The Ice-cream Man by Jenny Mounfield

Author:Jenny Mounfield [Mounfield, Jenny]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

8

Marty spent most of Tuesday being stretched and prodded by doctors and therapists. He didn’t know what was worse, the pain in his knee, or all the unwanted attention. By Wednesday his whole body was one big hurt. He was glad his mother hadn’t made him go to school. Bruises from his tumble down the ramp were popping up in places he barely knew existed, and the graze on his forehead and nose burned like a brand.

What had he been thinking? If the purpose of his folly had been to get his mother’s attention, he’d succeeded. He’d never seen her so close to the edge, so out of control as he had on Monday night. The dark part of him might have enjoyed it if he hadn’t been on the verge of blacking out with pain.

If annoying his mother was the prize, it came with a hefty price tag. Marty’s mother seized the opportunity to drag out the old surgery debate. She’d been plotting with the orthopaedic surgeon to get Marty on the operating table for over a year. He’d resisted the persuasive talk of the physios: Didn’t he want more freedom? Maybe they’d even be able to get him on his feet and using a walker again. Wouldn’t that be fine?

Marty couldn’t seem to get it through their heads that he had more freedom in his chair than he’d ever had. Wheelchairs were more socially acceptable than walkers, too. You didn’t see cripples running with walking frames in the Para Olympics, did you? Besides, no one could guarantee he’d ever walk again anyway – even if he wanted to. All the doctor could do was stretch Marty’s tight hamstrings enough to straighten his legs. The problem was it wouldn’t last.

The messages from Marty’s brain to his muscles would always be scrambled, so everything would get tight again. Surgery was just another way for his mother to exert control over him. If he had the operation he’d be totally dependent on her for months afterward, not to mention the sadistic team of physiotherapists.

Marty sighed and looked down at his knee. At least it was back where it was meant to be – more or less. The worst of the pain was now just an ugly memory. He gripped his wheel rims, wincing as the metal touched his grazed palms, and moved through the lounge room. When he reached the dining room, he cocked his head, listening for his parents’ voices. They were still in the kitchen arguing his fate.

‘We should wait till summer is over,’ his father said. ‘He’ll need to be in plaster for weeks and it’s too hot right now.’

‘That’s all well and good, but Doctor Stephenson said there’s every chance his knee will dislocate again. I say we do it now.’

What was all this about ‘we’? Marty had heard enough. He turned away from their voices, headed for the front door. Getting to the billabong to meet Rick yesterday had been impossible, but hopefully he would be there again today.

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