One day I started drawing both of us racing each other along American highways on huge great motorbikes, but I got a bit stuck, not knowing exactly the position of the wheels or the right shape of the handlebars. Dexter didn’t offer to help. He was unusually quiet.
‘Dexter? Come on, show me how to draw it. I bet you know all about motorbikes,’ I said.
‘I know nothing about them. Surely that’s obvious,’ said Dexter, and he suddenly wheeled himself right out of the ward, leaving his sketchbook behind.
I stared after him, wondering what on earth I’d done to upset him. Then I looked down at my clumsy motorbike sketch.
I waited until Jasmine came into the ward.
‘Jasmine, did Dexter have a motorbike accident? Is that how he smashed his back?’
‘You’ll have to ask Dexter. We’re not supposed to give out information like that,’ she said.
‘Yes, but you know how touchy he is. I don’t want to upset him. I just started drawing a motorbike and he went all weird,’ I said.
‘Well … yes, he would do. All right, he was in a motorbike accident. Apparently he lost control and went hurtling over and over. It was amazing he didn’t kill himself – or anyone else for that matter.’
‘But he’s only sixteen. I didn’t think you could ride a motorbike till you were older.’
‘He was larking around with some older lads, desperate to show off – you know what Dexter’s like. One of them had a motorbike and Dexter begged to have a go. He was only supposed to ride it to the end of the road, dead slow, but he revved up instead. Idiotically.’
‘Oh, poor Dexter.’
‘The police have been involved, of course, but I hope they’ll think Dexter’s been punished enough.’ Jasmine shook her head. ‘You kids! I don’t know why I do this job sometimes. It’s heartbreaking.’
I tore the motorbike page into little pieces. I waited till the next day and then put the sketchbook on my lap and wheeled it in to Dexter.
‘Hi. You left this behind,’ I said.
‘Thanks.’ He didn’t smile, he didn’t even look me in the eye, but at least he wasn’t lying on his back with his hand over his face.
‘Dexter, I didn’t know. About the motorbike. But Jasmine told me,’ I said haltingly.
‘Right.’
‘I know how you feel.’
‘No, you don’t!’
‘Yes, because my accident was all my fault too. I tried to make a swing and I didn’t tie the rope properly to the tree branch. It wasn’t even a real swing; it was just a stupid piece of rope. I was supposed to be staying indoors in disgrace because I’d disobeyed my stupid stepmother, but I wanted to show them that I didn’t care, that I could have fun on my own. It drives me mad sometimes, thinking about it. I see myself tying that rope over and over again. I try and rewind that bit in my head, getting the right sort of knot, which is totally crazy, because it’s happened and here I am. It makes it worse that it’s all my fault. So see, I do understand.’
Dexter looked at me at last.
‘OK. Agreed. Stop being so wise and mature when you’re just a squidgy little kid.’
‘I’m not squidgy. I’m tall. Very tall. I bet if we could both stand I’d be much taller than you. It’s so weird being hunched up all the time. It’s as if someone really has chopped my legs off. I wish they would. Useless things.’ I punched them again.
‘You’re not supposed to do that. You’ll hurt them without realizing.’
‘I know. They all keep nagging me about it. But sometimes I want to hurt them.’
‘Yeah, me too.’
‘See. You understand me. We’re a pair.’
‘We are.’
‘We belong together.’
‘What? Are you asking me to hook up with you, little girl?’ said Dexter, laughing.
I punched him on his shoulder. ‘Shut up! You know I didn’t mean that. I meant we’re mates. Aren’t we?’
‘Yes, we are. True mates,’ said Dexter. ‘And we’ll make a pact. We’ll keep in touch when we’re out of this dump, and when you’re old enough we’ll go on holiday together, you and me doing wheelies up and down the prom or whatever, OK?’
This seemed a blissful idea to me. I almost stopped minding that Clover and Elsie and Dorry and Jonnie and Phil were all whooping it up on the beach without me.
At least I had Dad coming in every day. He was trying to make an extra fuss of me, bringing me special presents each time: a box of four expensive truffles; a rosy cake of soap; a little toy felt mouse; a paperback of Anne Frank’s diary.
I started reading the diary straight away. We’d learned about Anne Frank in Year Six and read a couple of extracts, but I didn’t realize how good the whole diary was – and how terrifying and upsetting too. I got Dad’s point. Anne hadn’t lost the use of her legs, but she was equally imprisoned in that secret hiding place in Amsterdam during the last world war, unable to walk about freely for years.
I started to feel tremendously fond of Dad. He’d never given me special presents just for me before. I looked forward to his evening visits enormously. So it was a surprise – and a huge disappointment – to see Izzie walk into the ward on Thursday evening.
‘Izzie? How come you’re back? I thought you were all on holiday till Saturday? And where’s Dad?’
She sat beside me on the bed. I loved it if Dad did that, but I hated the slight weight of her pulling the covers. I fidgeted irritably.
‘I’ve brought you a present from Wales,’ she said, handing me a carefully wrapped parcel, shiny red paper with a red satin ribbon.
It perversely annoyed me that she remembered red was my favourite colour. I unwrapped the parcel quickly. It was a white T-shirt with a picture of a red Welsh dragon, and red-and-white striped socks to match. There was also a pair of soft black jogging bottoms too, carefully styled, not too baggy.
These were good presents. I was running out of things to wear now that I was in a wheelchair. The physios didn’t like me wearing my jeans because they said they were too tight. I mustn’t have anything too restrictive that could cut or chafe without my realizing. I’d been making do with old joggers that were washed-out and hideous, and I hadn’t bothered with my T-shirts, wearing the same one day after day.
‘Thank you, Izzie,’ I said, not bothering to sound properly grateful. ‘So, come on, why are you here instead of Dad? Why did the holiday end early?’
Perhaps the kids had all moped about, not bothering to dig sandcastles or go paddling. It’s no fun without Katy, they’d whine. We miss Katy so. Day after day. So eventually Izzie grew fed up and bundled them all back home two days early.
‘The children are still in Wales, Katy. They’re there till Saturday,’ said Izzie.
‘But who’s looking after them if you’re here?’ I asked.
‘Your dad,’ said Izzie.
‘What? But he has to be here, he has to come and see me,’ I said.
‘He’s been seeing you every day and he’s getting thoroughly worn out. I persuaded him to swap with me for the last couple of days. He drove to Wales last night in the Nissan and I drove back in it this morning.’
‘Oh,’ I said flatly.
‘Don’t look like that, Katy. He’s just got two days! He needs a proper break. Haven’t you noticed how thin he’s been getting? And he’s been having terrible headaches. He stays up half the night poring over medical stuff about spinal injuries on the internet.’
‘He’s looking for a cure? But he said there wasn’t one, not yet.’
‘Yes, but he’s checking everything out even so, and wondering about other rehabilitation centres, different treatments, anything that could improve your quality of life.’
‘And meanwhile I’m stuck here in this dump and I don’t get a holiday at all,’ I said.
‘Well, we think it might be time for you to come home. Mr Pearson says your back wound has healed nicely. You can manage your wheelchair. The nurses say you’re very independent. You’ve lear
ned how to transfer yourself in and out of it. Your arms are strong even though you’re so thin. You’ve obviously got good muscles.’ Izzie leaned over and gently squeezed the top of my arm.
‘Don’t!’ I said, trying to lean away. I couldn’t stand her touching me.
‘So anyway,’ said Izzie, trying not to look rebuffed. ‘We’re wondering about you coming home next week.’
‘Next week?’ It was hard to take it in. I’d begged to go home every day, but in the way little Phil begged to drive Dad’s car. It hadn’t really felt possible, not yet. ‘But who will help me shower? Or do all the stupid boring exercises with me? Who will put me to bed? And – and what about the toilet stuff? Will I have to have my own special nurse at home?’
‘We’re hoping that someone trained will come in mornings and evenings just at first. But I’m sure I’ll soon get the hang of it, Katy,’ said Izzie.
‘What?’
‘Do stop saying that. It sounds horrible.’
‘But I don’t want you to do it!’
‘Who else have you got in mind?’ Izzie asked sharply.
I struggled to think of some other solution. I couldn’t bear the thought of Dad helping me either. Or Clover. But for it to be Izzie! She’d fuss and boss me about and I’d be so helpless, reduced to infancy with a mother figure that I couldn’t stand.
I thought of my own mum and wept bitterly, longing for her more than ever. I dreamed about her that night. We were both in wheelchairs but we didn’t care. We raced along the streets together, hair flying, going so fast that we flew into the air and bowled along the blue sky.
19
I went up and down the ward saying goodbye to Naveen and Marnie and Rosemary. They all three cried, even stoic little Rosemary, and that upset me most of all. And it was worse going to say goodbye to Dexter.
‘It won’t be the same without you, kid,’ he said, in an American gangster accent.
‘Perhaps I could come and visit sometimes?’ I said hopefully.
‘Are you mad? You can’t come back here!’
‘You’ll be going home soon yourself anyway.’
‘Yes, that’s going to be a bundle of laughs too.’
‘And you’ve got my email address. You’ll keep in touch, won’t you, Dexter?’ I clutched his arm. ‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Then Jasmine came to take me away. I clung to her too, wishing I could stand up and have a proper hug with her. It was so hard being stuck at waist level now.
‘I’ll miss you so, Jasmine,’ I said into her stomach.
‘I’ll miss you too, chickie.’
‘Even though I’ve been grumpy and difficult sometimes?’
‘Incredibly grumpy. Incredibly difficult. But very lovable. I’m going to miss you heaps,’ said Jasmine.
Then Dad and Izzie arrived to take me down to the car.
‘Where are all the others? Didn’t they want to come too?’ I asked.
‘They’re back at school,’ said Izzie.
That was a bit of a shock. The whole long summer holidays had been and gone and I’d missed it all. And now all my year, Cecy and Ryan and Eva and everyone, had gone off to secondary school without me. I’d missed the first day, the most important time, when you made sure you were sitting next to your best friend, and you checked out everything together, and you visited the girls’ cloakrooms in a pair just in case all those silly rumours about ducking new girls’ head first in the toilets happened to be true.
I thought about going to school in a wheelchair – and I felt sick.
It was even scary going down in the hospital lift and along all the corridors, past the busy cafe and over to the main exit. There were so many people everywhere, rushing and jostling, all of them towering above me. And they stared. Some did it discreetly, with quick little sideways glances. Others did it blatantly, peering at my useless legs. One old woman shook her head and tutted.
I felt myself going as scarlet as my T-shirt. I’d been insistently wheeling myself, but I was glad when Dad took over and got me away from them all. It was a nightmare transferring from my chair to the car seat. I’d practised this a hundred times with a dummy car seat back in the hospital, but it seemed so much more difficult with a real car. I so wanted to be independent, but in the end Dad had to get in the driver’s seat and pull me in, while Izzie clutched at my legs and hauled them into place. She tried to do up the seat belt for me too, as if my arms didn’t work either.
‘Off we go. Home sweet home!’ said Dad, in a determinedly cheerful voice.
‘Hurray,’ I said flatly. I felt like bursting into tears. I didn’t understand. I’d so longed to go home but now I wanted Jasmine to come rushing out of the hospital, insisting that I was far too ill to go anywhere.
Dad squeezed my hand. ‘It’s a bit of an ordeal, isn’t it?’ he said softly.
I nodded, shutting my eyes to keep the tears under control.
We set off. Dad usually hated the car radio but he turned it to a music station and actually tried to hum along to the tunes in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. I stared out of the window. It was so odd being outside. The streets didn’t seem real somehow. The whole town looked like images on television. I didn’t feel real either. I wasn’t me any more. I was this sad invalid girl sliding uncomfortably around on the front seat, my wheelchair clanking about in the back.
Then we turned into our street and I shrank down further in my seat, my head bent, suddenly terrified that someone would see me. I couldn’t stand the thought of them shaking their heads pityingly, trying to talk to me in a baby voice as if I’d lost my senses as well as the use of my legs.
It was a terrible performance transferring out of the car back into my wheelchair, with Dad and Izzie fumbling and pushing all over again.
‘Oh dear, maybe we’ve taken you out of hospital too early, Katy,’ said Izzie.
‘Nonsense. We’ll soon get the hang of it all,’ said Dad. ‘Katy will do so much better at home, won’t you, darling?’
I didn’t know. I didn’t think I was going to be able to cope anywhere. I felt so tired and weak and awful that I just wanted to lie down. But Dad and Izzie commanded me to look up, and I saw the children had put a big banner up over the front door saying WELCOME HOME, KATY! I was appalled that it was there, because that meant everyone in the whole street would have seen it, and maybe they’d come knocking and peering and I couldn’t bear it. But I managed to give a grim little smile.
‘How lovely,’ I said.
‘They’re all so excited that you’re coming home at last,’ said Izzie. ‘It was a really hard job getting them into school this morning. But I thought it might be a bit much for you if they were all clamouring at once.’
I didn’t want her to be so wretchedly thoughtful. I didn’t want to be grateful. But I managed to stay smiling as they wheeled me up a new little ramp to the front door.
‘We didn’t want to have to jolt you up the steps each time,’ Izzie said.
Then we were in the hall. I looked at all the stairs.
‘So how am I going to get up there?’ I asked.
‘Well, we’ll probably get a stairlift installed. We’ve had discussions with Social Services, but it’s going to take forever being assessed and filling in all the paperwork and I doubt we’d qualify for help anyway, so maybe we’ll manage everything ourselves,’ said Dad.
‘Yes, but how am I going to get up to my bedroom now?’ I said, and I couldn’t stop myself wailing petulantly.
I so longed to be up in my own bed at last, with all my things around me and Clover close by.
‘Well, we thought for the moment, until we can make all the right changes, you’d be happier in the library,’ said Izzie. ‘It worked very well while Helen was here. Come and look. We’ve made it as nice as we can.’
‘Izzie’s worked so hard to make it look special,’ Dad murmured. ‘And you’ve always said the library is your favourite place in the house. Think how lovely it will be to ha
ve all the books around you all the time.’
But they were all Dad’s books, not mine. There were a whole load of medical books, some of them really old, with weird pictures of people’s insides. Clover and I used to giggle over them in secret, but they weren’t books I could ever read. Then there were Dad’s yellow cricket books, and they were beyond boring. He had a lot of novels too, but not the sort I liked, with easy stories and lots of drama. I didn’t mind his old children’s books – some of them were my favourites too, like the big Orlando picture books and Wind in the Willows and the Narnia stories and The Hobbit, but I’d read all these already.
The bookshelves took up all three walls, and the fourth was mostly window, so I couldn’t have any of my posters up. My bed was now stuck in a corner, with my bedside table beside it, but neither looked as if it belonged. There were strange new ornaments arranged on the table, all of them made out of seashells. There were three shells with inked-on faces and stuck-on woolly bits.
‘The children all made you presents when we were at Nefyn,’ said Izzie. ‘Dorry and Jonnie made spider shells; Phil says his is an octopus. But to be truthful I can’t tell them apart.’
I looked at the spiders and the octopus without comment. There was also a little box studded in seashells. The shells were carefully arranged in a pretty pattern. I reached out and ran my finger over the wavy shells.
‘Clover and Elsie worked together for ages. They hardly needed any help. Haven’t they done it splendidly?’ said Izzie. ‘It’s a jewellery box. It’s so you can keep your mother’s watch and your special locket and Helen’s seahorse necklace in it. Incidentally, I can’t find it. You must tell me where you keep it, Katy.’
I thought of the broken chain hidden in my treasure box and I started sobbing.
‘Oh darling, don’t cry so. You’re just tired out,’ said Dad. ‘We’ll get you into bed and you can have a little nap.’
He left Izzie to yank my jogging bottoms and knickers off and stuff my legs into pyjamas. I cried all the way through this awkward procedure. I’d never let Izzie dress or undress me before and it was terribly humiliating having her help me now.
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