‘No, he’s got a ton of homework to catch up on.’ I stop clearing the table suddenly and slap a hand to my forehead. ‘Oh no. Damn!’

‘What’s the matter, sweetie?’

‘I completely forgot. I can’t come today. I promised I’d babysit the Davidsons’ new baby this afternoon.’

Mum looks alarmed. ‘Well, can’t you just cancel and say you’re ill or something?’

‘No, they’re going to a wedding and I told them I’d do it ages ago.’ I can’t believe what a good liar I am. ‘Besides,’ I add pointedly, ‘we could do with the money.’

Tiffin and Willa return to the kitchen, bundled up in their coats, and stop, instantly sensing the change in atmosphere.

‘Clever Maya’s just realized we can’t go after all,’ Kit informs them.

‘We’ll go tomorrow instead!’ Mum exclaims brightly. ‘Nooo!’ Tiffin’s howl is one of despair. Willa looks up at me accusingly, her blue eyes stricken.

‘But you can still go with Mum,’ I say casually, carefully avoiding her gaze.

Tiffin and Willa turn to gaze at her, their eyes pleading. ‘Mum! Mum, pleeeease!’

‘Oh, all right, all right,’ she sighs, shooting me a pained, almost angry look. ‘Anything for my babies.’

As Mum goes upstairs to get dressed and Tiffin and Willa tear about the house in a sugar-induced frenzy, Kit returns his feet to the table and starts idly flicking through a comic. ‘Well, look how that turned out,’ he mutters without looking up.

I feel myself tense but continue to clear the table. ‘What difference does it make?’ I retort quietly. ‘Tiffin and Willa get to go out and have fun and you get five times your usual pocket money to spend on arcades.’

‘I’m not complaining,’ he says. ‘I just think it’s touching the way you fabricate this whole complicated lie just ’cos Lochan’s too ashamed to face the fact that he’s a violent bastard.’

I stop cleaning the table, squeezing the sponge so hard that the warm, soapy water runs through the cracks between my fingers.

‘Lochan doesn’t know anything about this, OK?’ I retort, my voice low with repressed anger. ‘It was my idea. Because frankly, Kit, it’s the weekend, Tiffin and Willa deserve to have a bit of fun, and Lochan and I are completely shattered from running the house all week.’

‘I bet he is – after trying to kill me last night.’ He glares up at me now, his dark eyes as hard as pebbles.

I find myself gripping the edge of the table. ‘From what I remember it was a two-way deal. And Lochan’s so bashed up, he can hardly move.’

A slow grin of triumph spreads across Kit’s face. ‘Yeah, well, I can’t say I’m surprised. If he didn’t spend his days hiding in stairwells and actually learned to fight like a real—’

I slam my fist down on the table. ‘Don’t give me your macho gang bullshit,’ I hiss in a furious whisper. ‘Last night wasn’t some kind of sick competition! Lochan’s really upset about what happened. He never wanted to hurt you.’

‘How very considerate of him,’ Kit replies, voice dripping with sarcasm, still flicking infuriatingly through his magazine. ‘But kind of hard to believe when just a few hours ago he had his hands around my neck.’

‘You played a part in this too, you know. You punched him first!’ I glance nervously at the closed kitchen door. ‘Look, I’m not going to get into an argument with you about who started what. As far as the fight’s concerned, you’re both as guilty as each other. But just ask yourself this: why the hell d’you think Lochan was so upset in the first place? How many of your friends have a brother who would stay up half the night waiting for them to return? How many of them have a brother who would go scouring the streets at three in the morning because he was afraid something terrible might have happened? How many have brothers who shop for them, cook for them, attend parent–teacher meetings and stick up for them when they’re suspended from school? Don’t you get it, Kit? Lochan lost it last night because he cares about you, because he loves you!’

Kit throws the magazine across the table, making me jump, his eyes igniting in anger. ‘Did I ask him to do any of those things? D’you think I like having to depend on my fucking brother for every little thing? No, you’re right, my mates don’t have older brothers like that. They have brothers who hang out with them, get pissed with them, help them get fake IDs and sneak them into nightclubs and stuff. Whereas I’ve got a brother who tells me what time I’ve got to be home and then beats me up if I’m late! He’s not my father! He may pretend to care, but it’s only because he’s on some sick power trip! He doesn’t love me like Dad did, but he sure as hell thinks he can tell me what to do every second of the day!’

‘You’re right,’ I say quietly. ‘He doesn’t love us the way Dad did. Dad buggered off halfway round the world with his new family the moment things got tough. Lochan could have left school last year, got himself a job and moved out. He could choose to run off next year to a university at the other end of the country. But no, he’s only applying to ones in London, even though his teachers were desperate for him to try for Oxbridge. He’s staying in London so he can live here and look after us and make sure we’re all right.’

Kit manages to pull off a sardonic laugh. ‘You’re deluded, Maya. You know why he isn’t going anywhere? ’Cos he’s too damn scared, that’s why. You’ve seen him – he can’t even talk to his classmates without stammering like some kind of retard. And he certainly isn’t staying here because of me. He’s staying because he’s power-drunk – he gets his kicks from bossing Tiff and Willa around ’cos it makes him feel better about the fact he can’t even articulate a single word at school. And he’s staying here because he adores you, because you always take his side in everything, you think he’s some kind of God, and his sister’s the only friend he’s got in the world.’ He shakes his head. ‘How pathetic is that?’

I stare at Kit, stare at the anger in his face, the colour in his cheeks, but most of all at the sadness in his eyes. It pains me to see him still hurting so much about Dad and I keep reminding myself he’s only thirteen. But I just can’t find a way to make him step out of his own selfcentred circle, even for a second, and see the situation from any other viewpoint than his own.

Finally, in desperation, I say, ‘Kit, I understand why you resent Lochan’s position of authority, I really do. But it’s not his fault that Dad left and it’s not his fault that Mum’s the way she is. He’s just trying to look out for us because there’s no one else. I promise you, Kit, Lochan would much rather have remained your brother and friend. But just think – under the circumstances, what else could he possibly have done? What choice did he ever have?’

When the front door finally slams shut and the excited voices fade down the street, I heave a sigh of relief and glance at the kitchen clock. How many hours do we have until Tiffin and Willa start to bicker, Kit starts arguing about money and Mum decides she has done more than enough to make up for her absence all week? Factoring in travel time, we can expect three hours – four if we’re lucky. I feel as if I should immediately start making the most of it, try out all those things that I’m forever planning to do but putting off because there is always something more pressing at hand . . . But suddenly it feels absurdly luxurious just to be sitting here in the silent kitchen, the dappled sunlight falling through the kitchen window and warming my face – not thinking, not moving, not worrying about homework or arguing with Kit or trying to control Tiffin or entertaining Willa. Just being. I feel I could stay here for ever in the sunny, empty afternoon, slung sideways on a wooden chair, my arms folded against the smooth curve of its back, watching the sunbeams dance through the leaves, the branches peering in through the window, creating swaying shadows on the tiled floor. The sound of silence fills the air like a beautiful smell: no raised voices, no slamming doors, no pounding feet, no deafening music or babbling cartoons. I close my eyes, warm sun caressing my face and neck, filling my eyelids with a bright pink haze, and rest my head on my folded arms.