Eventually, Conor would fall asleep, and the nightmare would come.
It came every time he slept now, and worse than before, if that was possible.
He’d wake up shouting three or four times a night, once so bad his grandma knocked on his door to see if he was all right.
She didn’t come in, though. The weekend arrived and was spent at the hospital, though his mum’s new medicine was taking its time to work,
and meanwhile she had developed an infection in her lungs.
Her pain had got worse, too, so she spent most of the time either asleep or not making a lot of sense because of the painkillers.
Conor’s grandma would send him out when she was like that, and he got so familiar with wandering around the hospital
he once correctly took a lost old woman to the X-ray department.
Lily and her mum came to visit on the weekend, too, but he made sure he spent the whole time they were there reading magazines in the gift shop.
Then, somehow, he was back at school again. As incredible as it seemed, time kept moving forward for the rest of the world.
The rest of the world that wasn’t waiting. Mrs Marl was handing back the Life Writing homework. To everyone who had a life, anyway.
Conor just sat at his desk, chin in hand, looking at the clock.
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