pale.’
‘What?’
‘You look pale. You don’t look well at all sweetheart. Are you feeling okay?’
‘I’m fine, I think. I have a bit of a sore throat.’
‘Let me feel you.’ She put the back of her hand against my forehead. ‘Oh, darling. You feel hot. You’re burning up.’
‘Really? I feel okay.’
‘You’ve been looking pale for a few days now. I don’t think you get enough sunshine.’
‘We never go out!’ I said that angrily. I didn’t mean to, but that’s the way it came out. It wasn’t fair of me either because we did go out sometimes. I wasn’t a prisoner or anything.
We didn’t go out much, though. And never without Dad taking us. I suppose that’s what I mean by saying how life can shrink into a house. I suppose I’m just ungrateful. Mum must have thought so, because she suddenly looked at me like I’d spat on her or something. But then she said very sweetly, ‘Shall we go for a walk? We could pop in to see Dr Marlow, he can look at your throat.’
It wasn’t cold, but she took my orange winter coat from the hook, and she zipped it right to the top with the hood pulled up. Then we stepped outside.
To get to the local GP surgery from our house, you had to walk past my school. Or rather, what used to be my school. Mum held my hand as we crossed the main road, and as we rounded the corner I could hear distant shouts and laughter drifting over from the playground. I must have resisted. I don’t remember doing so on purpose, but I must have done because as we got closer Mum’s grip on me tightened, taking hold of my wrist and pulling me along.
‘Let’s go back, Mum.’
We didn’t go back. We walked right up to the school, and along the whole length of the fence so that I was practically being dragged, with my stupid hood right over my eyes.
‘Is that you, Matthew? Hello Mrs Homes. Hello Matthew.’
I can’t think of her name now. Gemma, or something. It doesn’t matter anyway.
‘Hey, it’s Matthew!’
The thing is, I was even popular. The group of children who gathered at the fence did so because they liked me. They were my classmates and would have been shaken up by what had happened, and my sudden exit from their lives. But I didn’t talk to them. I can’t explain it. I looked straight ahead, hiding behind my hood, whilst Mum said, ‘Matthew isn’t very well today. Go back and play.’
Dr Marlow asked me to open wide. He looked inside my mouth, breathing his warm breath into me, smelling of coffee. There was nothing wrong with my throat that a few lozenges and some Lemsip couldn’t fix. He said I should get some rest. So that was that. Only it wasn’t.
It was just the start.
hypotonia n. a state of reduced tension in muscle.
There was the shock of the fall and the blood on my knee, and Simon carried me all the way back to the caravan, all by himself, without any help from anyone, even though it half killed him, but he did it anyway, he did it for me, because he loved me.
I already told you that.
And then I said there is a proper word for weak muscles, that I would look it up if I got the chance. And possibly you forgot all about it. But I didn’t. I didn’t forget.
There is a Nursing Dictionary kept in the office at the top of the back staircase, and I could see it there on the table. I could see it when I went to the office to ask if I could go on the computer for a while to do my writing.
It was really funny though, because the girl I asked (the young one with the minty breath and big gold earrings, who is forever trying to read over my shoulder), she just kind of froze. She was the only person in the office, and she totally froze, as if the Nursing Dictionary contains all these secrets that patients aren’t allowed to know. Seriously, she couldn’t even open her mouth.
Then a really funny thing happened. Do you remember Steve? I only mentioned him that once. He was the one who gave me the teaching session on this computer. I said that I probably wouldn’t mention him again. Well, he came into the office next, and the girl turned to him and asked, really hesitantly, whether or not patients could look in the dictionary? That is how she said it too. She said ‘Um, um, is it appropriate for patients to borrow the dictionary Steven?’
And you’ll never guess what he did. He stepped past her, and in one move he threw the dictionary back through the air like a rugby pass, right into my hands. And at the same time he said, ‘What ya askin’ me for?’ He said it just like that. He said, ‘What ya askin’ me for?’
Then he turned to me and winked. But it wasn’t even a quiet wink, because he made a little clicking noise with his tongue as if to say, you and me kiddo, we’re in this together.
Do you know what I mean? I don’t know if I am explaining it very well. But you can see why it’s funny. It’s funny because the girl didn’t know whether or not I could even look in the dictionary. And then it was doubly funny because Steve made her look really stupid, by being all casual about it.
But the really funny thing. The thing that makes me laugh out loud. The really funny thing is that Steve made that little clicking noise with his tongue, and winked at me, as if to show that he was on my side or something. Except you’re not on my side, are you Steve? Because if you were on my side you just would have handed me the dictionary like a grown-up. Because if you make a big fucking gesture of it Steve, then it becomes a big fucking deal. But that is what these people do – the Steves of this world – they all try and make something out of nothing. And they all do it for themselves.
Simon had hypotonia. He also had microgenia, macroglossia, epicanthic folds, an atrial septal defect, and a beautiful smiling face that looked like the moon. I hate this fucking place.
Mum pulled open the quilt at the entrance and peered inside, ‘I’ve forgotten the password again.’
‘You can’t come in then.’
‘Will you tell me it one more time?’
‘Nope.’ I pulled the quilt back against the radiator, gripping it tightly with my fist.
‘Bully.’
‘I’m not a bully, I’ve told you once already.’
‘Super Mario?’
‘Close.’
‘Hmm. What’s his girlfriend called?’
‘Princess Peach.’
‘Ah, yes. That’s not it either, is it?’
‘Uh-uh. Actually, she isn’t Princess Peach in this game. And you’re getting warmer. Sort of.’
‘Cryptic clues, eh?’
‘What does cryptic mean?’
‘It means if you don’t tell me the password I’ll cry.’
I opened a small gap and watched as she made her pretend sad face, with bottom lip trembling. It was hard not to laugh.
‘Oh, charming. Here I am, pouring my heart out, and my own son and heir is smirking at me.’
‘I’m not smirking.’
‘What’s this then?’ Her arm crept in, through a gap I hadn’t noticed. She did that thing when you make a bird’s beak with your hand, pecking up my arm until she found my face. She