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about that.”
    â€œIs it catching?” Like measles, or mumps, which would explain why he couldn’t go see her. When people had things other people could catch, they had to stay by themselves, except for whoever looked after them. Who was looking after his mother? She’d be scared if it was strangers.
    â€œNo, it’s not that kind of sickness, either. Honestly, Roddy, it really is that she gets too happy sometimes and then she gets way too downhearted. You know that yourself, I know you do. But it’s hard to fix because the doctors don’t understand as much as they do when it’s just something in the body that’s not right.”
    Wouldn’t it make his mother happy to see him?
    Didn’t she miss him?
    â€œWhere’s your mother?” kids at school asked.
    â€œIn the hospital. She’s sick.” They treated him nicer, like they were impressed. Teachers, too, nobody got impatient when he didn’t know the answer to an arithmetic question or stumbled when he was reading out loud in class. He kind of liked that part of it, and tried to keep looking brave.
    From the drawer of the dining room sideboard where photos were kept, he sneaked a couple of pictures: one of her and him in the park, the other of her and him and his dad in front of the Christmas tree. He hid them under his sweater until he could get upstairs and stick them under his mattress. After that he could take them out all he wanted, as long as his dad and grandmother were safely downstairs. He wasn’t sure why having them close should be a secret, but it was. He stared and stared at her face. She was laughing in both of the photographs, and when she laughed, her mouth was the biggest part of her face. He wondered if he took the pictures because he might forget exactly what she looked like. He hoped not.
    â€œDoes Dad see her?” he asked. “Doesn’t she want to see me?”
    He was pretty sure the answers would be yes and yes of course , and so they were. “Your father has been twice,” his grandmother said, “but she’s still quite sick so they don’t really think it’s a good idea. And yes, of course, she wants to see you, she misses you, but she’s not ready for visits.”
    Who was the they ? There were people he didn’t even know who got to say not just what he did, and his mother did, but what his dad did, too. They must be very big and important. If he didn’t know them, how could he know if they were good people, or if they really cared, or if they were doing awful things to her? Like on TV when important people did bad things to other people for no special reason.
    â€œWill she come home sometime?” he asked in despair. He no longer imagined tomorrow , but he wanted to know a day would arrive and there she’d be, carrying a suitcase because she’d have needed a lot of stuff to stay away for so long, and she’d be laughing on the doorstep, swooping her arms around him, her mouth the biggest part of her face.
    â€œWell, they’re certainly trying. They’re trying more new medicines, so we’ll just have to wait and see how it goes.” He hadn’t expected that. He wouldn’t have asked if he’d imagined getting an uncertain answer like that.
    He came home from school and there was a for sale sign on the lawn. His father said, “Roddy, we’ve decided we need to make a few changes.” His grandmother hugged him and said, “You know, poor Buster, I’ve left him far too long with the neighbours. He’ll be so happy to see us again.” She said, “You can take anything of your own that you want. Whatever makes you feel right at home.”
    It was a matter of money, his dad explained. He’d be selling the house and a lot of their things because there were new bills he hadn’t expected and there was still a big mortgage on this place. “What’s a mortgage?” was