As with the takeoff, Dillon was glued to the window for the landing. The aeroplane touched down at 3.55 am.

‘My stomach always flips when a plane lands or takes off,’ said Mum, when they were down.

‘Does it?’ asked Dillon, his attention returning to the cabin. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’

When the plane had taxied to a stop, Flick released the door and lowered the stairs. Igor emerged from the cockpit as they were about to disembark.

‘Apologies for the delay,’ he said. ‘But we have you here now. Good luck, young man. I hope that all goes well for you today and in the future, and that you see the lights from the night sky many more times.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Dillon.

Flick led Dillon and Mum along the tarmac towards a waiting ambulance. Dillon took one last glance at the aircraft; its white body with streaks of red and blue bathed in the airport lights.

Could I ever fly a plane like that?

‘And this is where I say goodbye,’ announced Flick as the ambulance driver stepped forward to meet them. ‘It’s been a pleasure accompanying you on a mostly boring flight.’

Mum laughed and Dillon grinned.

‘Who wants to ride up front?’ asked the ambulance driver.

Dillon looked immediately at Mum, who nodded. ‘Sure. I don’t mind sitting in the back,’ she said.

The driver didn’t say much on the journey, preferring to turn up the radio. Majestic classical music resounded through the vehicle as it sped along the Tullamarine Freeway towards the large cluster of lights that was Melbourne. The strings soared and the trumpets blared, the piano danced and the symbols clashed, all in perfect accompaniment to the passing view.

There weren’t many cars on the road just after four in the morning. The ambulance streaked along, passing the few vehicles that were out there. Dillon connected street lamp to street lamp as they went, creating a glowing line from airport to hospital on the map in his mind. He didn’t really know the layout of this city, but he imagined the route as a swirly sweeping pattern, meandering and beautiful.

Dillon was disappointed that they drove without the siren. He would have liked the drama of flashing lights and wailing sound. It would have made the drive more of an event. The driver laughed when he asked about the siren and simply said ‘we don’t need it’ without any further explanation.

There were a few more cars when they got off the freeway.

Dillon’s heart skipped a beat as they approached the Royal Children’s Hospital, the gleaming structure ablaze with light. It was strikingly beautiful – curves and glass and coloured panels. It didn’t look like a hospital at all. But it was. A hospital full of children.

They pulled into an ambulance bay and hopped out. It was the middle of the night but things still seemed busy. There were other ambulances parked around them. A little kid on a stretcher was being unloaded from one, and off to the side a small group of nurses chatted intensely.

Their driver took them to the reception desk, where Mum gave their details and filled out forms. It seemed a bit like checking into a hotel. Not that Dillon had ever actually done that – but he’d watched people on television. And then a plastic name tag was secured to his wrist.

It felt like a long time, but he finally found himself in a room changing into a hospital gown. He thought it was really stupid, how it did up at the back. Even when it was tied up, it was as if his gown was gaping and his bum was out on display. He climbed into the bed as quickly as he could and waited some more. Mum sat on the chair by his bed.

Soon, a nurse came to take a blood sample. His blood would be put into a machine and separated to create what was called a serum, which contained his body’s antibodies. Antibodies were what helped your body fight off sickness. But they could also react with other foreign elements … such as a transplanted organ. His serum would be mixed with white blood cells from the donor organ. And then the doctors would check to see if the antibodies reacted – if they would fight against the donor organ.

Dillon imagined his antibodies as soldiers, going to war against potential diseases. He hoped that they would recognise this new liver as an ally rather than an enemy. He had a silly cartoon-like vision of tiny troops charging a massive, bloated liver in the middle of a green field. The liver had a face with a frightened expression and it held a white flag in its pudgy little hands.

‘Attack!’ yelled the captain, and just as the troops were about to strike, a courier on a World War II motorcycle raced up with a message from headquarters: ‘Cease fire! Do not attack!’

Dillon chuckled as he hoped that his antibodies would listen to the advice from headquarters.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Mum, looking at him curiously.

‘Nothing,’ answered Dillon.

Mum was going to question him further, but the surgeon came into the room – Doctor Jason Leang, or Doc J as he’d told Dillon to call him. He had straight black hair with just a few strands of grey, in a neat side part, and wore blue pants and a white shirt. Dillon’s eyes were drawn to his striking green bow tie – so bright it almost glowed.

‘Good news,’ announced Doc J, adjusting his round, wire-rimmed glasses. ‘The donor liver is a match. We’re going to prep you for surgery right now.’

‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Mum put a hand to her face. She looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Dillon’s stomach clenched. This is it, he thought. It’s really going to happen.

And then his stomach was fine.

And he wondered how he should be feeling.

But at this moment in time, he didn’t actually know how to feel.

I should be excited, but I’m not.

I should be scared, but I’m not.

I’m just … here!

I think I’m ready!

It was like going out to bat. Anxious until he was actually there.

‘Are you okay?’ asked Doc J, watching him carefully.

Dillon realised that he probably looked strange just staring and not speaking as he took it all in. ‘I’m fine.’ Dillon’s voice was calm and level. ‘It’s just been a long wait, and … and I think I’m ready for this.’

‘That’s good,’ said Doc J. ‘Glad to hear it.’

As the surgeon left the room, Mum jumped up and rummaged in her handbag, pulling out her mobile phone.

‘I’ve got to call your father,’ she said, stumbling from the room.

Dillon put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. His life was about to change. So many things would be different. It wasn’t just that he’d no longer need the light box – he’d have more freedom, to go places and do things.

A smile crept onto his face. I’ll need equipment.

‘It turns out that your dad has already booked a flight,’ said Mum, coming back into the room. ‘He said he had a good feeling about things and that he couldn’t wait. He’s taking a seven-thirty flight. So he’ll be here when you wake up.’

‘Can I have a mobile phone?’ asked Dillon.

‘What?’ asked Mum, a little taken aback by the question. ‘What brought that on?’

‘I’m getting a new liver,’ said Dillon. ‘One that works. I won’t need to sit in a light box anymore. I can go for sleepovers at Jay’s house. And I won’t need to be half an hour from an airport, either. So I’ll be able to go places: school excursions, school camp. And if I’m going to be away from home all the time, I’ll need to stay in contact with you, so I can let you know when I’m ready for you to pick me up … and stuff.’

‘All the time, huh?’ Mum laughed. ‘I guess you have a lot of catching up to do. You have missed out on so many things.’ She looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll think about it and talk with your dad when he gets here. We’ll let you know after the operation.’

‘Cool!’