Lottie Project Read online

  ‘I mean it, Jo. I feel . . . bad. Robin will be all right now, won’t he?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Once they’ve got him all warmed up and checked over then I’m sure he’ll be able to go home.’

  ‘And can we go round and see him straight away?’

  ‘Well, not if his mother’s there too. I don’t want to look as if I’m butting in. And maybe this might bring them back together again as a family . . .’

  I didn’t dare ask her if she’d mind terribly.

  Jo went off to the supermarket to explain why she was so late – and I went to school.

  Lisa and Angela came charging up to me the minute I set foot in the classroom.

  ‘Hey, Charlie! Did you hear on the radio? That little boy who went missing, Robin. Isn’t he the one your mum looks after?’

  So I had to say yes, and then when I told them we’d been with Robin’s dad half the night and that I’d actually seen Robin in the hospital they asked me dozens of questions, and practically all the class gathered round wanting to hear. So I had to turn it into a proper story and spin it out a bit while they all gasped and exclaimed. They didn’t even quieten down when Miss Beckworth swept into the room and told everyone to go to their seats.

  ‘Miss Beckworth, Charlie’s practically headline news, she helped find that little boy. Tell Miss Beckworth, Charlie!’

  So I told the story all over again, though I was starting to tire of the whole tale. It didn’t seem right that even Miss Beckworth seemed mildly impressed. But then she asked the one question I was dreading. Trust her.

  ‘Why did the little boy run away, I wonder?’

  I just shrugged and backed away to my desk, sharpish.

  Jamie stared at me, looking a little puzzled. ‘I love the way you tell things, Charlie. Making it ever so exciting and funny,’ he said.

  I made little slurpy noises with my lips, to show I thought he was sucking up to me.

  ‘But did it all really happen?’ Jamie persisted.

  ‘Yes! What do you think I am, some kind of nutter with a compulsion to tell blatant lies to everyone?’

  ‘But how come your mum looks after this little boy? I thought you said she was a lecturer, like mine?’

  I took a deep breath, thinking hard. A blatant lie indeed. Well, call it an elaborate evasion. It was time for another.

  ‘She lost that job, right? So for the moment she . . . she teaches little Robin.’

  I had to tell my story all over again at playtime to kids in different classes, and they went off and told other kids, so that by dinner time it was all over the school. There were many different versions by this time. Some assumed that my mum and Robin’s dad were already a definite item, which infuriated me.

  Others gave me an even more prominent role in the story, so that I’d gone out in the early morning and tracked Robin through the park to the station all by myself. It was starting to turn into a story about how I’d saved little Robin’s life.

  It was a relief when school was over at last. I went rushing straight home, wondering if Jo would be round at Mark’s place with Robin.

  But she was at home, looking tired out herself, pulling fluff out of her bunny jumper, pick pick pick.

  ‘Is Mark’s ex-wife round at his place then?’ I asked delicately.

  ‘I think she’s at the hospital. With Mark,’ said Jo.

  ‘What? Is Robin still there then?’ I paused. ‘He is OK, isn’t he?’

  Jo’s fingers fidgeted down the sleeve of her fluffy jumper. ‘Well, I’m sure he’s going to be OK, yes, but . . .’

  ‘But what? Tell me!’

  ‘I don’t really know much. Mark only had ten pence for the phone. He just said that the doctor was a bit worried about Robin’s chest—’

  ‘His chest?’

  ‘Apparently he’s always been slightly asthmatic, and he did get very chilled, so now he’s got a touch of pneumonia.’

  ‘Pneumonia! People die of pneumonia!’

  ‘Now calm down, Charlie. There’s no need to get yourself all worked up. I promise Robin’s not going to die—’

  ‘You promised he’d be as right as rain, out of hospital as soon as they’d got him warmed up.’

  ‘Well, he will be as right as rain. They’ll just need to give him some antibiotics.’

  ‘And people always get completely better after pneumonia if they take antibiotics?’

  ‘Well, nearly always. How do I know anyway?’

  ‘Let’s go and see him now.’

  ‘I shouldn’t imagine he can have too many visitors. He’ll need to be kept quiet. He’s got his dad – and his mum.’ Jo’s jumper was going to be picked bald quite soon.

  ‘Couldn’t we go to the hospital just to ask if we could see him for two minutes?’ I said.

  ‘No, we can’t just keep pushing in,’ said Jo.

  I kept going on at her. I can always wear her down. I had to see Robin again. I hadn’t been able to talk to him when he was trussed up in tinfoil like a tiny turkey. I had to tell him something.

  But I still didn’t get a chance. We found our way to the children’s ward and it was still visiting time so we walked the long length of the polished floor, looking for Robin. There was no sign of him.

  We walked back again, pausing at every bed. There was one empty one and I suddenly took Jo’s hand.

  ‘Can I help you?’ said a nurse, hurrying past.

  ‘We’re looking for Robin West,’ said Jo anxiously. ‘He’s the little boy who was lost.’

  ‘Yes, I know. He’s in the side ward up at the end – but I’m not sure he should have any more visitors,’ said the nurse.

  ‘There, Charlie,’ said Jo. ‘I told you.’

  ‘Couldn’t we just put our heads round the door to say hello?’ I pleaded.

  ‘I suppose you can take a quick peep, if you promise to be quiet,’ said the nurse.

  ‘As a mouse,’ I said.

  When we got near the side ward we walked on tiptoe, though the polish made our shoes squeak like real mice. We were still hand in hand. Our clasp was clammy.

  I put my head round the door first. There was Mark, sitting right by the bed, his head in his hands. A pretty blonde woman with a pinched face was wiping her red eyes. And there was Robin lying very still in bed, his face milky white, his eyes closed. Birdie was on his chest, wings spread.

  ‘He’s dead!’ I burst out, forgetting all about my promise to be quiet.

  Robin stirred and whimpered.

  ‘Who on earth . . . ?’ said the blonde woman, glaring at me.

  ‘What do you want, Charlie?’ said Mark, standing up. His grey face was going patchy red with anger. ‘Haven’t you done enough?’

  ‘I just wanted to say . . . I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, that makes all the difference in the world, does it?’ said Mark.

  Jo was tugging at me to get me to go. ‘We shouldn’t have come. We were both just so worried about Robin,’ she muttered. ‘Come on, Charlie.’

  ‘He is going to get better, isn’t he?’ I said desperately.

  Mark ignored me but touched Jo on the shoulder to reassure her. The blonde woman tightened her eyebrows.

  ‘He’s still got a high temperature but they’re pumping him full of antibiotics and they keep saying he’ll be fine,’ he said. Then his eyes swivelled to me. ‘No thanks to you.’

  I let Jo tug me out of the doorway and out of the ward. We had to wait a long while for a bus outside the hospital and then it was a twenty-minute walk home. Jo kept talking to me but I hardly said anything.

  She thought it was because I was scared of crying in public. When we got home at last she put her arms round me and said, ‘Right, you can let it all out now. Have a really good cry and then you’ll feel better.’

  I did cry a bit. Jo did too. I don’t know whether she felt better. I didn’t.

  I felt really bad at school the next day. Angela and Lisa still kept on about Robin, asking if I’d seen him and how he was, w