edge.
She looked round at the rest of us, and for one awful moment I thought she was going to burst into tears. But instead she said, “Rosie, Lyndsey – would you go and ask Andy to come up here? Felicity will need carrying down to the car.”
“Yes, Mrs Sidebotham,” said Lyndz and I together, and we raced downstairs.
We told Andy what had happened to Fliss and he dashed up the stairs. A minute later he came down again, much slower this time, carrying Fliss like she was some injured heroine in a film. Mrs Sidebotham opened the front door for them and then we heard the car doors slamming and the engine starting up.
When Andy came back he gave us a wobbly smile and said, “Don’t worry about Fliss,girls. You go back up to your friends.”
So Lyndz and I slunk back upstairs to Fliss’s bedroom. There we found Kenny and Frankie sitting on Fliss’s bed, and looking as cheerful as two wet weekends.
“What happens now?” I asked.
Frankie shrugged. “We wait, I guess. Fliss’s mum said it was too late to ring any of our parents. So the sleepover’s still on.” She smiled weakly.
“How long d’you think Fliss’ll be at the hospital?” asked Lyndz.
“It could take a while,” said Kenny. “Sometimes there are loads of people in Casualty, and you just have to wait your turn.”
If it hadn’t been so awful it would have been funny, imagining Fliss and her mum waiting in Casualty in matching Fifties outfits, with matching ankle socks and matching blonde ponytails.
But none of us felt much like giggling any more. “Come on,” I said, “we may as well get ready for bed.” So we brushed our teeth and changed into our pyjamas, then wriggled insideour sleeping bags. Kenny put out the main light and we all switched on our torches.
“I bet Fliss’ll come back and it’ll turn out she’s fine,” said Lyndz. “Remember that time at Mrs McAllister’s stables, when Fliss was riding Alfie and he suddenly shot off at a million miles an hour?”
“That was scary!” said Frankie. “If she’d fallen off she could have been so badly injured!”
“Exactly,” said Lyndz. “But it turned out she was OK. It’ll be the same tonight, you’ll see.”
“She might just be badly bruised,” I said, nodding. But I was only pretending to share Lyndz’s optimism. In my tummy I had a cold, sick feeling of dread.
“Rosie! Wake up!”
I heard Lyndz’s voice and felt her nudging me in the ribs.
“Wha…?” I mumbled sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Half past one,” said Frankie. “Fliss is back.”
In a second I was awake. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and shot to the window, where the others were craning their necks to see the car in the drive below.
“Is she all right? Can you see?” I said anxiously.
“She’s getting out…” said Kenny. “She’s OK. She’s – Ohmigosh!”
“What?” There was a pause. “Kenny?”
“She’s on crutches,” said Kenny flatly. “Her leg’s in plaster.”
Lyndz had been wrong. Totally wrong. Fliss wasn’t fine. She had broken her ankle.
“Well, two of the little bones in it, anyway,” Fliss explained when she joined us in the bedroom.
Now she was sitting on the bed, still in her Grease outfit, her crutches propped against the wall. Her left leg was stuck out in front of her with what looked like a big red boot on it, except that her bare toes were poking out of the end.
“Can I touch it?” I asked, stretching my fingers gingerly towards the cast.
“Go ahead,” said Fliss. “It’s totally set.”
“How come the plaster’s red?” asked Frankie.
“You can choose different colours,” said Fliss. “It’s a new thing. I wanted pink, really, but they said they didn’t have it.”
Fliss didn’t look half as miserable as you might expect. It sounded like she’d quite enjoyed being made a fuss of at the hospital. “The doctor was lovely ,” she said, smiling dreamily.
To be honest, it was Kenny I felt most sorry for right
She looked round at the rest of us, and for one awful moment I thought she was going to burst into tears. But instead she said, “Rosie, Lyndsey – would you go and ask Andy to come up here? Felicity will need carrying down to the car.”
“Yes, Mrs Sidebotham,” said Lyndz and I together, and we raced downstairs.
We told Andy what had happened to Fliss and he dashed up the stairs. A minute later he came down again, much slower this time, carrying Fliss like she was some injured heroine in a film. Mrs Sidebotham opened the front door for them and then we heard the car doors slamming and the engine starting up.
When Andy came back he gave us a wobbly smile and said, “Don’t worry about Fliss,girls. You go back up to your friends.”
So Lyndz and I slunk back upstairs to Fliss’s bedroom. There we found Kenny and Frankie sitting on Fliss’s bed, and looking as cheerful as two wet weekends.
“What happens now?” I asked.
Frankie shrugged. “We wait, I guess. Fliss’s mum said it was too late to ring any of our parents. So the sleepover’s still on.” She smiled weakly.
“How long d’you think Fliss’ll be at the hospital?” asked Lyndz.
“It could take a while,” said Kenny. “Sometimes there are loads of people in Casualty, and you just have to wait your turn.”
If it hadn’t been so awful it would have been funny, imagining Fliss and her mum waiting in Casualty in matching Fifties outfits, with matching ankle socks and matching blonde ponytails.
But none of us felt much like giggling any more. “Come on,” I said, “we may as well get ready for bed.” So we brushed our teeth and changed into our pyjamas, then wriggled insideour sleeping bags. Kenny put out the main light and we all switched on our torches.
“I bet Fliss’ll come back and it’ll turn out she’s fine,” said Lyndz. “Remember that time at Mrs McAllister’s stables, when Fliss was riding Alfie and he suddenly shot off at a million miles an hour?”
“That was scary!” said Frankie. “If she’d fallen off she could have been so badly injured!”
“Exactly,” said Lyndz. “But it turned out she was OK. It’ll be the same tonight, you’ll see.”
“She might just be badly bruised,” I said, nodding. But I was only pretending to share Lyndz’s optimism. In my tummy I had a cold, sick feeling of dread.
“Rosie! Wake up!”
I heard Lyndz’s voice and felt her nudging me in the ribs.
“Wha…?” I mumbled sleepily. “What time is it?”
“Half past one,” said Frankie. “Fliss is back.”
In a second I was awake. I scrambled out of my sleeping bag and shot to the window, where the others were craning their necks to see the car in the drive below.
“Is she all right? Can you see?” I said anxiously.
“She’s getting out…” said Kenny. “She’s OK. She’s – Ohmigosh!”
“What?” There was a pause. “Kenny?”
“She’s on crutches,” said Kenny flatly. “Her leg’s in plaster.”
Lyndz had been wrong. Totally wrong. Fliss wasn’t fine. She had broken her ankle.
“Well, two of the little bones in it, anyway,” Fliss explained when she joined us in the bedroom.
Now she was sitting on the bed, still in her Grease outfit, her crutches propped against the wall. Her left leg was stuck out in front of her with what looked like a big red boot on it, except that her bare toes were poking out of the end.
“Can I touch it?” I asked, stretching my fingers gingerly towards the cast.
“Go ahead,” said Fliss. “It’s totally set.”
“How come the plaster’s red?” asked Frankie.
“You can choose different colours,” said Fliss. “It’s a new thing. I wanted pink, really, but they said they didn’t have it.”
Fliss didn’t look half as miserable as you might expect. It sounded like she’d quite enjoyed being made a fuss of at the hospital. “The doctor was lovely ,” she said, smiling dreamily.
To be honest, it was Kenny I felt most sorry for right
Similar Books
