Fionn Sykes took notice of people in a way that others, including Bee, didn’t. Just five minutes in the boy’s presence, and Bish was already a fan.
“Lola and Manoshi are just down the corridor, of course,” Bish said.
“Yes, their mothers have popped their heads in once or twice. And I worked out that if I was here, anyone sitting close to where I was would be too. How bad are they hurt?”
“Manoshi lost a hand, and her left eardrum has been severely damaged. Lola’s lost an eye and has a broken arm.”
“Lola and Manoshi were like those two guys in the Muppets. A running commentary on everything.” Fionn looked guilty. “Everyone thought they were pretty annoying.”
Is that how Bee felt? Guilty that people she didn’t like or who annoyed her had ended up with such horrific injuries?
The phone buzzed on the bedside table. The boy reached for it awkwardly and put it down again.
“It’s the newest iPhone,” he said. “An anonymous donation with a two-hundred-quid credit so I can get to speak to my mum whenever I want.”
“Have you seen her?”
Fionn shook his head.
“Will she be arriving soon?”
“We’re from Newcastle way.” He grimaced. “We can’t afford this. Private rooms and all.”
“I don’t think you have to worry about hospital fees for the time being, Fionn.”
“And if my mum was to come, she’d have to find a place to stay near the hospital and that costs money too, and she doesn’t speak a word of French. She’s never traveled outside our village.”
Bee had never had to worry about where the next fiver was coming from. As a barrister, Rachel earned more than Bish, and they’d lived comfortably.
“She doesn’t drive,” Fionn mumbled.
Bish regretted mentioning his mother. The boy was forced to make excuses and it was none of his business. “What do you hope to do with yourself after next year?” he asked to change the subject, although he’d hated that question more than any other at Fionn’s age.
“It’s between reading history or theology at Cambridge. I’m going for a scholarship.”
“Theology?”
The boy seemed amused by Bish’s reaction. “I get all the criticism about religion, you know, Mr. Ortley. But the thing is, you can’t take it away from people and not leave something else of substance. That’s what your generation will be remembered for. Taking so much away and replacing it with so little of worth.”
Seventeen going on seventy.
“I don’t want to hit you when you’re down, Fionn,” Bish said, “but I think your generation is going to be known for being the least useful at anything except ticking likes on Facebook.”
“Cruel words, sir,” Fionn mocked. “Only this morning the nurse let me look at my Facebook page on her iPhone. I was feeling heartened by the hundred and fifty likes for the words ‘Get well soon.’”
But the mockery was bitter. “My leg’s been blown off and someone writes ‘Get well soon’ as if I’ve just had my tonsils out.”
Bish was grateful to Fionn for bringing up the elephant in the room. He could see the tears threatening to spill. Bee got vicious if Bish ever caught her crying. Sod off, Dad. I don’t have to share every thought that goes through my head.
“Sometimes people who care about us say all the wrong things for all the right reasons,” Bish said. “How bad’s the pain?”
“I get asked that question every half hour by the nurses,” Fionn said. “Can you ask me something else?”
“Talk to me about the other kids on the bus, then.”
“I know the chaperones probably said we were a rubbish lot, and all that talk about Violette…” Fionn shrugged.
Bish thought of the rumors circling around Violette and a number of the boys on the bus. Had Fionn been one of them?
“Did you fancy her?”
Fionn was surprised by the question. “Violette only had time for Eddie Conlon. And Crombie, of course.”
“You didn’t like her?”
“It wasn’t that. On the first day she made a name for herself when she punched Charlie Crombie. I thought she did it for attention, but it scared people off and I realized that was exactly what she wanted. To be left alone.” Fionn thought about it a moment, his face aflame. “I don’t know how the two of them ended up…”
Shagging, as Crombie would have put it.
“I heard her talking to Eddie Conlon about me. ‘I know his type,’ she said. ‘I’ll bet you the dickhead asks who our favorite Doctor is.’” A blush crawled up Fionn’s face again, and reached his ears. It seemed Violette had guessed right.
“I was obsessed with Tom Baker,” Bish told him. “Much like every other nincompoop in the seventies, I wore the long scarf. It’s pretty obvious who everyone’s favorite Doctor is.”
Fionn laughed. It transformed the boy.
“She called me a dickhead as well,” Bish added.
“In here,” Fionn said, pointing to his heart, “Violette was tough. Revealed nothing. As girls go, she’s probably up there in the category of don’t-even-think-of-it-unless-you’re-insane, like Charlie Crombie.”
“Do you have someone back home?” Bish asked.