Free By Any Other Name by Laura Jarratt Page A

clapped and giggled, her face red-flushed and happy. That was how I loved to see my sister best.
    She got off the trike and came to get her cardigan.
    ‘Aren’t you too warm for that? You don’t have to put it on if you are.’ I hated the flash of anxiety in her face when I said that, when I made her question what would
have been an automatic action, but fortunately something distracted her from my mistake.
    Katie frowned and I turned to see a white car drive slowly down the lane. I didn’t see anything unusual about that myself – driving slowly was sensible on these twisty lanes, even if
it did seem maybe a bit overcautious to be crawling along that slowly. But Katie made a harrumphing noise and frowned harder. Why? The driver didn’t look unusual, just an average man you
wouldn’t have taken a second look at, youngish, driving a car with one of those stupid rear spoilers some guys think look good, but are actually cheap and tacky.
    ‘What’s up?’ I asked her. Later, I would wish a thousand times over and more that I had left that question unasked.
    She pointed to the car. ‘He goes past lots.’
    Did he? I shrugged. ‘Maybe he lives down the lane somewhere.’
    Katie shook her head. ‘No.’
    I didn’t question her. Katie knew every car in every house in the locale just from driving around with Dad. She could remember the makes, colours and often the number plates simply from
having driven past them while they were parked outside the houses. ‘It might just be one you haven’t seen –’
    ‘No. It only started the yesterday before yesterday. But he goes past lots. You should count, Boo-Boo. It’s lots and lots and lots.’
    It was my turn to frown. OK, that did sound a bit weird. ‘Like how many lots?’
    ‘Ten times on the yesterday before yesterday, eight times yesterday and today nine times to now . . . there and back is one time.’
    Yes, that did seem a lot in such a remote place. In the city, I’d have assumed he was just posing with his naff car, but out here? It didn’t make sense.
    ‘OK, you tell me when you see the car again and I’ll count too.’
    Katie beamed and ran to hug me. ‘Boo-Boo counting too. Love you!’
    I hugged her back. Sometimes she just wanted someone to join her in her world, I thought, when she couldn’t make it across into ours. That was the hardest thing about Katie’s autism
– the constant suspicion that she didn’t want to be marooned in her bubble of handicap and cut off from the rest of us. Some children in her therapy centre did seem to want that, but
Katie was different. ‘Love you too, Katie-pops.’
    Mum stuck her head out of the door to call us in for dinner and I forgot all about the car. Until I was going to bed and I went to draw the curtains. In the fading light, I could just make out
the outline of a white car with a rear spoiler driving slowly past again.

T he weekend goes by too quickly and I don’t seem to get a break from the pile of revision and catch-up coursework that I’ve set myself.
Being in a new school with different exam syllabuses is tough, especially having to make up for the several months I tried to teach myself from the revision guides while we moved from place to
place. Katie grumbles that I haven’t spent time playing with her and Mum tries to pacify her about that, but she doesn’t let up until Dad takes her for a drive and peace descends on the
house for a couple of hours. Mum naps in front of the TV and I sit on my bed revising maths and trying not to look out of the window because the view depresses me. By eight o’clock on Monday
morning, I’m tired from too much sitting around and concentrating, and grouchy from lack of down time. The only bonus is at least inside the house I don’t have to keep looking over my
shoulder to check no one is following me.
    School’s a drag too, tests and timed coursework assessments all day. I have an important science piece in the afternoon so I grab a sandwich from