Penny Joelson - Girl in the Window

‘Kasia?’

I realise I haven’t answered her. ‘Yes,’ I tell Ellie. ‘I remember.’

Well, listen to this . . . she did enter it – and you won! First prize!’

‘ What? You’re joking!’

‘Look – here’s the proof.’

Ellie scrabbles in her rucksack and pulls out an envelope that has already been opened. It’s addressed to Miss Giles at school. She slips the letter out, unfolds it and hands it to me, pointing.

‘See – First Prize awarded to Kasia Novak.’

‘Wow!’ I say. I’ve never won anything before in my life – except a tiny rubber duck at a tombola when I was five. It used to glow in the dark.

‘Miss Giles is well chuffed,’ says Ellie. ‘She came running up to me in the corridor.’

‘What did I win?’ I ask, scanning the text. I’m hoping it’s money, though I know it’s unlikely to be much. With Mum not working, every little helps.

‘You get to go to an award ceremony in a theatre,’ she tells me. ‘Oh . . .’

Her voice falters and she looks at me, her hand covering her mouth.

‘When and where?’ I demand.

‘It’s not until February – and it’s in central London somewhere. Maybe by then . . .’

I’m conscious of my throbbing glands and my heart’s pulsing too. I feel weak but I also feel a surge of determination. I look Ellie in the eye and tell her, ‘I will be better. I can’t miss something like that! And I’m going to get back to school, Els.’

‘Have you been downstairs yet?’ Ellie asks.

‘No, but I’m going down for dinner today. Don’t tell Mum – she doesn’t know! I want to surprise her.’

‘Really? That’s great!’

Ellie’s being a supportive best friend but I can see she still looks doubtful. She knows how long it is since I’ve been downstairs.

We read the letter again, together. I still can’t take it all in. ‘Oh, look, you get fifty pounds worth of book tokens too, and a hundred pounds’ worth of books for the school,’ Ellie tells me.

‘Miss Giles will be pleased about that!’ I smile.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ says Ellie. ‘Tons of homework. I’ll try and come again on Thursday.’

It’s only after she’s gone that I realise I forgot to tell her about last night.

3

My words to Ellie may have sounded brave and determined but I know it’s not going to be that easy. I am not in Year 10 with all my friends but, back in September, I did try to be. Nobody knew I was going to be so ill for so long.

I remember Ellie waiting for me at the school gate, a beaming smile spreading across her face when she spotted me.

‘I’m so glad you made it!’ she told me. ‘I didn’t want to start the new school year without you!’

‘Same here,’ I said, waving Mum off in the car. I meant it too. I’d always been determined to be well by the end of the summer holidays. I knew that I wasn’t OK, though. I was achy, weak and in pain. I’m sure Mum knew it too but we both wanted to believe that once I got to school I’d feel better and everything would somehow, magically, go back to normal.

‘Come on, let’s get in,’ said Ellie. ‘Don’t want to be late on the first day!’

We walked to the main entrance. I felt so weird and wobbly, as if the ground underneath me was moving. I tried to ignore the dull ache in my legs and the swollen glands making my neck stiff and uncomfortable.

Inside, everything seemed different. The corridor looked so much longer. Erin and Tilly rushed up to say hi, and Tilly tried to hug me. It hurt, but I didn’t like to say so. They were clearly pleased to see me back, chattering and asking me questions.

‘I thought it was just tonsillitis,’ said Erin. ‘How come it took you so long to get better?’

‘The doctor said I had post-viral fatigue,’ I explained. ‘I still felt ill even though the infection had gone. No idea why. It just happens sometimes. Did you have a good summer?’

‘We went camping in France,’ she told me. ‘The first week was amazing but then it rained the rest of the time! I never want to go camping again.’

She kept talking, telling me about all the other things she’d been doing. I zoned out. People were talking all around me too. I couldn’t take the noise. Surely school never used to be this loud? As we reached the stairs to our form room I looked up and was overcome by panic. It was a flight of stairs – a flight I’d climbed every day for years but now it looked like a mountain. How would I ever get up there? And the crowds – I couldn’t bear all the people swarming around me. I suddenly felt so fragile, as if I was a delicate flower about to be trodden into the ground.

‘You are OK, aren’t you?’ Ellie asked.

‘Not really,’ I told her.

‘You can use the lift if you need to.’

I did, but I felt weird, embarrassed, standing waiting for it. The lift is for disabled students. I’m not disabled. When I got out on the first floor, I was sure everyone was staring at me.

I sat down with relief in my form room, listening to more holiday stories, with people coming up to say they were so happy I was better and how I looked fine. I didn’t feel fine, even sitting down. When I looked at my Year 10 timetable, I had a sinking feeling. I even asked Ellie, ‘Have they put more lessons in this year?’ and she looked at me like I was mad.

‘French first!’ she said cheerfully. ‘Look, we’ve got Madame Dupont! She’s the best.’

I like Madame Dupont and I like French, but I didn’t smile back because the room was on the other side of the school. The thought of having to stand up and walk down more corridors, packed with students, already felt too much.

I made it to French but within minutes I felt so ill I couldn’t sit any more – I had to lie down. Ellie took me to the medical room. The nurse called my Mum straight away.

I’d lasted thirty-seven minutes in Year 10.

Now, I stand at the top of the stairs, looking down. I imagine I’m an Olympic skier at the peak of a challenging slope. The previous contender has been taken off in an ambulance. I don’t know the extent of her injuries but, after checks, the organisers have declared the course safe. I am not so sure.

I cling to the banister, aware that I am holding my breath as I put one foot tentatively forward. Then the other. I’m getting into a rhythm, but halfway down I feel light-headed and my legs feel like they’re going to give way. I haven’t been downstairs since that day – the first day of term, 2 September, when I tried to go back to school. But I am starting to improve.

When I didn’t get better after tonsillitis, Mum and Dad were constantly trying to get me to do more and I had to make them understand that I couldn’t. Dad actually thought I’d got lazy from being ill in bed. Mum thought it must be depression or anxiety, especially when she took me to the doctor who did blood tests that all came back clear. The doctor said it was possible I had post-viral fatigue, and mentioned chronic fatigue syndrome or CFS, though it’s more often known as ME. It stands for Myalgic Encephalomyelitis. That was probably the reason I was taking so long to recover. But I don’t think Mum and Dad realised exactly what that meant, or how long it might take. I didn’t either. I know now, though.

I. Know. Now.

People can be ill for years with this. Some people never get better. I’m not going to be one of them. I can’t.

I’ve been thinking about trying to come downstairs for a couple of weeks – but I’ve been so scared of getting stuck halfway, or not feeling well enough to go back up again, that I’ve been too frightened to even try. I know I have to get over this fear, but it’s based on real experience. I only have to do the smallest thing and it wipes me out completely. Already I need to sit down, but that’s OK. Now it is as far to go back up as it is to keep going, and down is definitely easier.