For a horrible brief moment, everything was suspended.

And then SMASH.

The cabinet collapsed to the floor, shattering into a thousand different pieces, and photos of whales swam out across the floor.

Fran looked shocked. She had taken off her glasses and was staring at him as if he was a stranger.

“Rio?” she asked in a small, tight voice. “Are you okay?”

Rio wiped his face, surprised and embarrassed to find he was crying. Before she could say another word, he spun around and sprinted out the door.

9

The Pier

Rio left the museum and ran and ran until his chest was heaving and he could run no more. Hot waves of shame coursed through him as he pictured his grandmother’s face and the mess he’d left behind. At some point later, he would have to face the music.

But not yet.

He ended up on the beach. Even though it was full of children playing volleyball, Rio felt completely alone. They were shrieking in laughter, while in contrast, he felt as though he was wearing one of those whalebone corsets, pulled so tight he could barely breathe.

Oh, why had his mom sent him here?

He gazed around frantically, as if the answer would materialize out of the bright Californian air. He’d tell his grandmother to put him back on the nearest plane, beg her if need be, and then he would convince the doctors to let him into the hospital and he would . . .

His thoughts skidded to a stop, because what exactly would he do if he went back to London? All he’d ever wanted was to make his mother better.

But no matter how fast he had rushed home from school, how many weekend activities he’d given up to be with her, how often he’d cooked dinner, or even how tightly he had held his mom’s hand—none of that had ever been enough. Rio had looked after her for as far back as he could remember. Long after her friends stopped visiting. But he still hadn’t been able to stop her going into the hospital.

He had failed.

Without him wanting it to, a sob burst out of his lips, and Rio sunk onto the nearest bench, where he folded himself up into a tiny ball and wished with all his heart that he could go back in time and do things differently. He wished lots of other things too—things he didn’t usually like to admit even to himself—that his mom were more like other mothers and that he had a normal eleven-year-old’s life. The kind of wish that makes you feel guilty for even thinking it at all.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. It might only have been seconds. It might equally have been hours. But after a while, Rio realized he wasn’t alone. No one had sat on the bench next to him. It wasn’t that kind of company.