by Kim Slater
It should have been exciting but it wasn’t. It made me feel all shaky and sick, like when Tony got mad with Mum.
The tall man pulled and pushed the other person. He was definitely winning.
I looked around for Jean. I saw her shopping trolley and bags by the bench.
I moved a bit closer to get a better look at the two people fighting.
That’s when I realized.
One of them was Jean.
I ran down to the riverbank.
‘Police!’ I shouted.
The police weren’t there, but it was the right thing to shout because the man let go of Jean and looked round right and left.
His eyes looked wild and his long hair was all stuck to his face.
It was a technique called ‘bluffing’.
At school, if someone shouted ‘Scrap!’, everyone started running to the playground where the fights were, before they knew if it was true. Carlton Blake shouted it once when there wasn’t even a fight and stood laughing while everyone ran.
Jean’s nose was bleeding and she was holding her hand like she’d hurt it.
‘Help me,’ said Jean. Her voice sounded weak and she looked like she might faint and fall into the river.
‘Leave her alone,’ I shouted at the man. I copied Karwana with his strong, brave voice.
‘Bleep off!’ He snarled at me like a dog.
He took a step towards me.
‘It’s you, you little bleep!’ He remembered me from yesterday at the house.
When his face turned, I saw the scar.
‘It’s you!’ I shouted.
He took off running then. He was scared because I knew him.
I also knew where he lived.
But he didn’t know I knew that.
I took Jean over to sit down on the bench.
‘It’s him,’ Jean said. She was trying to get her breath. ‘It’s the man who . . . Colin . . .’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I know who he is and where he lives. I’ve been doing some detective work.’
I dabbed at her nose with a tissue from my satchel.
‘You might have broken your hand,’ I said. ‘You should go to the hospital.’
Jean started to sob. My stomach felt all twisted-up on itself. I’d never seen her cry like this before. Jean was tough and strong. This didn’t match how she should be.
‘He took my lad’s ring,’ she cried.
She held her hand up so I could see it was gone. Jean always wore a small gold sovereign ring on her middle finger. It was her son’s ring. He even had it on when he died in the motorbike accident.
‘He just wrenched it off,’ she said. ‘I begged him not to, but he wouldn’t listen.’
Jean couldn’t stop crying.
‘Shall we go and see my grandma now?’ I said.
It was like she couldn’t hear me. She had her arms wrapped round her shoulders and was rocking forwards and backwards.
‘We’ll miss the bus if we don’t go now,’ I said.
Jean wasn’t listening.
I sat with her for a while. I didn’t know what to do.
‘I promise I’ll get your ring back for you, Jean,’ I said. ‘I’ve got to go now.’
Before I got to the road, I looked back at Jean. She was still rocking and crying.
I walked up to the main road and waited at the bus stop. The digital sign said the bus to Mansfield would arrive in four minutes. There was a lady already waiting.
‘It’s cold today, isn’t it?’ she said.
It was stupid politeness again.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
She didn’t speak to me again.
The bus came. It said Mansfield on the front. The lady got on.
The rule is that the first person at the bus stop gets on before you, even if there are plenty of seats. Miss Crane went through it all with me in Social Skills.
It was the same rule if you were waiting for a lift, even if there was nobody in it when it came and you could both fit in easily. You still had to let the other person go first.
I stood back and let the lady get on.
I stepped up on to the bus next. It smelt funny so I stayed at the door.
‘I haven’t got all day,’ said the driver.
‘I want to go and see my grandma at the Ashfield Community Hospital,’ I said.
‘Single or return?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said.
The driver sighed.
‘Are you coming back today?’ he said.
I nodded.
‘That will be two pounds eighty for a return ticket then, please.’
I gave him the three pounds Mum gave me and he gave me back a twenty-pence piece and a ticket.
‘Keep your ticket safe,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to show it to the driver on the way back.’
It was a shame the bus didn’t have stairs. I wanted to sit up top, like I was in charge.
I sat near the back. It was 4.45 p.m.
I tucked the ticket inside my notebook and refastened my satchel.
At 4.55 p.m., I walked back down the aisle to the driver.
It was difficult walking when the bus was moving but not as hard as you might think it would be, because there are silver rails to hold on to, all the way down.
‘Are we nearly there?’ I asked.
The driver pulled a face. ‘Are you having a laugh? We’re not even out of Nottingham yet. We’re due to get there about five forty p.m.’
‘I’m worried the bus will go past my stop,’ I said.
‘Jeez, sit down, lad. I’ll tell you when we get there.’
I went back to my seat. It was great looking out from the bus, once you relaxed. You could see everything. You could tell from the place-name signs whereabouts you were.
The bus went through Bulwell, Hucknall and Newstead. I even saw the great big wheel, the Headstocks, that used to pull the cages up and down at Annesley colliery, before it closed down.
If Lowry had lived around here, he would have drawn the big pit wheel and all the miners scurrying around it.
I saw the gates of Newstead Abbey. Lord Byron used to live there. He was a famous poet, and Grandma said he was a bit of a bogger with the ladies.
I ate a slice of bread and some of the biscuits in my satchel.
Then we went through Kirkby and Sutton. I saw the res. ‘Res’ is the cool way to say ‘reservoir’, like some of the boys at school say ‘bro’ for ‘brother’. The res had ducks on it, but it wasn’t nearly as long as the Trent; it was more like a great big man-made pond.
‘Next stop is the hospital,’ the driver shouted.
There were only two other people on the bus. They turned round to see who the driver was telling.
I wanted to tell them I was going to see my grandma but Miss Crane said you shouldn’t tell people you don’t know your business, as they might think you were a bit odd. But when strangers spoke to me I had to be polite back. The rules were mental.
‘Thank you,’ I said to the driver.
I got off the bus and looked up the big driveway to the hospital. The buildings were massive. There were signs everywhere but none of them said Ward 6B.
It was a long way to walk up the drive, but I followed the signs for Reception. That’s where you always go to find out anything at a new place.
I walked up to the big desk. It was very brightly lit and warm inside the big room.
There were lots of people around, some walking, some sitting. Some people looked up when I went in, and some carried on reading or just looking down at the floor.
‘Can I help you?’ said the lady at the desk.
She smiled but it wasn’t real, like her boss had told her she had to do it.
‘I’ve come to see my grandma,’ I said. ‘Her name is Gladys Clements and Dr Craig told Jean she is on Ward Six B.’
She looked at me.
‘Have you got an adult with you?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I came he
re on the bus on my own.’
She tapped her pen on the desk like she was thinking about what to do.
It’s not going to work. It’s not going to work.
I did a bad thing.
‘My mum is on her way,’ I said. ‘It’s my job to find Ward Six B and ring her.’
The woman smiled, properly this time.
‘I see,’ she said. ‘In that case, you go straight down that corridor, turn right, turn right again, and it’s the third ward on the left.’
I kept saying the directions in my head while I walked.
When the lady on Reception first told me, it sounded like it would be quick to get there. But the corridors were crazy long. It took ages to walk up the first one. Then I turned right and it was a great, big long corridor again.
There was once a man who actually lived in a hospital in real life. I saw it on the news. He kept moving around different areas, so nobody noticed he was there. He lived in the hospital for weeks.
At the time, my mum had said, That’s stupid -someone would notice.’
But as I walked along I thought you could easily do it. Hospitals are massive, and in some of the corridors no one ever even walks past you.
I stood and looked at the double doors in front of me. The sign said Ward 6B.
I couldn’t move.
I felt scared and happy, worried and pleased.
I thought about what it felt like, staying in my room all night while Mum was with Tony and Ryan. I thought about Saturday nights at Grandma’s, watching telly and eating our treats.
The doors opened and a man came out pushing a trolley. He had a navy blue uniform on and a badge that said Porter.
I tried to get through before the doors closed.
‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘You can’t just waltz in. You have to ring the bell.’
He went down the corridor, whistling. He seemed to like his job, but all he was doing was pushing a trolley round.
I pressed the bell.
No answer.
I pressed it again.
‘Ward Six,’ a voice called out of the intercom.
‘It’s Kieran Woods,’ I said. ‘I’ve come to see my grandma.’
‘Patient’s name, please?’
‘Gladys Clements,’ I said.
‘Hold on.’
The doors opened and a nurse put her head out.
‘Are you a relative of Gladys Clements?’ She said.
‘She’s my grandma,’ I said.
‘How old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
Telling lies is BAD. Telling lies is BAD.
She opened the door to let me through.
‘We didn’t think she had any family,’ the nurse said. ‘She’s never had a visitor.’
We walked into the ward. There were four big spaces that led from the main bit in the middle. She took me to the far one.
There were six beds in it. Some people had visitors sat at their bedside.
‘Surprise, Gladys,’ the nurse said, smiling. ‘Visitor!’
She pulled back a curtain.
It didn’t look like Grandma.
I took a step back.
‘It’s OK,’ said the nurse. ‘She looks a bit scary, but it’s just the tubes.’
Grandma’s eyes opened wide, and filled with shiny tears, when she saw me.
There was a clear plastic mask over her nose and mouth. She had tubes on her arms and even up her nose.
When I looked past the plastic and tubes, I saw her. She looked the same behind it all.
I touched her cheek. It was still soft and warm like before. Tears were running down from her pale blue eyes but she looked happy.
I took a tissue out of the box on the side and wiped her eyes. I did it gently as a mouse.
I touched her hand and found a bit of skin that had no tubes stuck in it. Her hand felt thin, like tissue paper stretched over bird bones.
When I sat down next to her, I held her hand properly and I felt a tiny squeeze. It meant she was OK.
I started to talk.
Grandma was pleased, I could tell. She sort of just relaxed back into her pillow and closed her eyes. She was still listening because sometimes she opened her eyes and made them wide, like when I told her about finding Colin’s body and when the RSPCA came to take Tyson.
I told Grandma nearly everything that had happened.
I left out Tony hurting me and Mum, and also about the man attacking Jean. I remembered from Social Skills that when people are ill you have to think about what might upset them before opening your mouth.
When I told Grandma about Stephen being the security guard at the hostel and that I’d seen him talking to Mum, she did a strange little smile.
‘She won’t tell me anything,’ I said. ‘She said I have to wait until the time is right.’
I took the birthday card out of my satchel to show her. I opened it up so she could see the writing.
She closed her eyes and opened them again really quickly but it was longer than a blink and her lids looked damp again. She did another sad little half-smile and gave my hand a quick squeeze.
I had a feeling Grandma might know something about the puzzle, but she was trying to look like everything would be OK.
She squeezed my fingers loads when I told her about Martin Brunt. Grandma knew he was my favourite. When you know people really well, you understand stuff like that about them that strangers don’t.
‘I’ve painted you a seascape picture at school for when you get your house back,’ I said. ‘I forgot to bring it.’
The nurse came over.
‘Visiting time is finished now, love.’
‘I don’t want to go home,’ I said.
Grandma squeezed my hand and blinked her eyes. It meant it was OK to go.
I kissed Grandma on her forehead. Her and Mum are the only people I have ever wanted to kiss in my whole life.
‘When can she come out?’ I asked the nurse when we walked back to the middle bit of the ward.
‘She’s been very poorly,’ the nurse said. ‘She had a big heart operation but she’s on the mend now. A couple more days and we should be able to take out the tubes.’
I walked back down the corridors. I got lost twice.
I walked all the way down the main drive and waited at the bus stop opposite the one I got off at.
After about half an hour, a bus came that said Nottingham on the front. I showed my ticket to the driver and sat down.
I felt funny inside. Happy I’d managed to do this big thing on my own. Sad that grandma was so ill and had been all on her own.
I felt so proud of my grandma. She was small but she was strong inside. Her heart was cracked but she was getting better.
It was a brilliant feeling that scientists can’t prove.
It felt more real than anything else in the world.
I got off the bus and went straight to the embankment to see if Jean was there.
She wasn’t.
I hoped that she had gone to the hostel and wasn’t wondering around crying on her own, looking for her son’s ring.
It was dark and quiet by the river. The word ‘spooky’ is an adjective. An adjective describes a noun: The spooky river.
Using adjectives is a good way to get lots of marks in stories at school.
I looked at my watch. It was 9.45 p.m. I wasn’t always allowed to stay out this late. Mum was much more strict about when I came home before she worked all the time. Now she doesn’t seem to notice.
Before I set off home, I walked up to the other side of the estate and crept up to the corner of Scarface’s bedsit. The light was on.
I made a plan to come back tomorrow night a bit earlier, to see if he was out.
As I walked home, I heard shouting from youths on the streets a little way off. Before I turned on to the different roads, I stopped to check if everything was clear.
It felt like I was playing a game but it was real. If they caught me, they would do somethi
ng nasty.
I had all my precious things in my satchel. They didn’t mean anything to anyone but me, yet yobs would steal and ruin them if they got the chance. The incident would be just another circle on the police crime map. I don’t know why youths around here enjoy doing that sort of thing to people.
In the day, the streets of the estate were OK, but at night they changed. It was like there were different rules once it got dark.
I marched along with confidence, like Karwana. These were my streets too; they didn’t just belong to bully boys.
When I got back home, I turned the handle of the kitchen door slowly, so I could sneak in.
It was locked.
A bubble of panic popped into my chest.
It was really cold. If I slept outside, I might freeze to death.
Who would help Jean? Who would tell Mum about Grandma in hospital?
My hand seemed to take over, even though my mind said, ‘Don’t!’
I knocked on the back door.
I could hear the telly on as usual.
I counted to sixty, which is one minute.
Nobody came.
I knocked again.
I counted to one hundred and twenty, which is two minutes.
Then I knocked on the window.
The kitchen light came on and I saw Tony through the frosted glass.
The door opened really quickly, and Tony grabbed hold of my ear and pulled me inside with it. My ear was freezing; it felt like it was going to pull off if he didn’t let go.
I heard myself yell. It sounded like somebody else was making the noise.
‘Where have you been, you little bleep?’
He let go of my ear. It was throbbing. I touched it to check it was still there.
Tony pushed me back against the kitchen wall and I banged my head.
‘I didn’t know it was so late,’ I said.
I could smell drink on his breath. His eyes were streaked with red and he smelt of sweat.
You are a stinking, sweaty pig.
I said it in my head, so he couldn’t do anything about it.
‘Are you smirking at me you little—’
‘Tony, go in there, babe. I’ll deal with this,’ Mum said, grabbing his arm. She kissed him on the cheek. She gave me a secret wink to say she was trying to get me out of trouble.