Page 98 of Don't Tell Teacher

Tom will wake up. Hewillwake up. Oh God.

The tears come, thick and heavy.

Across the ward, I hear double doors bounce open and the determined click of the doctor’s shoes. After a mumbled chat with a nurse, the doctor heads our way.

‘Mrs Kinnock?’ The doctor is a short, brown-skinned man with a shiny bald head.

I’m too exhausted to complain that he has my name wrong, so I just nod.

The doctor holds out a chubby hand and says, ‘I’m Doctor

Ramir. And this must be Thomas? Or does he prefer Tom?’

‘He likes Tom.’

Doctor Ramir asks the nurse seated by Tom’s bed, ‘Has there been any movement? Any signs that he’s regaining consciousness?’

‘No,’ says the nurse. ‘We’re hopeful it won’t be too much longer.’

‘And how areyoufeeling, Mrs Kinnock?’ the doctor asks me.

‘Terrified.’

‘Of course. Well, try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll come round soon.’

‘The other doctor talked about the possibility of brain damage—’

‘Unlikely.’ The doctor’s reply is brisk. ‘I’m concerned about two things right now. First, what’s caused him to suddenly lose consciousness. And second, the bump on Tom’s head.’

‘Bump on the head?’

‘The paramedic found a rather large lump. On Tom’s crown.’ The doctor puts his fingers to Tom’s scalp, frowning. ‘Here. You can feel it for yourself.’

I put my hand on Tom’s head, feeling a large, egg-sized bump.

Terror flies up my fingertips.A head injury …

The doctor watches me.

‘It didn’t happen when he fell,’ I say. ‘I caught him.’

‘No, this didn’t happen today, Mrs Kinnock,’ says the doctor. ‘A scab has already formed.’

‘Oh my God.What?’

‘When Tom wakes up, I’d like this lump to be checked over by someone who knows about this sort of thing. Just to be on the safe side.’

‘Doctor, if Tom has a bump and it didn’t happen when he passed out … how on earth did he get it?’

‘It’s hard for me to draw conclusions,’ says the doctor, scribbling on his clipboard. ‘The consultant will tell us more.’

‘Someone hurt him?’ Hot, heavy tears find my cheeks.

‘It could be an accident,’ says the doctor. ‘Tell me, is Tom a good boy at home?’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Why would you ask?’ And then it hits me. My chest tightens. We learned to ask questions like this during our nurses’ training. ‘Ididn’t hurt him,’ I say, eyes wide.

There’s a gentle exhale of breath and a tiny murmur. My head whips around to see Tom’s eyelids flutter.

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