The Make

squeezed her mum’s hand reassuringly.

‘We’ll do it together, okay?’ said Gracie.

‘Yeah,’ said Suze, but although she still smiled, her eyes were full of fear.

They wouldn’t allow more than two people at a time, so Lorcan waited outside while Gracie and Suze went in.

They approached George’s bed. He was moving. Gracie felt her heart start to beat very fast. He was moving! But then they drew nearer. The nurse met them there.

‘It’s something they all have to go through,’ she said firmly. ‘We’re bringing him round very slowly, and I know it looks bad, but it isn’t. Trust me. He isn’t in any pain.’

Gracie and Suze drew closer to George’s bed as the nurse went hurrying off.

‘Oh fuck,’ moaned Suze, and Gracie put an arm around her mother’s shaking shoulders and hugged her tight.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ she said.

But oh God, she doubted that. Because George, big bruiser George, was still attached to a bank of monitors and beeping machines. His legs were moving rhythmically, straining at the tucked-in bedclothes. His arms were moving too. Every few minutes the nurse came dashing back to check that nothing had come loose. Gracie and Suze stood there staring in horror at George’s face. His eyes were still closed, but he was frowning hard and his face was twisted as if in anguish; his mouth was wide open. It looked as if George was screaming, but no sound was coming out.

‘Oh no, oh George, my poor little Georgie,’ said Suze, starting to cry.

‘You heard what the nurse said,’ said Gracie, although she felt sick and distressed just looking at George. ‘He’s not in pain. It looks bad, but it’s not.’

‘He’s screaming! He’s screaming but he can’t make a sound because of that thing in his throat. Oh my poor George,’ sobbed Suze.

‘Come on Mum. He’s coming round. It’s something he has to go through, you heard her. But he’s coming round, and that’s got to be good.’

‘Is it?’ Now Suze was shouting, glaring at Gracie with pain-filled eyes. ‘Is it? What if he’s mental, Gracie? What if there’s too much damage, and he’s not George any more?’

‘You’ll have to keep it down please,’ said the nurse, coming over looking irritated. ‘We can’t have the patients upset.’

‘How long will he be like this?’ Gracie asked the nurse as Suze started to sob uncontrollably.

‘It takes as long as it takes,’ said the nurse. ‘Sit her down outside, all right?’

Gracie was pleased to. It hurt her horribly to see George like that. Suze was right. It did look as if he was screaming, and it was awful to think of him trapped within his own body, unable to make a sound. How could the nurse really know what was going on inside George’s brain? Was he in pain? Was he frightened? Who the hell knew?

Oh Jesus, I’ve got to stop thinking about it.

She took Suze out into the waiting room.

Lorcan was gone, but the muscle was still there in the corner and Sandy was sitting there too. She saw Gracie and Suze come out and stood up expectantly.

‘How is he?’ she asked.

‘Coming round, but it’s not pretty,’ said Gracie, guiding Suze into a chair.

‘I’ll go in,’ said Sandy. ‘That boy was just here.’

‘Which boy?’ asked Gracie, feeling shattered. She found herself wishing that Lorcan hadn’t pissed off somewhere – he was probably in the ground-floor cafe exerting that famous Irish charm on Jackie and Emma Sullivan.

‘The blond boy who tried to pass himself off as George’s brother,’ said Sandy.

The muscle looked up.

‘That right?’ Gracie asked him.

He nodded.

‘Who is that man?’ asked Sandy, staring at the muscle with suspicion.

Gracie ignored the question. ‘How long ago was he here? A couple of minutes?’

‘He was literally just here. Seconds ago. He saw me here – he must have recognized me from before – and then this man stood up and asked who he was waiting to see, and he just left.’

Seconds ago.

‘Get Mum a coffee, will you? Look after her,’ said Gracie to the muscle and, pulling Sandy after her, she went out into the corridor. People wheeling trolleys, people pushing invalids in wheelchairs. No blond boy.

‘When you spot him, tell me, okay?’ she said quickly to Sandy.

Dragging Sandy along behind her, Gracie hurried off towards the lifts. There was a bank of them, each big enough to take a hospital bed; all three doors on one side stood open, and there was no blond boy in any of them waiting for the lift to descend.

Gracie hurried over to the opposite side. One had the doors closed and was going down. The other two had people bustling around it, visitors, nurses, patients . . . no blond boy.

‘Come on,’ said Gracie, and hared off to the stairs, pushing through the swing doors at a run, Sandy puffing along behind her.

They went down to the next floor, pushed out through the doors, looked at the lift – it was still going down. Gracie dragged Sandy back into the stairwell and started down again. At the next level they came out and looked hopefully at the lift again. The doors opened. There were four people inside: an elderly couple, a porter pushing a bed with a stick-thin woman in it. No blond boy.

‘Shit!’ snapped Gracie.

Where had he gone?

‘Maybe he took the stairs,’ said Sandy with a shrug.

‘No, we’d have heard him.’ Everything echoed like crazy in the stairwells. Theirs had been the only footfalls; Gracie was certain of that.

Still clutching Sandy’s hand, she dived back into the stairwell and hurtled up the two flights to the intensive care level once again. Looked up and down the corridors. No blond boy. Then she spotted what she was after and dived through the door marked with a tiny stick-figure man.

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ complained Sandy on finding herself in the Gents toilet.

The toilets were empty, but one of the cubicle doors was shut.

Gracie put a finger to her lips. They stood silent, just inside the door. The toilet flushed. Then a strikingly good-looking blond teenager came out and crossed to the sinks and washed his hands. He glanced up at himself in the mirror, and then he saw the two women standing there watching him. He stiffened in alarm, splashing water down the front of his jeans.

‘What the . . .?’ he said faintly.

‘That’s him,’ said Sandy.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he asked.

‘I’m Gracie, George’s sister,’ said Gracie. ‘And this is Sandy, his fiancee.’

The boy’s mouth dropped open. ‘His what?’

‘Now can I ask who you are? You’ve been passing yourself off as George’s brother, but you’re not.’

The boy was shaking his head. He started towards them. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said, and tried to push past them.

Gracie grabbed his arm, trying to keep him there. He yanked hard, nearly dragging her with him out through the door.

‘No, stop,’ shouted Gracie. ‘Who are you? Come on. What would it hurt to tell me?’

Suddenly there was a blade in the boy’s hand. Gracie stepped back, her chest fizzing with sudden alarm. Sandy let out a small shriek. The boy’s eyes were wild with fear. He waved the knife in their faces.

Fuck, thought Gracie, freezing. Didn’t see that coming.