other children in the ward. They were all sitting or lying on their beds. All were silent, and no one paid this new boy much attention. Boredom hung in the still, stuffy air. It was more like an old people’s home than a children’s ward.
In the nearest bed was a plump-looking boy in an old pair of spotty pyjamas that were too small for him. He was flicking through a dog-eared picture book of helicopters, and sneakily munching on some chocolates he had hidden under his bed sheet. The name George was chalked on a blackboard above his bed.
Next to him was a short, slight boy with neatly combed ginger hair. He must have had an operation on his eyes as they were covered with bandages. So covered, in fact, that it would be impossible to see anything. A tall pile of classical music CDs and a CD player sat on his side table. The boy’s pyjamas were much smarter than George’s, and he wore them neatly with the top button done up. Over his bed in chalk was the name Robin.
Across the ward from him was a girl with a bob of black hair and round glasses. Startlingly, she had both her legs and arms in plaster. All four of her limbs were being held aloft by a complex series of pulleys and winches. She looked like a puppet on strings. On her blackboard it read Amber.
Then in the far corner of the ward, away from the other children, Tom noticed a sorrowful figure. It was a girl, but it was hard to tell her age as it looked as if illness had weakened her. A few wispy strands of hair sat on top of her head. Above her bed was chalked the name Sally.
“Say hello to everyone, young sir,” prompted the porter.
Tom felt shy, so muttered, “Hello,” as quietly as he could get away with, without being told to repeat himself.
There was a vague murmur of “hellos” in return, though Sally remained silent.
“This must be your bed, right here,” slurred the porter as he wheeled the trolley over. Expertly the boy was rolled from the trolley to the bed.
“Are you comfortable?” asked the porter, plumping up a pillow.
Tom didn’t answer. It wasn’t comfortable at all. It was like lying on a concrete slab with a brick for a pillow. Even the trolley was more comfortable. It was stupid for Tom to pretend not to hear the porter, as he was standing right next to him. The man was so close that Tom could smell him. In fact, the boy was sure the whole ward could smell him. The man was rather pongy, like he hadn’t washed for quite some time. His clothes were tired and worn. His shoes were falling apart and his work overall was thick with grease and grime. He looked like he might be homeless.
“So this is the world’s worst cricketer?” came a voice. The children in the ward tensed and
Then a tall, thin lady stepped out of her office at the far end of the room. It was Matron, the senior nurse who was in charge of the ward. Slowly and surely she made her way down the row of beds towards Tom, her high heels clunking on the floor.
From a distance, Matron looked like she was beautiful. Her long blonde hair had been sprayed perfectly in place, her face was shiny with make-up and her teeth were sparkling white. However, when she got nearer to Tom, the boy realised that her smile was fake. Her eyes were two large black pools, a window into the darkness within. Matron’s perfume was so sickly sweet it burned the children’s throats as she passed by.
“You are meant to catch a cricket ball! Not header it!” said the lady. “Stupid, stupid child! Ha ha ha!” No one laughed except her. It certainly didn’t sound funny to Tom, whose head was still throbbing with pain.
“That cricket ball left a very nasty bump, Madam Matron,” slurred the porter. His voice was cracking a little, as if he was nervous of the woman. “I think young sir should have an X-ray first thing in the morning.”
“I don’t need your opinion, thank you!” snapped Matron. In an instant, her face didn’t seem that beautiful after all, as it twisted into a snarl. “You are nothing more than a lowly porter, lowest of the low. You don’t know the first thing about caring for the patients. So in future keep your mouth shut!”
The porter lowered his head, and the other children exchanged nervous looks. It was clear this lady intimidated them all too.
With a flick of her hand, Matron brushed the porter aside, and he stumbled a little to steady himself.
“Let me look at this bump,” she said as she peered over the boy. “Mmm, yes, that is a nasty bump. You should have an X-ray first thing in the morning.”
The porter rolled his eyes at Tom, but once again the boy didn’t react.
Without even so much as glancing at him, Matron said to the man, “Porter, you may go before you stink out my ward!”
The porter sighed before giving a brief smile and nod to all the children on the ward.
“Quickly!” shouted the woman, and the man limped off as fast as he could, dragging his withered leg behind him.
Tom began longing to be back at school. The children’s ward seemed an utterly miserable place to be.
Matron launched into what seemed like a very well-rehearsed speech. A speech she must have given to all her new patients.
“Now, young man, this is MY ward and these are MY rules. Lights out at 8pm sharp. No talking after lights out. No reading under the covers. No eating of sweeties. If I do hear the rustle of sweet papers in the dark, I will confiscate them on the spot. Yes, that includes you, George!”
The podgy boy immediately stopped chewing, and kept his mouth tightly shut so Matron couldn’t see he was chewing a chocolate at that very moment.
The woman continued at quite a pace. Her words snapped like the crack of a whip.
“No getting out of bed. No visits to the toilet during the night; that is what the bedpan is for. You will find a bedpan under your bed. There is a bell on the wall by your head. Ring the bell in the night only in an absolute emergency. Do you understand me?”
“Yes,” replied Tom. It was like being told off before you had actually even done anything wrong.
“Now, have you brought any pyjamas with you?” she asked.
“No,” replied Tom. “I must have been rushed here in an ambulance when I was knocked out on the cricket pitch. I didn’t have a chance to pack anything, so I’ve just got my cricket kit that I came in. I don’t mind sleeping in it.”
Matron’s lips curled in horror. “Repulsive child! You are as bad as that disgusting excuse for a human being, the porter. He smells like he sleeps in his clothes. Ha ha! Can we call your parents to bring some pyjamas for you?”
Tom shook his head sorrowfully.
“Why not?”
“My mother and father live abroad.”
“Where?”
The boy hesitated before answering. “I am not sure.”
“You are not sure?!” said Matron loudly so everyone could hear. It was as if she wanted all the children in the ward to enjoy the new boy being humiliated as much as she did.
“They move around a lot for my father’s work. I know it’s somewhere with a desert.”
“Well, that narrows it down!”