‘I want to see her—’
‘No!’ He catches me as I try to push past. ‘They want her to sleep off the sedative – they won’t let you in until she wakes up—’
‘I don’t give a shit! She’s my sister and she’s hurt and so I’m going in to see her and no one can stop me!’ I begin to shout.
But Lochan is forcibly restraining me and, to my astonishment, I suddenly find myself grappling with him in this long, bright, empty hospital corridor. For a moment I am almost tempted to kick him, but then I hear him gasp, ‘Don’t make a scene, you mustn’t make a scene. It’ll just make it worse.’
I fall back, breathing hard. ‘Make what worse? What are you talking about?’
He approaches me, his hands reaching for my shoulders, but I back away, refusing to be pacified by any more meaningless words of comfort. Lochan lets his arms fall with a hopeless, desperate look. ‘They want to see Mum. I told them that she was abroad on business, but they insisted on a number. So I gave them her mobile but it just went straight to voicemail—’
I pull my phone out. ‘I’ll call her at Dave’s. And I’ll try the pub and Dave’s mobile too—’
‘No.’ Lochan holds his hand up in a gesture of defeat. ‘She’s – she’s not there . . .’
I stare at him.
Lowering his arm, he swallows and walks slowly back towards the window. I notice that he’s limping. ‘She’s – she’s gone away with him. Just for a holiday, apparently. Somewhere in Devon, but Dave’s son doesn’t seem to know where. He just said he thought – he thought they’d be back on Sunday.’
I gape at him, horror coursing through my veins. ‘She’s gone for the whole week?’
‘Apparently. Luke didn’t seem to know – or care. And her phone’s been off for days. Either she forgot her charger or she’s switched it off deliberately.’ Lochan goes back to lean against the windowsill, as if the weight of his body is too great for his legs to bear. ‘I’ve been trying to call her about the bills. Yesterday after school I went round, and that’s when Luke told me. He’s staying in his dad’s flat with his girlfriend. I didn’t want to worry you—’
‘You had no right not to tell me!’
‘I know, I’m sorry, but I figured there was nothing we could do . . .’
‘So what now?’ I am no longer speaking in measured tones. A head pops out from a door further down and I try to reel myself in. ‘She has to stay in hospital until Mum comes to fetch her?’ I hiss.
‘No, no . . .’ He puts out a reassuring hand and again I dodge it. I’m furious at him for trying to shush me, for keeping this from me, for treating me like one of the children and just repeating that everything is going to be all right.
Before I have the chance to quiz him any more, a short, balding doctor comes out through the double doors, introduces himself to me as Dr Maguire and shows us back into the small room. We each take a seat on a spongy, low-slung chair and, holding up large X-rays, the doctor shows us the before and after pictures, explains the procedure that took place and what to expect next. He is cheerful and reassuring, echoes most of what Lochan has told me already and assures me that although Willa’s shoulder will be sore for a few days and she will have to wear a sling, it should be back to normal in a week. He also informs us that she is now awake and eating dinner and that we can take her home as soon as she is ready.
We can take her home. I feel myself go limp. We all stand up and Lochan thanks Dr Maguire, who smiles broadly, reiterates that we can take Willa home as soon as she’s ready, and then asks if it would be all right to send Mrs Leigh in now. Lochan puts his hand against the wall as if to steady himself and nods rapidly, chewing on his thumbnail as the doctor leaves.
‘Mrs Leigh?’ I turn to Lochan with a questioning frown.
He swings round and looks at me, breathing hard. ‘Don’t say anything. OK? Just don’t say anything.’ His voice is low and urgent. ‘Let me do the talking – we can’t risk contradicting each other. If she asks you anything, just go along with the usual business-trip story and tell her the truth – you had a late class and didn’t come home till after it had happened.’
I gaze at Lochan across the small room in bewilderment. ‘I thought you said they were fine about Mum.’
‘They are. It’s – it’s just procedure . . . for this type of injury, they say. Apparently they have to file some kind of report—’ Before he can get any further, a knock sounds and a large woman with a head of frizzy ginger hair enters.
‘Hello there. The doctor told you I’d be coming in to have a word? I’m Alison – from the Child Protection Agency.’ She extends her hand towards Lochan.
A small sound escapes me. I turn it into a cough.
‘Lochan Whitely. N-nice to meet you.’
He knew!
I’m aware I’m being addressed. I take her podgy hand in mine. For a moment I literally cannot speak. My mind has gone blank and I’ve forgotten my own name. Then I force a smile, introduce myself and take a seat in the small triangle.
Alison is rummaging about in a large bag, pulling out a folder and pen and various forms, chatting as she does so. She asks Lochan to confirm the situation with Mum, which he does in a surprisingly steady voice. She appears satisfied, scribbles a few things down, and then looks up from her notes with a broad, artificial smile.
‘Well, I’ve already had a word with Willa about what happened. She’s a delightful little girl, isn’t she? She explained she was in the kitchen with you, Lochan, when she fell. And that, Maya, you were still at school, but your two brothers were at home.’
I look across at Lochan, willing him to make eye-contact with me. But he seems to have deliberately turned away. ‘Yes.’
Another of those fake smiles. ‘OK, so in your own time, explain to me how the accident occurred.’
I don’t understand. This isn’t even about Mum. And surely Lochan gave the details of the fall to the doctor in charge when he brought Willa in.
‘R-right. OK.’ Lochan leans forwards, elbows on knees, as if desperate to tell this woman every detail. ‘I – I came into the kitchen and Willa was up on the counter where she’s not allowed to be because it’s – it’s really quite high, and – and she was on tiptoe trying to reach a box of b-biscuits on the top shelf—’ He is speaking in that manic, staccato way again, almost tripping over his words in his hurry to get them out. I can see the muscles in his arms vibrating, and he is scraping at the sore beneath his mouth so hard that it’s starting to bleed.
Alison just nods, scribbles some more, looks up again expectantly.
‘I t-told her to get down. She refused, saying her brothers had each eaten some and had then d-deliberately put the biscuits up there out of her reach.’ He is panting, staring at the form as if trying to read what’s being recorded.
‘Go on . . .’
‘So I – I repeated what I’d just said—’
‘What exactly did you say?’ The woman’s voice is sharper now.
‘J-just – well, basically just: Willa, get down now.’
‘Was that spoken or shouted?’
He seems to be having trouble breathing, the air making a scraping noise at the back of his throat. ‘Um – well – well – the first time I was speaking quite loudly b-because I was worried to see her up there again, and – and the second time, after she refused, I – I suppose, y-yes, I sort of shouted.’ He glances up at her, chewing the corner of his lip, the rise and fall of his chest rapid.
I can’t believe this woman! Making Lochan feel guilty about shouting at his sister when she was doing something dangerous?
‘And then?’ The woman’s eyes are very sharp. She seems particularly attentive now.
‘Willa – she, well, she i-ignored me.’
‘And so what did you do?’
There is a terrible silence. What did you do? I repeat to myself, desperate to butt in but trapped by my promise to let Lochan do the talking, on top of the fact that I wasn’t actually there. Does this Ch
ild Protection person ask the parent of every injured child brought into hospital what it was the parent had done? Guilty until proven innocent? This is ridiculous! Children fall and hurt themselves all the time!
But Lochan isn’t answering. I feel my heart start to pound. Don’t start getting stage-fright now, I beg with him in my head. Don’t make it look as if you have something to hide!
Lochan is frowning and sighing and chewing his lip as if trying to remember, and with a shock I realize he is close to tears.
I press myself back into the chair and bite down hard to stop myself from intervening.
‘I p-pulled her down.’ His chin quivers briefly. He doesn’t look up.
‘Could you explain exactly how you did that?’
‘I went – I went over and g-grabbed her by the arm and then – and then I pulled her off the counter.’ His voice cracks and he raises his fist to his face, pressing his knuckles hard against his mouth.
Lochan, what the hell are you talking about? You would never deliberately hurt Willa – you know that as well as I do.
‘You grabbed her arm and pulled her to the floor?’ The woman arches her eyebrows.
Silence stretches out across the room. I can hear my own heartbeat. Finally Lochan lowers his fist from his mouth and takes a ragged breath. ‘I pulled her arm and – and—’ He looks up at the corner of the ceiling, tears amalgamating in his eyes like translucent marbles. ‘I know I shouldn’t have – I wasn’t thinking—’
‘Just tell me what happened.’
‘I p-pulled her arm and she slipped. She – she was wearing tights and her feet just slid off the counter’s surface. I – I kept hold of her arm as she fell to try and stop her from hurting herself and that’s when I felt this – this snap!’ He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, as if in terrible pain.
‘So you were holding onto her arm when she hit the floor and the weight of her body pulled the bone out of the socket?’
‘It was counter-intuitive to let go of her as she fell. I – I thought I’d c-caught her, not – not wrenched her arm out of its socket. Jesus!’ A tear glances off his cheek. He swipes at it rapidly. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘Lochie!’
His eyes meet mine this time. ‘It – it was an accident, Maya.’
‘I know!’ I exclaim in soft outrage.
The damn woman is scribbling again. ‘Are you often left in charge of your siblings, Lochan?’ she asks.
I recoil back into the chair. Lochan presses his fingers against his eyes and takes some steady breaths, trying to pull himself together. He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Only when our mother has to go away on business.’
‘And how often does that happen?’
‘It – it depends . . . Every couple of months or so . . .’
‘And when she’s away, I presume you have to fetch them from school, cook for them, help them with homework, entertain them, put them to bed—’
‘We do it together,’ I say quickly.
The woman turns towards us both now. ‘That must be exhausting after a long school day—’
‘They’re good at entertaining themselves.’
‘But when they misbehave, you must have to discipline them.’
‘Not really,’ I say firmly. ‘They’re pretty well-behaved.’
‘Have you ever hurt one of your siblings before?’ the woman asks, turning towards Lochan.
He takes a breath. The fight with Kit flashes through my mind. ‘No!’ I exclaim in outrage. ‘Never!’
In the cab on the way home we are all three silent, spent, exhausted. Willa is curled up on Lochan’s lap, her arm strapped up across her chest, the thumb of her other hand in her mouth. Her head rests against Lochan’s neck, spots of light from passing cars float over her golden hair. Lochan holds her tightly against him, staring blankly out of the window, face pale and stunned, his eyes glazed, refusing to meet mine.
We arrive home to a tornado-hit kitchen, the front room’s carpet embedded with crisp, biscuit and cereal crumbs. To our amazement, however, Tiffin is actually in bed and Kit is still in the house, up in the attic, music pounding down through the ceiling. While Lochan gives a groggy Willa a drink and some Calpol and puts her to bed, I climb up the ladder to let Kit know we’re back.
‘So has she broken her arm, or what?’ Despite the nonchalant tone of his voice, I recognize a spark of worry in his eyes as he glances up at me from his Gameboy. I push his legs to one side to make room on his mattress and sit down beside his sprawled-out figure.
‘She hasn’t actually broken anything.’ I explain about the dislocated shoulder.
‘Yeah. Tiff said Loch lost his temper and pulled Willa off the kitchen counter.’ His face darkens suddenly.
I pull my knees to my chest and take a deep breath. ‘Kit, you know it was an accident. You know Lochan would never hurt Willa intentionally, don’t you?’ My voice is questioning, serious. I know the answer, I know he does too, but I need him to be honest with me for a moment and actually admit it.
Kit takes a breath, ready for a sarcastic retort, but then seems to hesitate as his gaze locks into mine. ‘Yeah,’ he confesses after a moment, a hint of defeat in his voice.
‘I know you’re angry,’ I say quietly, ‘about how things turned out with Mum and Dad, about Lochan and me always being the ones in charge – and Kit, you have every right to be . . . but you know what the alternative is.’
His eyes have slid away, back to his Gameboy, uncomfortable about the sudden change in conversation.
‘If Social Services found out that Mum was no longer living at home, that we were on our own—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I know,’ he interrupts gruffly, pounding the buttons of his games console viciously with his thumbs. ‘We’d be taken into care and split up and all that shit.’ His voice sounds fed up and angry, but I can sense the fear behind it.
‘It’s not going to happen, Kit,’ I reassure him quickly. ‘Lochan and I will make sure of that, I promise. But it does mean we have to be careful, really careful, about what we say to other people. Even if it’s just some mate at school. All it would take would be for him to mention it to his parents, or to another friend . . . all it would take is one call to Social Services—’
‘Maya, I get it.’ His thumbs stop moving against the buttons and he looks up at me sombrely, suddenly appearing much older than his thirteen years. ‘I won’t tell anybody about Willa’s arm – or anything else that could get us into trouble, OK? I promise.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lochan
We keep Willa off school for the rest of the week in order to avoid awkward questions, and I call in sick and stay at home with her. But by Monday she is bored, has lost the sling and is eager to return to her friends. Mum returns from Devon, and when I finally track her down at Dave’s for money, she shows scant interest in Willa’s injury.
I am having trouble sleeping again. Whenever I ask Willa about her shoulder, she gives me this worried look and assures me that it’s ‘all mended now’. I know she reads the guilt on my face, but this only makes me feel worse.
The green glow of my digital alarm reads 02:43 when I get up and creep out of my room and down the corridor. Released from the warmth of the duvet, I quickly start to shiver in my holey T-shirt and boxers. The creak of the bedroom door makes Maya stir and I wince, anxious not to wake her. Closing it softly behind me, I pad over to the wall opposite her bed, sliding down against it, my bare arms turning silver in the light of the moon. She continues to shift sleepily, nuzzling her face against the pillow, then abruptly raises herself on one elbow, pushing back her long curtain of hair.
‘Lochie, is that you?’ A startled, frightened whisper.
‘Yeah – shh – sorry – go back to sleep!’
She struggles to sit up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Finally her eyes focus on me and she shivers, pulling the duvet around her. ‘Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What on earth are you doing?’
‘I’
m sorry – I really didn’t mean to wake you—’
‘Well, you have now!’ She gives me a sleepy smile and holds up the edge of the duvet.
I quickly shake my head. ‘No . . . I just – can I watch you sleep? I know that sounds weird but – but I can’t sleep at the moment and it’s doing my head in!’ I give a sharp, painful laugh. ‘Watching you sleep makes me feel—’ I inhale deeply. ‘I dunno . . . at peace . . . D’you remember, I used to do it when we were young.’
She smiles in faint recollection. ‘Well, you’re unlikely to get to sleep sitting there on the floor.’ She holds out a portion of duvet again.
‘No, no, it’s fine. I’ll just stay here for a while and then go back to bed.’
With a sigh of mock-irritation, she gets out of bed, pads over and pulls me up by the wrist. ‘Come on, get in. God, you’re shaking.’
‘I’m just cold!’ I snap, my voice coming out harsher than I intended.
‘Well, come here then!’
The warmth of her duvet envelops me. She slides onto my lap and the touch of her warm skin, her arms and legs wrapped around me, forces me to begin to relax. Hugging me tight, she buries her face in my neck. ‘My God, you’re an icicle.’
I let out a strained laugh. ‘Sorry.’
For a few moments we are both quiet. Her damp breath tickles my cheek. We lie down and I feel my body gently thaw against hers as she strokes the back of my head, running her fingers across my neck . . . God, how I wish we could stay like this for ever. Suddenly, for no reason, I feel close to tears.
‘Tell me.’
It’s as if she can feel the pain through my skin. ‘Nothing. Just, you know, the usual crap.’
I can tell she doesn’t believe me. ‘Listen,’ she says. ‘Remember what Willa said the other day? We’re the grown-ups. We’ve always shared the responsibilities. You don’t have to start trying to shield me from reality now.’
I press my mouth against her shoulder and close my eyes. I’m afraid of worrying her, afraid of telling her how torn up I feel inside.
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