Justin travelled to the hospital Wednesday and likewise made the journey Thursday though Scott didn’t again suggest exposing to Justin, his best friend, the place where he had been hurt. Justin supposed that he could go also on Friday to the hospital, though this would mean missing training and because of that – the missed training – Saturday’s game. Justin would not have permission to play, and he wouldn’t be eating sliced oranges at half-time, or be afterwards showering in the locker room with the guys. He wouldn’t be ‘welcome’ at the game if he missed training. Mr Jameson’s rules!

‘It’s only a little boo-boo!’ was a thing that Justin couldn’t say to Scott, though he could probably say it to someone. And if not to Scottie (who would be unlikely to see the humour in it) then he could say it to one of the guys at school – perhaps Shane-o, who might ask him what was up with Scott.

How’s Scott?

Scottie? (Justin would shrug, and wait) It’s only a little boo-boo!

He wouldn’t himself be able to help laughing and Shane would also laugh, swallowing afterwards and turning his head away. Looking back at him (catching Justin’s eye – a quivering smile) Shane-o would lift his eyebrows, open wide his own eyes, and jerk his head back in a series of comical jerks. Shane-o! He also would think of something to say. Does he want us to kiss it better? putting emphasis on the us.

Leaving on Friday, in the elevator (Justin had seen it!) the thought of this now (after seeing it! – ha!) – the thought of Scott’s wound as a boo-boo was doubly funny. He hadn’t said it to Scott – that it was like only a little boo-boo, though he might have done. He had thought of it.

Neither Mark nor Riley, and not any of their other friends – Justin and Scottie’s other friends – (neither Tom nor Jacko nor Smitty, not Hazza) would laugh at it at a first hearing. Mark later might. If he saw it! Justin hadn’t himself first laughed had he?

After visiting Scott Tuesday, Justin had even been unable to sleep, and had lain for hours in his mind seeing Scottie and what had happened to him, and wondering if Scottie was going to be okay like that, without a penis. ‘Little boo-boo’ had made Justin laugh, though not at first. He had been seeing Scottie’s penis (in his mind) under bright lights removed with a scalpel, and was afterwards seeing it again scuddering under the brake clamp (as it had happened), seeing the wrench smashing Scott’s testicles (his own hand!), hearing the ring of metal on metal in the afternoon silence of the bush. Scott’s testicles glugged like cream. Scott’s groin. A stump of a penis. Almost nothing. A vision: Scottie crying in the bush. He, naked, looking up for consolation. A diamond-shape. Thumbs and forefingers framing his wound. ‘Why it’s only a little boo-boo!’ A woman. An American voice. The emphasis on the little – the littleness of the boo-boo! And the boo-boo itself partly a question. Justin had clearly heard her. A corny joke.

He had then gone into the kitchen and drunk milk from the bottle. It was three-thirty. And dark.

Justin hadn’t done anything to Scott’s penis, he felt. That had been an accident, and not something Justin had meant.

He swung the fridge door closed – partly closed but with enough light to see by – and took a swig of the milk. Even if thick, it was cold. It ran down the underside of Justin’s neck. Justin wiped the milk away with the back of his hand. Sucked on his hand.

Scott’s penis had hit the brake pad itself. It wasn’t as though Justin had seen that happening, or foreseen, even, Scott’s losing his speedos which had made his penis possible – its getting caught. It had never occurred to Justin that that might happen, that Scott would get a hurt cock out of the joke. Not that he could remember, anyway. And it had been meant as a joke.

Justin scratched his thigh. His cotton boxers. Scratched his groin. Held his dick in the cotton boxers unthinkingly.

It wasn’t as though Justin had locked the brake deliberately, at the moment when Scott’s cock was – as though he wanted that, was it? – had he?

Justin let go of his own cock. And shivered.

No. It wasn’t like that. Not something he had meant to do. He hadn’t even thought about it. It had just happened. There not being time enough for him to think – to think about…jamming…

Justin drank from the bottle. The milk was cold and his throat baulked at it.

Justin’s hand had done it. Without him even meaning it to happen. Hadn’t it? He hadn’t thought about it had he? – not until after, when the brake was locked and he then could have…

Justin screwed the lid on the bottle. Held it loosely with one hand, while with the other, he slowly brushed his chest and abs like they were dusty.

Scott’s testicles.

He put the milk away.

Scott’s testicles had been trapped.

Justin scratched his hair and stared at a fridge-magnet in the half-light – a pineapple? And Scott’s testicles – well, that hadn’t been an accident. Not after…when he…though Scott’s testicles had been trapped. And he felt he would have had to force them anyway, Justin, and would most likely have even used the wrench to do that (or a stick? his hands? done it gently?).

There was a light on somewhere in the house.

Scott’s testicles were swollen! – had been.

Justin had left his bedroom light on. In the kitchen, he could see clearly now. In the darklight. The darklight?

Scott’s testicles could easily have burst if Justin had forced them even with his hands. They were so swollen. So big! And Justin might easily have burst them with his fingers. He could have burst them with his fingers! Oh, man, what would that have felt like? If he had done it like that, deliberately?

On the ice-box was a fridge magnet like a pair of cherries. It was a pair of cherries (it had always been there) – and under it there was a picture of…? Justin opened the fridge door a crack. A squirrel eating chestnuts?! What? A newspaper clipping? ‘Squirrel cracks nuts,’ was the heading. And then the carrot fridge-magnet and under that…an article about a woman getting a face transplant (a dog had mauled her face – her own dog). Could Scott get a dick transplant?

Justin had all this time kept himself a mouthful of milk and he almost spat it then, with a sudden laugh.

He was tired.

Would Carol have put these here on purpose, meaning them as a message for Justin – for her son? He couldn’t imagine that – that Carol would have had the wherewithal, even mid-morning, to do such a thing. More likely, doped out of her brain, she had done it without realizing the significance – some other part of her in control, it often seemed. Saying things. Things she didn’t realize.

A dick transplant! He almost spat the milk again. Now that was sick! A transplant! Sewing a dead person’s flesh into something living.

What were people thinking?

Carol wouldn’t have done that on purpose. She had been in her room until Friday, when the police came. And these photos had been here when – since the accident? In the week after that she had hardly been lucid. He hadn’t even seen her. Just her closed door, behind which…well…she was sleeping, or drowsy – needles on the floor and a mess – her own filth one time in the bed when she had…when he had had to ring triple-zero.

He had knocked on the door and told her, saying, ‘There was a bad accident, Mum!’ And then, ‘Scott’s badly hurt!’ though Scott was by that time in the ambulance, Justin figured, having heard and seen the ambulance when it passed on his way home – after he had called it from the phonebox at Carter St. Carol had groaned, which had meant he could come in, but she had had the door locked, and she didn’t get up that night though Justin sat in the corridor until the morning.

When the police came Carol pulled herself together. And she had been clean – or nearly so – for more than three days, though she was in her room now. It was night-time!

Suddenly, Justin frowned at the face-transplant woman. Was that even possible? Were they really able to do that, or was it some type of joke.

The date at the bottom said 30 November, 2005. It was 1978. Where had Carol got this from? It looked authentic.

Scottie wouldn’t get a transplant. It wasn’t even possible?

‘But it’s such a little boo-boo!’

Justin spat the milk.