Lyndz had been wrong. Totally wrong. Fliss wasn’t fine. She had broken her ankle. “Well, two of the little bones in it, anyway,” Fliss explained when she joined us in the bedroom. Now she was sitting on the bed, still in her Grease outfit, her crutches propped against the wall. Her left leg was stuck out in front of her with what looked like a big red boot on it, except that her bare toes were poking out of the end. “Can I touch it?” I asked, stretching my fingers gingerly towards the cast. “Go ahead,” said Fliss. “It’s totally set.” “How come the plaster’s red?” asked Frankie. “You can choose different colours,” said Fliss. “It’s a new thing. I wanted pink, really, but they said they didn’t have it.” Fliss didn’t look half as miserable as you might expect. It sounded like she’d quite enjoyed being made a fuss of at the hospital. “The doctor was lovely,” she said, smiling dreamily. To be honest, it was Kenny I felt most sorry for right then.
