I opened my eyes and peered through my fingers.
‘Dexter?’ I whispered, my voice hoarse from crying.
‘Yep. God, you’re in a right state. Snot all over your face. Here.’ He wheeled himself deftly round my bed and pulled a handful of tissues from the box on my locker. ‘There now,’ he said, dabbing at me.
I was mortified and tried to hide my face, but he slapped my hands away.
‘Come on, baby, you need to be cleaned up. So. Why have you got the moody blues today? Did you get dumped?’
I was immensely flattered that he thought I might have a boyfriend, but I shook my head.
‘So what’s new? Or is it just same-old, same-old?’
I shrugged, not answering.
‘Hey, it’s not because I said that stuff to you yesterday, is it? You know, about hooking up? Because it’s probably different for a girl. And anyway, maybe you’ll be a Little Miss Miracle and start walking again.’
‘I walked in my dream,’ I said. ‘I ran. I thought it was real.’
‘Oh. I’ve had one of those dreams. Several. Yeah, it’s the pits when you wake up,’ said Dexter. ‘Maybe there’s a particularly malevolent Sandman who sprinkles walking dreams into kids stuck in wheelchairs, just to torture them.’
‘You could draw him,’ I said.
‘OK. I’ll whizz back and get my sketchbook.’
‘And you’ll come back here so I can see?’
‘Yep,’ said Dexter, and he was as good as his word.
He drew for me all the way through till lunchtime. He even drew for the other girls too, though their pictures weren’t stylish black comic strips, they were just ordinary pictures: a portrait of Naveen to give to her parents; a teddy bear’s picnic for Rosemary; and a doll’s tea party for Marnie.
‘My goodness, Dexter, what’s come over you?’ the nurses cried, thrilled. Even Jeannie looked halfway pleased, though she smoothed her uniform over her big bottom defensively.
‘Maybe I’ve got a fever? Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be as sullen and uncooperative and abusive tomorrow,’ said Dexter.
He was in a blackish mood the next day, and the one after that, but I didn’t mind too much. I visited him and just chatted quietly to him. I even went to see him during visiting hours one day when Dad was late coming to see me. I’d expected to find him on his own, still missing the horrible girlfriend who had dumped him, but his mum was there, and even his granny. They were making a big fuss of him, showing him the new T-shirts and paperbacks and wash bag they’d bought him, acting like it was Christmas. His granny seemed to be treating him like a little boy, ruffling his long hair, even tweaking his nose affectionately at one time.
I stared, fascinated, because Dexter seemed much younger with them, going, ‘Oh Gran, leave it out!’ like any boy, and yet grinning at them too, obviously pleased they were there. I hovered shyly, wondering if I should quietly wheel myself back to the ward, because Dexter didn’t seem to notice me.
‘Who’s this?’ said his granny, smiling at me. She raised her voice and put her head on one side, treating me as if I were much younger too.
‘I’m Katy. I’m Dexter’s …’ I didn’t know how to finish the sentence. I hoped I was Dexter’s friend but it seemed a bit presumptuous to say so.
‘Oh, hi Katy,’ said Dexter carelessly. ‘She’s just one of the little kids from the girls’ ward.’
My cheeks burned. ‘Just’! And I wasn’t ‘little’. My legs might not be able to move but they were still as long as ever. And I was eleven, not a little baby. I spun my wheels so I could turn round.
‘Katy? Come and meet my mum and gran,’ said Dexter quickly, seeing he’d insulted me.
I hesitated, so the granny sprang up and tried to wheel me over herself. She was being helpful but it was highly irritating.
‘So how did you hurt yourself, dear?’ she asked. ‘Car accident?’
‘No, I – I fell,’ I mumbled. I hated telling anyone about my fall off my rope swing because it made me sound so stupid, and whenever I talked about it I felt I was falling again and started shaking.
‘Dear, dear, you poor little thing,’ she said. ‘Of course, you know how our Dexter came a cropper?’
I didn’t know. I badly wanted to know but I knew he’d hate her telling me.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said quickly. ‘I think I’d better be getting back to my ward to see my own visitors. It’s OK, you don’t have to push me, I can move the wheels myself. See?’
When I was at the end of the ward Dexter called, ‘Bye, Katy. Maybe come back later?’
I gave him a nod and a wave and then I was off. And just arriving in my ward was Dad and the entire family: Clover, Elsie, Dorry, Jonnie and Phil, with Izzie herding them along. They’d bought Cecy too, who peered at me anxiously, biting her lip, looking terrified.
‘Hi everyone,’ I said.
‘Katy! What on earth are you doing wheeling yourself about like that? You know you’re meant to stay in your own ward,’ Izzie fussed.
‘I’m fine,’ I said irritably, though I was starting to feel terribly tired and it was an effort to hold myself upright in the stupid wheelchair.
‘Shall I help you back into bed?’ Izzie asked.
I longed to be lying flat in my bed, but I couldn’t bear the thought of the others seeing the whole horrible performance, my useless legs lolling.
‘No, I’m fine, I said,’ I insisted rudely. ‘Don’t you listen?’
Izzie would normally have told me off for talking back to her like that. Dad would normally be mad at me for cheeking her. But this wasn’t normal. They just pretended not to notice.
And I pretended not to notice that Cecy looked as if she wanted to bolt back down the ward, along the corridors and out of the hospital as fast as she could run.
I wanted to run. But I was stuck there.
‘Look! We’ve all made you presents, Katy,’ said Clover eagerly, thrusting a carrier bag on to my lap.
Clover had made me a cardboard box, decorating it with stickers and so much glitter that my hands were mottled silver just holding it.
‘Look inside,’ said Clover. ‘See? It’s got a special button and ribbon.’
I undid the box and saw Clover had drawn many pictures of us together, a tall stick Katy and a round rosy Clover. We were playing all kinds of games. She’d even drawn us in the secret garden in the cave under the willow tree.
‘It’s a memory box,’ said Clover proudly. ‘For you to remember all our happy times together.’
I had to fight not to burst into tears.
Elsie had been busy with crayons and scissors too. She’d made strange little paper replicas of all sorts of things: jeans, Doc Martens, books, CDs, even a mobile phone.
‘They’re all the things I’d buy you if I had lots of money,’ she said.
Everyone was looking at me, ready for me to praise Elsie and tell her I was thrilled. I struggled to find the right words.
Elsie mistook my hesitation.
‘Don’t you like them? I did make a skateboard and a bike, though its wheels went a bit wobbly, because I knew you’d like them best, but Mum said I mustn’t give you them because it wouldn’t be tactful,’ she piped up.
‘Elsie!’ Izzie hissed, giving her a little shake.
‘Well, that’s what you said,’ Elsie repeated.
‘All right, all right,’ said Dad. ‘Say thank you, Katy.’
‘Thank you, Elsie,’ I said obediently.
It was easier with Dorry and Jonnie and Phil. Dorry had made me sickly sweet fudge, seven pieces, which made a rectangle with one lump missing.
‘I needed to check it tasted OK,’ Dorry explained.
Jonnie had made me a loom band bracelet.
‘See? It’s got red in it, because it’s your favourite colour,’ she said.
I put the loom band bracelet on my wrist at once and nibbled at a square of fudge to show my appreciation.
Phil gave me a mysterious round newsp
aper parcel bound tightly with many strands of Sellotape.
‘I love using Sellotape,’ he told me unnecessarily as I struggled to pick open the many layers.
It took several minutes, and my hands were aching already because I’d had to waggle my fingers about during the boring physio session, but I carried on, smiling gamely, while Phil hopped from one leg to the other. Then when I got to the present at last I was a little bit at a loss.
It was a small round lump of play dough with matchsticks stuck into it.
‘Oh lovely! Play-Doh. Great,’ I said.
‘It’s me!’ Phil cried. ‘I’ve made you a Philly doll. See? Here’s my head and tummy and these are my legs and these are my arms.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Thank you very much, Phil. Thank you, everyone.’
There was a little silence. I saw Clover nudging Cecy.
‘I’ve brought you a present too,’ Cecy mumbled. She held it towards me uncertainly. Our fingers briefly touched as I took hold of the carefully folded pink tissue paper. Cecy snatched her hand away, as if paralysis was somehow catching.
I thought of the countless times we’d casually held hands or wandered along with our arms round each other, and this time great stinging tears spurted down my cheeks.
‘Why are you crying, Katy?’ Elsie asked. ‘Cecy’s present is the best of all. She’s already shown it to us. You’ll love it, honestly.’
I bent my head, undid a pink satin ribbon and opened up the tissue paper. There was a black oblong jewellery box inside. I thought of Helen’s silver seahorse necklace and felt a stab of shame. Cecy had given me a locket in the shape of a heart. It was inscribed with two words: Best Friend.
‘Oh Cecy. It’s lovely,’ I sniffed.
Cecy was crying too.
‘Do you really like it? You don’t think it’s too girly?’ she asked anxiously.
But she still stayed her distance and wouldn’t help me put it on. I did like it, and I knew it must have cost heaps of money. I’d have sooner she’d given me a paperclip necklace and a big hug.
The necklace proved useful during visiting time because whenever there was a little silence one of the littlies would say, ‘Can I look inside your locket, Katy?’ Cecy had inserted two heart-shaped photos: one of her and one of me.
There were a lot of silences. It wasn’t just simple shyness because of the horrible hospital setting. Perhaps it was because so many topics were awkward now. The twins said, ‘Guess what, Katy? We learned to skip yesterday.’ Then they both put their hands over their mouths, as if they’d said something dreadful. Even Clover did this, starting a tale about some dungarees she wanted Izzie to buy her, and then suddenly stopped, looking agonized.
‘It’s OK, Clover. I’ve still got legs, even if they don’t work. I can still wear dungarees if I want,’ I said.
I meant to reassure her, but the way I blurted it out sounded rude and nasty. Clover looked woebegone. I couldn’t bear it. These were my sisters and brothers and my best friend, yet we couldn’t seem to talk properly to each other any more.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, crying again.
They started to cry too, so Izzie took them all down to the car park because ‘We don’t want to tire poor Katy too much.’
Poor Katy. Oh God. I was bad naughty wilful tomboy funny bossy Katy, all these things, not poor.
Dad quietly took my hand.
‘We’re sorry too, chickie,’ he said. ‘It’s hard for us all. Especially you. But it will sort itself out. We’ll gradually get used to things.’
‘I don’t want to get used to being stuck in a wheelchair!’ I said. ‘You wait. I won’t have everybody pitying me. I will walk again. One of the boys in the next ward can walk a bit already; I’ve seen him when we go to physio. Up and down while holding on to these bars. I’m sure I could do that if they’d only let me.’
‘Perhaps he’s got a different sort of injury, darling,’ Dad said gently. ‘I think the wrong bit of your spine is affected. The nerves don’t generally ever start working again. I’m sorry. I hate having to dash your hopes, but I don’t want you to get any false expectations and then be devastated.’
‘One of the nurses said there’s this new research when they take nerves from up people’s noses and inject them into the spine,’ I said. She hadn’t been saying it to me, but I heard her talking to one of the other nurses. ‘They could do that to me and then I could learn to walk again.’
‘I’ve read about that procedure too, Katy, and it’s very exciting, I agree – but the techniques are still being developed, and we have no way of knowing whether it would work for everyone, or even be practical. Maybe one day it will all be possible, but not now, not for you.’
Then I did a terrible thing. I couldn’t bear Dad dashing all my secret hopes. He seemed to be trampling on everything, making it worse, though the sane part of me knew he was trying to be kind. I didn’t care. I felt so despairing that I told him to push off. But, like Dexter, I didn’t say push. I used another word. A word I’d never even said out loud before.
Dad looked terribly shocked. But even then he didn’t tell me off.
‘You’re tired and upset, Katy. Shall I help you into bed? Well, I’ll leave you now so you can calm down a bit. I’ll be back tomorrow. Goodbye, darling.’
I felt dreadful – so sorry, and yet somehow I couldn’t say it. I even turned my head away when he bent to kiss me. I was left slumped in my wheelchair, not able to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head. I was horribly exposed too. Naveen and her mum and all her aunties and whoever were all staring at me, shocked, because they’d heard me swearing at Dad. Marnie’s mum looked horrified too, though she was trying terribly hard to pretend nothing was the matter, dancing Marnie’s dollies around her bed. Only Rosemary’s parents nodded and smiled at me, as sweet and forgiving as their own little girl.
I sat on, feeling there was a spiked ring of shame all about me. Then Jasmine – oh thank God it was Jasmine – put her head round the door. She drew the curtains round my bed, helped me in, and then sat beside me while I wept. She didn’t say anything. She just held my hand, her thumb stroking me gently.
‘I said something dreadful to my dad,’ I muttered at last.
‘Oh well. I expect we’ve all said something dreadful to our dads. Never mind. You can be extra nice to him tomorrow,’ said Jasmine.
I resolved to do just that. I longed to see him, and yet when I saw him coming into the ward I felt sick with embarrassment and almost wished he’d turn on his heel and walk away again. I couldn’t look him in the eye as he came up to me.
‘How’s my girl?’ he said softly.
‘Oh Dad,’ I said.
We gave each other a long hard hug. I breathed in his lovely warm toasty clean smell, loving him so much.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ I whispered into his neck.
‘I’m sorry too, darling. Very, very sorry,’ said Dad, sounding a little choked.
‘What? I was the one who swore at you!’ I said, astonished.
‘Yes, and don’t you ever use that word again, young lady. But I can understand. Oh Katy, I got it all wrong. Call myself a doctor! I should be gently reassuring you, trying to help you be as optimistic as possible – and yet there I was, dashing all your hopes. I just wanted to try to be completely straight with you, but it went horribly wrong. I’m no expert, darling. Maybe you will be able to walk again one day. I wanted to help you adjust to things without any false hopes, but that’s going to take time. You must still be reeling from the shock of it all. I know I am. I don’t know what to think, what to do. Maybe that’s why I’m making such a hash of things.’ Dad still held me tight, as if he could never bear to let me go.
It was so strange to hear Dad say this. I didn’t really want him to say sorry to me and admit he felt at such a loss. I need Dad to be Dad, the person I loved and looked up to most in the world.
He was mumbling something now. I couldn’t quite catch what he said.
&nb
sp; ‘What, Dad? What did you say?’
Dad broke away, fumbling for a handkerchief.
‘Sorry, Katy. So sorry. I just said something about wishing your mother were here,’ he said, wiping his eyes and blowing his nose.
‘Oh Dad, so do I.’ I paused. ‘Dad, sometimes I thought – when I fell out the tree – and then just at first in the hospital – look, I know it sounds daft, I’m sure it was just my imagination, but Mum really did seem to be with me.’
I thought Dad would shake his head and give me some scientific reason why you dream of special people when your body’s in crisis – but he just stared at me.
‘What did she say? What did she look like?’ he asked with desperate eagerness.
This unsettled me all over again. Dad had always been so scornful and sceptical if I ever said I believed in ghosts or any kind of afterlife.
‘I – I can’t really remember now. It’s all so fuzzy and mixed up. But she looked just the same, with her ponytail – remember? – and she was lovely,’ I said, my voice wobbling.
‘She was always lovely,’ said Dad. ‘Oh Katy, I still miss her so.’
Dad would never usually talk about Mum, probably because he didn’t want to seem disloyal to Izzie.
‘I miss Mum too, Dad, so much,’ I said.
We sat holding hands, glad to be able to share this moment. Nobody else understand how we felt, not even Clover, because she didn’t really remember Mum, though she pretended she did. It was just Dad and me, aching for Mum to come back.
18
I hated it in the hospital, but in a weird way I started to get used to it. I never got used to my new hateful body with its useless bladder and bowels and dead legs, but at least it was the same for all of us patients. I got used to the dreary hospital routine, even the horrible toileting. I got used to the clank and chime of all the hospital sounds and the slight creak of my special spinal bed as the air pumped in and out. I got used to the dreary exercise routines when Vicky, the physiotherapist, held my legs and moved them around so they didn’t get stiff. I couldn’t really feel what she was doing. It was always a shock when I leaned forward and tried to move my legs with my own hands. They were such sad stick things but they seemed to weigh a ton when I hauled them just a few millimetres.
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