‘I know,’ said Mr McCoy, ‘sure the way we were going you’d have thought we were expecting him to be up and running the eight-hundred-metre race again!’
Ronan yelped; it wasn’t a happy sound.
‘Aaron!’ scolded Mrs McCoy.
‘Ah, sorry, Ronan,’ he said. ‘Sorry, son, I’m a big mouth, aren’t I?’
Mrs McCoy shook her head. Ronan’s Adam’s apple was going up and down as if he was swallowing over and over.
The memory of his running days seemed to hurt him. But he remembered; maybe he remembered everything.
‘He’s looking really well anyway,’ Mum said, fixing her hair behind her ear, ‘and you both are too. I’ve been hearing about the sleepless nights.’
‘Ah, we’re pros at it now,’ said Mr McCoy. ‘We’ve been pulling the old night shifts ever since Boxing night – a bit like yourself, Christine.’
‘Well, at least tonight we’re staying up because we want to,’ said Mum.
‘Hear hear!’ said Mr McCoy, raising a glass and then, realising no one else had drinks, went about serving everyone.
I started flicking through the optical illusion book by Ronan’s side, sharing it with him, almost like we were having a conversation in our reactions to each picture; like in school, laughing at a secret joke in class when we weren’t allowed to talk.
‘I need to get us more books,’ I said, ‘we’ll be bored with this one at the rate we’re going.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs McCoy, who I noticed had been staring at us a lot, ‘we had been discussing something along those lines, actually, Brendan. Going forward, I mean; certainly more books and, well, moreyou.’
The four parents were standing at the food table, looking over at Ronan and me.
‘Now’s maybe not the time to discuss it,’ Mrs McCoy continued, ‘but we’ve mentioned something to your parents that we’d love you to consider. They can discuss it with you later and you can let us know what you think.’
‘You can ask me now,’ I said, ‘I don’t mind.’
‘Sure we’ll discuss it properly at home,’ Dad said.
‘Honestly, I don’t mind,’ I said, now intensely curious, ‘sure tell me now and I can think about it and we can discuss it later.’
They looked amongst themselves.
‘Well,’ Dad said, ‘Aaron and Emma have home schooling arranged for Ronan in the new year.’
‘Oh,’ I said, an immediate plummet; Ronan definitely wasn’t coming back to school then.
‘Three times a week to start with,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘So that leaves two days during the week that the tutor won’t be here and she said there’ll be some independent work for Ronan to do on those days,’ said Mrs McCoy.
‘A bit like homework,’ pitched in Mr McCoy.
‘Now, Aaron and Emma were wondering if that might be something you’d like to do with Ronan on those days,’ said Dad, ‘as part of a regular weekly thing; a kind of a “study buddy” thing, at least until the summer.’
‘I don’t even need to think about it,’ I said, bubbling with excitement, ‘one hundred per cent yes! I absolutely would love that.’
‘Now take a wee second to think about it, Brendan,’ said Mrs McCoy. ‘It’s your GCSE year, you’ve modules and exams and big career decisions to think about, planning for your A levels and choosing further education – these really are the most important months of your life coming up. We’ve been hesitant to ask because it’ll require a bit of commitment from you, not just in time and having to learn all about Ronan’s condition and recovery, but also being a piece of his routine that you’ll be tied into. We don’t want you to be under added pressure.’
‘Think it over and discuss it with your mum and dad,’ said Mr McCoy.
‘And Mrs O’Neill, too,’ said Mrs McCoy, ‘just so the school can have their say on any extra things you’re taking on board.’
‘I don’t know if we need to discuss it, do we?’ I said to Mum and Dad.
