Page 129 of Don't Tell Teacher

I feel the paper in my hand.

Lizzie’s bottom lip wobbles. ‘It’s the not knowing, that’s the hardest thing. These seizures.Whyare they happening? Those marks on his arm …’

‘Hopefully the doctors will find out more this time.’

Lizzie puts the toys and books on the bedside table.

‘Bedtime, okay, Tommo? Time to sleep.’

‘My teeth hurt,’ says Tom.

‘That’s because you were clenching them. They’ll feel better tomorrow.’

‘Well, I should be going,’ I say. ‘Bye now.’

‘Bye Kate.’ Lizzie gives me a warm smile. ‘It’s good to see you. Come on, Tom – let’s get you tucked in.’

The moment I’m through the beige double doors and out of the ward, I phone Tessa.

‘Hi,’ I say, without giving my usual introduction. ‘I won’t have time to do those reports tonight. Tom Kinnock just wrote something down.’

‘What did he write?’

‘I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet. I’m about to, once I leave the hospital. But I think he might have disclosed who’s hurting him.’

Lizzie

I’m at the vending machine, hands shaking, trying to make the buttons work.

Water. I just want a bottle of plain water. A8? Is that the right code?

I know Kate is kind, but I still hate that she visited unannounced. It’s like she’s trying to catch us out. That awful, shouty, red-faced manager of hers probably made her come to check on us.

Another seizure. Too many coincidences.

That’s what her manager is thinking. She said as much in the meeting.

Behind me, I hear the squeak of shoes on the rubber floor. ‘Hello, love. How are you bearing up?’ It’s Clara, one of the younger nurses.

‘Not very well.’ I start to cry – a pitiful noise that comes from my stomach. ‘Anotherseizure, Clara. Social services think it’s my fault. I’m scared they’ll take Tom away from me.’

I find my face pressed against the comforting cotton of Clara’s uniformed shoulder, her arms around me.

‘You’re doing great,’ Clara says. ‘Really.’

‘His social worker came just now,’ I say, the words hot with tears.

‘They just have to do their checks. That’s all.’

‘It’s more than that,’ I say. ‘They need answers. And I don’t have any for them.’

‘Oh, I’m sure everything will get worked out. You’re clearly a loving mother. All the nurses know that. We’ve seen you with Tom.’

I break down into noisy sobs then.

‘Everything will be fine,’ says Clara. ‘They have to tick their boxes. Tom’s obviously from a good family.’

A bottle of water clangs into the vending machine dispensing tray, and with it comes a clarity of sorts.

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