‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘It might be your sense of humour she likes,’ laughed Cathy. ‘I’ll go and fetch her.’
Maisie came and sat on the chair next to my bed.
‘I shall leave you two to natter,’ said Cathy. ‘If you want me, I’ll be over at the desk.’
Natter? How do you natter with someone who won’t speak? What’s the point in talking to someone who doesn’t answer? Maisie sat there. I lay there. There was a long silence. I tried to think of something to say.
‘They think you’re my girlfriend,’ I said coldly.
Maisie’s face broke into a grin. She even squeaked a sniggery sort of squeak. I clasped my hands behind my head and glanced at her.
‘I don’t think we should marry’ I said seriously. ‘Not yet. I think we should wait until… until I’m old enough, until I’m about… three hundred and fifty’
This time she doubled up and gave a great snort of laughter. It was good when she laughed. Obviously she could make some noises and that cheered me up.
‘How old are you?’ I asked. Maisie held up her hands.
‘Nine? I’m eleven. My parents are coming in later. I had to have a bed bath because of them coming in. I hate bed baths, do you?’ Maisie didn’t seem to know what a bed bath was. ‘Right,
of course, you can bath yourself, can’t you? I’m stuck in this bed with my leg. I’m not allowed to move. So the nurse baths me, in bed.’ I nodded across at Cathy. Maisie grinned and bit her lower lip. Obviously she didn’t fancy a bed bath any more than I did. ‘Do your mum and dad come to see you?’
Maisie shook her head. She seemed cross and gazed at the floor. ‘Don’t they come in at all?’ I asked, but she wouldn’t look at me. I thought I’d better change the subject. ‘I broke my leg, the top bone. I’ve got to stay here for ages before I’m allowed up. I have to stay on my back all day long and I’m hacked off. Been here four weeks already so I might be able to get up soon.’
Maisie stopped staring at the floor. She reached over, touched my leg gently and looked at me enquiringly. ‘You want to know how it happened?’ She nodded and I began to tell her and before I knew it I was telling her everything, the whole Death in the Supermarket scenario. Maybe I felt safe because she couldn’t speak. Maybe that was why. Whatever, I told her everything.
‘Mum sent me to get some milk from the supermarket. I went on my bike – twenty-seven gears,’ I added proudly and Maisie shrugged. ‘You don’t know about mountain bikes?’ I sighed. ‘Never mind. In the supermarket there was a special display, a big pyramid of tomato tins, right up to the ceiling. Absolutely gigantic. There must have been at least a thousand tins, two, three thousand. I bet they were up all night building that. Must have taken them hours. They’d done it for a competition. GUESS HOW MANY TINS IN OUR TOMATO PYRAMID AND WIN A TRIP TO ITALY. Something like that.’
I took a deep breath. Maisie was listening intently. I leaned even closer and lowered my voice. ‘The thing is… the thing is…’ I swallowed a couple of times. ‘I think my basket… well, I’m a bit clumsy. I’m always having accidents and my basket must have caught the edge of the pyramid, or maybe it was my foot.’
Maisie’s eyes bulged as she fixed them on me. I gave a little nod. ‘There was an old man. He was standing next to the pyramid, reading a competition leaflet and trying to count the tins. Anyhow, I must have clipped the edge of the pyramid and it toppled over. The whole thing, thousands of tins of tomatoes. They came crashing down. It was horrible! I leaped back, tins tumbling everywhere, and when I looked
where the pyramid had been there was just an enormous pile of tins and… and…’
I dropped my voice to an almost silent whisper. ‘There was a mountain of tins and right at the bottom, underneath everything, was a pair of legs – just, just his feet – and they weren’t moving.’
Maisie slowly took her hand away from her mouth. It had fallen open. The colour had drained from her face, her eyes wide with alarm.
‘Bedpans!’ she said.
5 How to Make a Promise, Maisie-style
‘What?’ I was gobsmacked.
‘Bedpans. Cathy won’t let me swear, so I say “bedpans” instead.’
I clapped my hands over my head in desperation. ‘But hang on, you can’t speak!’
‘Of course I can. I just did, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah, but I mean, you don’t.’
Maisie rolled her eyes in mock despair. ‘That’s not the same as can’t. Don’t is different. Don’t means I choose not to.’
‘All right, all right, so you can speak, but you don’t. Now all of sudden you are. OK, I’ve got that bit straight in my head, but what’s this about bedpans? I mean, none of us are supposed to swear, so we don’t, but you say “bedpans” when you want to swear, even though nobody can hear you because you’re not actually speaking out loud, you’re only saying it in your head?’
Maisie was grinning and nodding.
‘They can’t hear you!’ I spluttered.
Maisie leaned towards me and dropped her voice. ‘They might hear my thoughts,’ she whispered. I heaved a sigh and looked at her sadly.
‘You’re mad,’ I told her.
‘So? You’ve left three thousand tins of tomatoes piled on top of an old man. What happened? Was he all right?’
Her words threw me back into the horror film. I shook my head.
‘It was awful. I ran for it, grabbed my bike and pedalled like the wind. That’s when the car hit me, or rather I hit the car. It wasn’t moving, you see. It didn’t even have anyone inside! I’ve no idea why I didn’t see it. I mean, it was smack bang in front of me and then smack bang – I hit it. Rode straight into it at full speed, whizzed over the handlebars, bounced off the bonnet and smashed into a wall on the other side. That’s how I broke my leg. So everyone thinks I fell off my mountain bike and I did. But they don’t know why. They never asked. So I’ve never told anyone. Except you.’
Maisie had been holding her breath all that time. Now she sat back in her chair and slowly let it out. ‘Bedpans! Was he… was he dead?’
I looked at her. It was too dreadful for words. ‘It’s a secret,’ I whispered. ‘The police are bound to come looking for me sooner or later. They’ll ask a few questions, put two and two together and any day now they’ll come walking through that door with a warrant for my arrest. You’ve got to keep it to yourself. Don’t tell anyone.’
Maisie nodded. She reached out, put both her hands on one of mine, looked me in the eye very seriously and said: ‘Cross my heart or die from a fart.’
Excuse me? Had I heard that correctly? ‘What? I thought it was “Cross my heart and hope to die”. That’s not what we say at school.’
‘I don’t go to your school,’ Maisie pointed out. ‘We say “Cross my heart or die from a fart”. At least I do, and you’d better not let on about me talking, either, because that’s my secret.’
‘Cross my heart,’ I began, but never actually finished because at that point two people arrived at the door.
‘Is that the police?’ whispered Maisie.
‘No, my parents.’
Mum and Dad came across, beaming at me, and Mum leaned over and gave me a kiss, which was embarrassing, but inescapable if you’ve got a broken leg. She smiled at Maisie.
‘Hello, what’s your name?’ My heart sank but Maisie silently smiled back. ‘Do you have a name?’ prompted Mum and then, because Maisie remained quiet, Mum suddenly put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! You’re deaf, aren’t you? Can you lip-read?’
Before I could stop her Mum bent down very close to Maisie, pointed at her mouth with both hands and said ‘S-O-R-R-Y,’ making her lips move very slowly I couldn’t stand it any longer. Mum was making a clown of herself and Maisie was making fools of all of us, so I spoke up instead.
‘She’s Maisie and she’s not deaf, Mum. It’s just that she doesn’t speak. Actually, she comes from another planet. She’s here under observation
and she’s completely poo-brained.’
‘Jack!’ snapped Dad. ‘That’s enough. Don’t be so unkind.’ He turned to Maisie. ‘I’m sorry about our son. He can be very rude.’
Maisie got to her feet. She threw a highly amused glance at me and left me to get slagged off by my own parents while she went giggling across to the desk, grabbed Cathy by the arm and off they trotted. I watched until I couldn’t see them any longer, wondering if my secret would be safe with the ginger alien.
Mum and Dad had brought some photos of Lazybones, my cat. He’s black and white, purrs like a Harley-Davidson and likes to lie across my shoulders when I’m watching telly. ‘He misses you,’ said Dad. ‘So does Ben. He’s over at his friend’s place today – we thought it might be more peaceful to visit without him.’
‘We all miss you,’ said Mum, stroking my hair. Princess La-La sniggered at me from across the room. She mouthed the words ‘mummy’s boy’ at me. I hurriedly pulled my head away.
‘I’ll be home soon,’ I murmured hopefully.
‘Of course you will,’ said Mum. ‘Doctor says you’re making excellent progress.’ She sniffed the air. ‘You smell of hospital soap.’
‘They gave me a bed bath this morning,’ I muttered darkly. ‘I am considering writing to ChildLine. My human rights have been violated.’
‘Darling, if you don’t wash regularly you will become a stink bomb, and then everybody else will feel that their human rights have been violated by you.’ Mum smiled triumphantly, as if she’d outsmarted me, which I guess she had, sort of, again.
‘We could have a party when you come out,’ Dad suggested, and I know he meant come out of hospital, but to me it sounded like come out of prison.
‘You could invite Daisy’ Mum said. ‘That would be nice. She’d like that.’
‘Her name’s Maisie, and what’s the point of inviting someone who’s not going to talk to anyone?’
‘It’s not her fault, poor thing,’ said Mum.
And I thought to myself: Yes, it is. She does it on purpose. But why?
Mum and Dad stayed for about two hours and it wasn’t until after they’d gone that I was able to put my brain to good use. Princess La-La had been smirking at me all the time my parents stayed, so I started to think of a way to get even with her and eventually I came up with a plan. My big problem was that I was stuck in bed, so I needed someone to help. I called Liam over and explained my idea.
‘Cool!’ he said. ‘Where’s the note?’
I scribbled a quick message.
Darling Ashley,
You are cute.
I fancy you.
K.
‘That should do it,’ I said, folding it in half. ‘Wicked!’ Liam slipped the note into his pocket.
‘You know what to do,’ I said.
‘Just watch me,’ he answered. He sauntered back to his bed, making a bit of a detour to get to Acne-Man’s desk and slipping the note on it while he wasn’t there. Liam turned and gave me a broad wink. He was good at winking, I’ll say that for him.
I didn’t feel any better about things though and the day dragged on. It was one of those days, a real draggy day – do you know what I mean? Telling Maisie about the supermarket had left me feeling flat and empty. All I could be bothered to do was stare at the ceiling, the walls and… the doors. The Doors of Doom. I had never known such threatening doors. Every time they banged open my heart stopped because I knew, I knew that sooner or later the police would walk in and the game would be up.
They say that sometimes in cop stories on TV, don’t they? ‘The game’s up! You’re nicked, son!’ But it’s not a game at all. Games are supposed to be fun and I can tell you that waiting for the police to come and get you is no fun at all.
And then the Doors of Doom did bang and my heart missed a beat, clocked who it was and started again. Great, here comes Miss Crispin, from the hospital school. Lucky me.
Oh yes, we even have school in hospital. There is no escaping school or baths. Miss Crispin had a project for me to do. Maths. My favourite subject. (That’s called irony. Mrs Fetlock taught me that. At first I thought it must have something to with actual ironing, but it doesn’t.)
‘I want you to make a bar chart,’ said Miss Crispin. ‘It can be about anything you like. For example, how many different kinds of people come into this ward during the day.’
‘Different kinds? Like how many people with only one eye? How many with heads stuck in saucepans? How many with broken –’
‘No, Jack, that isn’t what I mean. How many men, women, boys, girls, nurses, parents and so on come walking through those doors? That’s what I mean.’
Bedpans – as a certain person might say. The Doors of Doom again. And a maths project. What a lovely day I was having. My happiness was complete.
6 How Not to Score a Goal
I’ve told you how I’m always having accidents. Today’s example – spilled my breakfast all down my front. Princess La-La jeered and told Tricia I needed a bib. She doesn’t know about the note yet. I’m sure Acne-Man keeps giving her funny looks. Anyway bar charts. There must be something interesting I could think up. Maybe I could do something about all my Jackcidents. How many times have I banged my head? (Loads!) How many times have I hurt my knee? (Lots!)
There was one really cracking accident I had when I did both knees in at the same time playing five-a-side football on the school’s Astro Turf pitch. I was racing about, thinking how fantabulous it would be to actually score and all at once I had the ball at my feet and the goal was right in front and everyone was shouting and yelling, and my foot smashed into the ball. Away
it soared and the goalkeeper jumped and his arms went up and the ball whizzed straight over his hands and into the net. Brilliantissimo! I had scored! Me! Jack! Scored!
I turned and ran back down the pitch and I did The Slide. You know, when you score and you throw yourself down on your knees and you slide across the grass. Wonderful!
Unless it’s Astro Turf. If it’s Astro Turf it isn’t like sliding on grass. It’s like sliding across a cheese grater. It took all the skin off my knees. Talk about OW!
But it was worse than that even. I thought everyone was cheering when I scored that goal, but they weren’t. They were bellowing at me to stop. I had been racing up and down the pitch so much I’d clean forgotten which way I was kicking and I’d scored in my own goal!
But remembering that did get me thinking about the bits of the body that get the worst of it. Which bits do you think get hit most? Head? Elbows? Knees? Bum? Maybe I should do a bar chart about that. I’ll think about it.
I was still thinking about it when the doc came round the ward checking the charts that hang on the ends of our beds and generally making sure we were still breathing and hadn’t died. He looked me up and down and narrowed his eyes.
He’s got bad news, I thought. He always narrows his eyes when he’s got bad news. ‘You must be pretty fed up with being stuck in a hospital bed,’ he began. ‘So as of today you can start sitting up and tomorrow we’re going to get you on your feet.’
I almost leaped up there and then. ‘Really?’
He gave me a broad smile. ‘Thought that might cheer you up. Your leg’s doing pretty well and I think it’s time we got it moving properly – a bit of gentle exercise. I’ll speak to physio and get it set up. They’ll show you what you can do and what you should avoid for a while. A few days’ practice, then you can go home.’
Home! Was that music to my ears? It was like a big brass band trumpeting all the way down the hospital corridors. TA TARA-TA TA! Jack Lemming can get up! PAR-PARA-PAH PAH! Jack Lemming – you can go home! PISH! (The ‘PISH!’ bit was the big cymbals.)
As soon as the doc had gone I announced the news to the whole ward. Ashley came across and performed the Grand Ceremony of the Sitting Up. My pillows are on a frame that can be tilted at different angles. He has to set it for me at the moment, but at least I can sit up and see more.
Liam see
med pretty chirpy as well. ‘I’m going home too,’ he said. Princess La-La turned her back on the pair of us and I guessed she was staying. I wished she’d smile sometimes.
‘Uh-oh,’ said Liam. ‘Watch out, here comes your Little Miss Weirdo. Don’t know what you see in her. She doesn’t even talk.’
‘Makes her a good listener,’ I explained, watching Maisie skip into the ward with Cathy. ‘I can say stuff to her that I might not say to anyone else.’
‘Weirdo,’ Liam repeated before darting off to his bed-cave.
Cathy and Maisie came straight across. ‘She wanted to come and see you,’ said Cathy. ‘Don’t ask me why.’
Maisie’s eyes sparkled. She settled in the chair beside me while Cathy watched. ‘She likes coming to see you, so what do you talk to her about?’
I shrugged.
‘Hmm, secrets, I suppose.’
I shrugged again and Cathy laughed. ‘My my that’s two of you not talking. I’d better go away in case it spreads even further and we have an epidemic of silence throughout the hospital. OK, I don’t mind. I’ll go and talk to Ashley. Have fun!’ As she crossed the ward Acne-Man beckoned her over. They kept laughing and snatching glances. Very odd.
‘She fancies him,’ whispered Maisie, as if she’d read my mind.
‘Urgh! How could anyone fancy Acne-Man?’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’ll end in tears anyway. Always does.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘People never stay together,’ she said simply. ‘They always split up.’
‘My parents haven’t split up.’
‘I bet they will.’
‘Don’t say that! What would you know, anyway?’
‘They always do. None of my friends have got both parents. Some have got two dads and some have got two mums and some have only got a
dad or a mum, except Sophie, and she’s got three dads – one proper and two stepdads.’
Beware! Killer Tomatoes Page 3
