Katy

by Jacqueline Wilson

  I had another strange dream that night. I was with Helen and we were out together, the two of us dressed up. We were sitting hunched, legs dangling, as if we were in our wheelchairs, but there weren’t any wheels or even chairs – we were just suspended in space. We were moving forwards at a great rate as if we were riding on the air itself.

  ‘Follow me!’ Helen cried, and she sped right up into the sky.

  ‘Helen! Come back! Wait for me!’ I cried.

  ‘You come and join me,’ she called.

  I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t even have anything to cling to. I just had to will myself upwards. I jerked backwards and forwards, straining desperately, and just as I was about to give up I suddenly juddered upwards, just a few inches above the ground.

  ‘That’s it. That’s the way!’ Helen called.

  I soared upwards until I joined her way above the rooftops and we raced along together, both of us shouting for joy.

  When I woke up I still felt joyful, even though I was imprisoned in my bed. Well, I wasn’t quite a prisoner. I’d just got into the habit of lying there, waiting while Izzie got up and made breakfast and organized all the children and got them off to school. I always felt desperately tired in the morning, as if I hadn’t slept at all, and transferring myself out of bed seemed like far too much effort. But today I heaved myself about and managed to get myself into my wheelchair, though I almost toppled on to the floor in the process. Then I wheeled myself quietly into the shower and did the whole transferring process all over again on to the shower seat.

  ‘Katy?’ Izzie was knocking at the door, sounding anxious. ‘Katy, are you all right? Have you had an accident?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ I muttered, because she was treating me just like Phil. ‘I’m fine,’ I said louder. ‘Don’t worry so, Izzie. I just thought I’d get myself up for once.’

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ she called. ‘Shall I just come in and –’

  ‘No!’ I said. Then I took a deep breath. ‘No, thank you, Izzie. I can manage.’

  And I did manage too, though it took me ages and ages to get my pyjamas off and then there was a kerfuffle turning on the shower, trying to get it not too cold and not too hot, and then I realized I was clutching the shower gel but not the shampoo, which was way out of my reach over on the windowsill. So my hair got washed with gel and actually it didn’t seem to make any difference whatsoever.

  Izzie came back twice to check on me, and the children banged on my door too before Mrs Hall took them all to school. I called back to each of the children. Elsie knocked last, breathless because she’d been hunting hard for her school shoes ever since she got up (it turned out Philly had turned them both into boats and taken his two tiniest teddies for a sail in them on his bed). She knocked so loudly that my eyes jerked open and I got shower gel in them, which stung a lot. I’d normally have yelled at her but I somehow stopped myself.

  ‘Bye, Elsie,’ I called. ‘Have a good day. Don’t worry if Mr Peters shouts at you. He’s grumpy with everyone. If he has a go at you just stare back at him and imagine him stark naked, all big fat pink belly, and then you won’t be scared of him. That’s what I used to do when I was in his class.’

  ‘Really!’ said Elsie. ‘Big fat pink belly! Oh Katy, you are funny.’

  ‘Elsie! Mrs Hall’s waiting for you – and I’ve found your shoes,’ Izzie called distantly from the front door.

  ‘Coming! Just saying goodbye to Katy. Goodbye, Katy! See you later, alligator!’

  This was a silly saying of Dad’s, something that his dad used to say to him when he was little. I generally found it so daft I didn’t respond, but today I called, ‘In a while, crocodile!’ in a deep, alligator-ish voice, which made Elsie giggle.

  There, Helen! I said inside my head.

  I was exhausted by the time I’d finished and turned the shower off, but I couldn’t just flop back into my wheelchair soaking wet. I had to towel every bit of myself and dry my hair too. Then I had to wheel myself back into the library, naked and shivering, wondering how on earth I was going to get my clothes out of the cupboard when I was so bone-shakingly tired. I found Izzie had laid my underwear and T-shirt and jogging bottoms out on my bed, easily within reach. It was a dreadful struggle to get them all on. I had to inch things up, and everything stuck to me because I was still damp. My joggers were all twisted, and I couldn’t face bending over to fix my shoes, but I was more or less dressed. I’d done it!

  Izzie knocked on the door and came in with a cup of hot chocolate with a cap of white frothy cream.

  ‘Here – I think you need this!’ she said. ‘Well done, Katy.’

  ‘I’m so tired I feel like going back to sleep,’ I said. ‘This is a bit mad. I’m going to take all day getting myself up, and then as soon as I’ve done it I’m ready for bed.’

  ‘It’ll get easier with practice. Oh Katy, I’m so proud of you. But I don’t mind helping if it makes it easier for you.’

  ‘Well, perhaps you will have to help me at first when I go back to school,’ I said.

  ‘School?’ said Izzie. ‘So would you like to go and see some schools with your father?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking … maybe I should go to Springfield after all,’ I said.

  ‘But you were so adamant that you couldn’t bear it,’ said Izzie.

  ‘Yes, but I talked it over with Helen and now I think maybe I’d like to give it a try.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea. And Cecy will be there. She’ll look after you,’ said Izzie.

  I bristled. ‘I won’t need looking after.’

  ‘That’s true. You’ll manage splendidly,’ said Izzie hurriedly.

  I licked the cream from the top of my hot chocolate. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. It will be good to have Cecy there. And she’ll help me catch up. Izzie, do you really think I’ll manage?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Izzie.

  ‘And at least I’ll be out of your hair if I’m away at school every day.’

  ‘Well. You never know. I might miss you,’ said Izzie.

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘I said might.’

  So it was decided. I was going back to school.

  22

  Dad made an appointment with Mrs Matthews, the head teacher, and we went to see her the next morning. I’d seen her already when we all visited Springfield during my last term at primary school. She was large, with longish curly hair and floppy purple clothes and lots of big beads and clanking bangles. She looked like one of those soft, soppy nursery teachers who show you how to do finger painting in Reception class. I expected her to simper at me and say, ‘Hello, what’s happened to you, you poor little girly?’

  Nothing of the sort.

  ‘How do you do, Dr Carr, Katy? Do come and sit down,’ she said briskly.

  Dad sat on a proffered chair. I was clearly already sitting.

  ‘It’s good of you to see us immediately, Mrs Matthews,’ said Dad, in his most doctorly voice. ‘But Katy has made a good recovery and feels she’s ready to go to school now.’

  ‘But I thought you felt Springfield was unsuitable. When you phoned earlier –’

  ‘I know. Katy felt she needed to make a completely fresh start, at a school where she didn’t know anyone, given her circumstances. But now –’

  ‘Now I’ve changed my mind,’ I said, though actually inside I was still wavering. I kept thinking about Eva Jenkins and her cronies imitating me, calling me names; about Ryan looking at me pityingly and backing away from me. But Helen had given me courage. I would cope with them. Somehow.

  ‘The trouble is, I’ve already given your place to someone else,’ said Mrs Matthews smoothly. ‘So it’s going to be a bit of a problem. Did you put Katy’s name down at another school in the interim, Dr Carr?’

  ‘No, we didn’t. I went to look at several schools, but none seemed suitable,’ said Dad.

  ‘I wonder if you looked at Manor Road? I believe they have several disabled p
upils at their school and have all sorts of facilities – a lift to the upper floor, a special disabled lavatory. I think Katy might find it easier there,’ she said silkily, giving me a little smile.

  ‘I did look at Manor Road, but it’s so far away from us. It would be a forty-minute journey, maybe more in the rush hour. And, to be frank, Manor Road doesn’t have the academic reputation that Springfield has,’ said Dad. His tone was equally pleasant, but firm. ‘Katy’s very bright, Mrs Matthews.’

  ‘Oh, I’m aware of that, Dr Carr. Her report from her primary school makes that plain,’ she said. ‘That’s partly the difficulty. We like to introduce our pupils to as wide a range of subjects as possible. We feel that the sciences are particularly important. Unfortunately the science labs are all on the first floor, so I don’t see how Katy could access them.’

  ‘Is there no possibility of having a lift put in?’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, certainly that would be an ideal solution. It might well be possible – but, as I’m sure you realize, we can’t simply install a lift overnight.’

  ‘Could Katy not meanwhile study the science textbooks somewhere else downstairs, just until the lift is installed?’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, that is an option, though far from ideal. And then there’s the question of lavatories. I’m afraid our girls’ toilets all have small, narrow cubicles. I went to check earlier on. I simply don’t think it would be possible for Katy to manoeuvre her wheelchair in and out,’ said Mrs Matthews.

  ‘Oh,’ said Dad. ‘Well, I’m sure it would be possible to install special disabled facilities. But I can see perhaps we’ll have to wait until that’s the case.’

  I was thinking hard. I thought about the toilets at my old school. The girls’ toilets. The boys’ toilets. And the special, nicer toilets just for the teachers.

  ‘What about the staff toilets?’ I asked. ‘They’re bigger, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Mrs Matthews.

  ‘Big enough for my wheelchair?’

  ‘Perhaps. But I’m not sure they’re still suitable and there’s only one on the ground floor anyway.’

  ‘One’s surely enough?’ said Dad. ‘Just until you get a proper disabled lavatory installed.’

  ‘Dr Carr, I’ve only got a limited amount of money in my annual budget. I can’t work miracles. These are old premises. It’s not as if it’s a new-build.’

  ‘Yes, I understand it’s going to be a bit of a problem, but I’m sure there are special grants, given the circumstances. And as I’m sure you’re aware, schools do have to make special provision for disabled pupils nowadays,’ Dad said.

  Mrs Matthews looked at him. She looked at me.

  ‘I can see you’re both determined that Katy should attend Springfield. Very well. We’ll do our level best to welcome you here, Katy. Perhaps you’d like to start next Monday?’ she said.

  Dad and I waited till we were out in the corridor and then high-fived each other.

  I wrote a long, triumphant email to Helen that afternoon. I also tried Dexter again, showing off a little, boasting that I’d bulldozed my way into the school of my choice.

  Helen replied that evening, a wonderfully long email that made me glow all over. And Dexter replied too, though without any words. The subject on the email said SuperKaty, and he’d sent a photo of a page from his sketchbook. He’d drawn me looking even taller, with SK inscribed on my T-shirt, sitting in a wheelchair like Boudicca’s chariot, with iron spikes sticking out from both sides. I was charging my way into a school, with staff and pupils alike running in all directions and shrieking and cowering.

  I laughed out loud, and showed it off proudly to Clover and Cecy when they came to see me after school.

  ‘So you’re really coming to Springfield after all, Katy?’ Cecy asked.

  ‘Yep, it’s all arranged. Mrs Matthews tried to put us off, but we soon fixed her,’ I said airily.

  ‘My goodness! You argued with Mrs Matthews?’ said Cecy, sounding incredibly impressed. ‘She can be really scary sometimes. Good for you! Oh Katy, it will be wonderful having you at school with me. I do hope, hope, hope we’ll be in the same class. You mustn’t worry about a thing. I’ll push you everywhere you need to go.’

  ‘I won’t need to be pushed; I’ll wheel myself,’ I said. ‘But thanks anyway, Cecy. It’ll be great to be with you.’

  ‘And I’ll be at Springfield next year and I’ll watch out for you then,’ said Clover fiercely. ‘Is it true that the big girls grab hold of you in the toilets and stick your head down the loo?’

  ‘That’s rubbish, Clover. No, they’re mostly all fine. And the boys are OK too. There’s this really cool guy in Year Eight – Richie – and he bumped into me in the corridor and sent all my books flying –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He didn’t mean to; it was a total accident. Anyway, he helped me pick them all up and now every time we see each other in the corridor he says hi and makes a little joke about it. All the girls in my class are dead jealous because he’s making a fuss of me and yet he’s thirteen already,’ said Cecy proudly.

  ‘Katy’s got a boy of sixteen interested in her,’ said Clover.

  ‘Really?’ said Cecy, not sounding convinced. ‘Who’s that then?’

  ‘He’s called Dexter,’ I said. ‘He sent me an amazing cartoon. Wait till you see it!’

  ‘Oh, he’s just that boy you met in hospital. You told me about him,’ said Cecy, unimpressed.

  ‘You mean he doesn’t count because he’s in a wheelchair?’ I asked.

  ‘No, of course I didn’t mean that,’ said Cecy hurriedly – but maybe she did.

  Didn’t she think I counted now because I was in a wheelchair? And if my best friend thought that then what would everyone else think of me?

  I started to wish I hadn’t insisted on going to Springfield after all. Cecy was ultra apologetic and asked to see Dexter’s cartoon. She went on about how marvellous it was, but she wasn’t fooling me. I didn’t pick a fight with her, because she was still my best friend, and I was certainly going to need a good friend at Springfield whether she pushed me round or not. All the same, it was a relief when she went next door to have her tea.

  It was good to be left with Clover. The littlies came into my room too, and Elsie told me a long, involved tale about Mr Peters and how she wasn’t remotely scared of him any more. ‘All because of you, Katy,’ she said, throwing her arms round my neck.

  ‘Oh Elsie,’ I said, and I pulled her – carefully – on to my lap.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Katy!’ she said anxiously.

  ‘No, I’m fine. Just don’t wriggle too much. But I want a proper cuddle,’ I said, smoothing her funny fringe and rubbing her soft cheek on mine.

  ‘Oh Katy, I do love you!’ she said.

  I wondered how I could have been so mean to poor Elsie all these years – and why she was so wondrously forgiving. I made yet another resolution that I would always, always, always try to be a proper sister to her.

  I wanted to be a proper sister to all my siblings. They were all talking excitedly. Dorry was going off on a riff about school dinners.

  ‘It’s absolutely the pits. The dinner ladies say we can’t have seconds any more. I think they just want to munch all those lovely chips and pizza triangles themselves. And they give such stingy servings even though I keep telling them I’m so hungry I’ve got a pain. And they want me to try eating mad stuff like salad, which is just boring green leaves – and who on earth would like that?’

  ‘Zebby absolutely loves green leaves. And grass. And dandelions,’ said Jonnie.

  ‘Zebby doesn’t really eat them. He just pretends. I know, because he hides them under his legs, and the greens end up all brown and withery, and Mum gets cross,’ said Dorry, unwilling to indulge Jonnie’s maternal fantasy for once.

  ‘I have lovely food at nursery. Yummy fish fingers, much, much nicer than that boring real fish Mum gives us. And baked beans, lots and lots of baked bea
nies. They’re my favourite. We never ever have to eat leaves. I don’t want to go to big school if it’s leaves. Is it twigs too?’ said Phil.

  They could all three witter on in this vein for hours. They usually drove me mad, but now I seemed to have turned into little St Katherine. I told Clover to get my sketchbook and asked each child in turn to list their all-time favourite foods and then drew them in a spiralling pattern across the page.

  ‘So what’s your favourite food, Katy?’ Elsie asked.

  ‘Oh, a big salty packet of chips from a proper chippie,’ I said, and added without thinking, ‘I love walking home with Cecy after we’ve been to the shopping centre and sharing our chips.’

  Then there was a little silence. Even Philly realized what I’d said. Clover quickly put her arm round me.

  ‘You can still go to Flowerfields with Cecy,’ she said. ‘She could wheel you.’

  ‘I can wheel myself,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but it’s too far,’ said Clover.

  ‘Well, we could get a bus,’ I said.

  They stared at me.

  ‘How could you do that? Cecy couldn’t pick you up in your wheelchair and lift you on to the bus, Katy,’ said Elsie. ‘What if she dropped you!’

  ‘She wouldn’t need to pick me up. Buses have ramps for people in wheelchairs,’ I said. ‘Yeah, maybe I’ll ask Cecy if she wants to go with me this Saturday.’

  Saturdays were a bit bleak. I couldn’t get into the secret garden now and the others shied away from it as if it were a terrible, haunted place. The littlies generally went off and played their bizarre pretend games. Their current favourite was a variation on Zoos. Dorry was the zookeeper and he kept nagging Izzie to give him real food for all his exotic animals, though he mostly kept it to feed himself. Zebby and various teddies stood in for a full menagerie, and Philly was a real lion who roared himself hoarse.

  Clover and Elsie were too old for such nonsense, so they sat doing girly things, making bracelets and drawing fashion outfits and experimenting with Izzie’s old lipsticks and eyeshadows. I wasn’t interested in those sorts of activities either so I was generally left to my own devices.