The Abused Werewolf Rescue Group Read Free Page A

sure there won’t be any repercussions if you decide you want to give us a few details.’
    ‘But I can’t.’ It was like talking to a brick wall. ‘I told you, I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember.’
    Michelle sniffed. I got the distinct impression that she didn’t believe me. Mum must have thought so too, because she leaped to my defence.
    ‘My son was unconscious,’ she pointed out. ‘The nurse said he might have amnesia. Post-traumatic amnesia.’
    ‘Huh?’ I didn’t like the sound of that. I didn’t like the word ‘post-traumatic’. ‘What do you mean, traumatic?’
    ‘Well—’
    ‘You mean I saw something bad? Like a murder? Is that what you mean?’
    Mum blinked. Michelle said, very sharply, ‘ Did you see a murder?’ And I had to take a deep breath before replying.
    ‘Are you deaf?’ I growled. ‘For the millionth time, I don’t know .’
    ‘I’m sure the nurse meant physical trauma, not mental trauma,’ Mum interposed hurriedly. ‘Like a blow to the head. Being knocked out can cause amnesia. It happens all the time.’
    ‘Mmmph,’ said Tino.
    ‘When Toby recovers, his memory might come back to him,’ Mum concluded. ‘That’s why I don’t think he should be answering questions right now. He’s just not well enough.’
    Tino and Michelle exchanged glances. There was a brief pause. Finally Michelle said to my mother, ‘Are there any troubles at home?’
    Poor Mum. She flushed and gasped. She was speechless.
    I was pretty gobsmacked myself.
    ‘We have to ask these questions, Mrs Vandevelde,’ Michelle continued. ‘Has there been a new man in your life lately?’
    ‘Of course not!’ Mum cried, in a strangled voice.
    ‘No ex-husband or ex-boyfriend who might have been giving you grief?’
    God knows what Mum would have said to that , if Dr Passlow hadn’t appeared. I knew it was Dr Passlow because of his name tag; he was a small man in a crumpled suit, who twitched back the bed-curtains with casual authority, behaving as if the police weren’t there.
    His reddish hair was thinning on top, and there were bags under his eyes. Even from a distance, I could smell the mint on his breath.
    ‘Hello. I’m the paediatrician, Glen Passlow,’ he announced. ‘How are you feeling, Toby? How’s the stomach?’
    ‘Umm . . .’ I thought about it. ‘Better.’
    ‘You’re looking better,’ he informed me, then turned to Mum. ‘Are you Mrs Vandevelde? Yes? How are you holding up?’
    ‘Oh. Well . . .’ Mum obviously didn’t know what to say. ‘I – uh—’
    ‘Sorry I couldn’t talk to you earlier,’ Dr Passlow interrupted, as if he was pressed for time and couldn’t wait around until Mum had managed to think of a response. He talked very quickly, in a bracing tone. And he refused to acknowledge the police, despite the fact that their guns and badges were very hard to ignore. ‘I want to tell you how pleased I am with Toby,’ he declared. ‘We thought he might have a fractured skull or some sort of spinal injury, but there’s no evidence of that. No fractures of any kind, no internal bleeding, no invasive wounds . . .’
    ‘Thank God,’ said Mum.
    ‘My one concern is that he was unconscious for so long. With concussion, there’s often a delayed recovery period. That’s why I want to keep you here until tomorrow, Toby.’ All at once Dr Passlow was speaking to me again. ‘It’s just a precaution. We’ll find you a bed in the children’s ward, and observe you overnight, and if everything’s still okay in the morning, we’ll let you go. Does that sound reasonable?’
    I love the way adults do that – as if they’re genuinely interested in what you want. Suppose my answer had been: ‘No way! Get stuffed!’ Would they have listened?
    Would they hell.
    ‘Guess so,’ I mumbled.
    ‘But you should come back later in the week for an eeg,’ the doctor advised. ‘That’s a kind of brain scan, and it’s nothing to be alarmed about.’
    You should have