My brain felt as slow as dial-up internet, trying to make sense of where I was, pixel-by-pixel, waiting for the full picture to load.

I reached towards Kerry but something stopped my hand going any further. I was in hospital, but why? ‘Did someone jump me?’

Yobs sometimes pick fights with me because I’m in the squad, or because I drive a nice car, or just to look macho in front of their girlfriends.

She leaned forward; her cheeks were pink but under her eyes the skin was blue-black, as if she hadn’t slept for days. ‘No. You had a problem with your heart. You were playing football, do you remember?’

‘Course I do. Are they going to let me leave in time for the fireworks?’

Kerry blinked. ‘Joel, you . . . missed them. I know this is going to sound mad, but it’s January the second, now. Night time. You’ve been asleep.’

‘For two days? Don’t wind me up.’

‘OK. Not sleep, exactly; in a coma. The doctors kept you that way, to protect your brain.’ She looked around for someone to rescue her. ‘I can get the consultant. He’ll explain it better than I can—’

But I’d heard enough. I tried to swing my legs off the bed. But instead of my feet hitting the floor, my upper body lurched forward while everything else stayed where it was.

A sharp pain at the crook of my elbow made me gasp. I was falling towards the floor, a metre below me, and I braced myself for it to hurt like hell when my face smashed onto the shiny grey lino—

‘Nurse! He’s trying to get out of bed!’

The white-uniformed zombies were on me. The enemy! Loads of them. I punched and kicked and tried to bite myself free, but nothing was working properly; my arms and legs were flailing and—

Dad.

I smelled my father before I saw him, espresso and Aramis, and his body broke my fall, my head wedged against his chest, his strong arms trapping me in a hug, mumbling soft words into the top of my skull.

Joel, Joel, Joel, like a football chant, my son, my boy, my Joel.

I’d been stronger than my dad since the age of thirteen. Probably hadn’t hugged him since then, either. The shock of that hug made all the remaining fight drain away.

My body had never let me down before. My whole life, it had done what I asked, made me faster and stronger than anyone else.

And now, suddenly, it was a traitor.

Chapter 7: Kerry

5 January 2000

‘Have I got toothpaste on my face?’

Tim checks me over as we cross the playground. ‘You look fine.’

‘Then why is everyone staring at us?’

As he looks round, one of the year 9s is actually pointing at me, as though I’ve grown an extra head.

‘You’re right. How . . .’ he searches for precisely the right word, ‘peculiar.’