Chapter 4

Early the following morning, I got ready to go to the clinic to have my dressings changed.

My mother had no intention of coming with me. Instead, she stood in the hallway and delivered her assessment.

"You've ruined your leg for good. It doesn't matter what doctors you see. You need to make peace with it."

"The school won't take you back like this. And I'm not running a care home. You pull your weight or you find somewhere else. If you're very good, I might speak to someone about letting you sort files in the back office."

She'd worked at the same independent secondary school for years. She'd never once used those connections for my benefit. They were being saved for Lily.

I endured the pins-and-needles sensation of sitting still too long and asked, very quietly:

"What if there's a surgeon in London who could actually fix it?"

Her expression shifted into something uglier.

"As long as I'm alive, you will not set foot in that city. Not for one day."

"Even if it means I'll be in a wheelchair permanently?"

"Yes."

She said it like I'd accused her of something. Like my wanting to walk again was an act of aggression against her.

I'd known what she'd say. I'd known before I asked. There was still a small part of me that registered the words and understood what they meant — that my future, my mobility, my body, mattered less to her than whatever London represented in her private history.

I didn't say anything else.