It was also another desperate struggle to get into bed itself. My arms seemed to have lost all their strength and I’d forgotten the knack of swinging myself round. By the time I was lying flat I was trembling with exhaustion.
Izzie drew the curtains to shut out the sunlight. She ruffled my hair as if I were one of the littlies and then went out of the room. I was left there, alone in my new room that didn’t belong to me at all. I cried and cried, muffling my sobs as best I could because I didn’t want Dad or Izzie to come back. I wanted my mum more than anything, but I couldn’t conjure her up.
It was a long time before I could go to sleep, but then I dozed most of the day, just waking up at lunchtime to have a bowl of tomato soup. It was Izzie’s own home-made soup and it tasted especially good after the hospital’s watery variety, but I couldn’t bring myself to compliment her.
Then suddenly there was a lot of shouting and banging of doors and I realized the children had come home from school. I thought they’d come bursting in on me at once, but I heard Izzie hushing them severely and whispering that they must be very quiet and only stay with me a few minutes because I was very weak and tired.
‘No, I’m not!’ I shouted. ‘Come here! Come and see me! Quick!’
So they all came rushing in, Clover and Elsie and Dorry and Jonnie and Phil. The littlies climbed right up on the bed and Clover took one of my hands and Elsie the other. They all talked at once.
‘Careful, careful!’ Izzie commanded, but they took no notice, and Dorry heaved himself hard on to my lap so that there was very nearly a nasty accident.
‘Hey, big lump, shift yourself!’ I said quickly, terrified I might wet myself.
Dorry rolled right off the bed again, looking hurt.
‘I’m not a big lump. You mustn’t call me that even though you’re ill,’ he said mournfully.
‘Sorry, sorry. You’re a big boy, that’s all, a fine big boy. And I’m a useless lump and you can call me that all you like, because it’s true,’ I said, reaching out to take hold of his hand and squeeze it.
‘Did you like our spiders, Katy? Mine is the one with the smiley face. I didn’t want it to look too fierce in case it frightened you,’ said Jonnie.
‘Did you like my ockypus?’ Phil demanded. ‘I know it has to have eight legs, Mum told me, but I don’t think I’ve quite managed eight.’
‘Our shell box is the best though,’ said Elsie. ‘Clover and me made it and we were soooo careful, choosing all the shells the right size and setting it out just so. We wanted it to be truly special, didn’t we, Clover?’
‘It is special. All your presents are very, very special and I love them,’ I said.
‘Oh Katy, I can’t believe you’re home at last!’ said Clover, hugging me, but very gently. ‘I’ve begged Izzie to let me have my bed down here too, but she won’t let me.’
‘So I go in Clover’s room because she’s missing you so,’ said Elsie happily.
I hated the thought of Clover and Elsie cuddled up together. I hated feeling so helpless while the littlies clambered all over me. I was so used to romping with them and giving them piggybacks and tossing them into the air until they squealed. I hated not feeling in charge of everything. The children were all talking at once again, telling me things about school, and it was hard not to feel muddled.
‘Mr Robinson sent his particular best wishes to you, Katy. He’s so worried about you,’ said Clover. ‘He kept me back at playtime to ask all about you. Oh, he’s such a lovely teacher, isn’t he?’
It felt so strange that he was no longer my teacher. I didn’t go to Newbury Road Primary any more. I didn’t go anywhere. My head ached just at the thought of doing lessons again. My brain seemed to have stopped working as well as my legs.
‘Come on now, children. You’ve got juice and cookies in the kitchen. Give Katy a bit of peace for now,’ said Izzie.
They all protested, even Dorry, who usually charged kitchenwards at the first hint of a cookie. I protested too, but I was secretly glad when Izzie shooed them all away nevertheless. I was left by myself. I lay back, exhausted, feeling all the blood jangling in my head and down my arms and my heart thumping in my chest as if I’d been running hard. I felt absolutely nothing in my stomach and hips and legs. It was as if I was only half a person now, a dreary old granny figure who had to be left to have her nap.
I felt tears dripping out of my eyes again and I reached up and slapped my face hard, because I so hated this weak, wailing, self-pitying creature who had taken me over. I longed with all my heart and soul to be Katy again. My family loved me dearly but they didn’t understand.
I longed to be back in hospital where everyone understood. Especially Dexter. I wanted to send him an email. Dad’s laptop was in my suitcase from the last time he’d lent it to me, just before I came out of hospital. The suitcase was on the other side of the library. I heaved myself up on my elbows, trying to work out how to get hold of it. I’d have to transfer back into my wheelchair and then ferry myself across the room, reach down for the case, struggle with opening it, get myself all the way back to the bed while trying to balance the laptop on my knees, then put it on the bed where it wouldn’t be nudged off, and then haul myself and my dead legs back on to the bed, under all the covers.
It was exhausting even thinking of it. I could call Izzie or Clover and they’d fetch it for me. But I didn’t want to be reduced to calling for help every single time I needed to do anything at all. I wanted to do everything for myself.
I remembered how I’d struggled to be independent when I was very little, after Mum had died. When Izzie arrived she had tried to take over. Clover had been too small and biddable to protest, but I had thrown a tantrum any time Izzie attempted to brush my hair or button my coat or do up my shoes.
‘I do it!’ I’d yelled again and again, so I went round with my hair hanging over my face, my coat lopsided and my shoes falling off.
Then I heard a ring at the door and Cecy’s mum talking, and Cecy herself, sounding high-pitched and anxious. It didn’t sound like she was very keen to see me. Maybe her mum had insisted. There was Izzie again, ‘ … I’m not sure … Katy Katy … very tired …’
‘No, I’m not!’ I shouted.
I felt scared of seeing Cecy in case she was all weird again, but I couldn’t bear Izzie thinking she knew best all the time.
So she ushered Cecy and Mrs Hall into the room, opening the curtains again. The daylight made me blink. I’d thought hours had gone by but clearly it had only been a matter of minutes.
Cecy was wearing her new Springfield uniform, white blouse, navy-and-red tie, navy skirt. It suited her.
‘Hello Katy, dear. Oh, you look lovely and comfy in here,’ said Cecy’s mum brightly.
‘We’ll try and make it a bit prettier if this is going to be Katy’s room permanently,’ said Izzie. ‘Luckily we’ve already got a shower in the downstairs loo. And we’ll get a stairlift for the stairs … that’ll make life a lot easier.’
‘Oh goodness, Izzie. It’s turned your life upside down, hasn’t it?’ said Cecy’s mum. ‘I feel so sorry for you.’
What??? I was the one who’d had the accident and was stuck in bed unable to do the slightest thing for myself, I was the one who couldn’t run or dance or play properly with the littlies, I was the one who couldn’t go to secondary school with all the others, I was the one who’d get pointed at and ridiculed or pitied, I was the one who’d never be able to have proper mates on an equal basis, I was the one who’d never get a boyfriend, I was the one who couldn’t ever have a proper career, I was the one who couldn’t ever manage in my own house, I was the one who would have to be treated like a helpless baby forever.
I didn’t say any of this, but perhaps it was plain what I was thinking, because Izzie steered Cecy’s mum away to the kitchen for a cup of tea. ‘So that the girls can talk.’
Well, that was a stupid thing to say. Cecy and I just stared at each other. Both of us swallowed hard, but any words
stayed stuck in our throats.
At last Cecy stammered, ‘H-how are you, Katy?’
I stared at her. It seemed such an incredibly stupid question. So silly that I actually burst out laughing.
Cecy looked startled – and then started giggling feebly too. Then we carried on laughing until we were gasping and heaving and snorting, and it felt so good to be having a mad giggling fit just like we’d done in the old days.
‘You nutcase!’ I blurted out, between bursts.
‘I know!’ said Cecy. ‘But I couldn’t think of anything else to say!’
‘Oh Cecy. I’ve missed you!’
‘I’ve missed you too, so much.’
‘You didn’t come to see me in hospital! All that time and you only came once!’
‘I’m sorry. I was so busy in the summer show. I did write to you. And email. But – but it was so scary seeing you stuck there. And I’m so squeamish. I hate hospitals, you know I do.’
‘I hate them too!’
‘Oh Katy.’ Cecy sat down on the bed beside me and grabbed my hand just the way she used to. ‘Was it really, really bad? Were you in a lot of pain?’
‘Well, I was for a bit. From the wound thingy in my back, after the operation.’ I paused. I decided to torture her. ‘Shall I tell you what they had to do to stabilize my spine? They cut right down and –’
‘No! No, don’t! Shut up!’
‘OK, OK, but think what it was like for me, actually having to have it done.’
‘You mean you were fully conscious? They didn’t give you any anaesthetic?’ Cecy’s voice grew high with horror.
‘Well, of course they knocked me out first, but then think what it was like for me when I came round and I still couldn’t walk at all.’
‘And – and you still can’t now, not even a little bit?’ Cecy’s eyes swivelled fearfully to the long mound my legs made in the bed.
‘I’ll show you,’ I said, pulling at the duvet.
‘No, don’t!’ said Cecy, panicking again, as if I were trying to expose something hideous and suppurating.
‘It’s OK, you nutter. They just look like legs. Perfectly ordinary. Just useless.’ I pulled until my legs were exposed from the knee down. Cecy peered at them anxiously.
‘Now, tickle under my feet.’
‘What?’
‘You know how ticklish I’ve always been, especially on my feet. So give it a go.’
Cecy reached out and tickled.
‘More. And then poke them. Twiddle the toes backwards and forwards. Stick pins in them, anything.’
‘Pins?’ said Cecy, but she started manipulating my toes busily.
‘Can’t feel a thing,’ I said.
‘God, that’s weird.’
‘Yep. You could pour boiling water on them and I wouldn’t flinch.’
‘Really? Do – do you want me to do that?’
‘No, of course not, because I’d still burn and blister. I just wouldn’t be able to feel it. It’s like the bottom half of me has turned into a statue.’
‘Wow. It’s like you’re in a myth or a fairy tale. People are always getting turned into statues or trees or whatever in them. Or you’re like one of those old-fashioned children’s classic books. There’s lots of people who can’t walk in them.’
‘And if they’re ever so good and patient and get lots of fresh air and pray heaps then they’re up and walking by the end of the book. Yuck.’
‘Yeah, double yuck,’ said Cecy uncertainly.
‘Me and my friend Dexter are maybe working on a new book about death and disease and all that kind of thing,’ I said proudly.
‘Dexter?’
‘He was one of the boys in the other ward. Well, not really a boy; he’s sixteen.’
‘And he’s your boyfriend?’
I hesitated. I was desperate to get things back to normal – with Cecy being a little bit envious of me all the time – but my friendship with Dexter was so precious to me I didn’t want to pretend at all.
‘He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my friend.’
‘Half the girls in my class say they’ve got boyfriends. But I’m not sure I believe them,’ said Cecy.
‘What’s it like, Springfield?’
‘It’s a bit scary. It’s so big. And it’s horrible not having you there. I have to sit next to this lumpy girl called Alice who’s incredibly boring.’
‘Who else is in your class? Is Ryan?’
‘No, worse luck. At least he’d be a laugh. He’s in 7A. Still, the good news is that Eva-so-up-herself-Jenkins is in 7A too.’
‘So who do you hang out with?’
‘There’s no one really special. I don’t actually reckon any of the girls. Some of them are a bit scary. They act ever so old and wear make-up and do weird things with their eyebrows. They’ve all got boyfriends, or at least they say they have.’
‘Aren’t there any who like reading or art, stuff like that?’ I asked.
‘I wish! Well, there’s Celia, this girl who has her head in a book all the time, but she’s a bit … she’s got a funny hand and does this limpy thing. The eyebrow girls are having a go at her already.’
I sat still, staring at Cecy.
‘I don’t mock her,’ she said.
‘But you don’t want to be friends with her.’
‘Well … So? I want to be friends with you.’
‘Yeah, but if you didn’t know me, and I was starting at Springfield now, then would you go, “Well, there’s Katy, this girl who has her head in a book all the time, but she’s a bit funny and cripply”?’
‘No! Don’t joke like that, it’s horrid.’
‘Well, even if you didn’t say that, think what those eyebrow girls might say. I’m not going to Springfield!’
‘You’re not?’
‘Well, how can I, like this?’
‘So where will you go?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
I hadn’t even talked about it with Dad. I had some dim expectation that I’d have to go to some special school for disabled kids. The thought made my stomach churn.
I was disabled now, forever and ever. And I hated it.
20
‘You need to rest,’ Izzie kept saying.
But I couldn’t rest. I was restless. I tossed my head and flung my arms about so much that I kept pulling muscles. It was as if I wanted to escape my own lower half and run away on non-existent legs.
Izzie tried to make me do my exercises when I was in this mood, but I didn’t want to do pathetic physio stuff. I wanted to run and jump and cycle and skateboard.
‘Where is my skateboard?’ I said fretfully.
‘Oh Katy. What do you want with your skateboard now?’ said Izzie.
‘It’s mine. It was my birthday present. I want it back, even if I can’t use it,’ I said. ‘You were so mean to hide it away from me.’
‘Don’t start,’ said Izzie.
But I couldn’t stop. ‘And if you hadn’t been so mean, if you’d said, “Yes Katy, of course you can go skateboarding with your friends. Off you go,” then I’d have gone off and had a lovely time all morning, and then in the afternoon we’d all have gone swimming together and the accident would never have happened.’
‘So you’re still saying it’s all my fault?’ said Izzie quietly.
‘I’m just saying that if you hadn’t confiscated my skateboard then none of this would have happened. Probably.’
Izzie didn’t argue with me. She went to her room and I heard her rootling around in some cupboard. She came back with my skateboard and put it down beside me on the bed. Then she walked away without any further comment.
I was left holding my skateboard. I stroked it for a while, spinning the wheels. I remembered exactly how it felt to hurtle along the ground, gathering momentum, to go up a ramp and fly …
Then I took the skateboard and hurled it with all my strength at the wall. It took a chunk out of the plaster under the window. Izzie must have seen it but she ignored it
. She didn’t speak to me and I didn’t speak to her for the rest of that day.
Some days were like that. On other days Izzie tried desperately hard to be friends and chatted non-stop. They were worse. I could only cope with Izzie having to do all the hateful toileting stuff if we were both silent, pretending it wasn’t happening. I could only accept this new diminished life if I could feel Izzie was my cruel jailer, my hateful enemy. I resented it when she bought me special new paperbacks, a drawing pad and new felt tips, more T-shirts, more pyjamas.
I even started to find it tiresome when the children kept making me more and more presents: little wobbly paper people, clay angels, felt mice. It was so sweet of them, but I started to get tired of pretending that all the ornaments and tiny toys wobbling about on my bedside table were making me feel much better.
They brought me their own toys too. Jonnie even insisted I take ownership of her beloved Zebby chair, which got in the way horribly when I tried to wheel myself about. The others kept donating their favourite cuddly toys until there were so many tucked into bed I hardly dared move my arms or else I’d send half a dozen fluffy teddies flying.
I drew the line when Elsie came skipping into my room with her entire menagerie, even the filthy cuddle blanket she’d dragged round everywhere when she was little.
‘For God’s sake, Elsie, it’s just a load of dirty old junk,’ I said. ‘If you’ve grown out of them then take them to an Oxfam shop, but don’t dump them all on me,’ I snapped.
Elsie peered at me, stricken. She mumbled apologies, scooped them all up in her arms and scurried away. I heard her howling when she was upstairs.
I felt bad then, really bad. I waited for Izzie to come stomping in and berate me for upsetting her own precious darling, but she kept away. Somehow that made me feel worse.
I sent a heartfelt email to Dexter.
Am I the worst person in the world??? I’ve just been so mean to my little stepsister and now she’s blubbing away and no one will even tell me off, because I’m the poor, helpless cripple. Why do I have to be so mean?