Heartbeat Away Page 4

  By Monday morning, I’m just relieved to be going back to school. The previous night, I laid out my uniform and packed my rucksack – something I’ve never ever done, even before I was ill. I’m sleeping badly, and I wake early before my alarm goes off. I’m up and ready within half an hour.

  ‘You’re keen, Becky,’ says Joe as I hurry into the kitchen and start sorting out all my tablets for the day.

  ‘Course she is, Joe,’ Mum says. ‘Her friends have been back weeks already; she hasn’t seen them for ages.’

  I let them think this is why I’m so eager. It is partly true; although I’ve chatted to Leah, Jodie and Alesha online and they’ve invited me to parties and to go shopping with them, each time the thought of all the germs I might pick up stopped me going. I’m missing them now and I want to catch up on all the gossip first-hand. I’m even curious to see if Masher and Shannon are still an item, or if there’s been a ceremonial dumping. But the real reason I want to get back to school is that, just for a while, I’m desperately hoping I’ll be able to forget all the weird stuff that’s been happening to me over the last few weeks.

  17

  ‘Now, you’re sure you’ve got everything?’ asks Mum, pulling up to park a short way from the school gates.

  ‘Yeah. Think so.’ I glance nervously through the car window at the hordes of kids thronging into the playground, laughing and shouting and chatting to one another. After so many months at home, I’ve forgotten how crowded and noisy schools are. I’m not sure I can do this, I think, panicking. Then through the sea of white, red and grey, to my relief, I spot Leah and Jodie, scanning the playground, looking out for me.

  ‘Don’t forget you can text me if you need to,’ Mum’s saying as she eyes me warily. ‘You will do that, won’t you, Becky? Not that I think for one minute there’s going to be a problem.’ The corner of her mouth twitches up into a smile.

  ‘I’ll be fine, Mum, don’t worry,’ I reply, determined to convince myself as much as her that I will be all right. But, gripping the strap of my school bag, I still hesitate, sitting rooted in the car seat and unwilling to take that first giant step out.

  I glance at my watch. Five to nine. It’s now or never. I fling open the door.

  ‘Bye, then. Love you,’ I say, scrambling out of the car. I brave it through the school gates, hurrying over to Leah and Jodie. A gaggle of Year Seven boys chasing a football storm across my path, so intent on their game they almost knock me over. I step back out of their way, but bump into two older girls gossiping together.

  ‘Watch it!’ the tallest one snaps as the other stares frostily at me through her purple mascaraed lashes.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble.

  ‘Becky!’ I hear someone call.

  I spin round. It’s Alesha.

  ‘Becky! It’s really you!’ she yells, rushing forward to hug me.

  I’m really pleased to see her but I can’t stop myself: I draw back.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I lie. I force myself to hug her, secretly hoping she doesn’t have a cold or anything. ‘It’s so good to be back.’

  18

  ‘So I’m sure we’re all really glad to welcome Becky back to school after what has been a very long absence.’ Miss Devine flashes me one of her most beaming and gummiest smiles. ‘I think I can safely say we’ve all missed you. And I hope you’ll soon settle back into a routine, Becky, ready for next year when you start your GCSE courses.’

  ‘Thanks, Miss Devine.’ Feeling my cheeks burning, I glance over at Shannon, who’s busy filing her nails a couple of desks away, and has obviously missed me as much as a large hole in the head. She leans sideways, sniggers and whispers something to Masher, who’s sprawled behind the desk between us.

  ‘Shannon, is there something you’d like to share with us all?’ asks Miss Devine brightly.

  Don’t, I think, groaning silently. Please don’t encourage her to ‘share’ anything with us. I close my eyes in disbelief and wait. Three years teaching the likes of Shannon Walters should surely have taught Miss Devine something.

  ‘I was just wondering how Becky feels getting a new heart and stuff,’ she asks sweetly.

  The whole class turns and stares at me. I can feel myself sinking down into my chair as Miss Devine jumps in and answers for me.

  ‘I think she’s probably very grateful, aren’t you, Becky?’

  I nod, blushing from the neck up.

  ‘Yeah, I know that, but I mean, you know, now she’s got a bit of someone else’s body inside her. That’s not very nice, is it? I mean they could be anyone.’

  ‘Only someone dead,’ chips in Masher.

  ‘That’s enough, Jake,’ says Miss Devine as Masher and a few of his mates snort with laughter.

  ‘Well, I’m just saying,’ continues Shannon, as she casually flicks her long, tousled hair over her shoulder, ‘I wouldn’t fancy it if it was me.’

  ‘Then I think you’re probably very fortunate that it wasn’t you, Shannon. Becky was seriously ill before her transplant.’ Miss Devine throws me an apologetic smile. ‘Right. Let’s move on. Get out your exercise books ready to make a few notes, please.’

  Miss Devine turns back to the white board and starts writing. After exchanging a sideways smirk with Shannon, Masher leans over to me and whispers, ‘Hey, Becky-Mouse, show us your scar!’

  I put my head down and start writing the date in my exercise book, pretending to ignore him, but this to Masher is like waving a red rag to a bull.

  ‘Your gran told my mum it was this long!’ he announces loudly so the whole class hears, separating his hands until they’re about half a metre apart. Darren and Wesley start sniggering, which encourages Masher to pull his arms even further apart.

  ‘No, sorry. This long!’ he says, grinning smugly, lapping up the attention from his audience.

  ‘You’re so immature, Masher,’ says Leah, rolling her eyes at me in sympathy.

  Normally I wouldn’t rise to Masher’s wind-ups, but I still feel upset and annoyed with Shannon and those emotions are turning to pure anger as they bubble up inside me.

  ‘Shut up, Masher,’ I hiss furiously. ‘You’re not funny.’

  ‘Unlike you, freak girl,’ Shannon says, with an angelic smile on her face.

  Miss Devine turns round from the white board. ‘Thank you Shannon, that’s quite enough,’ she says firmly. ‘And you can stop waving your arms about, Jake Crombie. Detention tonight, both of you.’

  ‘Oh . . . what?’ chorus Masher and Shannon. ‘That’s not fair, miss!’

  I exchange glances with Leah, who’s doing her best to control the smirk on her face, then catch Shannon’s eye. If looks could kill, I’d be vaporised on the spot.

  19

  ‘Just ignore Shannon and Masher,’ Leah is telling me as we hurry through the rain across the wet playground to the dining hall.

  ‘She’s a cow and he’s a complete twazzock,’ Alesha adds dismissively.

  ‘Yeah, and Alesha should know all about Masher,’ Jodie says mischievously. ‘She went out with him.’

  ‘One rubbish date!’ retorts Alesha, pretending to be outraged. ‘And probably the worst mistake of my life so far.’

  ‘Was it that bad?’ I ask.

  Alesha shudders. ‘Two hours standing around waiting for him to get onto level ten of some stupid computer game; half an hour climbing through a tiny toilet window, tearing my brand new dress to sneak into the cinema without paying, to see the last five minutes of the most mind- numbingly, unfunny comedy ever made. And the whole evening punctuated by Masher perfecting his fish impression.’

  ‘Fish impression?’

  ‘Don’t even go there,’ sighs Alesha theatrically.

  ‘He’s more immature than my baby brother,’ tuts Leah.

  The dinner hall is heaving. It’s as if the whole school has crammed in and is jostling for space and air. The din is overwhelming. The room smells of rain-soaked hair, hot grease and stale PE kits, but Ale
sha, Jodie and Leah don’t seem to notice as they stride straight through the double doors. I hesitate.

  ‘What’s up, Becky?’ asks Leah, turning round.

  ‘Nothing.’ I shrug, peeking in at the chaos. All those bodies, I think. All those germs.

  ‘Hurry up, Becks, the chips’ll all be gone,’ says Jodie as she rushes off, making a beeline for the food counter. ‘They only do them on Mondays now,’ she calls back at me, ‘and they always run out.’

  ‘I’m not really that hungry.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ says Leah, taking my arm and whisking me inside the hall. ‘It’s double maths with MacNamara this afternoon. You’ve got to have something to keep your strength up.’

  I can’t tell you what I put on my tray, let alone what I actually eat, if anything. All I can think about is getting straight out of this crowded hall as soon as possible.

  Two Year Seven boys approach carrying trays loaded with food, hunting for spare seats. There aren’t many, just the odd one dotted here and there. They stop just behind me. Grinning in triumph, the spottier one dives onto the single empty seat beside me, leaving his friend standing.

  ‘You finished?’ the lesser-spotted boy mumbles, poking me in the back with a grubby, nail-bitten finger.

  As I turn around ready to answer, I see his face suddenly contort. He draws his head back, closes his eyes then, before I can get out of the firing line, he sneezes all over me then drags his sleeve across his face.

  I freeze in horror for a split second then leap up, spilling my drink over the table before rushing out of the hall.

  ‘Ta very much,’ I hear him call after me as the pair dissolve into laughter.

  I hurry down the crowded corridor, shove open the double doors and charge into the playground. It’s stopped raining now, but apart from a small bunch of boys chasing a ball around, it’s deserted. I make it over to the oak tree, sucking in huge gulps of air. Hurriedly, I pull a fresh anti- bacterial wipe from my pocket and start furiously scouring and scrubbing at my face.

  20

  ‘Becky . . . Shall I get someone? One of the teachers maybe?’

  I look up to see Leah. My thumping heart is gradually slowing and my breathing is returning to a relatively normal pace. I screw up the wipe into a ball and throw it in a nearby bin.

  ‘No, don’t, please. I’ll be all right in a moment.’

  ‘What’s wrong? Is it your heart?’ she asks, unable to hide the concern in her face.

  Automatically I reach my hand over my chest and feel the rhythmical pounding through my clothes.

  ‘My heart’s fine.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go indoors.’

  Once inside, we sit down in the empty cloakroom, huddling among the damp coats.

  ‘What’s going on, Becky?’ she asks solemnly.

  Leah’s my oldest and closest friend. We met at playschool aged three, when she rescued me from Harry Benson who was rubbing sand in my hair. She chucked her lump of playdough at him and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s one of those girls who knows what to do, whatever happens, probably because she’s always looking after her little brother. ‘I’m just really worried about getting ill again,’ I tell her.

  ‘But I thought you were OK now?’

  ‘I am . . . but it’s not that simple. I have to take a whole load of tablets to stop my body rejecting my new heart. But the thing is they suppress my immune system which means I’m more likely to catch colds or other infections . . . which could also make my heart fail.’

  ‘But, Becky, you can’t live your life worrying about every little germ. They’re everywhere. You’d go completely bonkers!’

  I look at her. Maybe it’s true: my fears are sending me crazy; that’s why I’m seeing things that aren’t really there. I bite my lip.

  But Leah knows me too well. She knows there is more. ‘What is it?’ she asks.

  ‘If I tell you, you won’t spread it around . . . tell anyone?’

  ‘Course not. Cross my h—’ She stops abruptly. We exchange smirks. ‘You can trust me, Becky.’

  I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as Leah warily scans my face.

  ‘Something has happened to me since the operation.’ I begin, relieved to be telling someone at last. ‘I . . . I’ve been seeing things. Things that aren’t there.’

  ‘What do you mean, seeing things? What sort of things?’

  I shrug. ‘It’s difficult to explain and I probably am going completely mad so maybe that’s why —’

  ‘Becky, what have you seen?’

  ‘Places I’ve never been to but still recognise. A big park and a street, always the same street, and halfway down it a house with green shutters. And this house, I know every single brick, every roof tile, every plant in its garden but I don’t understand, because I’ve never been there before.’ I sneak a peek at her puzzled face. ‘And . . . that’s not all. I keep seeing someone I’ve never met before. But it’s like I’ve always known him.’

  ‘Him?’

  ‘A boy. About my own age. Maybe a bit older.’

  ‘So who is he?’

  ‘I don’t know. But he’s really angry . . . and I think it’s my fault.’

  ‘How could it be your fault, Becky? You said you don’t even know him.’

  There’s an awkward pause before I manage to say, ‘What if he’s my donor . . .’

  Leah stares at me. ‘Becky, don’t!’ she snaps.

  ‘Don’t what?’

  ‘Don’t beat yourself up over getting your new heart.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Whoever your donor was, he or she died. That isn’t your fault, OK? They signed a donor card because they wanted someone else to have their heart after their death.’

  We sit quietly for a moment.

  ‘So am I just going crazy?’ I ask her finally.

  ‘Course not, don’t be so daft,’ she says firmly, but I can’t help noticing the uncomfortable look on her face.

  21

  I miss school the following day as I have my weekly check- up at the hospital. They’re running late at the clinic, and the waiting room’s packed. After checking in with the nurse, Mum and I sit down on the last two empty chairs in the corner. Sitting next to me is a girl with honey-coloured hair, cut short in a bob. She looks up, then hands me the glossy magazine on her lap.

  ‘Here,’ she says, ‘it’s this month’s. Full of incredibly thin models wearing unbelievably expensive clothes.’ As she smiles, her green eyes sparkle mischievously. ’Just like last month’s actually.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She’s wearing a blue, round-necked top, edged with green lace but I can just see the faint, bumpy white line of a scar starting from the bottom of her neck and running downwards. I quickly avert my eyes but it’s too late, she’s noticed me looking.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘Didn’t mean to stare. My scar’s still quite red,’ I add quickly, so she knows I’m not just gawping for the sake of it.

  ‘Don’t worry. If it doesn’t fade, ask for your money back,’ she says with a grin.

  I start flicking through the magazine she’s given me, secretly wanting to carry on chatting but not quite knowing what to say.

  ‘Want to get a drink from the vending machine?’ she asks a few minutes later.

  ‘Yeah, OK.’ I glance at Mum who nods. The previous patient, a little boy about six years old, has only just gone in with his parents. They’ll be at least twenty minutes, if not more.

  We stroll down to the battered old vending machine at the other end of the corridor.

  ‘OK, you need to know this,’ says the girl turning to me with a serious expression on her face. ‘The coffee tastes like tea and the tea tastes of coffee. Both look like dishwater and both smell of old socks. But, as far as I know, there’ve been no fatalities from the hot chocolate.’

  ‘Sounds delicious,’ I say with a smile.

  As we feed our coins into the machine and wait for our drinks the girl tells m
e her name’s Alice, and she’s here for her yearly check-up. She’s nearly eighteen and had her transplant when she was eight.

  ‘I was born with a broken heart – literally – so when I had my transplant it was the best day of my life. It meant that I finally had a chance of living.’

  ‘So was it all OK?’

  ‘I’m here, aren’t I? Drinking this poison?’ she says with a laugh. ‘Don’t remember the operation, obviously, but it must have worked. I’d been really ill before so it took a while to build up my strength, but now the world is my lobster!’ She takes a sip of her hot chocolate and grimaces. ‘Errr yuck!’

  ‘What do they put in this stuff?’ I ask, pulling at the top of my roll-neck jumper, yanking it up so it sits higher on my throat.

  ‘Best not to know,’ she replies, glancing at me. She hesitates for a second or two then says, ‘I also had a bit of a thing about my scar at first. Didn’t want anyone to see it. Then I thought, stuff it! It’s a part of me, and what I’ve been through. Call it my battle scar now. If anyone asks or teases me I tell them I got it wrestling a bear. Actually, it’s a great conversation starter with boys.’

  I laugh. ‘So did you feel different after the transplant?’

  ‘Too right I did! For the first time ever in my whole life, I could play sports, dance, ride a horse – do all the things I’d never been able to do before.’ She grins from ear to ear. ‘I’m going to train as a riding instructor next year. Can’t wait. I could never even have dreamt about doing that before my transplant.’ She looks at me inquisitively. ‘So how about you?’

  ‘A virus attacked my heart a couple of years ago. They finally put me on the urgent list and I had my transplant last October. But since then . . . I’ve changed.’

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ says Alice, nodding then taking a sip of her hot chocolate.

  ‘Alice, after you got your new heart did you . . .’ I stop, unsure whether to continue or not. I take the plunge. ‘Did you . . . Do you ever . . . see stuff . . . or have memories of places or people that you don’t know and haven’t met?’