still think about going to the beach a lot?’ asks Graham.
I nod. ‘Yes. When I see pictures like this, or adverts for holidays on TV. I’d like to jump over the waves.’
‘Or surf, even.’
‘Yes, I’d like to surf, but I don’t even know if I could swim.’
I look at the picture again: Graham’s family, the other children playing behind them, the shiny sand, the waves, frozen in time. New-cameraman-David leans against the wall by the monitors
and points the camera over Graham’s shoulder.
Graham leans closer to me. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking, Joe.’
My stomach goes tight. Graham glances at the monitors – 95. My heart rate has increased 5 beats.
‘Don’t worry. It just does that. Greg says it goes nuts when I dream.’
Graham chuckles, glances at the camera, then back at me. ‘So what were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking about what it’s like to walk on sand.’
Graham puffs out his cheeks. ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That’s a hard one; it’s hard to describe. Sometimes it’s as hard as this floor and your feet stay firm,
sometimes it’s soft and your feet sink in.’
‘But what does it
feel
like?’
Graham turns his head. His eyes search the room. ‘I don’t know, Joe. Maybe it feels like walking on your bed.’
‘But with water filling my footprints.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
I look back at the picture. ‘I like talking about your family,’ I say.
‘Why?’
‘I like seeing where you’ve been.’
‘Even though you can’t go there?’
‘Yes. I’m not the only one who hasn’t been to the beach. Henry hasn’t been either, but lots of kids that don’t live in bubbles don’t get to see the world,
either.’
‘True,’ Graham nods. ‘True . . . How is Henry?’
‘He’s okay. We’re hoping we might get to see each other soon. NASA have made him a spacesuit so he can go outside.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Not really. He only went to the end of the corridor. But he thinks he’s going further tomorrow, and then next month he’s going to the mall.’
Graham smiles. ‘Brilliant’ he says. ‘Tell him good luck from me. What about you?’
‘I can’t get a suit; I wrote to the prime minister to see if he could get me one.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He sent me a letter. He said he’d seen me on TV, he couldn’t promise anything but he’d talk to some scientists.’
‘Great!’
‘I know. But that was three months ago.’
I reach over and get the letter from my drawer. Graham reads it and shows it to the camera.
‘I sent one to the European Space Agency too, but they’ve not replied. Henry told me to write to Stark Industries. It’s where all the Avengers work. Stark’s have loads of
money, more than the NHS, more than NASA.’
‘Yes, they probably have.’ Graham hands me back my letter. ‘But what would you do . . . if you could go outside the hospital?’
‘Even if they had the money I don’t think the doctors would let me go outside.’
‘But if they did.’
‘I’d go and live with Beth.’
‘And where does she live?’
‘Islington, but she’s got to go away soon. It’s her placement year.’
‘Where’s she going?’
‘I don’t know. But I hope it’s not far.’
Graham waits for me to say something else but my throat is aching and I can feel my eyes watering. I look down at my bed.
Graham taps his hand on my leg.
‘Joe,’ he says. Would you rather talk about something else?’
I swallow, shake my head and stop the tears from coming out. ‘No, it’s okay. I know she has to go. She wants to be a doctor. I want her to be one too.’
‘She’ll be great,’ says Graham. ‘And what about you? What would you like to do for work?’
I look down at my hands. He always asks me that but he knows that kids with SCID die before they’re old enough to get a job, if they don’t get fixed.
Graham leans forward.
‘Joe?’
‘You always ask me that.’
‘I know, it’s just this year the answer might
I nod. ‘Yes. When I see pictures like this, or adverts for holidays on TV. I’d like to jump over the waves.’
‘Or surf, even.’
‘Yes, I’d like to surf, but I don’t even know if I could swim.’
I look at the picture again: Graham’s family, the other children playing behind them, the shiny sand, the waves, frozen in time. New-cameraman-David leans against the wall by the monitors
and points the camera over Graham’s shoulder.
Graham leans closer to me. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking, Joe.’
My stomach goes tight. Graham glances at the monitors – 95. My heart rate has increased 5 beats.
‘Don’t worry. It just does that. Greg says it goes nuts when I dream.’
Graham chuckles, glances at the camera, then back at me. ‘So what were you thinking?’
‘I was thinking about what it’s like to walk on sand.’
Graham puffs out his cheeks. ‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That’s a hard one; it’s hard to describe. Sometimes it’s as hard as this floor and your feet stay firm,
sometimes it’s soft and your feet sink in.’
‘But what does it
feel
like?’
Graham turns his head. His eyes search the room. ‘I don’t know, Joe. Maybe it feels like walking on your bed.’
‘But with water filling my footprints.’
‘Yeah, something like that.’
I look back at the picture. ‘I like talking about your family,’ I say.
‘Why?’
‘I like seeing where you’ve been.’
‘Even though you can’t go there?’
‘Yes. I’m not the only one who hasn’t been to the beach. Henry hasn’t been either, but lots of kids that don’t live in bubbles don’t get to see the world,
either.’
‘True,’ Graham nods. ‘True . . . How is Henry?’
‘He’s okay. We’re hoping we might get to see each other soon. NASA have made him a spacesuit so he can go outside.’
‘That’s great.’
‘Not really. He only went to the end of the corridor. But he thinks he’s going further tomorrow, and then next month he’s going to the mall.’
Graham smiles. ‘Brilliant’ he says. ‘Tell him good luck from me. What about you?’
‘I can’t get a suit; I wrote to the prime minister to see if he could get me one.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He sent me a letter. He said he’d seen me on TV, he couldn’t promise anything but he’d talk to some scientists.’
‘Great!’
‘I know. But that was three months ago.’
I reach over and get the letter from my drawer. Graham reads it and shows it to the camera.
‘I sent one to the European Space Agency too, but they’ve not replied. Henry told me to write to Stark Industries. It’s where all the Avengers work. Stark’s have loads of
money, more than the NHS, more than NASA.’
‘Yes, they probably have.’ Graham hands me back my letter. ‘But what would you do . . . if you could go outside the hospital?’
‘Even if they had the money I don’t think the doctors would let me go outside.’
‘But if they did.’
‘I’d go and live with Beth.’
‘And where does she live?’
‘Islington, but she’s got to go away soon. It’s her placement year.’
‘Where’s she going?’
‘I don’t know. But I hope it’s not far.’
Graham waits for me to say something else but my throat is aching and I can feel my eyes watering. I look down at my bed.
Graham taps his hand on my leg.
‘Joe,’ he says. Would you rather talk about something else?’
I swallow, shake my head and stop the tears from coming out. ‘No, it’s okay. I know she has to go. She wants to be a doctor. I want her to be one too.’
‘She’ll be great,’ says Graham. ‘And what about you? What would you like to do for work?’
I look down at my hands. He always asks me that but he knows that kids with SCID die before they’re old enough to get a job, if they don’t get fixed.
Graham leans forward.
‘Joe?’
‘You always ask me that.’
‘I know, it’s just this year the answer might
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