‘How come they finally let you in through the door?’ Callie asks. I hesitate. We aren’t supposed to talk about patients outside of hospital. Mum has drummed this into me from the start, about respect and patient confidentiality, but I really need to talk to someone. ‘Hope!’ Callie waves her fingers in front of my face.

‘I don’t know. I guess Pryia thought I could handle it?’

‘She’s obviously seen what you’re made of,’ Callie nods.

‘When I got into the room there wasn’t anyone in the bed.’ I pause to sip my hot chocolate.

‘Where was the patient?’ Callie stirs the straw in her chai and banana milkshake. ‘Oh my God, were they dead? Is that why the bed was empty?’ She’s talking like this is a book or play instead of someone’s life and I don’t really like it. ‘I don’t think I could cope with dead people…’ She stops herself just in time. I don’t want this conversation to be about Dad.

‘No! The patient wasn’t dead! You’re such a drama queen.’

‘You’re the drama queen, spinning this story out like some scene from a play.’ She rolls her eyes.

‘Alright, so there was a chair with wheels and a bit of a desk or table attached to it and a boy was sat in it. I didn’t know it was a boy to start with, could have been a girl, but his mum said his name.’ I take care not to say his name.

‘And? What was his name? How old is he?’

I shake my head, sip my drink and play for time. She isn’t going to get this.

‘I can’t tell you his name. You don’t need to know anyway. He’s probably about Ethan’s age, eleven?’

‘You can totally tell me his name because I’m never going to meet him or his mum, am I? I swear on the snow globes.’

Our friendship is still at that fragile, brittle stage when we’ve made up but the walls could come tumbling down at any moment. I know she doesn’t like me having this other life, being part of another world that has nothing to do with her, but I am not budging. I can’t, not even for Callie.

‘I need to talk to you about this, so stop going on and just listen,’ I tell her.

She looks surprised. She’d been expecting me to cave.

‘He was half stood, half sat on this strange chair, shaking. His body was bandaged, so there wasn’t much skin on show. I guess his burns are pretty bad.’ I close my eyes for a moment, picturing that first look at Kofi.

‘Hope, I don’t think I can hear any more. To be honest, it’s making me feel a bit sick,’ Callie flaps her hand to bat away the image I’ve conjured up. ‘Maybe Aisha would be better at this kind of thing?’ This is really upsetting her. I wonder if Kofi’s age is too close to Ethan’s and she’s worrying about all the things that could happen to her little brother. ‘Sparing me any graphic details, what happened to him?’

‘They don’t tell us. We’re there to sing with them and distract them and make them feel better, not ask them questions about their health.’

Callie shakes her head as if this is the last straw: she thinks I’m keeping things from her.

‘Poor boy. I don’t know how you stand it in there. Why don’t you come and work here with me? I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, it’d be ace!’ Callie gestures to the coffee shop and the sign on the wall. I skim read it.

Staff Wanted, Come and Join The Bird’s Nest team. Must have experience in the industry. Come and get in touch, ask for Evie.

‘But I don’t have experience in the industry. I haven’t got experience in anything apart from babysitting for the Chaudris,’ I protest.

‘Hope Baldi, I’ve been working here every weekend since I turned fourteen, don’t you think I can get you in? Course I can! I don’t like the thought of you in that hospital with all that blood and germs. And those dead bodies.’ She looks frightened. Her break is going to run out in a few minutes and all I’ve done is freak her out.

‘Callie, I’m fine, there are no dead bodies. Well, there are, obviously, but I haven’t seen any,’ I try to reassure her.

‘Uh huh, I’m going to get you another slice of cake.’ She busies herself with cleaning the table, putting our cups onto a tray and lifting it with one hand, leaving behind the scary pictures I’ve painted, as if she could simply wipe them away like the crumbs with her cloth. A few minutes later she’s back with my cake and more persuasion.

‘I’ve just had a word with Evie and she says there’s definitely room for you here, she always wants holiday staff. You’re here for the live music nights anyway. Evie says you can do a solo session if you like and sing some of your own material, come on now, you can’t say no to that! And you might as well get paid while you’re at it. You could do my holiday cover!’ She sounds delighted, completely missing the point of our conversation. This place is so her, with baked-bean cans hanging from the ceiling instead of traditional lights, the roof covered with wicker or willow with little birds hanging from it, old Marmite jars instead of sugar pots and someone nearly always playing something jazzy on the piano. ‘Much better for you than being with all those ill people. I don’t think it’s good for someone like you,’ she chatters on, as I sit in silence, listening to her rearrange my life into a slightly better version for her.

‘Someone like me?’ I whisper. ‘What do you mean someone like me?’

‘Oh, don’t take offence, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just you take things to heart and you worry about everyone else’s feelings all the time. But that’s just because you’re so lovely. To be honest, I think you’d be happier working somewhere else. And we’d get to be together all the time!’

She’s right, I could take it easy and fill in here and just wait until she comes home from her holiday to pick up where she left off. I could but I’m not going to.

‘Nah, I’m alright thanks. I’ve probably made it sound worse than it is. And Mum needs me.’ I pull out the well-worn Mum card and Callie backs off, as I’d known she would, and I feel a little bit guilty.

‘I bet it is as bad as you’ve made it sound and it’ll get worse you know. But if you think you can handle it? Anyway, you’re coming back tonight, right? Everyone’ll be here for open mic. You’ll kill it, and it’d make up for bailing on me in The Boathouse the other night. I’m not singing with Aisha again, she’s such a crowd pleaser. C’mon, we can sing one of your songs, I bet you’ve got something new to showcase?’ she challenges.

‘I can’t. I’ve got work in the morning.’ I get up to leave.

‘What? Hope Baldi turning down a live singing session? Have you caught something from that hospital?’

‘I’m fine Callie, just tired,’ I lie. I’m not going into whatever the hell is going on with my voice, or lack of voice, with her right now.

‘Alright, but next time, yeah?’ She sounds needy, which surprises me. She hugs me before crossing the restaurant to take someone else’s order. She doesn’t want to hear about Kofi and I didn’t even bother mentioning Fatima to her because Callie and I have already had the organ donation argument many times and we don’t need to go there again. Maybe there’s someone else I can talk to. I text and walk to the bus stop, making tonnes of spelling mistakes along the way.

Need tto atlakt had a weird day at work.

Riley texts back as I sit down on the bus.

The first thing we need to sort out is your shocking spelling. Jayziz! It doesn’t matter what kind of a day you’d had at work, you can’t go letting your standards slide like that. First your spelling slips, who knows what’ll be slipping next ;)

Another text comes in before I have a chance to reply to the first one.

Look, we could get you some help you know. I could be your private tutor, 1-1s are my thing. There’s so much I could teach you, young Padawan.

Normally I’m a big fan of your Star Wars banter but is there any chance of you taking things seriously for a second?

Chill bambino (you are Italian right? You look Italian, bella!) tell me everything.

There’s this boy on the burns ward. He has bandages right the way across his chest and he can’t sit or stand or walk properly. He’s in this room away from all the others on the ward. Pryia and I go in and sing with him, except I can’t. I just stood there trying not to stare like a kid.

Hold it right there, back the truck up a second! Who is this Pryia one?

A girl/woman at work. Anyway, I know we’ll be going back in to see this boy and I’m really nervous.

Could we talk about Pryia a bit more, y’know just so I can picture your work environment? Have you any photos of this girl/woman you can send over in the interest of full disclosure like?

I’m not supposed to talk about any of this, not even say names.

I won’t tell a soul. Boy Scout’s honour.

I should add in the interests of full disclosure that I was kicked out of Scouts. I can’t go into it here and now for legal reasons.

Stop being a dick! I’m serious, what do I do?

Dick? For real, is that the best you can do?

Are you going to answer my question or not?

Challenge accepted. You’ve to think of that poor wee fella and what’s happened to him and stop moaning.

Don’t hold back there will you.

You picked this job, if you can’t take it or don’t fancy honking out a tune every day then just leave and get another one. Just walk out.

I can’t.

Well shut up then, get on with it.

No, I mean I can’t get on with it. I can’t sing.

Why not? I don’t get it. How can you be working with those singing types if you can’t hold a tune? Is it that you’re tone deaf or just a bit flat?

No, it’s not that. I’ve lost my voice.

What? Sore throat like? Get some whiskey down you.

No, I mean I can talk and stuff. I just can’t sing. When I try I get this strip of wood across my throat, like something’s blocking it.

Okay, you’re sounding a bit freaky now.

Forget it.

Maybe you need to get checked out by someone. I’m no doctor but I’m up for the job.

Stop making cheap innuendos!

No idea what an innuendo is but if it involves making something with you sign me up. Although I’m not so taken with the cheap part. I’m a class lad.

Sure, I’ll meet up with you – when you’ve gone through puberty. Class my arse!

And so we’re back to arses. It’s a pattern with you. Maybe you need help.

Shut up.

A thousand apologies. Now, what were we talking about?

I can’t even remember. Clearly a great conversation.

I stop texting him, there’s no point. I was delusional thinking I’d be able to have a sensible conversation with him. I scroll through my contacts list hopelessly before giving up and switching my phone off.