My Brother's Shadow

by Tom Avery

  My “Wait!” was too slow again and I watched both the cleaner and the nurse rush from the room.

  I had a little longer to stare out into the world this time, and I found myself thinking about the boy. He must, I thought, be just next door, or at least on the same ward. With this thought I decided not to wait for the doctor and slipped out from under the sheets. Then I did what on reflection I can see was another stupid thing: I pulled the wires off my chest and the tubes out of my nose and arm. Instantly the machine let out a constant beep and the tube that had been in my arm leaked a clear liquid onto the bed. Like I said, I felt all right.

  I was wearing my own pajamas, and in a tall, thin cupboard I found my own dressing gown, a hand-me-down from Moses. I sniffed it, as I always did, hoping to catch a long-lost scent of my brother like a message from the past in nasal form.

  It’s strange finding something you own somewhere you’ve never seen it before; you know someone’s tampered with it, rifled through your belongings. I stuck my hands into the threadbare pockets. Something dry and crisp and rough tickled the fingers of my left hand.

  Just then, giving me no time to glance at the mystery object, the doctor appeared.

  “Hello,” I said for a third time.

  “Hello,” said the doctor, a beautiful woman. I could not say whether she was young or old. She wasn’t black or white either; her skin was a dark hazelnut. “I’m Dr. Sanogo,” she went on. “I am one of your doctors, Kaia.” I had doctors, not just a doctor. “Can I just check you over quickly?”

  I nodded and Dr. Sanogo nodded. Her big frizzy hair tied up above her head nodded too.

  “And I think Laura here”—indicating the nurse, who had returned without the cleaner—“better get you plugged back in.”

  While the nurse eased me back into bed, Dr. Sanogo did her checks. She held my wrist and felt my pulse. She took my temperature. She asked me a few questions, like my name, my mum’s name, my date of birth. I think I got them all right.

  When she was done, she turned to the nurse, who was long finished and had been hovering nervously by the door. “Laura,” the doctor said, “have you called Kaia’s mum?”

  “I thought I’d better wait,” she replied.

  “Well, that’s the first thing to do now.” The nurse left. “Second,” the doctor went on, “I’d better get you something to eat. You must be starving.”

  She turned to leave, but I was quicker this time. “Wait,” I said, and my doctor turned back towards me. “Please, Doctor, where is the boy?”

  “Boy?” the doctor replied.

  “The boy. My friend.”

  She stared at me blankly and I started to panic, my breath coming in short spurts and the machines beeping, getting faster and faster.

  “The boy,” I tried again. “He would have arrived with me. He was in the crash too.”

  The doctor stared some more; then, when she began to speak she did so slowly, like I was madder than I knew I was. “You arrived on your own, Kaia. There was no one else in the crash. Do you mean the driver? He wasn’t hurt.”

  My eyes were filled with tears now. “Not the driver,” I said. “The boy, the boy.”

  The doctor took a step back towards me, placing her hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to see about that food. Then I think we’d better do a few more checks, sweetheart.”

  I didn’t reply but watched the doctor disappear through the door.

  I sat stunned for some time, possibilities racing through my head. Then I remembered the something rough lodged in my pocket. It rasped against my dressing gown as I pulled it out and brought it up to my face.

  A long, green-brown horse chestnut leaf. I saw him then, my boy, a smiling face, deep gray eyes, hair as black as coal. The world spun around him.

  Summer had almost arrived when he left. I had been asleep, “in a coma,” the doctor said, for four weeks. And in that time a warm breeze had crept in to replace the spring rain and remove any doubt that the frost was over. The boy had left. I asked after him one last time. I asked my mum, but she stared at me as blankly as the doctors.

  “Oh, my Kaia” were her first words when she walked in yesterday, the day I woke up. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  I looked her up and down. She was wearing a white shirt and a green vest over the top. Pinned to the vest was a name badge, her name badge. It looked distinctly like a uniform.

  “You’ve started your job, Mum,” I said.

  We grinned at each other for a long time. Then hugged for a long time. I cried and laughed and we hugged some more, me and my mum.

  “I’m sorry, Kaia,” my mum whispered again and again into the top of my hair, and I knew that she meant it. I knew she meant it for everything. I was sorry too.

  When we finally let go of each other, Mum took hold of my hands and kissed my forehead.

  “Have you seen all your cards, Kaia?” she said.

  I looked back at the wall, covered in cards. “My cards?” I said.

  “I didn’t know you were such a popular girl, sweetheart.”

  I didn’t know I was such a popular girl.

  “Some of your friends have been in so many times, bringing you all sorts of things. Luzie and Angelica and a boy.” At this my mum winked at me. “Shadid.”

  I found myself blushing.

  My mum leaned across me, behind the metal stand (an IV drip, I now know), to a bedside cabinet. She opened the top drawer. It was stuffed with books, bags of sweets, pencils and paper, and on top, Luzie’s magnet game.

  “Some teachers came too—Mr. Wills came on the first day; Harry came, he brought you these paints.” Mum held up a tin of watercolor paints, a pad and paintbrush. “Jo’s been a few times, been telling you about some sunflowers she’s planted for you, getting big, she says.”

  Again my eyes filled with tears and I thought of the boy, my boy, who had made all this possible.

  THE END

  Through the open window, summer sunlight slants into the room and I hear the call of a distant bird, nesting high in the welcoming arms of an ancient sycamore (Acer pseudoplatanus). I realize that it is far too warm for the blankets that lie across my legs. Before I shift them my eye catches, again, the slender leaf, pinned with my many cards against the wall. For one last time I whisper to the boy, with a secret smile, “Goodbye, friend.”

  My mum walks in, her uniform creased. She smiles at me, her eyes aglow. I stare at her. She stares at me.

  “You have such a lovely smile, Kaia,” she says.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  In all things, my first and highest thanks go to God, whose goodness towards me knows no bounds.

  Many people read this book before it got to “official” hands. Chief amongst them were a group of children who read every word I wrote, even the ones that didn’t make the cut. Special thanks to O.C.—I want to see you writing one day.

  Thanks go to: Jonny Stockwood, a fellow writer—your advice is always invaluable; Maggie and Laurie—you always believe in my scribblings; Simon Tarry—you’re the most supportive guy I know.

  When the manuscript for this book found its way into the hands of professionals, Penny Holroyde, my agent, believed in and championed me, Kaia and the boy right from the start. The team at Andersen, Eloise and Charlie and Ruth, took it and helped me shape it and made it more beautiful with their insightful ideas, always presented with gentleness—thank you. A massive glug of thanks goes to Kate, whose incredible illustration graces the cover of this book.

  A last thanks, but certainly not the least, goes to my wife. Chloe, you are a woman of infinite patience, trust and love. This book would not exist without you.

  Tom Avery is the author of the middle-grade novel Too Much Trouble, winner of the Frances Lincoln Diverse Voices Children’s Book Award. He was born and raised in London in a very large, very loud family, descendants of the notorious pirate Henry Avery. Tom has worked as a teacher in inner-city schools in London and Birmingham. He lives in North London with
his wife and two sons.