Free The Bubble Boy by Stewart Foster

electric charges and elementary particles with quantum properties.’
    ‘I think they’re just laying a new pipe for the gas,’ I say. ‘It says
London Gas
on the vans.’
    Amir taps the side of his head. ‘That’s what they
want
you to think. They not stupid. They get humans to do all the work for them.’
    I smile in what I hope is a convincing way. It’s not true, I’ve seen the road being dug up, but I’ve not seen any massive magnets.
    Amir turns away from the window and yawns. ‘Sorry, I was up all night,’ he says.
    ‘Looking for aliens?’
    ‘No. Just couldn’t sleep.’
    His eyes are dark but there’s a watery sparkle that makes me thinks he was up all night watching the stars. He sits down beside me.
    ‘How the documentary go?’
    ‘It was good,’ I say. ‘But I’m a bit tired.’
    ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘It must be tiring being on TV. I wish I on TV. I could be in Bollywood.’
    ‘Hollywood?’
    ‘No, Bollywood. Indian films. You no see them. Like
Slumdog Millionaire
, but much better. They very different, lots more singing and dancing. I could have been in that
film.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Of course. I do many things. I not always a nurse. When I was in India I used to be a train dispatcher.’
    ‘What’s that?’
    ‘I dispatched trains.’
    ‘You got rid of trains? Why?’
    ‘No, I no get rid of them. I dispatch them. I check the doors and blow a whistle. Then they leave.’
    ‘Oh.’ Amir is talking so quickly that he’s confusing me. He doesn’t seem to mind. He just keeps talking.
    ‘I prefer my job before,’ he says. ‘I used to be graphic designer for newspaper in Delhi. It was good job, but rubbish money. That’s why I come to England . . . to get a
better job for me and my family. But we no talk about the past. We talk about the future.’
    His eyes dart from side to side and I wonder what he’s going to say next. Sometimes I don’t think he knows either. He stares at me like he’s waiting for the next thought to zap
into his head but finally it looks like he’s going to stop saying stuff.
    I rest my head on my pillow.
    ‘You okay?’
    ‘I feel really tired now.’
    ‘Okay. I just sit here a while.’
    ‘Haven’t you got to see the others?’
    ‘No. I stay with you.’
    I lay back and think about the TV crew. They’ll be in another ward now, talking to someone just like me. Graham might be talking to the snooker-ball kid. I hope he is, because when the
programme is shown next week, I’ll get to see him on TV. I wish I could see him for real but I know he can’t, he’s too sick to leave his bed and come and see me, Greg says.
    I look at Amir. After talking so much he’s suddenly sat quietly, twisting a gold ring on his finger.
    He sees me looking. ‘Ten years,’ he says.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Me and my wife. We are married ten years tomorrow.’
    That’s nearly my whole life. ‘Do you have any children?’ I ask. Amir’s face lights up. ‘Yes. Do I not tell you?’ He holds up three fingers and taps the tips
of each one. ‘Ajala, Shukra, Guru.’
    ‘I like their names.’
    He touches his fingertips again. ‘Earth, Venus and Jupiter. Nine, seven, and three. I love them.’ His eyes shine like his children are stood in front of him.
    I smile at how happy his kids make him. He must be a really fun dad. I bet he chases them around his house like my dad used to chase me around this room. I don’t remember it, but Beth says
he did. She said he used to put me on his shoulders and pretend he was going to bump into my bed then he’d make an engine noise and swerve around it like we were in a car. Then he’d
slow down and put me gently back onto my bed. Sometimes I think I can remember it. That I can smell the shampoo in his hair and his aftershave as we ducked to miss the lights. It feels so real when
I think about it. I look up at the ceiling – the lights are too high – I wouldn’t need to duck. It’s like I’ve blocked it all out, or maybe it was