‘Crikey!’ Mum took one look at me and borrowed the neighbour’s car to take me to the hospital. I really didn’t feel too bad, apart from the pain in my chest, but I guess I must have looked quite frightening.
Ben had walked home with me and carried my schoolbag because, when I tried to lift it, the stabbing sensation in my chest became a burning twisting knife.
Dad was out at an audition for a commercial and couldn’t be reached on his mobile, so Mum went next door and explained to Mrs McLatcheon, who was a kindly old soul, that there was an emergency and asked if she could borrow her Morris Minor. Ben came to outpatients with us, which was good of him, and Gumbo refused to be left behind. (Although he had to stay in the car, whining madly, when we got to the hospital.)
It was just cuts and bruises, the doctor assured us, no broken bones. The rib thing turned out to be a cartilage, and would heal all by itself given enough time.
I had told Mum that I had fallen off the jungle gym at school, and I think she believed me, but Dad didn’t. He was already home from his audition by the time we got back.
‘How’s the other guy?’ he asked conspiratorially when Mum was out of the room.
I looked at him closely for a while, wondering how much to tell him. Eventually, with a quick glance at Ben, I just said, ‘He won’t be bothering me any more.’ Which was true, I suppose.
‘Good on ya,’ Dad winked at me. ‘You show them who’s who.’
I think he was quite proud of me, and I couldn’t be bothered to set him right.
Ben waited till my dad was out of the room, then whispered in amazement, ‘Your dad’s that policeman from the dog food commercial!’