“They’ll be along with something to help you sleep in a moment, love.” Mum shuffled the visitor chair close to my bed, careful to avoid the tubes that ran in and out of me. She had been picking at her nail varnish, which always means she’s been worrying.

“Mouse, listen to me, I just spoke to Maggie.” But I kept my head turned away from her. Squeezed my jaw to make it sing with pain so I couldn’t hear properly. But Mum saw what I was doing. She squeezed my hand, to tell me to listen.

“Maggie spoke to David, who runs the charity. They had an idea. There’s a reporter, a really well-known one, Jon something, who wants to write an article, I don’t know what it is exactly but if it’s through the Wishmakers it’ll be something about brave kids like you living good lives even when really tough things happen to them. David reckons this Jon would love to interview you. Isn’t that great, darling? There’ll be a photographer and everything apparently.”

I didn’t move and I didn’t say anything. So Mum kept talking, her face hopeful as she tried to make me feel better, just like she always does.

“Just think of all the people you could help, Mouse, so many more than any trip abroad. You’ll be an inspiration to hundreds, maybe thousands, of kids and their parents. Imagine, a kid who’s just been diagnosed with MD or epilepsy might read it and feel a bit better—wouldn’t that be great?”

I should try to be more like Mum, try to think about others before myself. But I still wish I was going to Hawaii instead of having an article written about us. That’s another secret: I’m not as selfless or as good as Mum.

A nurse appeared. Neither of us have met her before, but everyone knows about us.

“Hello, Grace,” she said, her head cocked at an uncomfortable-looking angle. “I’m Faye. I’ll be keeping an eye on you tonight.” She smiled at Mum. “Good to meet you, Ms. Nichols.”

Mum smiled back and told the nurse to call her Meg, like she always does.

I couldn’t roll over on my own, so I just smiled and waited while Mum and Faye talked about what I would need during the night, when the doctor would be back in the morning, where Mum would sleep. She’s spent so many nights at the hospital she sometimes jokes the visitor’s chair is her second home. Poor Mum.

Love, Grace xxx

8

Jon

I kick the sheets off my bed and roll to my left in the hope that a new position might bring some rest, some sleep, but my mind chatters away like a chimp. Reading Grace’s diary was harder than I imagined. She was so good, and the bond between her and Meg was extraordinary. Why didn’t I write an article celebrating their relationship instead of questioning the way Simon had been treated? For the first time, I understand why the community was so angry with me.