When He Fell by Kate Hewitt Read Free Book Online Page B

James’s gaze, squaring my shoulders. “Yes, I do think it is rather odd. But there must be an explanation.”
    “There is,” Mrs. James answers, and now her voice sounds decidedly cool. She draws herself up, her steely gaze moving between the two of us. “The truth is, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor-Davies,” she says, “I have reason to believe that Josh pushed Ben.”

5

MADDIE
    I am just coming back to the hospital at around nine in the morning when Mrs. James from Burgdorf calls me.
    “Maddie,” she says, and her voice is as smooth and assured as ever. “I just wanted to check how Ben is doing.”
    I grit my teeth; I don’t know why her concern irritates me, but it does. I imagine her at her desk, scratching off the first item on her to-do list.
Call Maddie Reese
. “He’s still in a coma, Ruth,” I say before I can help myself. Our headmistress has never invited anyone to address her by her first name. “So I’m afraid I can’t really answer that question.”
    There is a slightly chilly pause. “I’m sorry to hear that. Of course, if there is anything we at Burgdorf can do…” She lets this useless sentiment hang in the air for a moment before she continues, “I’ve asked Mrs. Rollins to keep his homework assignments for him.”
    I almost laugh, or maybe scream. Does she actually think I care about Ben’s homework assignments?
    Mrs. James seems to be waiting for me to say something, probably thank you, but I can’t make myself say it. Instead I hear myself say in a hard voice, “I’d like to know more about Ben’s accident.”
    Silence.
    “What…what do you mean?” Mrs. James asks, and although she still sounds assured, her delivery isn’t quite as smooth, and suspicion hardens inside me. First Juliet, now Mrs. James. What the hell is going on?
    “Just what I said,” I say. “Nobody has told me anything except that Ben fell. Where did he fall? How? Where were the playground supervisors when this happened? Why didn’t they see anything?”
Juliet. Where was Juliet?
    “I don’t know all the details,” Mrs. James says after a second’s pause, “as I wasn’t there. But of course I can talk to Mrs. Rollins—”
    “You mean you haven’t already?” I cut across her. “A child at your school suffers a life-threatening injury and you haven’t even talked to his
teacher?
”
    Mrs. James is silent. “Ms. Reese,” she finally says, and her voice is quiet, commanding. “I understand you are worried about your son. But please be assured that we have followed all the protocols this situation requires—”
    “This situation is my son’s life,” I shoot back. “I don’t care about
protocols
. I want details. Answers. I want to know how my son fell, and why no one even noticed. I want to know what the hell
happened
.”
    I hear Mrs. James’s sharply indrawn breath but I don’t care if I’ve offended her. I am too angry.
    “I will talk to Mrs. Rollins as soon as possible,” Mrs. James says stiffly. “And let you know what she says in due course.”
    “Fine,” I answer. “Please call me back as soon as you can.” I’m not going to thank her for doing her damn job. And yet as I disconnect the call I wonder at the wisdom of throwing a fit at my son’s headmistress. But then maybe she won’t be his headmistress any more. Maybe Ben won’t be going back to Burgdorf; maybe he won’t be able to.
    I slide my phone into my bag and hurry into the hospital; I’ve been away from Ben for nearly two hours. I am shaking from my conversation with Mrs. James, but I force that out of my mind as I approach the heavy double doors that lead to the ER and Ben’s room.
    The new nurse on duty informs me that Ben is now stable enough for him to be transferred to the neurology department. I wait for an hour before they are finally ready to transfer him; I watch with my heart in my mouth as two orderlies carefully move his supine body from the bed to the stretcher. Machines attached to him beep and