anticoagulants, antibiotics, and blood thinners.’
‘Excellent . . . And?’
‘Liver disease.’
The room goes quiet. There’s so many things that could go wrong with me but I’m used to talking about them now.
Dr Moore taps my back. ‘Good lad,’ he says.
I put my sweatshirt back on. The door slides open. I sigh. Charlotte R walks in carrying a silver dish with a needle and swab. She puts the dish down on the table next to my laptop. Dr Moore
looks at Beth in a way that says: ‘we need to talk somewhere where Joe can’t hear us’. She tells me she’ll be back in a minute and follows Dr Moore towards the door.
‘We’ll check in again later, Joe.’
I nod. They all walk out into the transition zone. I listen and try to hear what Dr Moore’s saying to Beth but all I can hear is them spraying disinfectant and running the taps. Charlotte
R taps me on the shoulder.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘But we have to do this now.’
‘It’s okay.’
I hold out my arm. Charlotte R looks for a space where the bruises have faded. She finds a white bit of skin halfway between my wrist and my elbow, squirts the numbing spray then picks up the
needle. I turn away, I’ve had hundreds of injections but I still can’t look.
‘There, all done.’
Charlotte R presses a plaster onto my arm. I turn back and she shows me my blood in the syringe.
Sometimes when I’m ill I think it will come out a different colour but it doesn’t matter if my whites are up or down, it always looks the same. Dark red, so dark it’s almost
brown. They’ve taken loads of it before. They must have taken so much out of me they could fill another body.
I hold a swab down on my arm while Charlotte R screws the top down on the tube of blood and puts it in the dish.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to go.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve got to get this back.’
‘It’s okay.’
She smiles and goes out of the door.
It seems like everyone is busy, rushing round looking after everyone else. They’re buzzing around like bees. Busy. Busy. Running down the corridors in and out of wards. It’s like
there’s not enough of them to look after us. The sick kids.
I’m trying to catch up on my algebra when Beth comes back in. I thought of telling Vic, my maths teacher, about my crash but I think the only thing he wants to talk about is maths. I ask
Beth what the doctors had said to her. She tells me that they didn’t say much more, only that they think the worst is over and that neither of us should worry. I look at her and try to work
out if there’s anything else but she just gives me a tired smile. She looks like my picture of Mum when she’s tired. Her eyes turn dark and her cheeks look red and sore. Beth says
it’s the wind blowing in her face as she walks down the street, but I know it’s because she’s got up so early to see me.
I shut Vic inside my laptop and we watch a programme about badgers on TV. When the adverts come on I look at Beth. She usually talks during the breaks. But today she’s staring into space,
twirling her hair around her finger. She sees me looking.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
‘I am. But you’re quiet.’
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t really sleep last night.’
‘Because of me?’
‘Yes . . . and the noise of the traffic.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault London’s so busy.’
We smile at each other then she looks down and picks the skin on her fingers. I swing my legs over the side of my bed.
‘But there is something wrong.’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Not wrong, just something I need to tell you. Don’t worry, it’s not anything the doctors said.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I think I know what it is. You’ve got to go away.’
She nods.
‘I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘You said it was going to happen sometime. I don’t mind.’
She smiles, then laughs. ‘You’re brilliant,’ she says. Then she stands up and I stand up too and she hugs me so tight I
‘Excellent . . . And?’
‘Liver disease.’
The room goes quiet. There’s so many things that could go wrong with me but I’m used to talking about them now.
Dr Moore taps my back. ‘Good lad,’ he says.
I put my sweatshirt back on. The door slides open. I sigh. Charlotte R walks in carrying a silver dish with a needle and swab. She puts the dish down on the table next to my laptop. Dr Moore
looks at Beth in a way that says: ‘we need to talk somewhere where Joe can’t hear us’. She tells me she’ll be back in a minute and follows Dr Moore towards the door.
‘We’ll check in again later, Joe.’
I nod. They all walk out into the transition zone. I listen and try to hear what Dr Moore’s saying to Beth but all I can hear is them spraying disinfectant and running the taps. Charlotte
R taps me on the shoulder.
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘But we have to do this now.’
‘It’s okay.’
I hold out my arm. Charlotte R looks for a space where the bruises have faded. She finds a white bit of skin halfway between my wrist and my elbow, squirts the numbing spray then picks up the
needle. I turn away, I’ve had hundreds of injections but I still can’t look.
‘There, all done.’
Charlotte R presses a plaster onto my arm. I turn back and she shows me my blood in the syringe.
Sometimes when I’m ill I think it will come out a different colour but it doesn’t matter if my whites are up or down, it always looks the same. Dark red, so dark it’s almost
brown. They’ve taken loads of it before. They must have taken so much out of me they could fill another body.
I hold a swab down on my arm while Charlotte R screws the top down on the tube of blood and puts it in the dish.
‘I know,’ I say. ‘You’ve got to go.’
‘Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve got to get this back.’
‘It’s okay.’
She smiles and goes out of the door.
It seems like everyone is busy, rushing round looking after everyone else. They’re buzzing around like bees. Busy. Busy. Running down the corridors in and out of wards. It’s like
there’s not enough of them to look after us. The sick kids.
I’m trying to catch up on my algebra when Beth comes back in. I thought of telling Vic, my maths teacher, about my crash but I think the only thing he wants to talk about is maths. I ask
Beth what the doctors had said to her. She tells me that they didn’t say much more, only that they think the worst is over and that neither of us should worry. I look at her and try to work
out if there’s anything else but she just gives me a tired smile. She looks like my picture of Mum when she’s tired. Her eyes turn dark and her cheeks look red and sore. Beth says
it’s the wind blowing in her face as she walks down the street, but I know it’s because she’s got up so early to see me.
I shut Vic inside my laptop and we watch a programme about badgers on TV. When the adverts come on I look at Beth. She usually talks during the breaks. But today she’s staring into space,
twirling her hair around her finger. She sees me looking.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
‘I am. But you’re quiet.’
‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t really sleep last night.’
‘Because of me?’
‘Yes . . . and the noise of the traffic.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault London’s so busy.’
We smile at each other then she looks down and picks the skin on her fingers. I swing my legs over the side of my bed.
‘But there is something wrong.’
She takes a deep breath. ‘Not wrong, just something I need to tell you. Don’t worry, it’s not anything the doctors said.’
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘I think I know what it is. You’ve got to go away.’
She nods.
‘I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘You said it was going to happen sometime. I don’t mind.’
She smiles, then laughs. ‘You’re brilliant,’ she says. Then she stands up and I stand up too and she hugs me so tight I
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