Written for a contest hosted by the very talented Ms Sazuma... I was hoping to write something very different to the usual 'Forbidden' stories, so hopefully I have succeeded!
All reviews are very much welcome and appreciated!
Much love,
Ciara
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Willa used to love autumn. It was her favourite season. She loved how the leaves turned from green to gold to crispy, crinkled brown. She loved how they crunched and crackled like sparklers beneath her feet when she walked. She loved traipsing around on school trips to the park, filling her pockets with shiny conkers and handfuls of unknown seeds while Ms Wilkesconducted chirping choruses of her favourite nursery rhymes. Most of all, she loved running into the street with Lochie when the leaves were thickest on the ground. They would gather huge bundles up in their arms and hurl them into the air and Willa would shriek with excitement and delight as Lochie scooped her up and twirled her around and around. Her hair would whip around her face and her legs would straggle through the air. Lochie would press sloppy kisses to her forehead, making her squirm, and toss her above his head. She would complain that she wanted a kite and Lochie would snort and say that she didn't need one, because she was his kite and he could make her fly whenever she wanted.
Yes, Willa used to love autumn. But now she's not so sure.
Because now Lochie is gone, and there's nobody to make Willa fly. Kit tried once, but he's not as strong as Lochie and he isn't as much fun anyway. She thought maybe Maya would do it, but she's tired all the time and she never has a moment to spare to play with Willa anymore. She's too busy keeping Kit from getting into fights and darning patches into the knees of Tiffin's school trousers, so there's no time for Willa.
It's colder this autumn too. At least it feels colder. But that might just be because Lochie's not here to cuddle her when she gets upset. Instead of wind there is just miserable rain. Her teacher calls rain God's teardrops. She says God is crying. Willa wonders if God cries over the same things she does. Does God cry because there is a hole in the sole of his shoe that lets water seep in? Does he whimper when he misses his favourite programme on television? Does he feel sad like her when he hears Maya whispering to herself at night?
It wouldn't be so bad, Willa thinks, if she could still go on the nature trail. But Maya forgot to sign her permission slip and she tried to explain that to her teacher but Ms. Wilkesjust bit her lip and sighed. This morning, while all the other boys and girls were pulling on their wellington boots and taking their special worksheets, Ms Wilkes took Willa by the hand and led her down the hall to the big kids' classroom. The desks were bigger than the ones she was used to and when she sat down her feet dangled in the air. She watched through the window as her class traipsed by in a neat line, giggling and chanting on their way to the park, and then had to turn her attention to a ream of fill-in-the-blanks and connect-the-dots worksheets as Year Six talked about things she didn't understand.
Now it is lunchtime and her class still have not come back, so Willa has to go out to the yard with the big kids'. The minute she steps outside the door, she feels her heart flutter like the wings of Fred, her class canary. All of the other boys and girls are so much bigger than her standing up, and they jostle to reach the ball shed first, vying for position. None of them notice Willa trailing along in the sea of people.
She watches from the edge of the yard as these older children fall into play, her bright eyes searching for Tiffin's familiar face. Eventually she finds him, but he is playing football with two boys she doesn't know and he doesn't look up when she calls him. She glances at the other children, unsure of what to do. She hates games, so she can't play ball with the boys. The girls are playing a skipping game, but it is fast and complicated and Willa doesn't recognise it.
She ends up sitting in the bike shed, back pressed to the wall and shivering in her thin pink jacket. She wishes she could have had a new school coat, but Kit needed money for books and Tiffin needed a haircut so Maya had to give her one of her old ones. The sleeves are too long and there's a hole in the elbow that needs patching. Willa pokes her baby finger through the gap and plays with the frayed edges.
She doesn't like school now, she decides. It's too lonely.
Suddenly, there is a warm figure next to her, an arm tossed casually across her shoulders, and her eyes meet a collection of feet all clad in the same black patent shoes.
"Hi Willa," a voice says, sweet and cheerful and accompanied by a friendly squeeze of her shoulders. Willa glances at the person next to her and a gasp rips itself from her lips. Sitting beside her, smiling and fiddling with a loose curl of auburn hair, is Chloe Kershaw. Chloe is the prettiest girl in Year Six. She has long, shiny hair the colour of crackling fire and brilliant blue eyes. Her winter coat is pink like Willa's, but unlike Willa's hers fits like a glove and is made of soft, warm wool. The hood is as soft as a baby lamb. Willa wonders why she's talking to her.
"H-hi Chloe," she stammers, a hopeful smile on her small face. "That's a pretty coat."
"Thanks Wills," Chloe beams. She casts a glance at her posse of pretty followers. "Haven't you got anyone to play with?"
Willa shakes her head dumbly, straggly pigtails bouncing with limp loneliness. "My class went to the park, but Maya forgot to sign my form."
"Poor Willa," coos Chloe. She looks at her friends again and gives Willa's shoulders another squeeze. "Hey, I have an idea!"
"You do?"
"Why don't you come play with us?" Chloe offers. She plays with that perfect auburn curl again.
"Really?" Willa squeaks. Her chest leaps with excitement as Chloe's disciples nod their heads in eager unison.
"Of course Wills." Chloe gets to her feet and Willa is struck once more by how much taller she is as the older girl offers her a helping hand. "Come on, we're playing skipping."
Willa hesitates for a moment, shivering in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. Then Chloe nods kindly and she clambers to her feet to follow the gang of pretty girls into a far-off corner of the yard.
The game starts quickly and for a couple of minutes Willa just sits and watches, getting to know the steps. It is easier to understand at close quarters, especially for Willa, who picks things like this up quickly when given half the chance. She sits with her knees drawn up to her chest, hugging them to her to keep the heat in, and studies the rapid movement of Chloe's feet as they dodge in and out of the spinning ropes. The older girl's legs are a blur as she darts through the air with quick, artistic grace that Willa envies. Eventually she brings her own turn to a stop and dances over to Willa. She is panting slightly from the effort of maintaining her brisk pace, but her hair is still immaculate and she wears a sweet smile on her heart-shaped face.
"Got it yet?" she asks, and she beams when Willa nods confidently. "Fantastic."
A hush falls over the group as Willa skips forward, her face bright with excitement at being included. She tugs on the wasted elastic at the top of her socks and stands in position with her arms hanging loosely by her sides.
"Ready Wills?" Chloe calls from the periphery of the group. Willa grins at her and nods her head. "Alright girls, give it a go."
Willa waits for a moment as Chloe's two hangers-on begin to turn the pair of pink skipping ropes. She gets a feel for the beat and then flashes into the midst of the action in a blur of blonde hair and tatty pink jacket. Then all she knows is the rhythm of the game, focusing on the rush it gives her to kick her legs over the revolving ropes. She feels a warmth she hasn't felt in the longest time and a smile spreads across her face as she hops confidently into the gaps between the ropes. She can hear a smattering of clapping and hushed chatter from all sides. As the pace increases she risks a glance over her shoulder at Chloe. The beautiful girl is laughing with a tall companion who has a glossy brown fringe and braces. Willa sees her turn her head, sees her bright blue eyes rise to meet hers. Then she sees her smirk.
There is a great gasp and Willa feels something tug at her legs. Suddenly the ground is rushing up to meet her and a shriek pulls itself from her lips as she throws her hands up instinctively. She can hear giggling and muttering and a couple of worried shouts. Then she feels the sting of tarmac against her bare knees, an explosion of pain in her palms and hears slow, deliberate footsteps coming towards her.
Sniffling, she raises her head to see Chloe Kershaw standing over her. She doesn't look quite so pretty now; in fact, the triumphant expression on her face is quite horrible. Her hands are planted on her hips and she taps her foot contentedly. Her disciples gather in a clump behind her. Their expressions are identical to hers.
Willa can feel tears welling up in her eyes. Everything hurts- her cheek, her knees, her palms. Her heart. It hurts more than the time she snatched Kit's football, and that time he got so angry that he pushed her into the wall. She presses a shaking hand to her cheek and feels something sticky there.
Just to make things even worse, Chloe comes even closer so that she ends up standing right above Willa. She smiles and sinks to the ground, so near that Willa can see the freckles dusting the tip of her nose. She extends her hand, and for a moment Willa thinks it has all been some big misunderstanding, that Chloe is going to help her to her feet and dust her off and give her a big cuddle. Then the pretty redhead strokes her hand along the length of Willa's straggly pigtail and tugs it. Hard.
"My mum says your sister's a filthy slag," she hisses. Spit dots Willa's cheeks as Chloe presses her mouth to her ear. "And your brother too. She says he was sick in the head. She says he deserved what happened to him."
And then she is gone, sweeping across the yard with her gaggle of mates. Willa is left alone, her cheek pressed to the gritty tarmac, and she feels tears streaming down the parts of her face that don't ache. It hurts that Chloe would orchestrate something like that. It hurts that she would say the things she did.
Most of all, though, it hurts that she let Chloe see her hurt.
Lochie would hate that.
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Once Tiffin has managed to get the teacher on yard duty to come over and pick her up, Willa is patched up with some sort of stinging orange liquid and four matching Barbie sticking plasters. Tiffin asks if she wants to come sit in his classroom for the rest of the day but Willa refuses stubbornly. She wants to show Chloe that she is just fine, that she didn't hurt her half as much as she thinks she did.
So Tiffin leaves her at the door of Year Six's classroom and Willa enters with her nose high in the air. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Chloe mutter something to the girl next to her, the tall one with the braces. The pair of them laugh and Willa narrows her eyes.
"Hello Miss Willa," a voice chirps. It is Ms Collins, the class teacher. Ms Collins is very young, with a kind face and jet black hair that reminds Willa of her Lochie. "I heard you had a bit of an accident at lunchtime. Feeling better now?"
Chloe is laughing again.
"Fine thanks, Miss," Willa says quietly and Ms Collins beams at her.
"Very good. Why don't you get on with your work so, OK? I've got to show this lot how to write a letter to a loved one. Think they can manage that?"
Willa allows her gaze to flicker to Chloe Kershaw, lounging in her chair like the cat that's got the cream. She doesn't think Chloe can possibly love anyone. Except maybe herself.
"I suppose so," she shrugs, making Ms Collins laugh, a silvery sound like bells.
"Good girl," she smiles as Willa takes her seat. Willa tucks herself right up against the table and picks up the next sheet in her bundle, a simple little join-the-dots exercise that will soon form a fat sausage dog. She sighs and thrusts her hand into the air.
"Yes Willa?" Ms Collins asks in a gentle voice.
"Miss, can I write a letter too?" she asks. Ms Collins looks surprised, but she recovers well.
"Of course you can Willa," she smiles. "Evan, pass Willa some paper please."
Willa smiles to herself and sets about paring the nib of her pencil to a sharp point as a couple of sheets of lined paper are placed on the edge of her desk. At the top of the room Ms Collins is explaining all sorts of different rules to the Year Six pupils but Willa tunes her out. She doesn't need to know how to write an address correctly, not for this letter.
Pencil poised, she spares Chloe Kershaw one last look. The girl is twiddling that one stupid loose curl between her fingers and looks directly at Willa with a wicked grin. Willa smiles back with as much poison as she can muster and then begins to write.
Deer Lochie, she writes in a deliberate, sprawling print.
i miss you. kit misses you. tiff misses you. maya misses you mostest.
Sum peepol say nasty things about you sometimes. i used to hate them, but then i remembered that you dont like that word so i stopped. i still think chloe is stupid thow.
you are the best big brother ever. kit and tiff are ok too but your the best. i miss been your kite. i miss you making me fly. i miss you puting red sticky plasters on my nees when i fall down. i miss your cuddles the most.
i miss you Lochie. but i love you more.
Lots and lots of love and kisses,
Willa X X x
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When school lets out Willa scoops up all her things and tosses them into her bag. Ms Collins has given her a special yellow envelope to put her letter in and she clutches it close to her chest as she lines up to leave. She is careful to avoid standing near Chloe Kershaw.
The school bell rings, a loud shrill noise that signals an escape from the rigid normality of the classroom into the chaos that is home. Willa has never been so glad to hear it.
She rushes down the narrow corridor, ignoring the angry cries that follow her. Her only focus is the small yellow rectangle clasped in her clammy, bandaged palms. It is her anchor as she prances along the pathway leading to the school gate and heads towards the fountain where she's supposed to meet Tiffin. She can see it, that familiar, safe landmark, just ahead. Almost there, and then-
"Oi, Whitely!"
Chloe.
Willa tucks the letter into her pocket for safekeeping and swivels around. Chloe Kershaw stands at the centre of her little group. She is grinning again, that stupid mean smirk that makes her face go pink after a couple of moments.
"Have a nice trip?" she jeers, delighted with herself. Willa opens her mouth to use one of the filthy swearwords Kit uses, the ones that make Maya gasp and clip him around the ear, but then she stops herself. Lochie doesn't like it when little girls like her swear.
Instead of using a rude word, she walks slowly over to Chloe Kershaw and stares defiantly up at her. Up close, Chloe isn't even all that pretty. That sneer she is wearing just makes her look as though she has smelled something disgusting.
"Getting very brave, aren't you Wills?" she smirks. Her breath smells like cheese and onion crisps.
"You don't know anything," Willa says, her voice quiet but certain. Nobody gathered at the school gates even spares the two girls a second glance. "You don't know anything about me or my brother. Lochie was the best big brother there could ever be, and I love him and he loved me. I feel bad for you Chloe. You have nice hair and new shoes, but nobody will ever love you like Lochie loved me and Tiff and Maya, and even Kit. Lochie was special and you're not. You're just mean."
And with that she turns on her heel and runs in the direction of the green marble fountain. She half expects Chloe to chase her, to say more wicked things and pull her hair again, but she can hear Chloe's mum cooing over her and knows the older girl has lost her chance. Willa's heart soars.
When she reaches the fountain, Tiffin still hasn't arrived. He's probably still in the playground, swapping trading cards with his friends and doing keepy-uppies with a ratty old football. Willa clambers up onto the step that encircles the large fountain and looks around.
She likes it here. Rows of trees line the plateau surrounding the fountain and in autumn they cover the stonework in a rusty carpet flecked with gold. As she crunches the leaves beneath her feet she feels the wind pick up and whip her pigtails around. Willa closes her eyes and smiles.
"Hi Lochie," she whispers. The warmth spreads through her once more and she holds the yellow envelope over the place where her heart is. She feels closest to Lochie here, although she's not quite sure why.
Her ears pick up the sounds of giggles and chatter and she knows that the trickle of pupils heading home from school will pass this way soon. Tiffin will be here and he will fret over her cuts and bruises. He will tell Maya what happened the minute they get home and then she will fuss over Willa for the first time in what feels like forever and Willa won't have any room in her head to think of Lochie.
There isn't much time.
She opens her eyes and peels her hands away from her heart. She looks down at the sun-coloured envelope, Lochie's name scribbled on the front and a dozen heart-shaped stickers sealing it closed. The letter inside holds all the best bits of Lochie. The letter is Lochie.
Willa could keep it. She could hide it in her secret box with her big bar of whole nut chocolate and the perfume she pilfered from her mum's room and the dolly Lochie and Maya gave her for her last birthday. She could, but if she does then she will be hiding Lochie away, keeping him for herself. Lochie doesn't like hiding. He doesn't like small spaces like her secret box. He likes freedom.
Willa's hands are shaking a little as she holds the envelope up in front of her watery eyes. She takes a breath, raises her eyes to look at the golden treetops around her.
Then she rips the envelope in half. Then rips the pieces in half. And rips again. And again. And again. She rips and rips until her palms are filled with countless yellow squares and fragments of dark grey letters. Then, without hesitation, she hurls the pieces into the air.
For a moment, she thinks it hasn't worked. She thinks the pieces will just fall to the ground once more. Then the wind takes them and they are off, flitting through the air. They look like the little ribbons that trail the length of a kite's string as they rise and rise before fluttering away over the rooftops and out of sight. Willa beams.
"Your turn to be the kite now Lochie," she murmurs as Tiffin comes careering down the path towards her. "Your turn to fly."