The Bubble Boy (12 page)

‘What, now? It’s late, mate.’

‘Tell me.’

‘They’re fine, mate.’

‘The boy with the snooker-ball head?’

Greg smiles. ‘Yes, he’s good.’

‘Is he still running round?’

‘Was the last time I saw him.’

‘What about the girl who chases him pretending she’s a horse?’

‘What about her?’

‘Is she okay?’

‘Yes, mate, she’s fine.’

‘And the boy who reads
The Hunger Games
?’

‘Yes, he’s still . . . mate, what’s this about?’

I turn away from the window. ‘Is he okay?’

Greg puts his hands on my shoulders.‘Yes, mate, he’s okay. Now tell me, what’s up?’

I shrug. ‘Something I heard Graham say.’

‘What?’

‘He said he couldn’t stop filming just because people die.’

Greg puts one hand around the back of my neck.

‘Mate, you’re okay, everyone else is okay and anyway, Graham might not have been talking about anyone in particular. It’s a hospital. Unfortunately people die all the
time.’

He glances at the time and we walk back to my bed. The light is flashing on my laptop. I stop. Henry. His walk! I’ve been so ill for so long that I’d forgotten about him.

I flip the lid. Greg nods at my bed.

‘Mate, not now, it’s going to be time to get up before you even get to sleep.’

‘But it’s Henry. He did his second walk today!’

Greg sighs. ‘Okay, just the one message. Let’s not push it.’

I sit on my bed. Greg hands me my laptop.

I start typing.

I press Enter.

‘Mate,’ Greg reaches for my laptop. ‘I said one message.’

‘I know, but you didn’t say how long.’ Greg shakes his head.

‘Finished?’ He closes the lid down.

I rest my head back on my pillow. Greg closes the blinds and dims the lights until all I can see are shadows again. I take a deep breath, then another. I can relax now. Greg is back and Beth is
here and I get to see her again tomorrow. And soon Amir will be back to switch the TVs on. I close my eyes and listen to the machines beep. The beeps are good. They mean I’ve made it.

11 years, 2 months and 29 days

It’s early in the morning. Dr Moore and Dr Hussein are standing by my bed. Three interns are with them. They are people who are training to be doctors. I’ve met
loads of them. Sometimes they stay here after they’ve qualified, sometimes they go and work somewhere else. Dr Moore asks Beth if it’s okay that they’re here. Beth tells him I
enjoy it, that I like the attention. I smile because I know she’s right. It’s nice to have attention, but not all the time, especially not if I’m really ill. But this morning
I’m feeling better.

‘So,’ says Dr Moore. ‘How are things with you, young man?’

‘I’m okay,’ I say. ‘But my head still hurts.’

He leans over the bed and looks into my eyes.

‘Increase fluids?’ I say.

Dr Moore smiles. ‘Increase fluids, indeed, and we need to run some more blood tests.’

‘Do you think it has something to do with the new drugs?’ I ask.

‘Quite likely.’

I look down at my arms, at the little red marks and bruises where they’ve taken blood before. I always bruise more when I’m sicker, because my platelets are low and my blood
doesn’t clot very well.

‘Do you think it could be secondary haemolytic anaemia?’

‘Well, you’ve certainly reacted to something.’ Dr Moore smiles and turns to the interns. ‘So everybody, this is Dr Joe Grant. Doctor of Medicine and
Paediatrics.’

‘. . . And expert in superheroes,’ says Dr Hussein.

The three interns laugh. Dr Moore smiles at Beth then looks back at the interns. ‘So everyone, what are we thinking?’

One of the interns bites his top lip, one scratches the side of her head and the last one raises an eyebrow then he stares down at the ground. Dr Moore grins at me.

‘Well, Joe,’ he says. ‘Looks like you’ve stumped the brightest brains of Cambridge.’ He looks to the interns. ‘Discuss it amongst yourselves.’

They gather in a circle and start to whisper.

I look at the monitors then up at the ceiling. I wish I didn’t stump them. I wish I didn’t stump the proper doctors too. I wish the things they do to fix other kids had worked on me.
I’ve read about other SCID kids who have injections that cost lots of money. It doesn’t cure them but it does mean they can go home and they can go to school. They have to wear a mask
and stay at home if other kids have colds. They tell me the clock is ticking; that the older I get the harder it will be to find a cure. But every year they try something new and say that maybe
I’ll make it outside. Last month they talked about giving me gene therapy. It’s really new. It’s when they grow a new gene and then they’d put it in my body and give me a
new immune system to fight disease. But nothing seems to get rid of my super SCID. I hope they find something soon. I know I’m safer in my bubble, but one day I’d love to go to school
and learn my lessons from a real teacher and not a cartoon or a satellite link-up.

‘So,’ Dr Moore says. ‘Now you’ve had your chat, tell me your conclusions. Miss Hunter?’

‘Decrease temperature?’

‘Exactly, Miss Hunter. Check for foreign objects in the filters and let’s decrease the temperature to . . . what do we think?’

‘Nineteen,’ I say.

Dr Hussein smiles and nods at one of the interns. ‘Mr Henderson, I think this chap might know more than you. Maybe you need to hand over your coat.’

They all laugh, then Dr Moore asks me to roll up my sleeves.

‘And what about the bruises?’

‘They’re nearly gone,’ I say.

‘You’ve not got any on your body?’

‘Only a few, but they’re disappearing.’

‘Maybe we should take a look.’

I lift up my sweatshirt and pull it up over my head.

‘Contusions, and . . . Mr Henderson?’

‘Malnutrition – Vitamins C, K and B12. Sepsis?’

‘Think what’s more relevant here.’ Dr Moore presses his fingers gently on my back. ‘Anything else? Mr Francis? Can you help us out?’

‘Reaction to drugs – aspirin, the corticosteroids prednisone and prednisolone, 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 don’t think she’ll ever let go.
‘It’s only for a year,’ she whispers. I close my eyes. I don’t want to her leave but I know she must. Just because I’m in a bubble it doesn’t mean she has to be
stuck in one too.

She lets go of me. I look at the TV.

‘Want to play
Tomb Raider
?’

‘Okay. Anything’s better than watching that badger drink from a saucer.’

I pick up the controls. My heart beats hard in my chest. Beth puts her arm around my shoulders and rests her head against mine.

‘It’ll be fine,’ she says. ‘I won’t be able to come so often but when I do I can stay for longer.’

I hand her a controller and nod at the screens on the wall. ‘We’ll have to play on normal TV. Amir hasn’t shown me how to turn them on.’

Beth looks weirded-out. ‘Why did he get so many?’

‘I don’t know, but I can’t wait for him to come back and show me how to work them!’

I press Play and we play
Tomb Raider
for the rest of the morning. I get to the Amulet in a record 35 seconds but Beth is trapped in a cave and every time Lara falls off a ledge onto
spines Beth lets out a little scream and we laugh. I tell her I can get her out if she wants. I found a website that tells you how to do it. She tells me she doesn’t want to cheat, then she
makes Lara climb a rock face, but a piece of rock gives way and I laugh as Lara falls back onto the spikes again.

After an hour Beth gives up and puts the controls down on my bed and we eat vacuum-packed ham sandwiches for lunch. I tell her about Henry and his walk, that he’s got to get used to going
outside before he’s ready for his big trip to the mall, and I tell her about Amir and the aliens’ landing strip. She tells me to wish Henry good luck then tells me that maybe Amir is
nuts after all.