When I open my eyes, Dad is sitting next to me. I’m in a strange bed.

The unfamiliar room is sparse and painted white. I can smell disinfectant and cooked cabbage.

‘Calum!’ Dad jumps up and presses a buzzer. I grimace as the sound reverberates in my ears. ‘Thank God you’re OK.’

I open my mouth to speak but my throat is so dry and my lips feel so cracked, the only sound that comes out is a croaking noise.

I remember lying in the road and the feeling of a cool roughness under my cheek.

I remember the booming bass beat.

I remember the sound of scuffling feet.

Of people running.

My legs pulse with a dull, throbbing pain that feels like the worse toothache ever, but deep down in my all bones.

‘You got knocked down in the street, Calum; it was a hit-and-run,’ Dad says softly. ‘The bloody cowards mounted the pavement. If I could get my hands on them I’d—’

‘I’ll just take his blood pressure, Mr Brooks,’ a nurse says brightly, wheeling a tall contraption over to the bed. ‘Glad you’re back with us, Calum. You gave us all quite a scare.’

The croaking noise escapes my mouth again.

‘You can give him a sip of water if you like,’ she says to Dad, and straps a black padded cuff to my upper arm.

Dad looks pleased to be given a job to do. He jumps up and picks up the water jug and pours some into a plastic cup. He supports the back of my head and I manage to take a couple of tiny sips.

The water is warm and I can taste chlorine, but at least it’s wet and trickles down the back of my throat, easing the dry soreness a little.

I point to the cup again and Dad helps me take another few sips.

‘Thanks.’ A raspy voice emerges from my throat.

‘Do you know why you’re in hospital, Calum?’ the nurse asks. The black cuff inflates and tightens, pinching at my arm. ‘Can you remember what happened yesterday?’

Yesterday? It feels like I just closed my eyes in the road a few seconds ago and woke up again here.

Dad’s already told me about the hit-and-run but I can remember bits of it myself.

‘Knocked over,’ I manage to whisper. ‘Loud music.’

‘The police want to speak to you as soon as you feel up to it,’ Dad says, watching my face. ‘Nothing to worry about, but these people need catching before they mow down anyone else. Did you see who was driving the car?’

The nurse holds up a hand. ‘Go easy on him, Mr Brooks. It’s a lot to take in when he’s only just opened his eyes.’

Dad looks sheepish and shuts up.

I can’t remember the car hitting me and I can’t remember seeing the driver.

I only remember the sounds and how it felt to be lying as weak as a kitten, in the gutter, all alone.

Dad stays with me all day.

He keeps nipping down to the hospital cafe and bringing food back up, which he eats in my room. I can’t eat the hospital food but Dad seems to love it.

I nibble a couple of bits of dry toast but I don’t feel hungry at all.

Everything disappears behind the ceaseless throbbing in my hips, thighs and even my feet. It’s all I can think about. I feel smaller, somehow. Smaller and quieter, as if I’m taking up less space in the world and life is carrying on all around me.

‘You’ve got to eat, Calum,’ Dad says, his mouth full of ham and cheese sandwich. ‘You’ve got to keep up your strength.’

It doesn’t feel like there is any strength left in my body to keep up.

After tea, the doctor does his rounds. The nurse says I’m one of the first patients on his list.

Another nurse comes to the door and makes a sign to Dad. He steps out of the room for a minute and then he is back. With two policemen.

‘These officers want a really quick word, Calum,’ Dad says. ‘Nowt to worry about, lad.’

The officers’ uniformed importance seems to fill the whole room. It feels like I’m the one that did something wrong.

‘Hello, Calum,’ the bald one says. ‘I’m PC Bolton and this is my colleague, PC Channer.’

PC Channer has bright red hair and a face so full of freckles I can hardly see any plain skin. He nods to me.

‘Hello,’ I croak.

‘We need to catch these lowlife wasters,’ Dad rages. ‘We can’t have our kids being mowed down in the street outside the place that’s supposed to be the safe heart of our community. I feel like finding them myself and—’

‘Calm down, Mr Brooks, please.’ PC Bolton holds up his palm to Dad. ‘We have every confidence we’ll apprehend the culprits, but we have a procedure to follow. Now, if we can press on with speaking to Calum?’

‘Yes, course.’ Dad’s face reddens. ‘Sorry.’

They ask me a lot of questions, most of which I’m unable to answer.

Did I see the vehicle?

No, I just heard the music.

What was the music?

I don’t know, just a heavy bass beat.

Did I see the driver or anyone at all?

No, but I heard them talking, and one of them stood next to me and I saw his trainer.

Can you describe the trainer?

No, I can’t remember any details.

How many of them were there?

I don’t know.

What did they say?

Sorry, I don’t know.

PC Bolton frowns, tucking his notepad away in his top pocket.

‘Sorry,’ I say again.

Dad looks disappointed when PC Channer hands him a card. ‘Give us a call if and when your son remembers anything, sir.’

While Dad shows them out and they talk in low voices outside the door, I stare out of the window and wish I could fly away from here.

It looks like whoever did this is going to get away with it. No witnesses – at least none who are prepared to come forward – no memory of the accident from me, and no apparent clues.

It’s like someone just committed the perfect crime.

Dr Hall is tall and thin with black slicked-back hair and pointed, shiny shoes. He looks more like a scientist who works at a top-secret government lab than an NHS doctor. He sweeps into the room surrounded by medical students in flapping white coats who frown at me briefly and then scribble stuff down on their clipboards.

‘Your leg got knocked up pretty badly,’ he says, flicking through the papers on the clipboard that is tethered with string to the end of my bed. ‘Lots of pins in there now, helping you to heal. Hope you’re not planning on going through the airport scanners any time soon.’

Him and Dad share a chuckle.

‘We’ll keep you dosed up on painkillers, but the good news is, you didn’t sustain a head injury so you can go home tomorrow. The hospital will lend you a wheelchair.’

‘A wheelchair?’

Dad opens a bag of crisps and shovels a handful into his mouth.

‘It won’t be forever,’ the doctor chides me, replacing the clipboard. ‘Just for a couple of days, most likely, then you’ll be fine on crutches for short distances. You’ve been lucky this time.’

‘Thanks, Doc,’ Dad says gravely.

‘The whole summer?’

‘Oh, look who’s here.’ Dad stands up and wipes his greasy hands down the front of his jeans. ‘We’ve got visitors, Calum.’

I turn my aching head gingerly towards the door and watch as Angie and Sergei move aside to let the doctor and his entourage out, then step fully into the room themselves.

Angie bends her knees, pulls a cartoon face and wiggles her fingers at me in a silly wave.

‘How is our little soldier feeling?’ she says in her heavy, flat accent. ‘I hear you will be at home all summer. We can bake and read, and Sergei will take you to the park in your wheelchair.’

I close my eyes and count to five in the hope I’m hallucinating and have just created this nightmare scenario in my head. But when I open my eyes, Sergei is standing right next to me, and now my skull, as well as everything else, is throbbing.

‘We can build my models all summer,’ he says. ‘And I can play you all of Chopin’s Nocturnes.’

‘Hear that, Calum?’ Dad claps a hand on to Sergei’s shoulder and looks at me hopefully. ‘You two lads are going to have a brilliant time together.’

The three of them stand grinning at me as if me being knocked over is the best thing that could have happened.

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ I croak, and Dad grabs a cardboard dish and holds it under my chin.

When Angie and Sergei have gone to the cafe, I push the dish away. Dad passes me a cup of water and I take a tiny sip.

‘When are they going back to Poland?’ I croak. ‘They might have to go back, when Brexit goes through.’

Dad squints at me like the sun is shining straight into his eyes.

‘Nah, that won’t happen,’ he says after a pause. ‘I’m not interested in all that political rubbish anyway.’

He wafts my comment away with a flick of his fingers and I know the subject is closed.

‘I liked it when it was just us two at home,’ I say. ‘I miss it.’

‘I know things have changed, but that’s not so bad, is it?’ Dad tries to reason.

I shrug. I can tell I’m on to a loser; I might as well stay quiet.

‘Angie’s already fond of you, and Sergei’s a great lad, isn’t he?’

He’s stopped squinting now but the corners of his mouth are drooping.

‘I don’t want you to grow up like me, Calum; I want different for you. Family matters – it gives you a solid base, you know?’

‘We already are a solid base . . .’ I bite my lip. ‘You and me.’

Dad sighs and looks down. ‘I’ve failed you a bit, lad, I think. Working away so much.’

‘It’s never bothered you before.’ I feel a stab of annoyance inside. ‘How come you’re suddenly so concerned?’

Dad looks at me in a way that makes me immediately feel sorry for being so blunt.

‘I don’t blame you for being hacked off with me, lad; it’s no more than I deserve.’ Dad looks out of the window. ‘It’s Angie, you see. She was shocked when I told her you’d had to fend for yourself during the week.’

‘’S’all right.’ I shrug, feeling like a little kid. ‘I cope OK.’

Dad shakes his head.

‘There’s no two ways about it. You spent far too much time on your own in that flat. You need to be around people. Family and friends.’

Like Angie and Sergei? I don’t think so.

‘And I’ve made a bit of a decision.’ Dad puffs his chest out. ‘I’ve decided I’m going to make a real effort to be around a bit more over the summer.’

I look at him.

‘I mean it, Calum. I’m going to turn down work abroad, if I have to. Now this has happened –’ he nods to my shattered leg under the blanket – ‘it’s time for me to buck my ideas up and be a proper father to you.’

I’ve heard Dad’s promises before and they’ve never come to much so far.

Suddenly I feel so tired I could sleep for a week. My eyelids seem to be made of lead and it’s hard to keep them open. After a few seconds, I give in and close them.

I don’t realize I’ve drifted off into sleep until I hear Dad’s trainers squeak on the floor as he creeps out of the room. He closes the door behind him.

He’ll have gone to the cafe to be with them.

My legs are throbbing worse now. I need my next lot of painkillers, but Dad’s gone and I’ve nobody else here to look after me.

My nose feels blocked; maybe I’m getting a bad cold. I feel a warm trickle at the side of my face as a tear escapes and traces its way down towards my ear. I turn my head to the small window so the pillow soaks up the moisture and I squeeze my eyes tight to seal the other tears in.

Outside I see Dad, Angie and Sergei walking across the car park, talking and laughing together. They look like a proper family just as they are, without me.

I’ve always been all right on my own. I learned a long time ago how to avoid other people finding out I’m by myself a lot in the flat. Now, I wish I had people around me. People who care. Being a loner only works when you don’t feel down. But Angie and Sergei aren’t the people I want.

I try to swallow down the sour taste in my mouth.

Why am I suddenly thinking about how different things would be if Mum was still here?