Page 53 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

Someone had donated two shirts in a khaki shade of green. Wondering who bought two identical shirts, Taylor cut the shoulders and sleeves off one of them, adding a waistband. She then cut the other at the back, leaving the front long so that it could be tied at the front. Ta-dah! A rather funky skirt with matching top.

On Sunday, after a few hours of fitful sleep, a quilt in the most beautiful shades of teal, deep pink and rich orange, with embroidered flower details, caught her eye. Although thin by quilt standards, it was too thick to transform into anything other than a coat, so that was exactly what she did. The finished garment was a bit Joseph’s Technicolour Dreamcoat, but would certainly keep someone warm and cosy that coming winter.

As afternoon turned to evening, Taylor set to work on a plain linen women’s suit consisting of baggy trousers and a boxy jacket. She unpicked one sleeve, making a new one in a printed fabric. She replaced the collar and added a deep pocket on one side in that same printed fabric, and made a tote bag too.

Taylor didn’t sleep at all that night. A denim jacket got some new toucan buttons and a pocket in a jungle print. Some heavy brocade curtains became a smart square-cut jacket with long sleeves and a neat little collar. She appliquéd a small blue bird on a V-necked T-shirt and embroidered a bee on another; she hadn’t done machine embroidery for years, and it was rather time-consuming but satisfying too.

*

Taylor was exhausted by the time she returned from the school run on Monday morning; the long hours she’d worked over the weekend had taken their toll. She bolted the door of the house and went upstairs to take a nap, but she couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few minutes, when her dream about having to remove the sleeves from a whole rail of men’s jackets was interrupted by her mobile ringing.

‘Don’t worry, Ms Sweet,’ said the headteacher’s voice soothingly. ‘Max is going to be absolutely fine.’

Of course, as soon as someone tells you not to worry, you start to worry. And the words ‘going to be fine’ implied that Max wasn’t fine right now.

With the phone still clasped to her ear as the head told her how Max had fallen off the climbing frame, but they weren’t sure of the details, Taylor hurried out of the shop – the house – and locked the door behind her.

She was already at the station when the headteacher finally finished the call. Apparently, there was a possibility that Max had concussion, so a teacher had driven him to A&E in Halifax.

If they’d taken him to hospital, it had to be serious, didn’t it? At least, more serious than the school first-aiders were able to deal with.

‘Fallen off a climbing frame indeed,’ she mumbled to herself as the train arrived. She didn’t believe a word of it. Max didn’t even like climbing frames, preferring to spend his playtimes with both feet firmly on the ground, sitting on a bench with a book, or in the library, if that was allowed. He’d been pushed by another child; she felt sure of it.

The headteacher had said concussion. Taylor knew this was serious, but unlikely to be life-threatening. More than his physical condition, she was worried about the state of his mental health. It had to be having an effect, being tormented day in, day out like this. You read all sorts of horrors online about what this type of incessant bullying could do to a child – she couldn’t bear to think about it – and it seemed to be escalating if today was anything to go by. It had started as cruel words, jibes in the playground. Being excluded from games and party invitations. Then there’d been the occasional punch, kick or shove, and now he’d been taken to hospital. Where was it going to end?

Worst of all, it was her job to protect him, but she felt powerless to do anything about it. As she caught a bus from the station to the hospital, she felt overwhelmed not only by worries about Max, but also by loneliness. She wanted someone to hold her hand, to reassure her that her son would be okay. And she wanted that person to be Harry.

28

Max was sitting on a trolley in a cubicle with one of the teaching assistants by his side. He was eating a chunky KitKat, which surprised her. He’d always preferred the original ones. He looked a little pale and had a bruise developing over one eye and a plaster on his hand.

‘I’m okay, Mum,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry.’

‘I always worry. It’s what mums do.’

‘Apparently there’s no concussion,’ said the teaching assistant. ‘The nurse said you should be able to take him home.’

‘Thank you for bringing him in. What happened, Max?’

‘I fell,’ he said.

Taylor turned to the teaching assistant. ‘Do you know what happened?’

The woman looked uneasy. ‘I’m not really sure. Perhaps you’d better discuss that with Max. And I’m sure the headteacher will want to talk to you too.’

The curtains were pulled aside then, and a young doctor appeared. ‘You must be mum. We’re happy for Max to go home now. Keep an eye out for vomiting, headaches and drowsiness. Give us a call if you’re worried about anything. And as for you, young man, no more falling off climbing frames.’

*

What Taylor wanted to do that afternoon was cuddle up on the sofa with Max, with something soothing on the television like a Disney film or perhaps The Railway Children again. She wanted to tuck the both of them up in a snuggly blanket and make mugs of hot chocolate, and she wanted Max to confide in her about what had happened.

What Max wanted to do was play with his train set.

Taylor wanted to cancel Sylvia that evening and give the upcycling evening a miss.

Max insisted that she didn’t.

‘But Mum,’ he said, ‘Ticket to Ride.’