Eventually, Caleb grew to be gentler with Ethan. He also grew to read his Oxford Reading Tree books to him, in the hope that he might learn to read more quickly – and then he could read pages of bedtime stories to Caleb before sleep. He read the Oxford Reading Tree books because mum had said that reading Dennis the Menace to him would make him naughty. Father said that Dennis the Menace was a Bad Influence on Caleb too, but mum said that since father spent so much time at work, what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. At one and a half, Ethan couldn't read, but he surprised Mum by being able to say lots and lots of words.
Mum said it was lots, anyway, but Caleb could still say more than him. Ethan didn't speak in sentences.
Today, he wouldn't speak at all. Caleb leaned in to the pram. "Hi, Ethan," he whispered.
Ethan grizzled in reply, and when Caleb stroked his shoulder with his hand he started to sob. Caleb retracted his hand and stood up.
"What's wrong?" he said. Ethan sobbed harder. Caleb sighed and turned around. "I'm going to tell mummy that you won't stop crying," he declared before stumping from the room.
On arrival in his mother's bedroom, she was sitting on the edge of her bed and dabbing something from a little black container onto her face. Caleb plodded in front of her and plopped down at her knees. She glanced forwards.
"Hello, darling," she said, removing the powder puff from her face. "Are you ready for your first day of primary school?"
Caleb grinned and nodded. "Ethan's not though," he said, "he cried when I said hello to him."
Deborah smiled and smoothed Caleb's hair from his face. "We'll have to go and tell him not to worry about you then, won't we?"
O
Caleb was dismayed to learn that Ethan had not ceased crying. Deborah knelt at the pram and laid a hand over Ethan's head. She grimaced. Ethan quieted slightly. "Ow," he whined, and sniffed.
"Poor thing," murmured Deborah, and used her finger to gently wipe some of the moisture from Ethan's face. Caleb dropped to the ground next to her, chewing his lip.
"Is Ethan okay?" he asked, staring into Ethan's face as though he was truly baffled by Ethan's mood. Deborah rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
"He's got a bit of a temperature," she said. She graced Caleb with a quick smile and ruffled his hair. "He'll be alright – you've had worse," she said. Caleb relaxed, quite reassured by his mother. He kissed Ethan's forehead once, beaming when Ethan quieted further. He gave his brother two small pats to the shoulder and then stood.
"Mummy, I'm going to go and find my school jumper," he said and ran from the room before Deborah could tell him that he should wear his ironed one. Needless to say, he emerged two minutes later in a wrinkled jumper. Deborah chuckled to herself and checked her watch. She sighed upon realising that they would not have time to change it.
"Come on then, you." Deborah took the handle of Ethan's buggy and held out a hand for Caleb to take. He squeezed her first two fingers. Ethan made a gurgling noise and reached up for Deborah. Deborah smiled. "I'll have all day to cuddle you," she whispered.
O
The playground was filled with mothers – and some fathers. As soon as Caleb saw the small congregation of children running about, he broke from Deborah's grip and darted over to them. Deborah breathed a sigh of relief and pushed Ethan forwards to join some of the other parents. A tall black woman with a toddler on her hip turned to her and smiled.
"He's an excitin' one," she said, looking straight at Caleb. Her accent was strong and warm and Deborah couldn't help but to smile in response.
"Which one is yours?" asked Deborah, one hand resting on the handle of Ethan's buggy. She looked out at the group of children.
The lady pointed to a stumpy little boy who was grinning wildly up at Caleb. "That's my Terrence," she said, smiling. She looked at the toddler in her in her arms, who had one finger in her mouth and was staring down at Ethan. "And this is Claudine." She grinned. "Twenty months."
Claudine tore her finger from her mouth and pointed down at Ethan. "A boy!" she shrieked, excited.
Ethan grizzled, but took a moment to glance at Claudine all the same. Deborah laughed and kneeled down next to Ethan, beginning to undo the buggy harness. Ethan allowed Deborah to take him out of the pram and – similar to Terrence's mother – rest him on her hip. "What's your name?" Deborah asked, glancing up at Claudine and her mother.
Ethan worked on his lower lip with his teeth, still staring at Claudine as though he was worried that she might not like his name. "Eefan."
Deborah grinned. "Good boy, Ethan!" she cried.
Claudine's mother looked at her. "See, Claudine," she said. "This boy's name is Ee-th-an. Can you say that?"
"Ian."
Deborah laughed – light and grinning – and turned her attention to the woman. "Do you think we should let them play?"
The lady nodded and set Claudine down on the floor. The girl ran over to her brother as fast as her little legs could carry her. Terrence looked down at her and placed a hand on her head. Deborah watched as he stared up at Caleb, talking so fast about his little sister that for once Caleb was unable to get a word in edgeways.
Deborah tried to prise Ethan from her shirt. "Ethan, would you let go of mummy please?" she said. Ethan did so and Deborah placed him down. Ethan sat on the floor at his mother's feet, chewing on the sleeve of his shirt. "Ethan," said Deborah, "go and play."
Ethan shook his head. "No."
A loud dinging made Deborah jump, and she wheeled around in time to see a small brunette lady ringing a large brass bell. She watched, somewhat mesmerised at the way all of the children filtered into lines. A whine came from her feet and she looked down. Ethan had his hands over his ears and had begun to cry. She picked him up and held him close to her, trying to help him muffle the noise with her own hands. The other lady threw Deborah a sympathetic look before running over to pick Claudine up before she ended up in class with the four year olds.
O
Ethan had not ceased grizzling by the time they arrived home, though he had begun to doze off in the buggy and Deborah deigned to put him straight to bed in his cot – it was bare and sterile, and Deborah always felt guilty putting him to bed in it. He fell into a restless sleep in a matter of minutes, leaving Deborah free to go downstairs.
She was sent back up to Ethan half an hour later by a loud wail. The toddler was lying on his back, sobbing. His eyes were open and darting around the room with wild intent, though they settled when Deborah came into view. She laid a hand on the crown of Ethan's head and picked him up, holding him close to her chest. She waltzed him into her own bedroom, laid him on the bed and left to fetch the thermometer. When she came back, her bed was stained with vomit.
She allowed herself a quiet sigh and kneeled on the other side of Ethan. "Open your mouth for me, sweet," she murmured. Ethan's jaw relaxed – just a little – and Deborah eased the thermometer under his tongue. It beeped and he moaned loudly, breath hitching at the peak like a wound caught on thread. Deborah glanced at the thermometer and made a faint noise of discontent. She brushed sparse strands of white blonde hair from Ethan's head and popped a kiss onto his forehead before standing to leave the room.
She moved the landline as close to her bedroom as the wire would allow – just in case, she thought.
She carried Ethan back to the nursery and sat with him for hours. At one o'clock, she tried to coax some milk into him, but he tightened his lips and looked to the side as if he was trying to turn his head. At two o'clock, Deborah left the room to arrange an appointment with their GP for the next morning. When she came back, Ethan was twitching on the cot mattress. Panic shot through her. She stood, frozen. Her face was blank; her eyes were wide and her lips parted – just enough to ease a straw through, if you were to try.
After minutes – Deborah guessed they were minutes – Ethan stilled. She extended a trembling hand to stroke his forehead, but upon accidentally knocking the edge of the crib, she withdrew it as though she had just touched fire. She flinched and scurried from the room.
She picked up the landline, cradled it close to her chest and then dropped to the floor and pushed the room to Ethan's door open with her foot so that she could watch him, her right leg twisted slightly under it. She punched John's number into the phone and held it to her ear, almost weeping with relief when the dial tone gave way to a fuzzy "Dr John Hardy. Can I help you?"
"John?" asked Deborah, furious at the way her voice trembled.
A sigh crackled down the line, followed by two faint taps. "For heaven's sake, Deborah, you're really not supposed to call me when I'm working…"
Deborah's breath hitched. "I-I think it's serious," she whimpered. "I think Ethan had a seizure; he's not well at all."
"Have you taken his temperature?"
Deborah flickered, so caught between Ethan and John that for a moment she couldn't remember whether she had or had not taken Ethan's temperature. She took a deep breath and combed through the day, jumping and clutching the phone when she remembered that she had. "Yes, yes. It was 38.8 at about ten thirty."
Another sigh crackled down the line, though it was heavier – graver – than its predecessor. "Bring him into Casualty," he conceded. The line went dead and Deborah put the phone down, frantically nodding her head in affirmation with John's suggestion.
Deborah stood up from the floor, allowing Ethan's bedroom door to swing closed. She made her way into the room, right ankle buckling slightly when she put weight on it. She twisted it on the spot and then put it down again – it was fine. Ethan's eyes were open when she entered the nursery. He wasn't making any noise, but there were patches of moisture on his cheeks and his forehead was glazed with sweat.
Deborah swallowed a lump in her throat and sniffed, resting a hand on her cheekbone and looking away for just a moment. She gathered Ethan in her arms and ran downstairs, holding him close to her. She rested him in her lap and dialled the number for the taxi firm. She was put through immediately.
"C-can I please have a taxi to Leeds General Infirmary?" she asked. Her heart sank to hear how much like a teenager she sounded. "Yes – Nine Armley Grange Drive," she murmured into the mouthpiece.
And then she waited, Ethan curled into her chest.
O
Caleb was buzzing. His teacher had just given him a big red sticker for reading so well. He hopped off the chair and strutted back into the classroom. He made a beeline for Terrence, who was sitting at the numbers table and squinting at a handful of marbles, and plopped down into the chair next to him. "Look!" he said, "I got a sticker! When mummy and Ethan come to collect me I'm going to tear it and give the other bit to Ethan!"
Terrence gasped, his eyebrows flying upwards. He grinned and banged Caleb on the back in a most congratulatory fashion, and then held out his handful of marbles to Caleb. "I don't know what to do with these," he said.
Caleb opened his mouth to speak, but the classroom had fallen quiet. His teacher was standing at the front of the classroom – in front of a whiteboard with a neat alphabet printed onto it in green writing - with a hand in the air and the opposite finger on her lips. Caleb sat up straight, facing her with his shoulders wrenched back so that his chest stuck out and pressed his finger so hard to his lips that he created a pathway in the middle of them.
When the classroom hushed completely, she spoke. "I think it's time we put everything away," she said, "because your mummies and daddies are going to be coming to collect you soon – and we need to read a story before that."
The classroom became busy again. Terrence dropped his marbles into the box in the middle of the table and Caleb helped him to gather everything else on the table so that it was clear. When both were satisfied, they joined the handful of children who were already sitting cross-legged on the red carpet.
His teacher told a story about a lady who sneaks into his son's room to tell her she loves him every single night, even when he had been naughty. She looked a bit sniffley at the end, but Caleb thought it was a bit of a silly story.
Afterwards, the children lined up in two lines and held hands to file out of the room. Caleb held hands with Terrence and they stood in the playground together while they waited for their parents. Slowly, the children began to filter out of the playground – most of them chatting excitedly to their parents – like dregs of water in a cup. Caleb and Terrence were left – but it was okay, because they were playing 'it', which Caleb couldn't play with Ethan because he was too small, but it turned out that Caleb was a very fast runner, and was good at 'it'.
Terrence's mother came along soon after that, Claudine once again at her hip. She fluttered into the playground and almost fell at the teacher's knees. "I'm so sorry," she clamoured. "I'm here for Terrence."
The teacher smiled. "Terrence!" she shouted. Terrence came running forwards and hugged his mother's legs.
"Hello, Claudine," he said brightly. Claudine giggled and waved down at him. Caleb stood at his teacher's side and watched as they left the playground. Terrence was chatting away to his mother and Claudine. Caleb chewed his lip and tugged at the bit of jumper around his sticker.
His teacher held out a hand to him. "Do you want to come and read a book whilst we wait for someone to collect you?"
Caleb brightened and nodded and took his teacher's hand.
O
Deborah walked as quickly as she could through the doors to Casualty, still clutching Ethan to her chest. She relaxed to see John standing ready next to reception. He walked to meet her, holding his arms out for Ethan.
"Follow me," he muttered to Deborah, holding Ethan out in front of him as though he was an unidentified explosive rather than a child. He laid Ethan down on a bed and placed a thermometer into his ear. Ethan moaned. The thermometer beeped. John's eyes widened.
"40.3, Deborah!" he exclaimed. "You said it was 38.8!"
Deborah sighed, voice shaking. "I-it was, earlier," she muttered.
John shook his head. "Right, well I'm not allowed to treat him." He wrenched the curtain back. "We need IV penicillin and a lumbar puncture in here now," he barked. A young doctor and a considerably older nurse flurried into the room. John raised a hand. "Not you," he said to the doctor. "I want at least a registrar, not a House Officer. Find one." The young doctor scurried from the room. John placed a hand on the nurse's arm and blinked down at her, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Mandy?" he whispered.
She pursed her lips. "Just let me focus on putting his IV in, Doctor Hardy," she murmured.
Deborah clutched at her elbows. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.
John flinched upwards. "Something bad, Deborah, and he should have been brought in hours ago." He stalked over to Deborah and stood a few inches from her. "You'd best hope that your stupidity doesn't cost us another baby." His voice cracked and he bolted it closed, staring straight at the cubicle's curtain. Deborah's face crumpled and she clenched her teeth to try and muffle the sound she made.
Ethan began to wail from the bed. A loud gasping noise escaped John and he opened the cubicle curtain with a trembling hand and stepped outside. Deborah took a couple of tentative steps towards Ethan's bed. She looked at the nurse. "Can I touch him?" she asked.
The nurse smiled. "Of course." She laid a hand on Deborah's arm. "We're looking after him." She paused. "And Doctor Hardy." The two stood in silence for a moment; Deborah stroked Ethan's head whilst the nurse checked his vitals
Moments later, John came back with a pinched looking young woman. She brushed past Deborah. John stood next to her. "You'd best call Caleb's babysitter and tell her to bring him here."
Deborah glanced up at him. "What babysitter?"
John sighed. "For God's sakes, you did arrange childcare, didn't you?"
Shamefaced, Deborah shook her head.
O
Caleb chewed on his thumbnail. He stared up at his teacher, eyes filled with tears. "D-do you think they've for-forgotten about me?" he stammered.
His teacher sent a kind smile down to him, and he stopped crying – a little. "I'm sure that they haven't," she said. "Let's give it another half an hour before we give your mummy a call, alright?"
Caleb nodded, but they did not have to wait half an hour. Five minutes later, John Hardy burst into the room, nostrils flared. There was a vein sticking out at his temple, and Caleb noted that his eyes looked a bit red. His nostrils shrunk when he saw Caleb sitting with a book in his hands. "I'm Caleb's father," he declared.
He walked over to where Caleb was sitting as though walking a tightrope. "Come with me, Caleb," he said, and held out a hand.
Caleb shook his head. "I want mummy."
John sighed. "Your mother is at the hospital because Ethan is very sick. You will see her soon."
There was a loud bang, and both John and Caleb's teacher jumped. Caleb had slammed the book down onto the table. "Why couldn't you stay with Ethan? Mummy's better than you!"
John clenched his fists against his sides. "Caleb, I'd like you to apologise to me and to your teacher, and then I'd like you to come with me, please."
Caleb's teacher kneeled down to eye level with Caleb. She had a mole on her right cheekbone. Caleb stared at it. "You need to go with your daddy, Ethan." She smiled at him and stood up, holding a hand out for him. He glared at it for a moment before deciding to take it. "We'll read another story tomorrow, okay?" she said, and lead Caleb's hand to his father's.
John shot her a very grateful look as they left the room.
O
Later – much later – Ethan was connected to several tubes and wires. John went through them all with Deborah, who tried to do the same with Caleb. Caleb refused to enter Ethan's room, or speak to Deborah. He sat on a chair outside PICU with a Healthcare Assistant and a storybook and read out loud whilst Deborah sat with Ethan and John flagged down paediatricians to try and discuss Ethan's care with them.
The Healthcare Assistant had explained to Caleb that Ethan had an illness called 'men-in-jie-tiss'. Caleb explained to her that you stop at the end of sentences, not words – and that she should try again. The woman giggled a little – and Caleb didn't understand why.
"Your little brother has something called meninjietiss," she said. "It means that his brain is poorly and he's not able to fight it on his own."
Caleb made a face. "That's stupid," he said. He sighed loudly. "Ethan's stupid. And mummy. She didn't even come and collect me after school today."
The moment he said it, Deborah came from inside Ethan's room. She was pale and drawn and her eyes were swollen and watery. She held a trembling hand out to Caleb, which he took wordlessly. "Come on," she said. "It's hours past your bedtime." She and Caleb left the hospital together, silently.
The torn remains of a red sticker lay lifeless on the hospital floor.