaking her vow of silence and offering to accompany me to see the nurse. What could the school nurse offer me? I wonder. A pill to make the loneliness disappear? A tablet that would get Lochan to speak to me again? Or perhaps a capsule to turn back time, rewinding the days so I could break away from Lochan when we’d finished dancing the salsa, instead of remaining in his arms, swaying to the gentle crooning of Katie Melua. Is he angry with me because he thinks I planned it somehow? That the salsa was just a ruse to get him to slow-dance with me, our bodies pressed up against each other, the heat of his soaking into mine? I didn’t mean to stroke the back of his neck – it just happened. My thigh rubbing against the inside of his was just an accident. I never meant any of it to happen. I had no idea that something like slow-dancing could get a guy aroused. But when I felt it, pressing against my hip, when I suddenly realized what it was, I felt this crazy head-rush. I didn’t want to stop dancing. I didn’t pull away.
I can’t bear to think I might have lost our closeness, our friendship, our trust. He was always so much more than just a brother. He is my soul mate, my fresh air, the reason I look forward to getting up every morning. I always knew I loved him more than anyone else in the world – and not just in a brotherly way, the way I feel about Kit and Tiffin. Yet somehow it never crossed my mind there could be a whole step beyond . . .
But I know it’s ridiculous, too stupid to even think about. We’re not like that. We’re not sick. We’re just a brother and sister who also happen to be best friends. That’s the way it’s always been between us. I can’t lose that or I will not survive.
By the end of the day Francie is pestering me about Nico DiMarco again. She seems to think I’m depressed and that having a boyfriend – especially one of the hottest guys in school – will help snap me out of my funk. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps I need a distraction. And what better way to show Lochan that what happened the other day was just an accident, a bit of fun? If I have a boyfriend then he’ll realize that none of that stuff meant anything. And Nico is very cute. His hair is the same colour as Lochan’s. His eyes are kind of greenish too. Although Francie is way off beam when she claims they are in the same league. No way. Lochan is ferociously bright, emotionally intelligent, the kindest, most selfless person I know. Lochan has a soul. Nico might be the same age but he is just a boy in comparison – a spoiled little rich boy, expelled from his posh private school for smoking weed, a pretty face with an arrogant swagger, a charm as carefully crafted as his clothes and hairstyle. But yes, I suppose the idea of dating him, kissing him even, isn’t totally repellent.
After the last bell, as we are crossing the playground towards the gates, I see him heading towards us. He’s been waiting, that much is clear. Francie gives a half-strangled squawk and elbows me in the ribs so hard I am momentarily winded, before swerving away. Nico is coming straight for me. As if drawn towards each other by an invisible cord, we walk and walk. He has removed his tie even though it’s enough to earn him a detention this side of the school exit.
‘Maya, hi!’ His smile broadens. He’s very smooth, very confident: he’s been doing this for years. He stops close to me, too close, and I have to take a step back. ‘How’re you doing? I haven’t had a chance to speak to you for ages!’
He is acting like a long-lost friend, despite the fact that we have barely exchanged more than a few words until now. I force myself to meet his gaze and smile. I was wrong: his eyes are nothing like Lochan’s – the green is muddied with brown. His hair is brown too. I don’t know why I ever saw any similarities.
‘Are you in a hurry,’ he asks, ‘or d’you have time for a drink at Smileys?’
Jesus, he doesn’t waste any time. ‘I have to pick up my little brother and sister,’ I answer truthfully.
‘Listen, I’m gonna be straight with you.’ He places his school bag between his feet as if to indicate that this has turned into a proper conversation, and tosses the hair out of his eyes. ‘You’re a great girl, you know. I’ve always had – you know – a kind of thing for you. I didn’t think it was reciprocated so I haven’t said anything until now. But hell, you know, carpe diem and all that.’
Does he think he’s going to impress me with his command of Latin?
‘I’ve always considered you a good friend, but you know what? I think it could be even stronger than that, you know. All I’m saying is – perhaps we could get to know each other a little better, you know?’
If he says you know one more time, I swear I’m going to scream.
‘I’d be really honoured if you’d let me take you out to dinner one night. Is there even the remotest possibility I could get you to agree to that?’ He flashes his teeth at me again in what could almost pass for a wistful smile. Oh, he’s good at this all right.
I pretend to consider it for a moment. His smile doesn’t falter. I’m impressed. ‘OK, I suppose . . .’
His smile broadens. ‘That’s great. Really great. How would Friday suit you?’
‘Friday’s fine.’
‘Cool. What kind of food do you like? Japanese, Thai, Mexican, Lebanese?’
‘Pizza’s good for me.’
His eyes light up. ‘I know this great restaurant – serves the best Italian food round here. I’ll drive by to pick you up at, say, seven?’
I am about to protest that it would be easier to meet him there when it dawns on me that having him come to the house might be no bad thing.
‘All right. Seven o’clock on Friday.’ I smile again. My cheeks are beginning to ache.
He cocks his head and raises his eyebrows. ‘You’ll have to give me your address!’
He produces a pen while I rummage through my pockets and find a crumpled receipt. I write down my address and number and hand it back to him. As I do so, he holds onto my fingers for a moment and flashes another of his high-wattage smiles. ‘I look forward to it.’
I’m beginning to think this might be quite fun, even if it’s just to laugh about him the next day with Francie. I manage a genuine smile this time and say, ‘Yeah, me too.’
Francie leaps out from behind the phone box at the end of the street. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, tell me everything!’
I wince and bring my hand up to my ear. ‘Aargh, Jesus – try and give me a heart attack, why don’t you?’
‘You’re blushing! Oh my God, you said yes, didn’t you?’
I briefly recount the conversation. Francie grabs me by the shoulders, shakes me brutally and starts to shriek. A woman looks round in alarm.
‘Calm down,’ I laugh. ‘Francie, he’s a complete twat!’
‘So? Tell me you don’t fancy him!’
‘OK, maybe I find him slightly attractive—’
‘I knew it! You were complaining just the other week you’d never kissed a guy! As of Friday, you’ll be able to cross that off your list.’
‘Maybe . . . Listen, I’ve got to run. I’m late
for Tiffin and Willa.’
Francie grins at me as I begin to move off. ‘You’re gonna tell me everything, Maya Whitely. Every little detail. You owe me that much!’
I have to confess that the prospect of a date with Nico does make me feel fractionally better. Fractionally less abnormal, at least, and that’s quite something. That evening, as I sit at the kitchen table helping Tiffin and Willa with their homework, my mind keeps flicking back to the flirtatious exchange, the way he smiled at me. It’s not a lot – not nearly enough to fill the gaping void inside me – but it’s something. It’s always nice being fancied. It’s always nice being wanted. Even if it’s by the wrong person.
I’d let it slip to Tiffin and Willa. I was ten minutes late picking them up, and when Tiffin demanded to know why, in my stupidity, still a little dazed, I told him that I was talking to a boy from school. I thought this would be the end of it, but I’d forgotten Tiffin is almost nine. ‘Maya’s got a boyfriend, a boyfriend, a boyfriend!’ he sang all the way home.
Willa looked worried. ‘Does that mean you’re going to go away and get married?’
‘No, of course not,’ I laughed, trying to reassure her. ‘It just means I’ve got a friend who’s a boy and maybe I’ll go and see him once in a while.’
‘Like Mum and Dave?’
‘No! Nothing like Mum and Dave. I’ll probably only ever go out with him once or twice. And if I do go out with him more than that, it’ll still be hardly ever. And of course it will only be when Lochie’s at home to look after you.’
‘Maya’s got a boyfriend!’ Tiffin announces as Kit slams through the door and executes a whirlwind tour of the kitchen, hunting for snacks.
‘Great. I hope the two of you will have lots of babies and be very happy together.’
By dinner time Tiffin has other things on his mind – namely the football game his friends are playing loudly and unhelpfully right outside the house while he is stuck inside, simultaneously being force-fed runner beans and grilled on his times tables by Lochan. Willa is studying ‘materials’ at school and wants to know what everything is made of: the plates, the cutlery, the water jug. Kit, bored, is in one of his most dangerous moods, trying to wind everyone up so that he can sit in the eye of the storm and laugh at the chaos he has created all around him.
‘Four sevens?’ Lochan picks up Tiffin’s fork and spears two runner beans before handing it back to him. Tiffin looks down at it and grimaces.
‘Come on. Four sevens. You’ve got to be quicker than that.’
‘I’m thinking!’
‘Do it like I told you. Go through it in your head. One seven’s seven, two sevens are—?’
‘Thirty-three,’ Kit chips in.
‘Thirty-three?’ Tiffin echoes optimistically.
‘Tiff, you’ve got to think for yourself.’
‘Why did you put two beans on my fork? It’ll make me choke! I hate runner beans!’ Tiffin exclaims angrily.
‘What are runner beans made of?’ Willa asks.
‘Snake poo,’ Kit informs her.
Willa drops her fork and looks down at her plate in horror.
‘One seven’s seven,’ Lochan continues doggedly. ‘Two sevens are . . . ?’
‘Lochie, I don’t like runner beans too!’ Willa protests.
For the first time in my life I don’t feel the slightest bit inclined to help out. Lochan has said exactly five words to me since coming home two hours ago: Have they done their homework?
‘Tiffin, you must know what two sevens are! Just add them together for chrissakes!’
‘I can’t eat all this, you’ve given me too much!’
‘Hey’ – Kit cocks his head – ‘did you hear those shouts, Tiff? Sounds like Jamie just scored another goal.’
‘That’s my football they’re playing with!’
‘Kit, just leave him alone, will you?’ Lochan snaps.
‘I’ve finished.’ Willa pushes her plate as far away as possible, knocking over Kit’s glass in the process.
‘Willa, watch what you’re doing!’ Kit yells.
‘How come she gets to leave all her beans?’ Tiffin begins to shout.
‘Willa, just eat your beans! Tiffin, if you don’t know what four sevens are, you’re going to fail your test tomorrow!’ Lochan is losing his cool. It gives me a perverse sort of pleasure.
‘Maya, do I have to eat my beans?’ Willa turns to me plaintively.
‘Ask Lochan, he’s the cook.’
‘I think you’re being a bit free and loose with the word cook there,’ Kit remarks, chuckling to himself.
‘The boss, then,’ I substitute.
‘Yeah, that’s the one!’
Lochan flashes me a look that says, What have I done to you? Again, I’m aware of a fleeting sense of satisfaction.
‘Willa, for fuck sake, clean up this mess – you’ve got water all over the table!’ Kit protests.
‘I can’t!’
‘Stop being a baby and get the sponge!’
‘Lochie, Kit said the F word.’
‘I’m not eating any more!’ Tiffin roars. ‘And I’m not doing no more tables, neither!’
‘Do you want to fail your maths test?’ Lochan shouts back.
‘I don’t care! I don’t care! I don’t care!’
‘Lochie, Kit said the F word!’ Willa wails, angry now.
‘Fuck-a-doodle-do,’ Kit sings.
‘Will you all just shut up! What the hell’s the matter with you!’ Lochan slams his fist down on the table.
Tiffin, seizing on this distraction, leaps up, grabs his football gloves and races out of the house. Willa bursts into noisy tears, slides off her chair and stamps her way up to her room. Kit tips three plates of uneaten runner beans back into the saucepan and says, ‘Look, now you can feed us the same old shit tomorrow.’
With a groan, Lochan puts his head in his hands.
Suddenly I feel awful. I don’t know what I was trying to prove. That Lochan needs me, perhaps? Or was I just trying to get my own back for the silent treatment? Either way, I feel lousy. It would have cost me nothing to chip in and diffuse the situation. I do it all the time, without even having to think about it. I could have prevented Lochan’s stress levels going through the roof, stopped him feeling like a failure as yet another family meal ended in mayhem. But I didn’t. And the worst thing is, I actually enjoyed watching everything fall apart.
Looking exhausted, Lochan rubs his eyes with a wry smile. Glancing at all the leftover food, he tries to make a joke of it. ‘Maya, more runner beans? Don’t be shy!’
He has every right to be angry with the lot of us, but instead he is so forgiving it makes me ache. I want to say something, do something to take it all back, but I can’t think of a thing. Chewing his lip, Lochan gets up and starts clearing away, and I suddenly notice that lately his sore has got bigger, that he has been gnawing at it more and more. It looks so painful, so raw, that to see him bite at it like that makes my eyes water. Getting up to help him clear the table, I remind Kit it’s his turn to do the washing-up and, without thinking, touch Lochan’s hand to get his attention – but this time, to my surprise, he doesn’t pull away.
‘Ouch, your poor lip,’ I say gently. ‘You’re going to make it worse.’
‘Sorry.’ He stops chewing and presses the back of his hand self-consciously against his mouth.
‘Yeah, God, that thing has become really gross.’ Kit seizes the opportunity to chip in, his voice loud and brash as, with a crash, he drops a pile of plates unceremoniously into the sink. ‘The guys at school were asking me if it was some kind of disease.’
‘Kit, that’s rubbish—’ I begin.
‘What? I’m just agreeing with you. That thing’s gross, and if he keeps on biting it, he’s gonna end up disfigured.’
I try giving him one of my warning looks but he studiously avoids my eye, crashing the crockery around in the sink. Lochan leans one shoulder against the wall, waiting for the kettle to boil, staring out of
the darkened window. I decide to give Kit a hand with the washing-up – Lochan seems to have ground to a halt and I don’t want to leave the two of them alone together while Kit still has the bit between his teeth.
‘So you’ve finally managed to nail yourself a boyfriend,’ Kit remarks scathingly as I join him at the sink. ‘Who the hell is it?’
I feel my insides clench. Instinctively my gaze flies over to Lochan, who drops his hand from his mouth, his head jolting back in surprise.
‘He’s not a boyfriend,’ I correct Kit quickly. ‘Just – just some random guy from school who asked me out for – uh—’ I break off. Lochan is staring at me.
‘For – uh – sex?’ Kit suggests.
‘Don’t be so childish. He asked me out for dinner.’
‘Whoa – no introductory drink at Smileys then? Straight in there, wining and dining you.’ Kit is clearly enjoying watching me squirm. ‘What guy at Belmont can possibly afford to take a girl out for dinner? Don’t tell me it’s one of your teachers!’ His eyes light up in delight.
‘Stop being ridiculous. It’s a guy in the year above called Nico. You don’t even know him.’
‘Nico DiMarco?’ But of course Lochan does. Shit.
‘Yeah.’ I force myself to meet his look of astonishment over the top of Kit’s head. ‘I – he asked me out on Friday. Is that – can you – is that all right?’ I don’t know why I’m suddenly finding it so hard to speak.
‘Uh-oh, you should have asked permission first!’ Kit crows. ‘You’re gonna have to stick to the curfew, remember. Tell you what, I’ll give you my last condom—’
‘OK, Kit, that’s enough!’ I shout, slamming a plate down on the counter. ‘Go and bring Tiffin inside and then do your homework!’ I’m the one losing it now.
‘Fine! Excuse me for breathing!’ Kit throws the washing-up brush into the sink with a splash and stalks out of the room.
Lochan hasn’t moved from his position by the window, scraping at the sore with his thumbnail. His face looks hot, his eyes deeply troubled. ‘Nico? D’you know him? I mean, the guy’s pretty, uh – you know. He’s kind of got a rep . . .’
I keep my head down, scrubbing the plates hard. ‘Yeah, well, it’s only a date. We’ll see how it goes.’