water, lovie.’ She went into the bathroom and he heard her running the tap. He stretched out his legs and cuddled Waffles closer. Sometimes home was better than school, and sometimes school was better than home. When he was ill, home was best. His mum’s voice went all soft. He sipped some water, and went back to sleep for a bit.
After lunch, his mum drove them to a village hall in a place called Portslade. ‘I promised Julia we’d come along, lovie,’ she said, ‘so I’m glad you feel a bit better.’
Davey didn’t know who Julia was, but he was used to support group meetings. In Harrogate they’d always been in church halls or village halls, big rooms with good echoes. They had to be somewhere big enough for all the wheelchairs.
This one was like the others: apple juice and biscuits for the children, never very good biscuits, and tea and coffee for the grown-ups. Five or six boys sat in wheelchairs in a circle, their mums next to them. A squashy woman wearing a red T-shirt welcomed them, all excited, ‘Oh you’re our newbies, lovely.’ She was called Julia, and she told them who everyone was. The boys nodded at Davey. They all looked a lot worse than him. Some were a bit fallen over to one side in their chairs. One had a head going in a different direction to his body. Another one was trying to eat a biscuit and making a mess of it. He reminded Davey of Eric, back at the Harrogate support group. Eric was funny, he couldn’t eat properly but he knew more knock-knock jokes than anyone. Davey and Eric always sat together at these groups and pretended they were somewhere else. Davey smiled at the Eric-alike boy but he didn’t smile back.
Davey and his mum joined the group and all the grown-ups started talking about boring things. The boys all looked at Davey, except the one whose head went the wrong way. None of them said anything to him. His mum was all smiling and happy. She loved these groups. ‘People who understand,’ she said on the way in the car. ‘They’re all going through the same thing.’ She’d got a notepad out now, and was writing down things they were telling her: places to get stuff, places to go, the friendliest doctors, best physios. She was doing her biggest smiley face. The red squashy woman, Julia, gave her a coffee and offered Davey the plate of biscuits. He took a custard cream. Medium sort of biscuit. The boy whose head went the wrong way took four digestives. Davey thought about listing his favourite biscuits but he basically couldn’t be bothered.
Chapter 12
Cath
CARRYING DAVEY DOWN the stairs, Cath felt something twang in her back. She sat down abruptly, holding tightly onto him.
‘What’s the matter, Mum?’
Her back felt cold, just below the shoulder blades. ‘I’ve hurt myself. Give me a minute.’
Davey’s face loomed close to hers, his breath warm on her face. ‘I can go down by myself.’
‘It’s all right, lovie, it’s easing a bit. I’ll get us down on my bottom.’
Cath bumped them both gently down the stairs to where the wheelchair was waiting. Lola came into the hall to watch. ‘What you doing?’
‘I’m realising we gotta sort Davey out a downstairs bedroom, Lolly. I’ll make a start on it today.’
Cath deposited Davey into his wheelchair, then got carefully to her feet, her hand pressing into her back. ‘Ahh!’
‘I like my room,’ Davey said.
‘I’ll recreate it down here, lovie. Look, we knew this was coming. You’re getting bigger.’
‘Daddy can carry him,’ Lola said.
Cath and Davey both looked at her.
‘Maybe you haven’t noticed, Esmie,’ Cath said, ‘but Daddy isn’t actually here right now.’
Both children gasped. ‘Not Esmie!’ Lola shouted.
‘You told us we must never …’
‘All right Davey, thank you very much, I know what I said. I made a mistake, OK? Lola, stop damn well winding me up. Get out of my sight for a minute, please.’
Lola retreated to the living room and Cath heard her
After lunch, his mum drove them to a village hall in a place called Portslade. ‘I promised Julia we’d come along, lovie,’ she said, ‘so I’m glad you feel a bit better.’
Davey didn’t know who Julia was, but he was used to support group meetings. In Harrogate they’d always been in church halls or village halls, big rooms with good echoes. They had to be somewhere big enough for all the wheelchairs.
This one was like the others: apple juice and biscuits for the children, never very good biscuits, and tea and coffee for the grown-ups. Five or six boys sat in wheelchairs in a circle, their mums next to them. A squashy woman wearing a red T-shirt welcomed them, all excited, ‘Oh you’re our newbies, lovely.’ She was called Julia, and she told them who everyone was. The boys nodded at Davey. They all looked a lot worse than him. Some were a bit fallen over to one side in their chairs. One had a head going in a different direction to his body. Another one was trying to eat a biscuit and making a mess of it. He reminded Davey of Eric, back at the Harrogate support group. Eric was funny, he couldn’t eat properly but he knew more knock-knock jokes than anyone. Davey and Eric always sat together at these groups and pretended they were somewhere else. Davey smiled at the Eric-alike boy but he didn’t smile back.
Davey and his mum joined the group and all the grown-ups started talking about boring things. The boys all looked at Davey, except the one whose head went the wrong way. None of them said anything to him. His mum was all smiling and happy. She loved these groups. ‘People who understand,’ she said on the way in the car. ‘They’re all going through the same thing.’ She’d got a notepad out now, and was writing down things they were telling her: places to get stuff, places to go, the friendliest doctors, best physios. She was doing her biggest smiley face. The red squashy woman, Julia, gave her a coffee and offered Davey the plate of biscuits. He took a custard cream. Medium sort of biscuit. The boy whose head went the wrong way took four digestives. Davey thought about listing his favourite biscuits but he basically couldn’t be bothered.
Chapter 12
Cath
CARRYING DAVEY DOWN the stairs, Cath felt something twang in her back. She sat down abruptly, holding tightly onto him.
‘What’s the matter, Mum?’
Her back felt cold, just below the shoulder blades. ‘I’ve hurt myself. Give me a minute.’
Davey’s face loomed close to hers, his breath warm on her face. ‘I can go down by myself.’
‘It’s all right, lovie, it’s easing a bit. I’ll get us down on my bottom.’
Cath bumped them both gently down the stairs to where the wheelchair was waiting. Lola came into the hall to watch. ‘What you doing?’
‘I’m realising we gotta sort Davey out a downstairs bedroom, Lolly. I’ll make a start on it today.’
Cath deposited Davey into his wheelchair, then got carefully to her feet, her hand pressing into her back. ‘Ahh!’
‘I like my room,’ Davey said.
‘I’ll recreate it down here, lovie. Look, we knew this was coming. You’re getting bigger.’
‘Daddy can carry him,’ Lola said.
Cath and Davey both looked at her.
‘Maybe you haven’t noticed, Esmie,’ Cath said, ‘but Daddy isn’t actually here right now.’
Both children gasped. ‘Not Esmie!’ Lola shouted.
‘You told us we must never …’
‘All right Davey, thank you very much, I know what I said. I made a mistake, OK? Lola, stop damn well winding me up. Get out of my sight for a minute, please.’
Lola retreated to the living room and Cath heard her
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