We knew the way because it was up by the park we used to go with Brian’s mum and climb trees. She made us hold on to the pram across the busy roads and sit down on the grass for picnics with the sunshade up for the baby. But when she was trying to get the baby to sleep she let us go wild and run around and climb. There was the big climbing tree with twisted arms that made her scream when she woke up and saw how high we’d gone. She called us ‘right little monkeys!’ and slapped his bum. She gave me a worried look. I could see in her eyes she thought he was a better climber than me and she’d have to tell my mum if something happened.

We walked in through the entrance of the children’s hospital to where we could see the nurses having a cup of tea and pulled back the curtain to show them my willy. The one nearest coughed out her biscuit and spilt some tea. The others started laughing and it was only the one who got some ointment on cotton wool with pliers and plastic gloves that could see it was serious and dabbed it so it stung. I flinched and she lost her temper with me.

‘Keep still!’

They burst out laughing again and I looked up, annoyed, and said, ‘Ow!’ They stopped what they were doing, took their tea and moved outside.

‘Is it gonna leave a scar?’ Brian asked as the nurse snapped off the gloves. I hadn’t thought of that, but the sting was wearing off and she didn’t look worried.

‘Be careful next time,’ she said. ‘No climbing fences.’

I saw the nurses looking at me as we went out, so I stopped limping.

‘There goes a very proud little boy,’ said the one in the blue cardigan by the tea trolley.

‘And very brave,’ said the nurse coming out behind us. ‘Go straight home and tell your mummy – show her where it hurts.’ They all burst out laughing again. Brian’s face went red.

‘Why don’t you shut up?’ I said, but I don’t know if they heard me, so I didn’t stop to find out.

We didn’t go home. We sat inside the concrete tunnel in the playground and I showed him my scar. It was purple with ointment. I felt proud for being brave and I felt bruised. So I asked him, ‘What does your dad say?’

‘He says I can’t play with you no more.’

I didn’t say anything.

‘Anyway, those nurses are tarts – my dad says!’

I couldn’t see it – how nurses could be tarts – only the way his face was going red again.

‘But we can be friends?’

‘Yeah,’ he said.

‘How can we play and not be friends?’

‘We can’t.’

We both nodded. And it started to rain.