by Sara Gethin
‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ She’s holding up her fingers again like she did in the kitchen.
‘Four,’ I say. ‘One more than last time.’
‘You’re fine.’ Miss is smiling now. ‘You don’t seem confused or sleepy at all. We just need to check out your foot and your finger, make sure you haven’t got any broken bones.’ She’s looking at my bump again. ‘Do you think it’ll be okay if I wash your hair? I’ll be able to see the cut on your head then.’
It would be nice to wash my hair. It feels yucky and it’s stuck down over my bump. ‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Lie back. I’ll get the shampoo.’ I’m lying back. The water is stinging a bit on my cut. ‘Up you get.’ Miss is making a lot of bubbles on my head. The shampoo is stinging a bit now. ‘Are you okay, Tomos?’ she says. I’m nodding and the bubbles are falling. They’re falling into the bath but she’s not letting them fall into my eyes. She’s wiping them away with the flannel.
‘I’m okay.’ The stinging is stopping. It’s stopping a bit.
‘You’re very brave.’ She’s looking at the bruises on my finger. And on my foot and on my back and on my neck. She’s looking at my side now. ‘These are nasty grazes.’
I say, ‘I got them from the carpet.’ I’m remembering the man. The one that came to our house and hurt Mammy. I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to remember him hurting Mammy anymore. ‘They’re getting better now.’
Miss is lifting me out of the bath. She’s putting a big towel round me. It’s warm and soft. ‘Right,’ she says. ‘I’ve got some clean clothes you can wear. It’s a school uniform but it’ll have to do.’
‘Are we going to school?’ I’m rubbing myself with the towel. It’s very very soft. It feels lovely.
Miss is shaking her head. ‘It’s still the school holidays. But it’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid.’ She’s helping me to get dressed. She’s pulling the white top over my head. It smells lovely.
‘Are these your little boy’s clothes?’
‘No, I don’t have a little boy, Tomos. These are the clothes you get changed into in school sometimes, remember? I brought them home to wash for the start of term.’ She’s picking up my dirty tee shirt and my trousers. ‘I’ll pop these in the washing machine later.’
‘Wait!’ I’m grabbing my trousers. I’m finding the bits of my label. I’m taking them out of my pocket.
‘What have you got there, Tomos?’
I’m showing Miss the bits. ‘My sparkly label. It’s all ripped now, but I still like it.’ I’m putting the bits on the floor. I’m trying to make the words look right again and I’m reading the label to Miss. ‘To Mammy, Love from Tomos.’
She’s nodding. ‘Well done. It’s like a jigsaw now, isn’t it? And you’ve put the bits back together again.’ She’s smiling a bit but her eyes look sad. ‘Keep them safe in the pocket of your clean trousers and let’s get your socks on.’ She’s still smiling a bit. ‘Then we’d better go to A&E.’
* * *
We are in Miss’s car. We’re on our way to A&E. We have left my truck in Miss’s house. And my fifty pence and Nanno’s letter. Miss says they will be safe there. And we have been making a plan.
‘So just agree with whatever I say,’ Miss says.
‘I agree,’ I say. I like the word agree. Sometimes Dat says ‘This is the best cup of tea ever. Do you agree, Tomos?’ Then we clink our mugs together and I say ‘I agree, Dat.’
I’m sitting in the back of Miss’s car. Miss has done all the buttons up on my white top. The collar is very tight on my neck. It’s squashing my bruises a bit.
‘I mean, don’t say anything,’ Miss says.
I’m not saying anything. I’m just shaking my head. Now I’m nodding.
‘Keep your chin down and try not to fiddle with your collar. It’s covering your bruises. We mustn’t let the doctor see them.’ I’m trying not to fiddle. I am trying not to fiddle with my collar. ‘And now your hair’s clean, your bump is completely hidden. And it’s only a little cut after all. It doesn’t need stitches. And they won’t ask you to undress just to have your finger and foot examined, so they won’t see the bruises on your back. Or the grazes. Do you remember your new name?’ Miss is talking very very fast.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s Henry Lewis.’
‘Well done, Tomos.’ Miss is smiling at me in the little mirror. ‘I mean, Henry.’
‘Am I Henry Lewis for always?’ I say. I don’t want to be Henry Lewis for always. I like being Tomos Morris.
‘No, not for always. Just for a little while. Do you think you can do that?’
‘Yes. Easy peasy. I like pretending games. I’d like to be a signal man,’ I say. ‘Or an aeroplane, but I don’t mind being a Henry. Have you really got a son called Henry Lewis?’
‘No, I haven’t got a son, remember? Henry is my nephew.’ We’re turning into a car park. Miss’s car is slowing down. ‘And it’s best if you stick to your own birthday. It would be too complicated to try and learn Henry’s. Do you know your birthday?’
‘Yes, Nanno taught me. It’s August 28th.’
‘Oh yes,’ Miss says. ‘You’re the youngest child in my class. If you were born a few days later, you’d be in Reception with Miss Parsons.’
‘I’m glad I’m not in Reception,’ I say. I like Miss Parsons. She says, ‘Hello, Tomos,’ when she sees me in the playground. Or in the hall at dinner time. But I don’t want to be in her class. I like being in Miss’s class. I like it in Year One. And after Year One it is Year Two. That is Mrs Pugh Year Two’s class. I don’t want to be in her class. I don’t want to be in her class at all. ‘Can I always be in your class, Miss? I like it in your class. Can I stay there forever?’
Miss is smiling. ‘Well, you’re in my class for now. We can think about what happens later another time.’ She’s stopping the car. ‘Here we are.’ Miss is getting out. She’s coming to open my door. She’s looking at her watch. ‘Half past five. Colin will be leaving his mum’s nursing home at seven o’clock. He’ll be really annoyed if I’m not at home when he gets back.’ She’s still talking very fast. She’s biting her lip. ‘Let’s hope they don’t keep us here for hours.’ She’s picking me up. ‘I’ll have to carry you because you’ve only got socks on. I should have remembered to pick up some shoes from your house.’ She’s puffing a bit. ‘But we were in a hurry to get away.’
I’m glad we didn’t get shoes. I like Miss carrying me. And my foot hurts when I walk.
We’re at the hospital doors. They are opening all by themselves. ‘Right. Here we go.’ Miss is putting me down. My foot’s hurting a bit.
‘Hello,’ a lady says. She’s looking through a hole in the wall. It’s a square hole with glass in it. The lady’s smiling at Miss. ‘Can I help you?’
Miss is smiling at the lady. ‘I was hoping to get my son’s hand checked.’
The lady is smiling at me now. I’m showing her my finger. The one that’s a funny colour. ‘Oh! How did you do that?’
‘He got it jammed in a cupboard. Didn’t you, Henry?’ Miss is looking at me. I’m nodding and I’m still keeping my chin down. ‘And he’s hurt his foot, too,’ Miss says. ‘My mum rushed to help him when he got his finger caught, and she accidentally stood on his foot.’ I’m nodding again. And I’m not fiddling with my collar.
‘Oh, what bad luck,’ the lady says. ‘You have been in the wars. Well, I’ll just take some details.’ She’s still smiling at me. ‘Then we’ll ask the doctor to look at your hand and your foot. Right then, your name is Henry.’ She’s tap tapping on something. ‘What’s the surname?’
‘Lewis,’ Miss says. I’m nodding. And I’m keeping my chin down.
‘Lewis,’ the lady says. She’s tapping again. ‘Date of birth?’ She’s looking at Miss.
I say, ‘August 28th.’ And Miss is saying the year.
‘And you’re his mum,’ the lady says. Miss is nodding and I’m nodding. Because I have to agree with Miss. ‘Your name
?’
‘Elaine,’ Miss says. ‘Elaine Lewis.’ I’m nodding again.
‘Address?’
‘Ten, The Orchards, Basingstoke. We’re on holiday in Carmarthen. We’re visiting my mother.’
‘Postcode?’ The lady is still tapping.
Miss is biting her lip. ‘RG… nineteen.’ She’s biting her lip again. ‘Sorry, we haven’t been at that address long.’
The lady is smiling. ‘I’m the same. Can’t remember my phone number half the time.’
‘RG nineteen two PR,’ Miss says fast fast. I’m nodding.
‘Good,’ the lady says. She’s tap tap tapping. ‘GP name and surgery address?’
Miss is biting her lip again. ‘Oh, I don’t know it off the top of my head,’ she says. ‘We’ve only just registered with them.’
‘That’s okay.’ The lady’s still tap tapping. ‘We can get those details later.’
I’m looking at the people sitting down. There’s a girl. She’s crying. She’s sitting on a lady’s lap. There’s an old man too. He’s in a wheely chair.
‘Right, then,’ the lady says. ‘You take a seat and someone will see to Henry as soon as possible.’
‘Thank you.’ Miss is holding my hand. Her fingers are very shaky. ‘Come on, Henry, let’s find a seat.’
I am going with Miss and I am keeping my chin down. Miss is keeping her chin down too. She’s looking round the room a bit. ‘Good,’ she says. She’s saying it quietly. ‘There’s nobody here I know.’ She’s lifting her chin up now. We’re going to find a seat. The floor is slippy. My socks are sliding over it. ‘Be careful,’ Miss says. ‘We don’t want you hurting yourself again.’
We’re sitting down. Miss is putting her arm round me. It’s nice to have Miss’s arm round me. We are pretending. We’re pretending that she is my mammy and I am her little boy. I like pretending. I like pretending to be Henry Lewis.
It’s quite noisy. The girl is crying a lot. The old man is shouting. He’s shouting to the lady next to him. ‘I only bent down to switch on the gas fire.’ He’s saying it loud. ‘And I felt my back go. Big click there was. Couldn’t straighten up.’ The man is talking a lot. He’s talking about ambulances and doctors. He’s talking about injections and operations.
‘It’s noisy in here, isn’t it, Henry?’ Miss says. I am nodding and I’m keeping my chin down. I’m trying not to fiddle with my collar but it’s very tight. Miss is picking up a magazine. It was on the table. Her hand is very shaky. She’s showing me the cover. ‘Shall we play spot the word, Henry?’ Her voice is shaky too. ‘Can you see the word “hello”?’ It’s very easy to find the word hello. I’m pointing to it. ‘Well done, Henry.’ Her voice is still very shaky.
‘I’ve got a bad back anyway, though,’ the old man is saying. He’s saying it very loud. ‘I’m eighty-two. Arthritis, see.’
The lady next to him is nodding. ‘My dad’s got a bit of arthritis. He’s eighty-six. Had terrible stomach pains this afternoon. Bent double, he was. He’s being seen to now.’
Miss is turning the pages. ‘What about the word “you”?’
‘I’m bent double at the best of times,’ the man says. ‘I wish they’d hurry up. I’ve been here hours.’ He’s very loud.
I’m looking at the big writing. The big writing at the top of the page. I’m pointing to the word you. ‘How about “out”?’ Miss says. I’m looking again. I’m pointing to it. She’s turning the pages. The magazine is shaking. ‘What about…’
Some big doors are opening. A man in a blue uniform has come in. ‘Mrs Joyce?’ he says. ‘Relative of Mr Ray Williams?’ He’s saying it loud. He’s looking round the room.
The lady next to the old man is getting up. ‘Yes, I’m his daughter.’
‘The doctor wants to see you,’ the man in the blue uniform says. ‘He wants to have a word about your father.’ The lady is going with the man and the big doors are closing.
‘That doesn’t sound good,’ the old man says. He’s saying it to Miss. He’s saying it loud. ‘It’ll be appendicitis, or gall stones. Could be cancer at that age.’
Miss is smiling a bit at him. She’s looking at the magazine now. ‘What about…’ The man has started talking again. He’s telling us he is eighty-two. He’s telling us about his back and his gas fire. ‘What’s wrong with you then?’ he says. He’s looking at me.
‘My son’s hurt his finger,’ Miss says. ‘We thought we’d better get it checked.’
I’m holding up my finger and I’m keeping my chin down. ‘Nasty that,’ he says. ‘Perhaps the doctor will chop it off.’ The man is laughing and laughing. He’s very loud. I don’t like him laughing. I don’t like him laughing at me. I don’t want the doctor to chop off my finger. My collar feels very tight.
‘The doctor won’t do that.’ Miss is squeezing my shoulder. The man is still laughing. Everyone’s looking at him. The girl has stopped crying. She’s looking at him laughing. My collar feels very very tight. Miss is squeezing my shoulder again. I’m looking up at her.
The man has stopped laughing now. He’s pointing. He’s pointing to me. ‘What’s he done there?’ His voice is very very loud. He’s still pointing to me. ‘What are all those bruises?’ Everyone is looking at me now. They are all looking and looking. I am taking my hand away. I’m taking it away fast from my collar. And I’m putting my chin down. But the man is still looking at me.
‘Good God,’ he says. ‘Who tried to strangle him?’
* * *
The old man has gone. A lady in a blue uniform called him. His name was Mr Preece. Mr Frank Preece. And he waved to the lady. And she came and pushed his wheely chair. She pushed it through the big doors.
‘It’s okay, Tomos,’ Miss says. She’s saying it very very quietly. ‘The nurse didn’t see your neck and that woman and her daughter were too far away to see properly. And I’m sure that old man will forget all about it now he’s with the nurse and the doctor.’ She’s smiling at me. ‘He’ll be telling them about his gas fire and that he’s eighty-two.’
I’m smiling too. ‘And that his back made a big click.’ I’m tucking my chin down tight. ‘I didn’t mean to fiddle with my collar. It was an accident. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, Tomos.’ Miss is saying it very very quietly. She’s smoothing my hair. ‘You don’t have to say sorry. It shouldn’t be like this.’ She’s smoothing and smoothing my hair. ‘But I’m afraid I can’t think of a better plan.’ She’s getting her phone out of her bag.
‘Did Mammy ring you?’
Miss is looking at her phone. ‘No, not yet.’
‘I think she’s not coming back,’ I say. I’m remembering Brick. I’m remembering him saying that. ‘I think I made her sad.’
‘Oh no, Tomos,’ Miss says. ‘I’m sure you didn’t make her sad. Why do you think that?’
‘Because she cried a lot,’ I say, ‘before she went away.’ I’m remembering the horrible night. The night the men came. The night the man with the web tattoo hurt Mammy. ‘She told me to go to my room, and I didn’t go.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that didn’t make her sad.’ Miss is smoothing my hair.
I’m thinking again. ‘Or it might be because of Luke.’
‘Luke?’ Miss says. She’s stopped smoothing my hair. She’s turning in her chair. She’s looking at me. ‘What about Luke?’
I’m remembering Mammy holding my hand on the stairs. I’m trying to remember what she said about Luke. ‘Mammy said she sees him instead of me.’ I’m remembering the way she looked at me. The way she looked at me when she was holding my hand. ‘It makes her sad.’
‘Oh,’ Miss says.
‘I don’t know who Luke is,’ I say. I’m feeling sleepy. The nurse is calling the girl. Her name is Emma Roberts. She’s started to cry again.
‘No,’ Miss says. ‘No, you don’t know him.’
I am very sleepy. I’m putting my head on Miss’s lap. She’s smoothing my hair and I’m very sleepy. I’m very very sleepy.
* *
*
I am in a car. A very fast car. I’m watching the houses and the people and the dogs go past. But I can’t see them very well. The car is going too fast.
I want to drive the car. I want to make it go fast too. But I’m in the back and it’s hard to drive when you’re in the back. I’m trying to make my arms long and my legs long. I’m trying to touch the steering wheel with my long arms. But I’m too far away. My fingers can’t touch the steering wheel at all.
A man is in the front. He’s driving the car. I can see the back of his head. I was hoping Miss was driving the car. I was hoping and hoping. But it isn’t Miss’s head I can see. And it’s not Miss’s eyes in the mirror. The eyes in the mirror are brown like my eyes. And they’re looking and looking at me.
‘Hello,’ the man’s eyes say. They look friendly. The friendly eyes are smiling at me. There’s a web tattoo round one of them.
I can see his mouth now. I can see it in the mirror. His mouth is smiling at me too. ‘Hello, Tomos,’ his mouth says. It’s smiling and smiling and smiling and smiling. And his web tattoo is stretching. And his mouth is full of blood.
Miss’s lap has jumped. ‘Henry, Henry.’ She’s rubbing my back. ‘The nurse is calling us.’ Miss is lifting me up. She’s carrying me through the big doors. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘He was fast asleep.’
‘That’s okay,’ the lady in the blue uniform says. ‘First door on the left. Dr Hirani’s waiting for you.’ Miss is carrying me through another door.
There’s a man sitting on a chair. He’s wearing a white coat. ‘Hello,’ he says. ‘What can I do for you?’ He’s pointing to another chair.
Miss is sitting down. I am on her lap. I’m still sleepy. I’m trying to wake up. I’m trying to wake up fast. I’m pulling up my collar. ‘My son jammed his finger,’ Miss says. ‘I’m worried he’s broken it.’ She’s holding my hand. She’s showing the doctor my finger.
‘I see.’ The doctor’s touching my finger. He’s moving it one way. Now he’s moving it another way. ‘Does it hurt?’ It is hurting. It’s hurting a bit. I’m nodding. And I’m trying to keep my chin down. ‘I don’t think it’s broken,’ the doctor says. ‘But perhaps we ought to make sure.’