Page 61

‘Mr Cockrun helps us, Mum. He listens to me. Mr Cockrun isnice.’

We walk in silence for a bit, me wondering if Mr Cockrun is some sort of hypnotist, and then I say, ‘So, how about this picnic? Nutella sandwiches?’

‘No thanks.’

‘But youloveNutella sandwiches.’

‘No I don’t.’ Tom’s voice is suddenly manic. Like Lloyd Neilson. ‘I never eat them. They’re for babies.’

‘Oh, come on. They’re your favourite!’

‘Shut up!’

I take a step back. What has happened to my son?

‘Tom,’ I say. ‘You need to apologise.’

Tom puts his head down and mumbles, ‘Sorry.’

I hear myself demand: ‘If you hate Nutella sandwiches, how come you ask for them in your lunchbox every other day?’

‘I don’t.’

‘You do. Oh, Tom. I know you’re growing up, but those Neilson boys … Anyway, look – shall I carry your rucksack?’

I go to take his school bag, but Tom whirls away from me.

‘No.’

There’s a dark tone to his voice.

‘What?’

‘Just don’t touch my bag.’ Tom stalks ahead.

In two large strides I catch him, grabbing his school bag, skidding on loose stones.

‘Getoff,’ Tom protests. ‘Get off me.’

‘Tom!I’m yourmother. What’s going on? Let me see.’

‘No.’ Tom tries to pull away.

I’m too quick, though. Ripping open the cord, I dig my hand into the black nylon and rummage around. ‘What’s in here? What are you trying to hide?’

‘Nothing.’

My fingers close around something smooth and curved. ‘Tom. What’s this?’ I pull out a plastic bottle. It’s one of two brown bottles we got from the hospital after Tom’s seizure. Blood-thinning meds. ‘This is a medicine bottle.Yourprescription medicine. Why on earth is it in your school bag? Andwhy is it empty?’

Tom watches me in silence.

‘What’s going on, Tom? Why did you bring this to school?’

More silence.

I’m scared now. ‘We’re not having any picnic food!’ I shout. ‘Nothing like that. Not unless you tell me what’s going on at that school.’ I grab his hand roughly and pull him down the path, repeating my threat over and over.

But he won’t answer.