Katy Read online

  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