The Mixed-Up Summer of Lily McLean

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The Mixed-Up Summer of Lily McLean Page 13

by Lindsay Littleson


  My amazing powers of deduction have already worked that one out. I knew I wasn’t dead really. My head and chest wouldn’t be hurting so much if I was dead.

  “The air ambulance brought you all the way to Glasgow. You’re in Yorkhill Childrens’ Hospital.”

  That explains the cartoon bunnies and the baby deer prancing all over the walls. Perhaps they should cater to different age groups in a children’s hospital, rather than just the tinies. They could paint vampire murals for the teenage girls.

  “The doctor says you are going to be absolutely fine. You have mild hypothermia, and you had a little water in your lungs, but you’re a strong girl, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, Mum,” I say, surprised by my whispery voice. “I think so.” I try and sit up, but find that I can’t, and so lie back down, exhausted. “Maybe not so much at the moment,” I mumble.

  “Your friends saved your life,” Mum says. “They threw you the life belt and called the ambulance. Wasn’t it lucky that they were there for you? You could have drowned…”

  “Where are they?” I ask, eyes darting round the room, hoping to see them standing by my bed. I can imagine them there, David worriedly running his hands through his hair, Rowan tearful and relieved that I’m ok. And Aisha… I’m not so sure what Aisha would be doing. I don’t know her well enough yet really. But I’m determined I will, once we start secondary school in August. She clearly needs a friend.

  “They are all at home with their parents. They’ve had a real fright,” says Mum. I have a bad feeling that Rowan’s mum is going to be even less keen than before about her associating with me. I’m clearly trouble.

  Mum moves across the room, and opens the door.

  “She’s awake!” she calls, and there’s a small cheer from outside the room. Gran comes shuffling in, her old face creased with fear and worry and I am sorry to have caused her such distress.

  “Oh Lily,” she sobs and envelops me in a huge bear hug. I think I’m suffocating. Then she towers over me, her face grim as a Viking shieldmaiden. “What were you thinking, leaving the caravan without telling me?” she roars. “I thought you were such a sensible child. You’ve let me down badly, Lily.”

  I flush with shame. I know exactly why I did it. I was trying to push aside my feelings, not wanting to be left alone with my thoughts, wanting to give my friends an exciting time and not thinking enough about my poor old gran.

  “I’m so sorry, Gran,” I whisper, my eyes flooding with tears.

  “I think we should wait until Lily feels stronger before we badger her about how and why this happened,” says Mum, calmly but firmly. Gran nods. They are for once in agreement.

  They even give each other a big, tearful hug.

  Jenna enters, carrying little Summer in her arms. Jenna’s face is white and she looks exhausted.

  “Silly cow,” she says to me bluntly. “Don’t you dare do anything so stupid again.”

  But she strokes my hair gently with her free hand and I see tears in her eyes. I’ll need to have near-death experiences more often.

  Wee Summer is clutching her scruffy toy lion and she grins when she sees me, oblivious to all the drama. I smile back at her, reach out and take her hand. She’s real. She’s my little sister, my ghost, my life saver. Summer senses that I’m not quite myself. She generously holds her lion out to me for a cuddle.

  “Woawy,” she says. “Woawy.”

  “I know,” I say. “You’ve decided to call your lion Roary.”

  I take the scruffy little lion in my arms and hug him tightly. His fluffy mane tickles my nose.

  ***

  The following day, the nurses are busy preparing me to come home from hospital. As well as my head and chest feeling much better, the fear and dread I’ve been carrying around for weeks and weeks has finally lifted. Plus, I’ve apologised to Gran properly, and promised that on next year’s holiday, I’ll be as good as gold.

  Mum and Gran are both in a particularly good mood today. While Gran and I were in Millport, the house was inspected by the council and they’ve agreed it’s too small for our needs. We’ve been offered a bigger house nearby. Gran is planning to do her own inspection of it tomorrow. Maybe it’s the thought of not having to share a bedroom with Bronx and Hudson any more that’s making me so light-headed and dizzy.

  I walk out into the sunny hospital corridor with its cheerful Lion King murals. Keep them, I think. We shouldn’t ever grow out of liking kids’ films. Who needs gloomy vampires?

  My gran and my mum are coming along the corridor to meet me, both looking happy. Summer is waving at me from her pushchair. I wave back at her and laugh to myself. She has no idea what she has done for us.

  “Wiwy come home,” she shouts gleefully. I want to do cartwheels down the corridor. My wee sister speaks in sentences! She will have a wider vocabulary than Doug the Thug before the summer’s out.

  I want to get home, pack up all my stuff and move into our new place as soon as possible, because then I can invite my friends round whenever I want, though I might have to go round to Rowan’s house first and grovel to her mum.

  I’ll need to convince Mum to take us all over to Millport for a day out so I can talk properly to Aisha. A trip to Cumbrae will be good for Bronx and Hudson too. They need less television and more fresh air. And maybe we can persuade Jenna too, while she’s still feeling grateful that I’m alive.

  Most importantly, I owe Summer a big debt, and I plan on repaying it. I’m going to do the best I can to stick around. We may be a bit of a mixed-up family, but I know that together we’ll be ok.

  And as Aisha says, I also need to chill sometimes – I’m only eleven. I’ve got endless time, because, thanks to my baby sister, I’m still here.

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  Copyright

  Kelpies is an imprint of Floris Books

  First published in 2015 by Floris Books

  © 2015 Lindsay Littleson

  This eBook edition published in 2015

  Lindsay Littleson has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without the prior permission of Floris Books, 15 Harrison Gardens, Edinburgh

  www.florisbooks.co.uk

  This publisher acknowledges subsidy from Creative Scotland towards the publication of this volume

  British Library CIP data available

  ISBN 978–178250–189–3

 

 

 


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