There was a strange rhythm over the day that followed. Familiar things felt anything but.

I spent the afternoon with Granddad. Dad came to get me for dinner. I sat in the quiet, in the dark of the garage, watching the still water.

Sometime in the evening, I fetched my bike. It had been moved off the path and rested on a prickly bush. The front fork was bent, the paint cracked, the metal showing through. When I tried to ride it, I found the wheel had pushed back against the frame. Dad called it a “write-off.”

In the morning, we returned to the hospital with clothes for Mum and things from home for Ned. I took the Walkman and a determination to get the truth from my brother.

Mum worried about the food—Ned wasn’t eating enough and there wasn’t enough fresh fruit. She worried that he wasn’t comfortable—“Fetch his duvet from home, Charlie.” She complained that someone had opened Ned’s window in the night—“He has pneumonia, for goodness’ sake.” Mostly she cried.

As usual no one spoke to me about what was wrong. I caught snippets of whispered conversation.

“…lungs are not recovering as we would hope.”

“…not responding to the treatment…”

“…not looking positive…”

Half the morning was gone when Dad took Mum to get a coffee and have a break and my moment came to ask my brother what was happening. If this was the end, I wanted to know.

Ned had other things on his mind. “He couldn’t hear me,” he said as the door shut.

“What?”

“Leonard,” Ned said. “He can’t hear it. I’m too far from the sea.”

“You opened the window?”

Ned scrunched his face. “Of course. But he can’t hear it. He can’t hear the song. I tried to sing it again. But he can’t hear it.”

I didn’t know what to say. I did not want to think about what he was doing or why he did it.

“Jamie,” my brother said, his eyes tugging at mine, “I thought it was time.”

“Time for what, Ned? I thought Leonard was here for you. I thought…I thought he’d fix…fix everything. Make you better. But he didn’t. He hasn’t.”

Ned sighed. He looked deep in my eyes. “Jamie,” he said. “In the stories, in Granddad’s stories, no one got better.”

I stared back with my jaw set, holding in the tears. “Atargatis…her children,” I said. “They looked after people.”

Ned nodded. “They did. They do. But maybe that looking after isn’t what we think, what we’d guess, what we’d want it to be. Leonard was here for me.”

It was silent for a moment; then fear crashed over me in a huge wave.

“In the stories, Jamie—Mathew Trewella, Perla, the Japanese captain—they didn’t get better. The stories ended another way.”

I shook my head at Ned. I couldn’t hear this. I thought I wanted to know. But I did not want to believe this.

I simply said, “No…,” and threw Ned’s Walkman down on the bed.

—

When they returned, with coffees for them and hot chocolates for us, they brought Granddad with them. He came in holding a battered cardboard box.

I did not feel like games. I don’t suppose any of us did. But Ned said we should play.

“This is the day I win,” he said.

Ned and Dad made one team, me and Mum another. Granddad went alone.

Granddad and Dad set the questions between them. Ned and Dad made a fearsome combo. Dad knew everything, and Ned attacked like he had nothing to lose.

After they’d won, it was time to go.

Mum and Dad and Granddad whispered in the corner again.

“Jamie,” my brother said. “Come here.”

I moved in a little closer.

“Here,” he said, putting his arms out.

I leaned toward him and put my arms around his tiny frame. He was smaller than ever, all bones. His little limbs wrapped around me.

“This might be it,” Ned whispered into my ear. “I can feel it coming now.”

Tears filled my eyes and dropped onto Ned’s thin hospital gown. I wanted to say something more, but all I managed was “Ned…”

“Thanks for being my big brother,” he said.

I squeezed out another “Ned…”

“Come on, then,” Granddad called from the door.

Ned let me go with a grin and wink. “This is the day I win,” he whispered.