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‘Wow. Her parents must be proud,’ Jack says. ‘Some kids, eh?’
Aiden and I don’t reply. There isn’t really anything to say. Roisin Kelly is the type of person who puts chewing gum in your hair when you’re healthy and teases you about being in a wheelchair when you’re not. I guess she’s the one who’s really sick.
‘Right.’ Jack smiles, rubbing his hands together. ‘Who’s up for a game of basketball.’
‘Really?’ I smile. ‘Can we?’
‘Sure,’ Jack says. ‘I don’t see why not. I mean, if you think you can make the shot from your chair, then bring it on.’
‘I can.’ I smile, confident and excited.
‘I should warn you, I’ve improved a bit over the years,’ Jack says.
‘Yeah but you’re old now,’ Aiden giggles. ‘And Kayla is still the captain of our team.’
Aiden’s words fill my tummy with butterflies. ‘They didn’t replace me?’
‘What?’ Aiden says. ‘No. Of course not, you wally. Someone stands in for you when we’ve a game on. But you’re the captain, Kayla. Everyone knows that. And no one ever wants that to change.’
FORTY-EIGHT
CHARLOTTE
Molly is in her element as the older kids fuss over her.
‘Oh, she’s so cute,’ a tall girl says, noticing us standing on the sideline of the three-legged race. Gavin has gone to find somewhere quiet to take a work call, so it’s just me and Molly and I must admit I feel a little self-conscious because we don’t really belong here.
‘That’s Kayla Prendergast Doran’s little sister,’ another much shorter girl adds.
They both seem about Kayla’s age.
‘Do you want to race?’ they ask together, and Molly nods and smiles and takes their hand.
‘Is that okay?’ one of the girls asks me.
‘Sure,’ I say, ‘I’ll be right here watching.’
‘What’s your name?’ one of the girls asks, bending to come down to Molly’s level.
‘I’m Molly.’
‘We’re Kayla’s friends, by the way,’ I hear them tell Molly as they walk towards the starting line and a woman I assume is a teacher hands Molly a silver dessert spoon and a potato.
Kids take their spots at the line. Some are very tall and seem very grown-up. Molly seems to get lost among them. I become quite worried that they’ll knock Molly over in their enthusiasm to win. I move around to get a better view.
‘Three… two… one… go!’ the teacher shouts and they all take off running very slowly.
Potatoes tumble to the ground and lanky teenagers pick them up and hurry back to the starting line to begin again. Kayla’s friends are on either side of Molly, shielding her, and Molly’s potato is wobbling but not falling and she’s pulling ahead as more overzealous racers lose their spuds and have to start over.
‘Yes, Molly. That’s it. Good girl. Good girl,’ I shout as Molly approaches the finish line way ahead. ‘Woohoo. Woohoo!’ I cheer when she comes first.
Molly passes her spoon and potato back to the teacher and runs over to me with her hands above her head and a huge smile on her face. ‘I won. I won. I won.’
‘Yes. You did. Well done, champ.’
‘Do I get a prize?’
I’m about to explain to Molly that the satisfaction of winning should be a prize enough when the two girls come running over.
