Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  ‘So this is to try to teach me to walk again?’ I asked eagerly.

  ‘No, lovey, it’s to keep those limbs of yours healthy and supple. When you’re a little fitter we’ll want you to take your whole weight yourself. We’ll have to build up those arm muscles. We’ll have you with forearms like Popeye in no time! Though you’re such a Skinny Minnie you look more like Olive Oyl at the moment,’ said Nurse Jeannie.

  I didn’t like her, or Nurse Gloria. I hated them teasing me. They’d be furious if I made remarks about their size. I could be especially waspish about Nurse Jeannie and her great big bum.

  Someone else had done just that. I heard Jeannie telling Gloria, absolutely outraged.

  ‘Do you know what that terrible Dexter said to me when I tried to give him his meds this morning? “You can stuff it right up your great big –” … well, that horrible word beginning with an a!’ said Jeannie with a shudder.

  ‘It’s ridiculous him being in a children’s unit. He might only be sixteen but he’s a right mouthy little yobbo,’ said Gloria. ‘Poor you, Jeannie.’ She sounded sympathetic, but you could tell she was smug that Dexter had never called her bottom a rude name.

  I liked the sound of this Dexter. I wished I could swap him for saintly Rosemary. Someone had given her a teddy bear almost as big as she was and she spent all day chatting and singing to him. I found it very irritating. Perhaps the teddy found it irritating too, but he was as helpless as she was, unable to put his paws over his ears to shut out the sound of her incessant sweet talk.

  When the nurses got me into a wheelchair I soon became tired of wheeling myself round and round the ward.

  ‘Can’t I go for a little walk somewhere?’ I begged. Then I thought about the word walk. I was going to have to use substitute vocabulary for the simplest things now. Go for a walk. Run and fetch it. Jump up. Leap into action. ‘Can I go on a little trip down the corridor and back?’ I amended.

  They weren’t supposed to let me out of their sight yet in case I slumped sideways or fell forward, because I was still learning the knack of sitting up straight. It was hard work keeping my own skinny a-word in place on a chair now. I struggled to do what a six-month-old baby can manage all by itself.

  Jeannie and Gloria wouldn’t let me, but dear Jasmine agreed when she was on day duty.

  ‘I’ll come with you though. Can’t have you escaping!’ she said.

  ‘Can I wheel myself and go wherever I want?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course you can wheel yourself. It’s good practice. You want to be as independent as possible. And you can toddle about wherever you want on this floor, within reason. You can’t barge into the boys’ bathroom!’

  ‘As if,’ I said scornfully.

  But I did want to go and have a peek in the boys’ ward. Jasmine didn’t object. They didn’t have the mountains and the farm on their ceiling. They had a racing track with different cars speeding round and round. I stared up at it, imagining myself in the car in front, a red car, a sleek racing-demon version of my long-ago little kiddy car.

  Then I peered round at the boys. One boy was flat on his back, peering up at his television set. Two boys about eight or nine were hunched in wheelchairs, totally absorbed in their games consoles. And the fourth boy was propped up in bed, drawing something in a sketchbook. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a skull on it. He was tall and skinny, rather like me, with a very pale face. He had longish, untidy hair that kept flopping in his eyes so that he kept flicking it back impatiently.

  ‘Why don’t you let me trim your hair for you, Dexter?’ said Jasmine. ‘You can’t see what you’re doing with it hanging in your face like that. Say hi to Katy here. She’s paying you guys a little visit.’

  ‘Hi to Katy,’ Dexter murmured, not even looking up.

  ‘What are you drawing, Dexter?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Just stuff,’ he said.

  ‘He’s ever so artistic, Dexter is. He does all these comic strips,’ said Jasmine. ‘They’re very good, though they’re very … adult.’

  I wheeled myself closer so I could take a peep. I thought he might be drawing rude pictures but I saw a sketch of an old man wearing a hooded cloak, a strange kind of farming implement in one of his gnarled hands.

  ‘Who’s he?’ I asked.

  ‘Just an old man. Run away, kid,’ said Dexter.

  ‘Run away?’ I said.

  ‘OK. Go and do wheelies somewhere else,’ he said, but he looked up at me briefly.

  He had surprising eyes. I thought they’d be dark because his hair was black, but they were blue, the sort of eyes that look as if they could see right into your head.

  I edged even closer, so I accidentally nudged his bed. His smooth black line wavered a little.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ he said impatiently.

  ‘Sorry! I’m hopeless. I’m always bumping into things. I can’t get the hang of this stupid, stupid wheelchair.’ I thumped my hand against the wheel in frustration.

  ‘Don’t do that. You’ll just hurt your hand,’ said Dexter, making the old man’s cloak wider, past the wobble, and then cross-hatching densely so that it wouldn’t show at all.

  ‘I wish I could do shading like that. I don’t seem to get how to do it. Show me,’ I said.

  ‘Nothing to show. You just draw,’ said Dexter.

  He carried on drawing. I carried on watching. Jasmine got bored and wandered off to chat to the two boys.

  Dexter started on the old man’s face. It was difficult to make out under the large hood. The eyes were very large and dark, the nose barely there, the mouth a disconcerting wide grin …

  ‘It’s a skull, like the one on your T-shirt!’ I said. Then I thought harder. ‘Hey, I know who it is! What do you call him – the Grim Reaper!’

  ‘Yep, old man Death himself,’ said Dexter.

  ‘So who is he going to reap?’

  ‘Well, not quite sure just yet. He’s done his best striding through this little patch of the planet, but perhaps his scythe needs sharpening. He’s slashed my legs off, and yours, and all these little kids’ around us, but he hasn’t stabbed us in the heart just yet. He could be having another go after he’s had a bit of a rest. He might go at it stealthily, clogging our lungs with pneumonia. Or he could send a little blood clot to our hearts?’

  ‘Hey, Dexter, quit that scary rubbish!’ Jasmine called, frowning. ‘You’ll give Katy the willies.’

  ‘No, he won’t. He’s funny,’ I said. ‘Dexter, did you really tell Jeannie to stick your meds up her you-know-what?’

  ‘My fame spreads far and wide,’ said Dexter.

  ‘You’re awesome,’ I said, half teasing, half serious.

  ‘Don’t you dare encourage him, Katy. He’s a bad boy. He’s going to get into serious trouble if he carries on like this,’ said Jasmine, coming over to us.

  ‘Yeah, well, would you mind telling me what could be worse trouble than losing the use of your whole body?’ said Dexter.

  ‘You could lose the use of your hands too, smart boy. Then where would you be? No crazy drawing for a start. You two moan away about your lot, yet little Rosemary –’

  ‘Oh, blessed little St Rosemary,’ said Dexter.

  ‘Oh goodness, do the nurses tell you lot about Rosemary too?’ I asked. ‘Imagine what it’s like for us girls though. We’re stuck with Rosemary all the time.’

  ‘You two! How can you mock such a good, sweet little girl?’ said Jasmine, pretending to cuff both of us, but she wasn’t really cross.

  She knew that we didn’t really dislike poor, valiant little Rosemary. We just resented her grace and good humour coping with the unbearable, when we were having such a struggle ourselves.

  It was wonderful to have found someone darker and moodier than myself. I wanted to stay talking to Dexter all morning, but Natasha, another nurse, called Jasmine back to the girls’ ward because Marnie had been sick all over herself and the bedclothes.

  ‘Which means I have to whip you
back to the girls’ ward too, Katy,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Oh, can’t I stay just for a bit? I don’t want to go back, not if it all smells sicky. It’ll make me be sick too,’ I whined.

  ‘You dare!’ said Jasmine, and wheeled me off before I could even say a proper goodbye to Dexter.

  I came back the next day. I even let Jasmine wash my hair beforehand. I’d just left it in an untidy tangle before. I hadn’t even been very cooperative about washing. I hadn’t bothered to ask for help putting on the new pyjamas Izzie had brought in for me. There hadn’t seemed any point at all. If I was so smashed up that I couldn’t even walk, why did it matter what I looked like? I might as well look as hideous as possible and glare at everyone.

  But now I had my hair shampooed. It was an awkward business, even though they had a special sink in the bathroom where you could lie backwards, if you were able to wiggle around enough in your wheelchair. I still got shampoo in my eyes and moaned a bit, but Jasmine told me to button it, so I did. Then she dried my hair patiently, which took a while because it’s quite long.

  I didn’t know what to do with it when I brushed it. It sometimes looked halfway decent when it was newly washed, silky and shiny, but now it just hung limply.

  ‘It looks a right mess,’ I said dolefully. ‘Why’s it gone all weird?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s because you’ve had such a shock to your whole system,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Great. I’m a hopeless cripple and I’m going to have a bad hair day every day,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve told you about using that word! I’ll pour the whole bottle of shampoo down your throat if you dare say it again! Now let’s see what I can do. Plaits?’

  ‘They’re so babyish.’

  ‘Do I look like a baby?’ Jasmine had the most amazing plaits, many of them, from the roots of her hair, and then they were all twisted up in the fanciest of ponytails.

  ‘Oh, will you do mine like yours? Please!’

  ‘This is a hospital ward, not a hairdressing salon. It would take forever to do yours properly. But I’ll do you the shortcut version if you like.’

  She twisted two locks of hair on either side into plaits and then pinned all four to the back of my head. It made quite a difference and stopped my hair flopping forward into my face.

  ‘Oh Jasmine, thank you! It looks lovely!’

  ‘Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?’ Jasmine chuckled. ‘Maybe I’ll have a go at plaiting Dexter’s hair.’

  I asked her to help me put on the new pyjamas. They were pink, the colour I hated most, but they had little dogs like Tyler on them, which I liked. Maybe I could get Izzie to buy me a black pair sometime soon? Or just a black T-shirt, preferably with a skull on it.

  Jasmine and I went into the boys’ ward mid-morning. The three boys were watching television and playing games in exactly the same poses as yesterday, but Dexter wasn’t sitting up drawing. He was lying on his back, one arm over his face.

  ‘Hi there, Dexter. Here’s Katy come to have a little chat,’ said Jasmine.

  Dexter didn’t move. He didn’t even grunt.

  ‘What’s up, pal?’ Jasmine said softly.

  Dexter didn’t respond.

  Jeannie up at the other end of the ward shook her head.

  ‘He’s been in this mood since last night,’ she said.

  ‘Oh Dex. Sorry, man. We’ll come back another time when you’re not feeling blue,’ said Jasmine.

  She started wheeling me away.

  ‘But what’s the matter with him?’ I demanded.

  ‘Oh, come on, Katy. You’ve had the moody blues too, more than most. It catches up with all of you from time to time, even little Rosemary, bless her,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Can’t I still talk to Dexter?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you can try,’ said Jasmine.

  I wheeled myself back while she went to talk to the younger boy watching television. I tried hard to manoeuvre myself close up to Dexter’s bed without bumping it. I didn’t succeed. I jogged his bed, but he didn’t even twitch.

  ‘Sorry. It’s me – Katy. As you must have guessed, seeing as I keep bumping into your bed. Still, at least I didn’t muck up your drawing this time.’

  I saw his sketchbook was closed, on his bedside locker.

  ‘Would you mind if I had a little look at all your drawings?’ I asked, and wheeled myself round.

  ‘Yes. I would mind,’ Dexter muttered without moving. ‘Push off, Katy.’ He didn’t actually say Push.

  ‘Go on. Just one page. I loved your Grim Reaper. Perhaps you could do a whole Grim Reaper family. His wife would be very witchy and if she’s got a skull face too she could have make-up all round her hollow eyes and gaping mouth. That would look totally grim, wouldn’t it? And then they could have children, little gargoyly kids with tiny toy scythes. They wouldn’t be big enough to kill humans; they’d just chase little mice and birds, practising.’

  ‘Katy, I’m not in the mood,’ said Dexter.

  ‘I know. You’ve got the blues. We all get it, Jasmine says.’

  ‘This isn’t a wishy-washy mood. This is totally full-on despair,’ said Dexter. ‘For a good reason.’

  ‘Well, yes. You can’t walk. I can’t walk. None of us can walk.’ My own voice went wobbly as I said it. It still didn’t seem real.

  ‘Not just that.’ Dexter took his hand away from his face. His eyes were red. I felt my stomach lurch. I couldn’t bear it that proud, cool, bad Dexter had actually been crying.

  ‘There can’t be anything worse,’ I said.

  ‘Yep. Much worse. My girlfriend’s just dumped me,’ said Dexter.

  ‘Oh.’ I was floundering now. ‘What, she just said she didn’t want to see you any more?’

  ‘She came to see me once. She cried all over me. She swore it wouldn’t make a difference. But she didn’t come back, though I kept texting her. Then at last she texts me back and I feel such a thrill when I see it’s a message from her. Then when I open it I find it says, So sorry, Dex, I can’t bear to see you like this, it upsets me too much. Then she adds one of those gross little emoticons with a sad face. Can you imagine?’ said Dexter.

  ‘She doesn’t exactly say she’s dumping you,’ I said.

  ‘It’s obvious. And one of my mates texted me to say she’s started going out with this other guy anyway.’

  ‘Well, it sounds as if you’re better off without her then,’ I said lamely. ‘I’m sure you’ll get another much better girlfriend instead.’

  ‘What are you, a child agony aunt?’

  ‘I’m just trying to be sympathetic.’

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re being stupid, because I’m not going to be able to hook up with any other girl, am I – not unless they’re totally weird and creepy. Because who wants to go out with a cripple?’

  ‘Watch out. Jasmine goes nuts when you say that word.’ I sat silently thinking. Who would ever want to go out with me now? I thought of all the teenage years ahead of me. How could I manage at parties? How could I go clubbing? How could I walk hand in hand and kiss under a lamp post? How could I ever have sex? I didn’t know much about it, and it had either sounded comical or scary, but I would have liked to try it when I was old enough.

  ‘What?’ said Dexter. He was leaning up on his elbows now, watching my face.

  ‘I feel a bit rubbish myself now,’ I said, and I wheeled myself back to the girls’ ward, not even waiting for Jasmine.

  17

  I woke up with a start in the middle of the night. Dark, dark, dark all around me. Too dark. I turned on to my side and curled up tight, covers over my head, trying to hide from the dark. Then I realized. My legs! I’d moved my legs! I moved them again, up and down, all over the bed.

  I wasn’t paralysed any more! I sat up and then slowly, gingerly, slid my legs out of bed altogether. My feet touched the floor, felt the cold, curled their toes. I pressed down and stood up. I stood swaying until I got my balance and then set off walking, left leg, right leg. I could do it! I was wal
king again.

  It was still very dark and yet I could sense people around me. I mustn’t let them see me in case they bundled me back to bed. I never wanted to lie in bed again. I wanted to walk and skip and dance and run.

  So I hurried along corridor after corridor, dodging round people in the dark. Some of them tried to grab hold of me, some shouted my name, but I was too quick for all of them. Then I got to a big bolted door downstairs and I had to struggle for a minute or two with the lock while the people got nearer, but just as they seized me by the shoulders I forced the door open. I shook them off and ran and ran in the sudden bright sunlight, thudding across the concrete in my bare feet.

  I ran across roads and down streets and through the town until I got to the country and then I ran around soft grass meadows, singing for joy because I could walk and I’d escaped.

  But then I heard clanking and I was frightened again and ran harder, but the trolley got nearer and nearer, and then – and then –

  ‘Tea or milk, dearie? Cornflakes? One toast or two?’

  It was the large lady with the breakfast trolley and I was back in my bed in the girls’ ward and when I tried to jump up my heavy logs of legs stayed still, unmoving. It had just been a dream, a cruel hateful dream.

  I started crying with frustration and worked myself up so much I couldn’t eat my breakfast. I wouldn’t even wash or brush my hair. I wouldn’t cooperate properly with the horrible toileting. I wouldn’t stand hanging on to the stupid frame. I wanted Jasmine but she wasn’t on duty today. I decided I hated the other nurses simply because they weren’t her. I hated the other girls too, Naveen with her constant peevish wails, Rosemary with her sweetness and cute sayings, Marnie snuffling into her collection of dollies.

  I put my fingers in my ears when Mr Pearson came and wouldn’t listen to him. After a little while he just patted me on the shoulders and walked away. I heard him talking to the other girls. Rosemary started telling him a story; Marnie burst out laughing; even Naveen stopped moaning.

  I covered my face and cried until I went back to sleep.

  ‘Hello, sleepy kid.’