Move.

One hand out.

Move.

And I make it all the way to the desk with five minutes to go, so I reach up and try to steady my hand. I grab the laptop by the lead and pull it down.

Getting the laptop from the table = an impossible number of spoons

I made it all the way over here. And I’m both relived that I could and angry with myself for even trying, because I know it won’t go unpunished.

I open the laptop and lay my cheek on the carpet so the thumbnail by Rowan’s name is tipped on its side.

Connecting to Rowan …

28

Rowan

And now I am in that place we were before. The playground.

Jonah’s rocketing around like

nothing matters.

I watch him from the window of the

castle climbing frame.

And in the distance I see the line of grey sea

Alice once saw for me.

Like she sees most things I can’t.

I check the app again and –

‘You’re online?’

Yes – I want to say. Yes, I’m online and I’m here.

But my voice isn’t quite …

‘Alice?’

She’s definitely online.

Her name is traffic-lit go.

I turn the volume up.

‘I think there’s something screwed with your sound.’

But there’s nothing wrong with his.

Birds.

Laughter.

Creaking swings.

Nothing.

Maybe she’s having connection issues.

I was regretting saying that she could be here, anyway.

I wanted to show her what it’s really like

– to live in the real world

– to have someone depend on you

– to be there for them. No matter what.

But even though she seems cool,

her mam could just make

o n e c a l l

and my brother,

he’d be –

Rowan swings his legs between the mermaid tail and slides down to the birthday cake floor.

We are weightless. We are free. We are flying.

‘Jonah!

Time to go.’

A yellow-headed boy kicks himself off the swing, runs to Rowan and pulls on his arm.

‘Oh, but please,’ he says. ‘You said five more minutes.’

‘Yeah, that was fifteen minutes ago, wasn’t it?’

He cries and

sinks to the floor and

this is what his headteacher was talking about.

‘Come on, mate, don’t do this now.’

He’s wailing louder and

other mams are looking over,

shaking their heads.

I got this. I got this. I got this.

There’s a boy on our arm. A boy stopping us from flying.

‘How about we hit Tesco on the way back,

get an ice cream?’

He stops crying so I take my chance and

L I F T   H I M

high into the air and on to my shoulders

and he shrieks, laughing.

He’s getting too heavy to carry like this.

Small shoes kick my camera.

‘Can we go up there?’

‘Up there’ is out of my view.