No one comes to see Gabriel during visiting hours. No parents bring him a book to read or sweets to suck or Barley Water to add to the flat water in the jug on the pedestal next to his bed. He’s in the children’s ward, a row of beds down each side. Every hour, it seems, a nurse comes to take his temperature, just as he’s starting to doze off.
He’s lucky to be alive is what the doctor says when he does his rounds. We nearly lost you, young man.
The shimmering blur returns as the doctor speaks and Gabriel wishes he could go back to that pure and radiant light, but he’s here and he’s half-awake and half-asleep and once he’s on the mend he’ll be going back to the home.
He’s half-awake and half-asleep one afternoon when he hears voices from the bed next door. The boy in the bed next to him is never short of visitors.
Felix? Isn’t that the name of the family who—
Shush, he’ll hear you.
But Gabriel’s eyes are shut tight and after a few seconds, the first voice continues.
Burnt alive in his bed.
I know, awful. But the article I read said they found his body near the door. Scratching to get out, probably.
An old man. Left to die like that.
Behind Gabriel’s eyelids, the shimmer flares into orange.
They say she started it, but I’m not so sure. I reckon it was the kid. Little pyromaniac. She was probably covering up for him.
Look where that landed her.
And he gets away scot free. Kids and matches, never a good combo.
Especially when there’s petrol to add to the mix.
A laugh, and then, Shame. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe he’s a different Felix.
Not a common surname, though.
A rustle of sheets being pulled straight, the soft pummelling of a pillow, the sound of a kiss landing on a cheek. Comfy, darling? Daddy will be here to see you tonight, on his way home from work.