ON SATURDAY, CYD suggested that she and Archie visit Miss Jensen, their class teacher, in hospital.

‘I think she needs to know,’ said Cyd, ‘how important it is that she comes back to school as soon as possible.’

‘Is it important?’ asked Archie.

‘Of course it is!’ said Cyd. ‘You don’t want to be stuck in Mr Gunn’s office all next week, do you? I’ll ask Mum to take us. You go and pick some flowers.’

Cyd’s mother was a nurse, and she drove them to the hospital and told them how to get to Miss Jensen’s ward. They found their teacher sitting in a chair by her bed, looking very well.

‘I am very well,’ she said, when Archie asked. ‘I’ve never felt better.’

‘Does that mean you’ll be back in school on Monday?’ asked Cyd, eagerly.

‘Unfortunately not,’ said Miss Jensen. ‘They’re waiting for the results of some tests they’ve done. Then someone has to decide what medicine I need. I could be here for days yet.’ She looked at the flowers the children had brought. ‘These are lovely. Could one of you get some water for them?’

Archie said he would and, leaving Cyd with Miss Jensen, he went out into the corridor to find somewhere he could fill the jam jar he had brought, with water.

The accident happened on his way back.

Walking down the corridor, some of the water splashed out of the jar and, rather than leave a wet patch on the floor that someone might slip on, Archie bent down to mop it up with his sleeve.

The porter, coming out of the lift with a hospital trolley, didn’t see him until it was too late. He pushed his trolley out into the corridor and the end of it banged straight into Archie’s head.

Archie gave a little cry and sprawled on the floor, his jam jar of water rolling away beside him.

The porter came running round and knelt down beside Archie. ‘I’m sorry, I never saw you! Are you all right?’

Archie sat up, slowly. ‘My head hurts,’ he said.

‘I’m not surprised.’ The porter peered at the back of Archie’s head. ‘You took quite a knock. We’d better get someone to look at that.’

He sat Archie on his trolley and wheeled him off down the corridor. ‘I’ve got a friend in the children’s ward,’ he said. ‘She’ll look after you!’

The porter’s friend was a nurse with short, dark hair and a friendly smile. She took Archie into a room with a bed and an armchair and examined the lump on the back of his head.

‘He gave you quite a thump, didn’t he?’ she said cheerfully. ‘Wait here. I’ll get you a glass of water and an aspirin.’

Archie sat in the armchair and waited.

‘How’s the head?’ asked a voice, and he looked up to see another nurse, this one tall and wearing glasses, looking down at him.

‘Well, it still hurts a bit,’ Archie told her.

‘This should help,’ said the nurse, holding out a little plastic cup of medicine. ‘You get that down you.’

Archie did as he was told and drank the medicine, which tasted rather nice.

‘Now,’ said the nurse. ‘You know what’s going to happen next?’

Archie shook his head.

‘Well, it’s nothing to worry about. We’ve got one of the doctors coming down shortly, and he’ll explain it to you.’

The nurse with short, dark hair appeared in the doorway with a glass of water and an aspirin, but the tall nurse waved her away.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I’m looking after Archie!’

‘Oh. OK!’ The dark-haired nurse smiled at Archie and left.

‘As I was saying,’ said the tall nurse, ‘the doctor will explain about the operation, so if there’s anything you want to know, you ask him.’

The operation?

Archie hadn’t thought the bang on his head had been that serious but, curiously, he wasn’t really worried. There was a wonderfully relaxed and floaty feeling running through the muscles of his arms and legs and for some reason it was impossible to worry about anything.

‘How’s the head now?’ asked the nurse.

‘Issfine,’ said Archie. And it was true. His head did not hurt any more and he was feeling calm, relaxed and without a care in the world.

‘I told you the medicine would help,’ said the nurse. ‘Now, let’s get you undressed and into bed!’

Cyd, meanwhile, had been telling Miss Jensen about all the things that had happened earlier in the week. She told her about Miss Hurrell, the teacher who thought Archie wanted to murder her, and about Miss Humber and the Brazilian Wandering Spider, and about Miss Henley getting trapped in the stockroom. She told her about Mrs Hemp thinking that Archie had turned into a dog, and then about the man from Health and Safety getting a toilet stuck on his head.

‘Though I didn’t actually see any of that one,’ Cyd admitted. ‘Archie was taken out of the class, so I missed it.’

Miss Jensen gave a little sigh. ‘I know how you feel,’ she said. ‘I’ve missed a whole week of Archie’s adventures, stuck in here. And it looks as if I might have to miss another.’ She paused for a moment. ‘I wanted to ask if there was any news of your father coming home, but before I do . . . Archie’s taking rather a long time getting that jar of water, isn’t he? Do you think something’s happened?’

‘Hmm . . .’ said Cyd. ‘I’d better go and check.’

*

‘Well, now!’ The doctor stood at the foot of the bed and smiled down at Archie, who was dressed in a pair of hospital pyjamas. ‘I’m the doctor who’s going to put you to sleep for your operation and I came to see if you had any questions.’

Archie had to think quite hard before he remembered that he did have one question.

‘This operation,’ he said. ‘What’s it for?’

‘Ah,’ said the doctor. ‘Well, the X-rays have shown us that there’s a blood clot in your skull – that’s what’s been causing all the pain you’ve been getting – and what we’re going to do is—’

‘I don’t believe it!’ said a voice.

‘Hi, Cyd!’ Archie gave his friend a little wave.

‘What are you doing in bed?’ demanded Cyd.

‘I’m going to have an operation!’ said Archie. ‘On my head!

Cyd stared coldly at the doctor. ‘What’ve you done to him?’ she demanded.

‘We haven’t done anything yet,’ said the doctor, ‘but, as I was just explaining, the pains Archie’s been getting are caused by a blood clot in his skull. So we’re going to put him to sleep, drill a little hole in the back of his head and—’

‘No,’ said Cyd, firmly. ‘No, you’re not.’

‘It’s all right.’ The tall nurse put a hand on Cyd’s shoulder. ‘He won’t feel a thing, I promise.’

‘He won’t feel anything,’ said Cyd, ‘because you’re not going to operate on him. There’s obviously been a mistake.’

‘We don’t make mistakes at St James’s,’ said the doctor, stiffly. ‘Your friend was brought in last night and—’

‘My friend was not brought in last night,’ said Cyd. ‘He came in this morning with me to visit our teacher, and until half an hour ago he was absolutely fine. I don’t know how he got into this bed, or why you want to drill a hole in his head, but you’re not going to.’

‘I’ll call security,’ said the nurse.

‘How about you wait,’ said Cyd, ‘until you’ve checked if what I said is true. It won’t be very difficult. You can ask our teacher, who’s in the ward down the corridor. You can phone Archie’s parents – I’ve got his number here – or you can talk to my mother, who’s down in the nurse’s restroom. You can do any of those things but there is no way I’m letting you do an operation on my friend Archie Coates.’

There was a moment’s silence as the doctor looked at his clipboard, and then at the nurse.

‘Coates?’ he said, eventually. ‘It says on my form that his name is Archie Duffen . . .’

‘I cannot believe it!’ A small man with a moustache was pacing up and down behind his desk. ‘I still cannot believe a mistake like this could happen in my hospital!’

On the other side of the desk, Cyd and Archie were sitting on a large sofa, with a table in front of them laid with plates of sandwiches, packets of crisps and a selection of cans of drink.

‘Never mind,’ said Archie. ‘These things happen.’

He was dressed in his clothes again now – all except for his socks, which no one had been able to find – and the medicine had not entirely worn off.

‘What did happen exactly?’ asked Cyd.

‘You may well ask,’ said the man with the moustache. ‘It seems that Archie Duffen, who is about the same age as Archie here, was brought in last night complaining of pains in his head. We took some X-rays, found a blood clot and realized he needed an operation. He was supposed to have it this morning.’

‘So why wasn’t he in his room?’ asked Cyd.

‘He’d been sent down for some more X-rays,’ the man with the moustache explained. ‘And he should have been back, but unfortunately the porter who was sent to get him slipped on a pool of water in the corridor, and had to be taken in for treatment himself. In the meantime, of course, a trainee nurse had put your Archie into his room, and when the nurse came in to give the other Archie his medicine – she’d only just come on duty – she naturally assumed that Archie was, well, Archie . . .’

‘Simple mistake,’ said Archie, helping himself to another sandwich. ‘Could have happened to anyone.’

‘It’s very nice of you to say so,’ said the man with the moustache, ‘and I do appreciate it. I just wish there was something I could do to make it up to you.’

Archie was about to say that there was no need, when Cyd spoke for him.

‘As a matter of fact,’ she said. ‘There is one thing . . .’

Later, when Cyd and Archie were walking home, Cyd got a text on her mobile.

‘It’s all sorted,’ she told Archie, when she’d read it. ‘Miss Jensen says they’ve looked at her tests and worked out her medicine, so she’s going home this afternoon and she’ll be back in school on Monday!’

‘That’s good,’ said Archie.

‘And Mum says she’s heard from one of her doctor friends that the other Archie had his operation and it all went very well.’ Cyd thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps we should go and visit him some time.’

‘You can go,’ said Archie. ‘I’m going to stay away from hospitals for a bit.’

Cyd agreed that might be best. ‘Though things don’t seem to have turned out too badly, do they?’ she added. ‘I mean, nobody got hurt and . . . well, everyone’s happy!’

And Archie had to agree that everyone was happy – except his mother when he got home.

‘How is it possible,’ she demanded, ‘to lose both socks, just visiting someone in hospital?’

She stomped off upstairs to find him a new pair.

‘Honestly! I don’t believe it, Archie!’