I find myself desperate for even the little things – being able to hold her hand on the way to school, kissing her goodbye in the corridor before heading for our separate classes, having lunch together, spending break times snuggled up together on a bench or kissing passionately behind one of the buildings, running over and hugging when we meet at the gates after the final bell. All things that the other couples at Belmont take for granted. Their liaisons are looked upon with a mixture of awe and envy by the pupils who are still single, despite the fact that they rarely last for more than a few weeks before crumbling over some stupid fight or because a new, better-looking prospect comes along. I don’t view these people with horror or disgust for being so shallow and fickle. So many superficial liaisons surround me, so many guys just looking for sex, for another conquest to add to their brag-list before swiftly moving on. One might struggle to understand why anyone would embark on relationships that lack any real, meaningful emotion, yet nobody judges them for it. They are ‘young’, ‘just having a good time’, and sure, if that’s what they want, why shouldn’t they? But then why is it so terrible for me to be with the girl I love? Everyone else is permitted to have what they want, express their love as they please, without fear of harassment, ostracism, persecution or even the law. Even emotionally abusive, adulterous relationships are often tolerated, despite the harm they cause others. In our progressive, permissive society, all these harmful, unhealthy types of ‘love’ are allowed – but not ours. I can think of no other kind of love that is so totally rejected, even though ours is so deep, passionate, caring and strong that forcing us apart would cause us unimaginable pain. We are being punished by the world for just one simple reason: for having been produced by the same woman.

The anger and frustration chips away at me, even though I try to keep it at bay, even though I keep focusing on the day Maya and I will finally be free to live together openly, free to love each other like any other couple. Sometimes, worse than watching her at school from a distance is seeing her at home, too close to touch, together but apart, so near and yet so far. Having to yank back my hand as I instinctively reach for hers at the dinner table, trying to brush against her accidentally just for the small tingle of pleasure caused by the touch of her skin. Gazing at her face as she reads to Willa on the couch, yearning to feel her hair, her cheek, her mouth. Even though I can’t wait for the holidays to begin so I can spend every minute of the day with her, I know that this tiny but impenetrable distance between us will be torture.

And then, just days before the end of term, a miracle occurs. Maya gets off the phone one evening and returns to the dinner table to announce that Freddie and his little sister have invited both Tiffin and Willa for a sleepover that weekend. The timing could not be better – that same day Kit will be leaving for the Isle of Wight. Two days – two whole days of uninterrupted time together. Two days of freedom . . . Surreptitiously, Maya shoots me a look of pure delight, and elation fills me like helium in a balloon. While Tiffin pretends to fall off his chair in enthusiasm and Willa drums her shoes against the underside of the table, I am ready to bounce off the walls and start dancing.

‘Wow. So by Saturday all three of us will be gone,’ Kit comments almost pensively, looking first at Maya, then at me. ‘It’ll just be you and Maya stuck at home.’

I nod and shrug, struggling to keep the rush of joy from showing on my face.

We don’t have a chance to celebrate until Maya finishes putting Tiffin and Willa to bed, but as soon as she does, she comes hurrying down to where I am squatting, Brillo pad in hand, scrubbing out the fridge.

‘We have so earned this!’ she whispers in near-hysteria, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me an excited shake. Straightening up, I laugh at the sight of her face, her eyes shining in excitement. I drop the Brillo pad and wipe my hands on my jeans as she slides her arms around my neck and pulls me gently towards her. Closing my eyes, I kiss her long and hard, stroking the hair away from her eyes. She reaches up to stroke my face and then pulls back sharply.

‘What?’ I ask in surprise. ‘They’re all upstairs . . .’

‘I heard something.’ She is staring at the kitchen door, carelessly left ajar.

For a brief moment Maya and I look at each other in alarm. Then we recognize the distant beat of Kit’s music and the sound of Tiffin and Willa arguing in their room above us. We begin to laugh.

‘Christ, we’re jumpy!’ I exclaim softly.

‘It’ll be so great not to have to be like this for a bit,’ Maya breathes. ‘Even if it’s just for a couple of days. The constant paranoia – worried about even touching hands!’

‘Two days of freedom,’ I whisper with a smile, pulling her close.

As the big day approaches, I find myself counting down the hours. Kit will set off for school at the usual time, we’re taking Tiffin and Willa to their friends’ house shortly after. Come ten o’clock Saturday morning, we will shed our meaningless labels of brother and sister and be free, finally free from the ties that force us apart.

Friday evening, Kit is packed and ready, bags lined up carefully in the hall. Everyone is in a hyper mood and I realize we have forgotten to do the weekly shop and the kitchen is devoid of all food. To my astonishment, Kit volunteers to go down to the local supermarket and pick up something for dinner. However, my surprise soon turns to annoyance when he returns with a bag crammed full of crisps, biscuits, chocolate bars, sweets and ice cream. But Maya just laughs. ‘It’s the end of term, we may as well have a bit of a celebration!’

Reluctantly I agree and the evening soon turns into mayhem as we picnic on the carpet in front of the television. Tiffin’s sugar levels go through the roof and he starts doing somersaults off the couch while Kit tries to provoke a crash-landing by getting in the way. Willa wants to join in too and I am sure someone is going to break their neck, but they are laughing so wholeheartedly at Kit’s karate moves that I refrain from trying to calm them down. Then Kit has the bright idea of fetching his speakers down from the attic and setting up a makeshift karaoke machine. Soon we are all squished up on the couch together, desperately trying to keep a straight face as Willa delivers a performance of ‘Mamma Mia’, getting all the words mixed up yet singing with such gusto I’m sure the neighbours are going to come knocking. Kit’s rendition of ‘I Can Be’ is actually quite impressive despite the foul language, and Tiffin leaps about the room, bouncing off the walls like a rubber ball.

By ten o’clock an exhausted Willa has passed out fully-clothed on the couch. I carry her up to bed while Maya manhandles a sugar-high Tiffin into the bathroom. I cross Kit in the corridor and stop.

‘All ready for tomorrow? Got everything you need?’

‘Yep!’ he replies with a note of satisfaction, his eyes bright.

‘Kit, thank you for this evening,’ I say. ‘You were – you were a good sport, you know.’

For a moment he appears unsure how to respond to such praise. He looks embarrassed and then smiles. ‘Yeah, well, watch out. Entertainers usually charge for their services, you know.’

I give him a friendly shove and, as he disappears up the ladder, a giant speaker under each arm, I realize that the five-year age gap between us doesn’t feel like quite such a chasm any more.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Maya

Never before have I seen Kit quite so eager to go to school. If only it were like this every day, I think ruefully. After devouring his toast in three bites, downing his juice in two gulps, he grabs his packed lunch from Lochan and dashes out into the hallway to gather up the rest of his things. When he returns with his bags, I look at him in his new khaki jacket, bought especially for the occasion, at odds with the holey jeans he refuses to part with and the torn sweatshirt several sizes too big, and feel a pang. His sandy hair is uncombed and he looks pale from too many late nights – skinny, vulnerable, almost fragile.