The return journey passed in a flash and I was back in my body just as if I’d never been away. I wondered if there’d be a bit of a panic, or if someone might have noticed something different, but nothing seemed to have changed. I was aware of Mum hunched by the bed in almost the same pose as I left her in. The first few nights after the accident she’d slept in the chair next to me. Now she went home, but she obviously didn’t sleep properly because sometimes she was back really early, before the rest of the world woke up.

It seemed as if I’d been away for ages, yet it had probably only been a few minutes at most. I was acutely aware of everything – the starchiness of the sheets, the banging of doors in the distance, the clunking of the machines, the scent of the primroses on the table at the end of the bed. Every couple of days Mum picked them from the border outside the kitchen window at home and brought them in to show me.

“Here we are, Jess,” she’d say. “Aren’t they lovely?”

She’d waft the flowers under my nostrils, completely unaware of how their subtle scent tugged at my heartstrings. One spring, when I was very small, I’d snapped off every single one of the tender yellow heads with my still-clumsy, babyish fingers. Mum was so cross but Dad was my protector then. He’d understood that I couldn’t resist them because they were so pretty. He was the one who had fished the wilting flower heads out of the bin and floated them in a blue glass bowl brimming with water.

It was one of those silly family stories that got repeated every year. If it was February it was the primrose story, and it got so predictable and boring and, if Will was around, embarrassing. But now I longed to sit at the kitchen table with a resigned expression on my face while Dad teased Mum for getting so cross and Jamie reminded me of the time I’d screamed when I found a worm in my pocket. Everyone would laugh, even me in the end, despite the fact that I still can’t bear worms.

Now, after a month in that hospital bed, I almost couldn’t remember what laughter sounded like. Instead, my ears were tormented by the sound of Mum’s heart breaking. It didn’t seem possible for it to shatter into any more pieces, and I knew that even time spent in her beloved garden would never be able to totally heal the damage.

It was stupid to wait when I had so little time. The clock was ticking down the minutes and there were four special people to see. The thought of getting away was tantalising but I was scared to actually try it. What if it didn’t work? What if it did? Surely they would notice if I got up from the bed and walked? I lay there all morning, waiting for a break in ‘Jessica watch’, berating myself for wasting the precious time I could have with my friends.

At last there was a lull in the patrol. Mum was going home for a rest and Dad had come back from work to take over. They walked to the window and I heard Mum rummaging about in her handbag. I foresaw Dad talking me through the whole ninety minutes of the previous night’s England versus Holland football match. As it had ended in a nil–nil draw and I’d already heard the radio commentary, I decided it was worth risking a break-out.

Sliding my spirit out of my damaged body was easier than I thought. Neither Mum nor Dad paid any attention as I sat on the edge of the bed and stretched my arms and legs. Although I was barely visible, even to myself, I was relieved that I still appeared to be wearing the gown and wasn’t completely naked. Only the edges of my body seemed to be defined, like the wispiest waft of steam from a kettle. In the middle, I was nothing apart from a slight pulsating at the centre of my chest, where my heart should have been. Seeing that made me feel a bit strange.

“Get a grip, Jess,” I said to myself. “This is you, not some gruesome experiment in biology, and this may be your last ever chance to hang out with everyone you love.”

The locker at the side of my bed was crowded with cards – even Mrs Baxter had sent one – but in pride of place was the card from my friends. Yasmin had drawn it herself and she’d included all my favourite things on the front. In the middle was Samantha, my guinea pig, with a big speech bubble coming out of her mouth in which Yas had written ‘Get Well Soon’ in lashings of pink glitter. Encircling Samantha were turquoise dolphins, nose to tail, and around the edge was a border of shoes. At each of the four corners was a sprig of cherry blossom and inside the card Sara, Kelly, Nat and Yas had written their own special messages. Mum had read them out to me and described the pictures. Knowing the card was there, just to the side of my poor battered head, was one of the things that kept me going when I got desperate, but finally being able to see it for myself was awesome.

“Thanks guys,” I mouthed. “It’s so beautiful and I love all of you too.”

I half floated, half swam towards the door, hanging on to the frame so that I could turn and look back at myself lying in the bed. I looked horrendous. It wasn’t the colour of my skin or the fact that I’d lost weight. It wasn’t the drip in my arm or the tube down my throat. It wasn’t even the fact that they’d had to shave part of my hair when they dealt with my smashed skull. In fact, if you ignored all those things, I probably didn’t look that bad to anyone who didn’t know me. To strangers I might have just looked as if I was asleep, but to me there was an emptiness. I was like one of those waxwork figures in Madame Tussaud’s. There was no sign of all those invisible bits which made up my character, my sense of humour, my impatience, my longing for fairness and loyalty, my stubbornness. Without being able to show all of those qualities, good and bad, which I took for granted, I was nothing, no one, just a husk. How creepy was that?

At least I understood why all the doctors and nurses kept prodding me, shining a light in my eyes and asking me silly questions in dopey voices. I also understood why they sounded as if they weren’t expecting me to answer. Mum, Dad, Gran and Jamie seemed to have drawn up a rota to carry on where the doctors and nurses left off. They’d spent the last month talking to me about anything and everything. It was as if words were the kisses that would make everything better and they felt that I wouldn’t slip away while they were still talking. I shivered, and my whole invisible form rippled like a raindrop chasing its way down a pane of glass. Any day now, any minute, the doctors might persuade them that I wasn’t worth keeping alive and the machine which was helping me to breath would be switched off. Is that what would happen? Is that how Darren the Angel of Death would finally get me?

Dad crossed the room and settled down in the chair closest to my inert body. He took my hand in both of his. As he bent over I could see how his hair had thinned and the skin was sagging around his chin. He looked older. A flickering hope lit up my brain – perhaps the other woman wouldn’t be so keen on him now. Mum made for the door and I grabbed the frame, propelling myself out of the way, hoping to slip out of the room alongside her. She turned to look back at me lying in the bed.

“Something’s wrong.”

The room resonated with her fear.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dad soothed. He pointed to the monitors. “There’s no change.”

Mum frowned. Her skin was tinged with grey and she’d lost loads of weight. We must be nearly the same size now, I thought. She’d be able to fit into my clothes if she wanted to. Maybe when I was no longer around she would use some of them. That new pale blue jumper which I hadn’t even had the chance to wear would probably suit her.

“Jessica Rowley, you’re in a very negative mood today.” Mrs Baxter’s voice permeated my thoughts.

Whoa! That was scary. Where had she come from? Why had my brain conjured her up now? Was I going mad?

“You are the sum of your thoughts, Jessica.”

There it was again, her direct, uncompromising voice, irritatingly reverberating from the centre of my head, saying the words she’d said to me over and over again in maths lessons. “If you think you can’t, you can’t. Whereas if you think you can…”

“Think you can what?” I snapped back.

“Live, of course,” she replied.

“Yeah, right,” I answered sarcastically, “and I’ll be in Set 1 for maths by next Christmas as well.”

“Anything’s possible…” she began.

“Not this,” I replied, shaking my head to try and get rid of the vision of her face which had suddenly, scarily appeared before my eyes.

“Will you go away!” I instructed. “I’ve got things to be getting on with and I don’t need any distractions.”

She pursed her lips, and gave me one of those looks that made me feel as if I wasn’t trying hard enough.

“Face it, Mrs B,” I said. “I know that you don’t like to be proved wrong, but even with your help I’m not going to get out of this mess.”

She shrugged.

“Maybe you’re right, Jess. After all, no one’s right all the time, are they?” She paused. “Not even an angel.”

And she disappeared, but she left her words with me. Somewhere, deep in my befuddled brain, a pinprick of hope emerged. Was it possible that I could escape my fate?

“I felt something,” Mum gulped. “Don’t you think she looks a bit different?”

That pulsating in my chest quickened as they studied my shell.

“It looks as though part of her is missing,” Mum sobbed.

Dad stood up and took her in his arms.

“You’re imagining it,” he murmured, stroking her hair.

I’d forgotten what it was like to see them have a hug. “Don’t let him touch you,” I wanted to shout at Mum. “He’s had those arms around her. He’s betrayed us.” But, at the same time, Mum needed someone to lean on and I was grateful to see them holding each other close. After a couple of minutes she pulled away and wiped her eyes. They kissed, the tiniest touch of lips, before she reached for the door handle, and we left the room together.

I couldn’t believe that no one could see me so I kept close to the wall, like Samantha, my guinea pig, when she’s set free in my bedroom. I’d been so worried about her, convinced that Jamie would forget to feed her or give her fresh water and she’d be pining to death in her cage. Then there was my diary. If Jamie actually remembered his guinea pig duties, would he rummage around for my diary when he was in my room? Would he read it and would he show it to Mum or even Dad? There were some pages I would have quite liked Dad to see, to make him realise how much he had hurt me, but I definitely didn’t want Jamie reading the bits about Will, or Mum finding out that I’d got three detentions at school for forgetting to hand in homework. She thought I’d had to stay late because I needed to look something up in the library. Thank goodness parents are so easily fooled.

Mum wasn’t walking fast but I couldn’t keep up with her.

“Wait for me, Mum,” I wanted to call as she disappeared into the distance.

I tried to speed up, but it was hopeless. I was floating rather than walking and it was all happening in slow motion. The night before the accident I had painted my toenails in Posh Petunia, and as I looked down at my feet I could just make out the barest hint of ten pink toes winking back. I’d managed to connect my feet with the floor but I couldn’t feel the coldness of the lino and I had to use all my energy to do a sort of drunken forward walk. To the left, a doctor flung open a door, the slight draught blowing me sideways.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I grumbled. “This is ridiculous. Doomladen Darren might have mentioned how hard this was going to be. If I don’t get better control of my movements than this it’s going to take me days just to get out of the hospital.”

A swarm of nurses bustled down the corridor and I flattened myself against the wall before sinking onto a low window sill. I felt exhausted. I’d never be able to get around town in this state. I’d never make it to my friends’ houses. I might as well admit defeat and drift back to bed. My bum was sandwiched between a vase of fake yellow chrysanthemums and a picture frame containing a prayer.

Two floors down there was a little courtyard garden with benches and clipped lavender bushes edging the gravel paths. It was totally surrounded by hospital walls but it looked so enticing.

“Concentrate, Jessica,” I said to myself in my best Mrs Baxterish voice. “You don’t know what you’re capable of until you really try. You can go out there, and once again breathe disinfectant-free air.”

I stood up, and instead of trying to walk began to glide as if I were on ice. I’d never been much of a skater, but surprisingly it worked. I was moving at a reasonable pace and in the right direction.

“Ouch!” I stubbed my toe on one of those stupid rubber bungs they use to stop doors banging back against the wall. I expected it to hurt, but the pain was minuscule and probably more a result of anxiety about chipping the Posh Petunia polish, if that was possible. Can you chip something that isn’t really there? I didn’t know, but those feet were the only things about me that felt half decent and I wanted to keep them that way.

At the end of the corridor was a geriatric ward, and under a chair by the door I spotted a pair of really uncool slippers. The next-door bed was stripped of its sheets and it took only seconds to convince myself that the slippers had been left behind when the occupant had ‘moved on’. Briefly, I wondered if that person had had the misfortune to meet ‘my friend’ Darren or if there were other Angels of Death doing the rounds.

The sheepskin-lined bootees immediately became invisible as I squeezed my feet into them. It was like magic, and I stifled a giggle. I’d forgotten what that felt like. It was like drinking a whole bottle of lemonade and feeling all the bubbles burst inside you.

A porter sailed past, whistling softly and pushing an elderly lady on a trolley. I was feeling braver now and I did a little leap, landing right on the end of the trolley, totally amazed by the fact that the sheet didn’t even ruffle. The porter wheeled us into the lift and pushed the button for the ground floor. I clasped my hands together. I felt as if I was fizzing with excitement. I had done it. I was on my way back to the world, back to freedom and, best of all, back to see my friends for one last time.