I had to visit Sara first, not just because her house is the closest to mine but because we’d been best friends for so long. On our first day at nursery school she’d pulled one of my plaits and I’d cried. The next day she offered me her biscuit, and that was it – we clicked. Who can resist someone who offers them a biscuit, especially if it’s chocolate malted milk?

Some of the teachers used to get us mixed up or think we were sisters because we look a bit alike with our smattering of freckles and greyish green eyes. I wish! If we were related I might have her brains and that great smile which draws everyone in. I used to think that Sara was brave and confident and together, all the things I wanted to be. I used to think that she could handle anything with grace and humour but now I know differently.

Before the accident, I thought that Sara was the only person who knew how I really felt about Will. I could tell her anything and she never laughed at me for worrying about silly things which might never happen or made light of bigger problems. She knew all about my family issues too and her house was one of my escapes.

“If you ever need to get away for a while, Jess,” she said, when Dad started messing about with the other woman, “then come to my house. Any time of the day or night, it doesn’t matter. You’re always welcome.”

I hugged her when she said that. I wanted to hug her mum, too, because she never made me feel as if I was in the way and she always asked if I wanted to stay for supper, even when there probably wasn’t enough food to stretch to one extra person.

When Sara’s mum talked, I noticed how her dad paid really close attention, nodding and smiling and watching her all the time. It was as if they’d only just met and he didn’t want to miss a single word she said to anyone. He didn’t get that distant look in his eyes like my dad.

There was nearly always laughter in that house. It bounced off the walls, making the atmosphere all bubbly and happy. Most of the time I loved being there, but sometimes all that happiness was just too much to take. It reminded me of how close we used to be as a family, and Sara understood that I had to get away from her house too. Not that she’s perfect, far from it. She used to get really irritated with her little brothers, especially when they went into her room and started messing around with her things. Then the fireworks would start and it was better for me to keep a low profile. She may look all peaches-and-cream calm on the surface but she’s got an impatient, temperamental streak, and when she wants something, she’s pretty determined.

On the whole, though, I loved spending time there. I almost felt like one of the family and I often told Sara how lucky she was to be part of it. Looking back, I’m not really sure that she truly appreciated how precious normal life can be. It wasn’t her fault. I realise now that most people don’t, until they’ve had it taken away from them. Until your life starts to go wrong you take loads of things for granted.

By the time I’d manoeuvred my invisible body around to Sara’s house it was about five o’clock. Her dad had obviously finished work early as his car was already parked outside. I peered through the bay window at the front and could see the boys sprawled across the sofa watching a DVD. There was no sign of Sara and a horrible thought turned my aura a sort of battleship grey. It was a Friday night and the five of us often got together. What if Sara had already gone out? Would one of the gang have stepped into my size four shoes and taken over organising what we were going to do, when and where?

I supposed it would have to happen eventually, when I was no longer around, but it seemed a bit presumptuous for them to be cutting me out already. I wasn’t particularly organised in other areas of my life, and sorting out all that social stuff hadn’t come naturally at first, but everyone else had seemed happy for me to take charge. So it was usually me who organised a trip to the cinema or bowling alley or suggested staying in to make our own pizzas and watch a rom-com.

“You’re so good at it,” Nat had said when I suggested someone else might like to take over.

“I can do it if you want,” Yasmin offered, “but it wouldn’t work nearly as well.”

“You just seem to know when we need to stay in and chill and when we need to go out,” Kelly added.

Sara had put her arm around me.

“We love you sorting us out and telling us what to do,” she’d said.

“You mean I’m bossy,” I replied.

“Yeah!” she laughed and pinched the top of my arm, “but where would we be without you, bossy boots? We’d all be billy no-mates, buried in our books! We love you for it.”

“And I love you too, guys,” I murmured as I skirted the side of Sara’s house. “I may be at death’s door and will never get the chance to organise a trip to the movies again, but please, please don’t have taken this job off me before I’ve actually totally gone from your lives.”

I sidled down the passage, past the bins and towards the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Sara,” I murmured, “I really need to see you. Please be here.”

I looked up at her bedroom window and floated across the lawn to get a better view. I hoped to see the lamp lit up on her window sill but the room was in darkness. Holding on to the washing line, I blew about, letting myself swing upwards like the clumsiest gymnast in the world. My aim was to fly up through the air so that I could catch a glimpse of the top of Sara’s head as she sat on her bed, looking at her laptop. It didn’t work, and I didn’t dare let go of the line in case I was wafted away, over the top of the house and carried somewhere I really didn’t want to go. Anyway, it didn’t really matter that the lamp was switched off or that I couldn’t see into the room properly because I knew Sara wasn’t there. I could feel it, just as I could feel a sort of desperation welling up inside me. As I fluttered down to earth and sank onto the grass, the back door opened and Sara’s mum threw some bread onto the lawn for the birds.

“What about the crispy duck?” she called over her shoulder. “You know that’s your favourite.”

I wanted to cheer. It was just what I wanted to hear. Crispy duck was always what Sara chose when I went to her house and we had a Chinese takeaway.

“She’s here, she’s here,” I sang to myself, and I did a silly little dance around a rose bed.

The trouble was, all that rejoicing meant I missed my opportunity to get into the house. By the time I had floundered across the patio it was too late and her mum had slammed the door in my face. I edged sideways and pressed my face to the window. Sara was slouched on one of the pine kitchen chairs, running her long, slim fingers around the rim of a mug.

“Hi! It’s me.”

I waved through the window. I knew it was stupid, that she wouldn’t have the faintest idea I was there, but I couldn’t help myself.

She looked really pale and she’d obviously been working overtime with the straighteners.

Her hair was normally a bit wavy but now it was even straighter than mine and she was biting her nails. Sara never bit her nails. She just looked so different, not like my bubbly Sara at all. I had to get in there, to see her properly, to hear her voice. Dissolving through doors was obviously out of the question so I wondered about trying to squeeze myself through the cat flap. My hospital stay might have contributed to a flatter stomach but my hips looked pretty much the same. The last thing I wanted was to get stuck halfway through the flap and be at the mercy of Fluffy, the most evil cat in the world. That cat catches everything that moves: squirrels, birds, frogs – they all end up dead under Sara’s bed. If Fluffy sensed I was there and picked up the scent of guinea pig, she could shred me to smithereens in seconds.

The cat flap dropped to the bottom of my mental list while I considered shinning up the drainpipe and trying to slide in through the open bathroom window, but that didn’t seem a much better idea. I wasn’t very good with heights and as this was my first day of freedom it seemed foolish to take unnecessary risks and maybe hurt myself.

“Patience, Jessica dear,” Mrs Baxter’s voice droned in my ear. “You’re always in such a hurry.”

“But I haven’t got much time,” I fretted and dropped my head into my hands. As if to add to my fears, the nearby church clock chimed half past five.

In the end, I didn’t have to wait long. Sara’s dad headed out for the takeaway half an hour later. I made a complete mess of my first attempt to get inside the house, nearly getting trapped in the door and sliced in half, but by the time he came back, loaded with polystyrene boxes, I was prepared.

At last I stood in the hall and I felt rather pleased with myself. It was so good to stand on those wide golden oak floorboards, looking at Sara’s school blazer draped over the banisters at the bottom of the stairs. While they sorted out their food, I tried to soak up the atmosphere, to take some sort of strength from being inside the house, but I felt confused. Something was different. The atmosphere was heavy and the voices coming from the kitchen were muted. When everyone took their loaded plates through to the sitting room I joined them, slipping through the half-open door and hovering near the fish tank.

“Don’t you just love Fridays?” Sara’s dad said, as he sank into the chair near the fireplace and picked up his fork.

I nodded. Friday evenings used to be my favourite time too – no school for two whole days and the weekend stretching ahead – but Sara’s Mum glared at him. An awkward silence filled the room. Sara let her hair fall forwards around her face and picked at her crispy duck with her fingers. Even the boys were subdued, spooning egg fried rice into their mouths without their usual chatter.

“So, how about getting the bikes out tomorrow?” Sara’s mum suggested, after what seemed like hours but was only five minutes and twenty-three seconds later according to the clock on the mantelpiece. “There isn’t any rain forecast. Sara, what do you think? The fresh air would do you good. You’ve been spending too much time cooped up inside.”

“There’s something I’d rather do,” she replied quietly, “if you’ll let me.”

Suddenly the room bulged with tension. I could feel it squashing me from all sides, as if I was being sealed into a tight airless package.

“I saw Jamie on the way back from school,” Sara carried on, not waiting for anyone to ask what it was she wanted to do. Presumably they already knew and they weren’t at all keen. “He thinks it might help if Jess has some visitors.”

I went to clap my hands and just managed to stop myself in time.

“Yes, please,” I mouthed. “That’s exactly what I want.”

“She’s got visitors,” her mum shot back, the words darting across the room as fast as one of those little rainbow fish in the tank next to me. “She’s got her family.”

“But Jamie thinks it must be a bit boring for her,” Sara persisted, “listening to the same people talk all the time.”

Yep! I nodded. He’s right there. I hadn’t realised my brother was so perceptive. I was beginning to see him in a whole new light.

“I really don’t think he should have put you in that position,” her mother retorted. “It’s not on. You know what we’ve agreed.”

Sara dumped her plate down by her feet.

“He didn’t actually ask me to go, so there’s no need to lay into him, but I need to see her.” Her voice was getting quite shrill. “I don’t understand why you won’t let me. Surely anything’s worth a try and it just might help to bring her back to us, mightn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it might,” I wanted to shout out loud.

“Sara, sweetheart,” her father said in a solemn voice, “you know we’ve talked about this a thousand times. It would be very upsetting for you to see Jess at the moment and we just can’t bear that.”

“Jess’s parents agree with us,” Sara’s mother added in an instant. “They think it would be too distressing for you as well.”

Sara stood up, her cheeks flared with colour.

“I’m not four years old. I can cope. Why don’t you understand it’s just as distressing for me not to see her? She’s my best friend. What will she be thinking, lying there, knowing that I haven’t been to visit?”

I watched as Sara’s parents threw each other knowing glances. You didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know that they thought I was a hopeless case, that I wasn’t aware of anything as I lay in that hospital bed.

“She’ll think I don’t care about her,” Sara carried on.

She was crying now, tears coursing down her cheeks, her hands flailing about as if they were being manipulated by some manic puppeteer.

No! No! My whole body rippled in protest. I don’t think that. I’ve never really thought that… not for long anyway.

It was so hard to stop myself from going over and consoling her. I put my hands up against my cheeks as I watched her father shove his plate onto the coffee table and leap from his seat to put his arms around her.

“You see,” he said, with a touch of triumph, “this is just what we’re trying to avoid: any more upset.”

“You don’t understand,” Sara shouted, pulling away, hair stuck to her tear-stained face. “However many times I tell you, you don’t understand that you’re making it worse.”

She sent her cutlery flying as she stormed across the room. The knife hit the skirting board, chipping the paintwork, but Sara didn’t care. She was already out of the door and taking the stairs two at a time.

I don’t quite know how I managed it but I was with her in an instant, close on her heels, caught up in her slipstream. As she went to slam the bedroom door behind her, I put out my hands to stop it closing. She turned around with an exasperated huff and came back a second time to make sure it shut. In the meantime I was in her room, pressed against the ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ poster which I’d given her for Christmas. She flung herself onto the bed and sobbed so hard that the blue upholstered headboard banged against the wall. I wanted to put my arm on the centre of her back, to tell her it was okay, that I understood now, that I’d always known she’d never let me down, but I couldn’t do anything. I felt completely useless.

It wasn’t meant to be like this. While I’d been lying in the hospital bed, waiting for my chance to get away, I’d imagined how we’d spend our last precious time together. Sara would have been sitting on the floor pinning up her hair or maybe doing some sewing. She was really good at making things – cushions, perfect patchwork cases to keep your phone or camera in. I’d have sat next to her, watching her select pieces of fabric from the box at the bottom of her bed, before she placed them on the floor, working out which patterns and colours looked best next to each other. Instead, I sank onto the beanbag and covered my ears with my hands, willing her to stop crying, wishing her mum or dad would come upstairs to comfort her, but no one did.

In the end, she dried her eyes. I expected her to spend some time on Facebook with Nat and Yas but instead she did start to sew. She was making a cushion from hexagonal pieces in different shades of blue and she sat at the sewing machine in the corner of her room, listening to her iPod and joining the fabric together with a zigag stitch of navy cotton. The whirr of the machine was soothing and I’d almost dropped off to sleep when there was a noise outside the door. Sara must have a sixth sense because she got up, took out her earphones, crossed the room and opened the door.

Uh-oh! I thought. Here comes trouble.

“Oh Fluffs,” Sara said, bending down to pick up the cat. “In you come.”

As she dipped her forehead and laid it lightly in between Fluffy’s ears, I wondered whether I should make a break for it. Too late! Those sage-green feline eyes locked on to mine and I felt a faint tingling sensation down my spine as I saw the cat flex her claws.

“What’s the matter, Fluffs?” Sara asked, tickling Fluffy under her chin. “You missing Jess too?”

Ha! Ha! Very funny. I almost laughed out loud.

As Sara put Fluffy down on the bed I braced myself, waiting for the cat to pounce, but instead, much to my surprise, she began to purr.

“I’m making a cushion for Jess,” Sara continued, “for when she wakes up. Do you think she’ll like it?”

My throat felt all tight. I bit my lip.

“I’ve got to get on with it, Fluffs, because she could wake up any time. It could be tonight or tomorrow morning. It could be in the next five minutes even, but whenever it is, I want this to be ready for when I see her again. It’s going to be the best cushion I’ve ever made.”

She was sort of smiling now, trying to look brave. It just about broke me in two. I really wanted to be able to cry. I wanted those tears to flow and my nose to run. I wanted to thump the floor and say how sorry I was for taking the bike, for never properly telling her what a great friend she was. We used to say that as soon as our parents would allow it we’d go on holiday together, and then later on, after school, take a gap year. We used to say that if we didn’t get married we’d probably end up sharing a house when we were old and grey. She’d have about six cats and I would rescue guinea pigs. None of that would happen now – not with me, anyway. Fluffy jumped on to Sara’s knee.

“They will let me go and see Jess when she wakes up, won’t they, Fluffs?” she asked, snipping at a piece of cotton. “And if they won’t, I’ll go anyway. As soon as Jamie says she’s awake, I’ll be there, helping her to get better. You too, Fluffs. You must be nice to Jess when she comes around to the house. No more arching your back and hissing at her. I can love both of you at the same time, you know. If you just give her a chance, Jess will learn to love you too. I know she will. You may have scratched her a couple of times but she’s not the sort of person to bear a grudge.”

Sara’s eyes were bright with tears again.

“I’ll never have another best friend like Jess, Fluffy. Never, not in my whole life. You know that, don’t you?”

“And I’ll never have a best friend like you, Sara,” I whispered.

I’d planned to spend the night in her room, not to sleep – time was too short for that – but just to curl up on that beanbag, safe and warm. Now I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t sit in that room and think of all the things we’d done together, all the things we’d never get to do, so I took the coward’s way out. When Sara buried her face in the cat’s soft white coat I scrambled off the beanbag and made for the door. I paused and looked back at them both.

“Look after her for me, Fluffy,” I whispered.

The cat lifted her head and rested her chin on Sara’s forearm. Those almond-shaped eyes blinked several times. Before, I’d not been totally sure if she could see me, but in that instant I knew that she could, and I knew that in her own catlike way she was letting me know that she’d do her best.