I take the tiniest sip of air, staring at the heap of silver foil in the distance.

‘Course, being responsible for your sister will mean actually being responsible for her – staying with her in hospital, meeting social services, answering all their questions, all the fun stuff. Or getting your relative in here to do that. You won’t be able to take her home otherwise.’ 112

She pushes the tips of her thumbs together, hands shaped like a heart in her lap.

‘So, then, big sister. Which is it?’

I slump as she turns to look at me. I didn’t realise she was still holding me up straight.

‘Can I have a drink?’

I lick my lips as I grip the edge of the seat. She passes me a plastic cup of water from a few more just waiting, full to the brim, on the table next to her. I feel sick again almost as soon as it’s down, crunch the cup into my hand.

‘Is she going to be OK?’ I try not to look at her as I ask.

‘Chances are, yes. Depends how bad her infection is, or anything else she might’ve accidentally swallowed besides alcohol. But she’s in the right place now.’

‘Can I see her?’ I squeeze the plastic cup smaller in my hand.

‘They’ll come out in a sec,’ she says, jerking her head towards the blue curtains.

‘The doctors?’

‘Doctors, nurses, yes. The police will also want to have a word, I should think.’

‘Police? Why?’

‘Well, you’re minors, aren’t you? School uniform and all that?’

She picks at a fingernail. I rub my eyes, remembering the clinic. Everyone wants to know how old I am, but no one actually gives a shit about it when they do, no matter what Rach says. And then an idea forms, the tiniest chance of a way out of here without having to answer any more questions.

I get to my feet just as the curtains swish open and a man comes out. His pyjamas are a different colour to everyone else’s.

‘Hiya, Flo,’ he says, looking between us. ‘You alright? Is this one of yours?’

‘Yeah,’ she says, staggering as she stands up. She’s even taller than him. ‘It was a house call. This here’s her sister.’

‘Is she going to be OK? Can I see her?’113

‘Hello,’ he says, tucking the pen in his hand into his top pocket, pushing his glasses back on his nose. ‘I’m Doctor Twena. And you are…?’

‘Carly,’ I say, flinching as my hand finds the leftover pills in my pocket. ‘She’s my sister. Kayleigh. She’s three. I came in, and she was just flopping and screaming and burning and—’

‘Yes,’ he says, cutting me off. ‘She was having a febrile convulsion. That means—’