Free Cool! by Michael Morpurgo Page A

“Maybe I’m dead. Maybe this is what being dead really feels like.” I’ve thoughta lot about that ever since, and it doesn’t worry me any more, not often anyway. I know I can’t be dead because my leg hurts all the time, so does my head. I feel like I’ve been walked all over by a herd of elephants. I mean, you can’t hurt if you’re dead, can you?
    I could hear Mum crying, and the ambulance man telling her I would be all right, that she wasn’t to worry, that it wasn’t far to the hospital. I remember he put a mask over my mouth. When we got here, I felt the cold air on my face. Mum held my hand the whole time. She kept kissing me and crying, and I wanted to open my eyes and tell her I was fine. But I couldn’t, and I still can’t.
    She’s here in the room with me now, with Ellie. There were times I couldn’t standthe sight of my little sister – she could be so annoying. Now I’d give anything, anything in the world, just to be able to open my eyes and see her again.
    Mum and Ellie don’t cry as often as they did, thank goodness. Dr Smellybreath told them that crying would only upset me, that they should talk to me, that I can hear them if they do. But from the way they talk to me, I know they don’t really believe I can hear them. They just hope I can. They do try to talk to me sometimes, but mostly they talk about me, not to me, like they’re doing now.
    “He looks very pink,” Ellie’s saying, and she’s touching my cheek. I can feel the sharpness of her little fingernail. “And he’s very hot, too.” She’s sitting on my bed now. She’s playing with my fingers likethey were toys. “This little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home…” She’s done this before. She’ll do the whole nursery rhyme including the tickling bit at the end. Here we go: “And this little piggy cried ‘wee wee wee’ all the way home.” And she’s running her tickling fingers all the way up my arm. They do tickle too, but I can’t giggle like she wants me to. I want to wake up right now and tickle her back, tickle her till she bursts. I love to make her giggle. But I can’t do it. I can’t.
    “What’s Robbie got that pipe thing in his mouth for, Mum?” she asks again. And Mum explains, again, and tells her not to touch my tubes, again. “Why doesn’t he wake up, Mum?”
    “He will, Ellie, he will. When he’s ready to, he will. He’s just sleeping. He’s tired.”
    “Why’s he tired?”
    Mum doesn’t answer, because she can’t.
    There are so many questions I want to ask them. I want to ask what all my tubes are for. I’m full of horrible tubes going into me and out of me. I want to ask about Lucky. Is he really dead? Tell me. I have to know for sure, one way or the other. And also, I want to know if Chelsea won on Saturday. Did Zola score? I bet he did. Coolest player in the whole world. The best.
    And another thing. How long have I been lying here in this bed? The trouble is there’s no night or day for me, no yesterday, no today, no tomorrow; so it’s difficult to know how long I’ve been here. I’m guessing it’s about three days, maybe four. But I can’t really be sure.
    I doze a lot, but I never know for how long. I feel like dozing off right now. I ’m so sleepy. When I wake up Mum’ll still be here, with Ellie, and with Gran probably – Gran’s just gone off shopping. Or maybe Dad’ll be here instead, or Doctor Smellybreath will be sticking something into me or pulling something out of me. Or Tracey will be with me again, making me comfortable. She’s my nurse and she’s really cool. She smells nice too. She smells of flowers. Not like Doctor Smellybreath. He smells of garlic.
    Tracey often sings as she works. She’s got favourite songs and favourite singers – John Lennon and Kirsty MacColl. She says Kirsty MacColl is just the best. She plays me the CD sometimes. Tracey tells me secrets, too. That’s one really good thingI’ve discovered about being