Ewan shushed him. The nine-year-old’s anxiety may have been more visible, but it was no more severe than Ewan’s. Ewan was just better at pretending not to be frightened.

‘Scalpel?’ asked Raj. ‘She’s not thinking of operating, is she?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Ewan, ‘because people keep bloody talking.’

That shut everyone up.

Of all the people in the room, the lad with the Asperger’s diagnosis was the only one who knew what to do. Jack Hopper was as quiet as a dead church mouse, with one hand cupping his ear against the wall and his eyes forming their strongest expression of concentration. Once in a while he even brushed his dishevelled hair away from his ear. Every sound wave mattered.

Ewan imitated Jack’s pose, and hoped it would reveal some extra words.

‘What you’re asking is terrifying,’ Lorraine continued. ‘I can’t put it any… no, it’s not my personal fears getting in the way of the greater good! I’m not that selfish! The greatest good is keeping you alive, and cutting you open would…’

A pause, and inaudible words from McCormick.

‘Then go out there and see what they think!’ Lorraine yelled. ‘If this goes like I think it will, they’ll lose the most important figure in their lives!’

McCormick spoke again. He muttered something about ‘defeating the object’.

‘Is McCormick going to die?!’ wailed Thomas. Ewan decided it was the wrong time to shush him.

‘I don’t think so,’ he replied. Hardly the reassurance the boy would have wanted, but it was against Ewan’s nature to make false promises.

‘He’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ said Raj with a smile. Ewan bit his lip, but said nothing.

Whatever else McCormick said, nobody had heard it, not even Jack. Even in moments of intense emotion, even with a friend as close as Lorraine losing herself in front of him, his voice never rose. The only clue that he had finished was that Lorraine started to talk again.

‘Of course I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘I’ve had friends die in this room. I watched Callum die when his insulin ran out, and Roy with his cancer. I’m not cutting you up for anything, and especially not for you to go and get yourself killed in battle!’

The last couple of words distracted Ewan from remembering thirteen-year-old Callum Turner’s existence. It had been a long year, and even at Oakenfold they hadn’t talked much.

Battle? He’s not…

‘Lorraine can operate, right?’ asked Thomas. ‘Wasn’t that her job in the old days?’

‘She was a nurse, not a surgeon,’ said Raj. ‘Massive difference.’

‘…Do operations hurt?’

‘Not really. They put you to sleep first. I had an operation on my spine when I was twelve, and I didn’t feel a—’

‘Shh.’

Silence fell again, but it was too late. Lorraine had started to sob, and her voice became a whisper.