This event plagues my mind for the rest of the day. I don't do any work in the following lessons, and I forget to d the housework that evening.
It's only when Seb says something that I snap out of it.
"Lola, I don't feel well," he says.
"Why? What's wrong? I'm immediately on his case.
"I dunno," he shifts and his expression looks uncomfortable. "I feel sick."
He's eaten everything on his plate, so it can't be that he's hungry, and he can't be thirsty because he drinks twice as much as I do.
"When did it start? Are you hot?" I get up and put the back of my hand to his forehead. No thermometer is needed to know that is not the average temperature of a human being.
"I'm cold," he tells me, even though he's wearing a jumper and the heating's on.
"You don't feel cold," I reply. "When did it start?"
He whispers, About three days ago."
I want to scream at him the way that guy screamed at Trish, but I don't. Somehow, I stay calm.
A quick look in the medicine cabinet tells me how long it's been since anyone was ill in our house.
"It's all we've got," I say at Seb's look when I'm shaking the Calpol bottle. He takes three spoonfuls and I send him to bed.