She felt like weeping. What was she doing here? What were any of them doing here? She should be back at the museum with her friends. Not stuck here with these old people and this sick boy. Nobody cared. They’d dumped her here. Oh, Brooke, she can look after our friend. She stood up and walked quietly to the door. Maybe if she could just get out of here for a few minutes, go and walk in the garden in the moonlight, anything. It was driving her crazy.

‘Mum?’

She stopped in the doorway.

‘Mum? Is that you?’

She turned. Macca was sitting up. His eyes were very shiny, haunted. She walked over to him and eased him back down on to the pillows.

‘It’s all right, Macca,’ she said. ‘It’s all right, go back to sleep.’

‘I don’t want to go to school tomorrow, Mum. I don’t feel well. Is it all right if I don’t?’

‘Yeah, of course it’s all right. You don’t need to go to school if you don’t feel up to it.’

‘OK. Is it all right if I go on my PlayStation, though? I know I’m supposed to be ill, but I’m well enough to go on the PlayStation, aren’t I?’

‘Yeah. Why not? You can do whatever you want, Macca.’

‘Yeah … of an. … And could I … and I … and is there … why is there? Where are you? Why am I here?’

Brooke looked at Macca. He was crying. She wiped the tears away with the flannel. His eyes seemed to focus. He stared intently at her.

‘I’m really scared, Brooke,’ he said, back in reality.

Brooke found this harder to deal with. She didn’t want to tell him the truth.

‘I’m hurt really bad,’ he said. ‘I can’t swallow and I’m scared that I’m going to die.’

‘Don’t think about it, Macca. Worrying won’t help. You just need to rest and get stronger.’

‘Do you believe in God?’

‘I don’t know. That’s a weird question.’

‘And that’s a terrible answer.’

‘It’s the truth. I never think about all that. I don’t know if there’s a God.’

‘Me either. But I’m scared there’s nothing there. Just nothing. Like blankness.’

‘Don’t think about it, Macca.’

‘Billy.’

‘What?’

‘Billy, it’s my name. William McIntyre.’

‘I never knew that.’

‘Nobody does. Everyone calls me Macca. Or Maccy. My mum used to call me Billy, no one else.’

‘Do you want me to call you Billy?’