“Nah,” the boy muttered in his cockney accent. The accent struck Tom, as no one at his boarding school talked like George. The poor boy looked desperately embarrassed. “Don’t …”
“George’s father is in prison! For robbery, no less! So if anything goes missing in the ward we’ll know who to blame! Like father, like son! Ha ha!”
“I ain’t a thief!” shouted George.
“No need to be so sensitive, child. It’s just my little joke!”
“Well, it ain’t funny!” he replied.
“Ooh!” she added mockingly. “I’ve touched a nerve! Now I have an idea for you, Tom. Let me find you something to wear in my lost-property box.”
With a glint in her eye, Matron turned on her heel and disappeared into her office. Moments later, she emerged with her hands behind her back and a suspicious grin on her face.
“I am awfully sad to say, Tom, that I don’t have any pyjamas to fit you!” she said. “So you will just have to wear this!”
From behind her back, Matron produced a pink, frilly nightdress. The smug grin on her face became even smugger.
Tom looked at the pink, frilly nightdress with horror. If the other boys in his boarding school ever heard about him wearing it, he would never ever live it down. In fact, he would be forever known as Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy.
“Please just let me keep my cricket gear on, Matron,” pleaded Tom.
“I said no!” snapped Matron.
“I got pyjamas ’e can borrow,” said George.
“Don’t be ridiculous, child!” replied the lady in a flash. “Look at the size of you, boy! They will be far too big! Your pyjamas would be too big for an elephant! Ha ha ha!”
Once again, no one laughed except Matron.
“Now get this on right away or I will report you to the principal of the hospital, Sir Quentin Strillers. He would take a very dim view of a boy like you and could have you thrown out on the street!” said the lady as she whisked the curtains round the boy’s bed. She stayed on the outside, leaving Tom to try to wriggle out of his clothes and into the nightdress on his own.
“Quickly!” ordered Matron.
“I am nearly there!” called out Tom as he pulled the thing over his head. “OK!” he said, even though he felt far from OK.
Matron then whisked the curtains back to reveal Tom.
There stood Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy in all his pink-frilly-nightdress glory.
“Actually, it suits ya!” said George.
“I so wish I could see it,” murmured Robin.
“No you don’t!” replied Amber.
Tom had had some humiliating things happen to him at his school over the years.
There was the time when … his shorts split while he was doing gymnastics …
his clay spun off the wheel in Pottery class and hit his art teacher on the face, sending her flying …
he bent over to pick up a book from the floor in the library and he blew off loudly …
he left the toilet cubicle with the toilet roll trailing from the back of his trousers …
he was in the school cafeteria and he slipped on some gravy and landed headfirst in a blancmange …
he was holding his violin the wrong way round in music class, wondering why he wasn’t making a sound until he realised the strings were facing down …
some of the older boys hid his games kit so he had to play rugby in his pants …
he had to put on a tight-fitting all-in-one bodysuit, with a tail stuck to his bottom. He was meant to be a cat, and had to sing and dance for a production of the musical Cats …
he thought it might be a trick question when his Maths teacher asked him what 2 + 2 was, so he answered 5 …
chalk dust set off a sneezing fit, and he sneezed right in his headmaster’s face, covering Mr Thews in snot.
But now here he was, standing in the middle of a hospital ward, wearing a pink, frilly nightdress.
“It fits you perfectly!” laughed Matron. Once again, it was only her that was laughing. Then she checked her watch, which was pinned to her uniform. “One minute past eight. Way past all your bedtimes! Right, children. Lights out!”
Matron began to march in the direction of her office at the end of the ward.
As if they were all playing Grandma’s Footsteps, she suddenly turned round after a few paces to see if any of the children had moved. Then she did it again. And again. Matron gave one last swivel-eyed look at the children, before switching off the light.
CLICK!
The ward descended into darkness. Tom hated the dark. He was relieved that some light came from the giant clock face of the Houses of Parliament, not far away from the hospital across the rooftops of London. People called the clock tower “Big Ben”, after the huge bell inside it that chimed every hour.
BONG! The light from the clock face glowed eerily through the tall windows.
There was also a small desk lamp in Matron’s office.
The lady sat there behind the glass, staring out into the gloom. She was scanning the beds in the children’s ward for any sign of movement.
Silence.
Then out of that silence Tom heard a sound. It was the sound of a tin opening. Then followed the sound of paper rustling. But not just any paper. It sounded