I went to Michael’s room. He was propped up in bed. With his broken ribs he had to rest a lot. Music was playing, a choir all holy and echoey, with a boy’s solo voice soaring over it. Laura had been putting this CD on for him, hoping it would help. The soloist was Michael Brook.
I turned the volume down. Michael’s eyes looked at me. I took a deep breath.
‘You’re not Michael, are you?’
The bedclothes crinkled around him.
‘Are you… Were you…’ I made myself say it. ‘Are you a dolphin?’
A huge sigh.
‘Yes. I’m a dolphin.’
‘But how –?’
‘A rainvoice,’ he added. ‘We call ourselves rainvoices.’
It wasn’t top of my list of questions, but hey.
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