All he did was take Thomas’s temperature, check Thomas’s blood pressure and ask Thomas to put his t-shirt back on.
They both sat down.
‘I think your condition is almost certainly caused by stress,’ said Dr Ling. ‘Here’s what I think you should do. Each time your nipples get itchy from now on, I want you to have a think about what’s happening in your life at that moment, OK?’
‘OK,’ said Thomas.
‘And if the itching doesn’t stop, come and see me in a week or two.’
As Dr Ling steered him towards the surgery door, Thomas started thinking back over his most recent attacks and what had been going on in his life at the time.
Dr Ling telling him there was only one nipple torch.
Him telling the woman in the waiting room that jam was good for stab wounds.
Alisha not being honest about her mobile reception.
Him lying about his fake fruit-knife injury.
Thomas stopped halfway out the surgery door, puzzled.
Could it be?
Was it possible?
He could see Alisha waiting for him, drumming her fingernails and staring at the waiting-room TV. He could feel Dr Ling still trying to steer him out of the surgery.
Should I say something? wondered Thomas. Should I mention the weird possibility that my itchy nipples might have some spooky connection with people telling lies?
He tried to imagine what Dr Ling and Alisha would say.
Alisha would probably roll around on the floor laughing. Dr Ling would probably grab a scalpel and give him a brain examination.
And they’d be right.
Because suddenly Thomas could see what had just given him such a crazy idea.
‘I’m a celebrity hairdresser,’ said a bald bloke on the screen of the waiting-room TV.
It was Liar Liar, the game show where contestants had to guess if people were telling lies.
Thomas felt his chest go itchy.
This time at least he knew why.
His nipples were embarrassed he’d had such a dumb idea.
3
The moment Thomas and Alisha arrived home from the doctor’s, things got stressful.
Mum was in the bathroom putting on make-up.
‘At last,’ she said with a frown. ‘We’re late as it is, without you two going walkabout.’
Thomas saw that Mum had spotted them in the mirror. He retreated up the hallway and gave Alisha a puzzled look.
Why were Mum and Dad home from work so early? Why was Mum wearing her best jeans and painting her eye wrinkles at five o’clock in the afternoon?
‘We’re leaving in fifteen minutes,’ shouted Dad from the bedroom. ‘Who’s wrapping Nan’s present?’
Thomas’s guts went tight.
Of course.
Nan’s birthday dinner.
‘Sorry,’ said Thomas. ‘We forgot.’
‘I had a year ten refugee and asylum seeker support group meeting,’ said Alisha. ‘And Thomas volunteered to stay behind to help pick up litter on his school oval.’
It was the story they’d agreed on, but Thomas could see in Mum’s mirror that she didn’t believe a word of it.
‘Is that right?’ said Mum as she did some detailed brushwork around her eyes. ‘So it was the jam pixies who popped in after school and left the kitchen bench all sticky, was it?’
Thomas felt very foolish and even more stressed. He scratched his itching nipples behind his schoolbag.
Alisha was glaring at him.
Idiot, her look was saying. You’ll never be a good liar if you don’t remember to clean up the kitchen.
Thomas sighed.
Alisha was an expert liar and she hated being held back by amateurs. This was going to cost him a lot of jelly snakes.
‘Don’t be cross with Alisha,’ Thomas said to Mum. ‘She was lying for me.’
Mum gave a big sigh and slowly shook her head. Thomas wasn’t sure if it was exasperation or to dry her make-up.
‘Get changed, both of you,’ she said. ‘We’ll talk about it in the car.’
Thomas plodded into his room, thinking about the embarrassing confession he would soon have to make to Mum and Dad.
Best get it over with in the car, so other people wouldn’t hear. It was bad enough being laughed at by the kids at school for having weird nipples. The thought of being laughed at by a restaurant full of strangers made Thomas feel ill.
He flopped down on his bed.
At least telling Mum and Dad wouldn’t be so bad now he knew he definitely wasn’t turning into a girl. Now he knew for sure what was affecting his nipples.
It was definitely stress.
Once they were all in the car and on their way to pick Nan up, Thomas got even more stressed.
‘Love,’ said Mum, turning round and looking at Thomas, concerned. ‘If you’re worried about your nipples, why didn’t you say something?’
‘That’s right, mate,’ said Dad. ‘Better than lying.’
Thomas stared at them, amazed.
How did they know?
No way would Alisha have blabbed, she just wasn’t that type of sister, not even when she was cross with him.
‘Doctor Ling rang just before you got home,’ said Mum. ‘He wanted to let us know that your itchy chest is just from stress and it’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’
Thomas braced himself for the itchy-nipple jokes that would now probably come at him from three directions at once.
But Mum just kept looking at him, still concerned.
‘Why didn’t you tell us, love?’ she said.
‘Um…’ said Thomas.
The car started coughing and lurching. Dad revved the engine and swore at it.
All the noise and jolting was making it hard for Thomas to think what to say. Plus the idea of him ever turning into a girl suddenly felt a bit dumb.
Alisha leaned towards the front seats.
‘Planet Earth to parents everywhere,’ she said loudly. ‘Eleven-year-old boys get embarrassed about things like nipples. Der.’
She went back to her texting.
Thomas gave Alisha a grateful look. Even though he was pretty sure the builders in the truck next to them had heard every word.
‘Everybody gets embarrassed sometimes,’ said Mum to Thomas. ‘It’s natural. But you can always talk to us, love.’
‘We’re your parents,’ said Dad as the engine spluttered again. ‘Mongrel car.’
Mum reached back and patted Thomas on the arm.
‘I know me and Dad are very busy,’ she said. ‘But we’re always happy to listen. Why’s your arm sticky?’
Thomas wasn’t sure if Mum would be happy to hear what he’d done with her favourite jam. Before he could say anything, she reached over further and gently cupped his cheek in her hand.
‘We love you, Thomas,’ she said. ‘And we’re all going to help you relax more.’
Thomas could see she meant it.
If he wasn’t in a seatbelt, he would have given her a hug.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said.
Alisha let out a squeal of delight.
‘Fantastic,’ she said, reading her phone. ‘Garth’s getting a new tattoo. On his back. It says, Store Other Side Up.’
Mum closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
‘OK,’ she said to Thomas and Alisha. ‘Let’s please remember that Nan is eighty-three today and she has a very weak heart. It’s still only four months since her heart surgery. So we won’t tell her anything at dinner that’s going to worry or upset her. Nothing about boyfriends or tattoos or stress or nipples, OK?’
‘OK,’ muttered Alisha.
‘OK,’ said Thomas.
‘Or anything about this mongrel of a car,’ said Dad.
‘OK,’ muttered Alisha.
‘OK,’ said Thomas.
As they chugged and jolted their way through the traffic towards the old peoples’ home, Thomas glowed inside with love for Mum and Dad.
How many people i
n the world, he said to himself, would be this caring and kind? Thinking about a parent’s feelings like this. Going to these lengths not to stress or upset a parent.
Suddenly Thomas felt glad he hadn’t told Mum and Dad about the kids at school laughing at him. It would only stress and upset them, which wouldn’t be fair. They deserved some kindness too.
I’m going to give Mum and Dad the same care and consideration they give Nan, Thomas decided.
This was good.
He was feeling less stressed already.
Except for one worrying thought.
If it was stress that was making his nipples itch, how come he didn’t have a nipple attack a few minutes ago during one of the most stressful moments of his whole day?
4
For the first ten minutes of Nan’s birthday dinner, Thomas didn’t have a single itchy nipple. Not when he and the others trooped into the restaurant, not when they were shown to a table, not when they were given menus.
Thomas’s nipples behaved themselves right up until Nan turned to him with a loving smile.
‘So, Thomas,’ said Nan. ‘How are you?’
Thomas hesitated.
Across the table he could see Mum and Dad looking nervous, silently instructing him not to give Nan a heart attack or order anything too expensive from the menu.
‘Fine, thanks Nan,’ said Thomas.
Almost immediately his nipples exploded into a massive itch.
Don’t scratch them, Thomas told himself.
Keep smiling.
He just managed to. Instead of doing what he desperately wanted to do. Run through the crowded restaurant. Tear off his best t-shirt. Fling himself into the restaurant kitchen. Relieve his nipples with a cheese grater.
Phew, the itch was fading.
‘And how are you, Alisha?’ said Nan. ‘Doing well at school?’
‘Very well, thanks Nan,’ said Alisha. ‘I came top in year ten science. Ninety-nine point nine nine percent.’
Thomas winced even before his nipples went into more itchy spasms. That was a big lie, even for Alisha. He could see Mum and Dad wincing too, wishing Alisha wouldn’t be quite so kind and considerate about Nan’s feelings.
‘I’d have got a hundred percent,’ continued Alisha, ‘if I hadn’t texted Garth during the exam.’
‘Garth?’ asked Nan. ‘Who’s Garth?’
There was a long silence filled only by the clattering and chattering from the other tables.
‘Um…’ said Alisha. ‘My dog.’
‘Let’s look at our menus,’ said Dad hastily.
Good idea, thought Thomas.
Except he couldn’t even pick his up. Not while he was sitting on his hands waiting for yet another double-strength itch attack to fade.
Thomas stared at the garlic prawns hissing in little oven bowls on the next table. He saw how bulging the prawns’ eyeballs were. They looked like they were desperate for a good scratch too.
Thomas’s nipples finally calmed down.
Nan looked up from her menu.
‘And how about you, Brian and Shirley?’ she said to Mum and Dad. ‘How’s work?’
‘Good,’ said Mum.
‘Good,’ said Dad.
Thomas felt his nipples go garlic prawn again.
He knew Mum and Dad weren’t telling the truth. Every day when they got home from work, he saw how unhappy and stressed they were. They tried to put on a brave face, but Thomas could tell they were faking it by the way they were always dropping fish fingers and burning peas.
Now he knew exactly how the peas felt.
Arghhh, he screamed, grabbing two glasses of iced water from the next table and plunging his nipples into them.
In his imagination.
But even as Thomas imagined the blissful relief, he knew he was just trying to get his mind off something else.
It was happening again. The spooky thing he’d first noticed at the doctor’s.
Each nipple attack was coming immediately after he or Alisha or Mum or Dad said something that wasn’t true.
Could this be possible?
Could lies be making his nipples itch?
Thomas wondered if he was going strange in the head as well as strange in the nipples.
‘Ready to order?’
The waiter was standing next to the table, his notepad out.
‘Has the veal been frozen?’ asked Nan. ‘Frozen food’s dangerous for my health.’
‘It’s as fresh as you are, gorgeous lady,’ said the waiter. ‘Fresher.’
Thomas couldn’t bear it.
His nipples weren’t just itchy again, they were in a frenzy. Did this mean the waiter had lied?
‘I’ll have what Dad’s having,’ said Thomas.
He couldn’t think about the menu now. He had something much more important to do.
Find out once and for all whether there really was something spooky behind his nipple attacks.
And for that he needed evidence.
Getting into the restaurant kitchen was easier than Thomas had thought.
He didn’t have to disguise himself as a waiter or a chef or a piece of crumbed veal.
He simply peeped out of the toilet and waited until both waiters were up the front of the restaurant and both chefs were down the back of the kitchen. Then he crept along behind the cash register and in through the kitchen door.
Thomas crouched behind several big cans of cooking oil and peered through the smoke and steam.
The two chefs had their backs to him. One was frying something and the other was chopping something with a meat cleaver.
Thomas looked around for a freezer.
He saw a big upright one next to a row of microwave ovens.
As quietly as he could, Thomas crawled over to the freezer. He reached up and pulled the freezer door open. The shelves were stacked with boxes made of waxed cardboard. Printed on some of the boxes were the words Crumbed Veal 24 Pieces.
Thomas opened the end of one box as quietly as he could. He peered inside.
Yes.
Veal.
Frozen.
Thomas gave a small shiver.
The waiter had lied. And Thomas’s nipples had gone itchy, just like they’d gone itchy with Mum’s and Dad’s and Alisha’s and the doctor’s lies.
Thomas struggled to take this in.
His nipples were lie-detectors.
Incredible.
Scary.
The veal wasn’t impressed. Twenty-four pieces slid out of the box and clattered onto the floor all around Thomas. They didn’t do it as quietly as they could.
‘Hey, what’s going on?’ roared a voice.
One of the chefs grabbed Thomas and dragged him to his feet.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ demanded the chef.
Thomas tried not to panic. He tried to choose his words carefully.
The chef had a red face and big white bushy eyebrows and was still holding a meat cleaver. Thomas had never been in this exact situation before, but he was pretty sure that a red face and any sort of chopping equipment was not a good combination.
He decided to tell the truth.
‘I’m trying to stop you poisoning an old lady with frozen veal,’ he said. ‘She’s got a weak heart.’
As soon as the words were out, Thomas wished he’d chosen them a bit more carefully.
The chef’s face was going even redder.
But instead of attacking Thomas with the meat cleaver, the chef gave a big sigh and his whole body sagged.
‘Did the waiter tell you the veal isn’t frozen?’ he asked.
Thomas nodded.
‘The waiter with the moustache?’ asked the chef.
Thomas nodded again.
The other chef, a younger bloke with a ponytail, let out a groan.
‘If Angelo keeps doing that,’ he said, ‘I’m gunna quit.’
Both the chefs looked so miserable that Thomas felt awful for dobbing.
He was about to apologise
when a shadow fell over him and a large hand gripped his shoulder.
Thomas looked up.
The waiter with the moustache was glaring down at him.
The waiter didn’t let go of Thomas’s shoulder until he’d finished listening to Thomas’s explanation and marched Thomas back to the table and pushed him down into the chair.
‘Please control your child and his itchy nipples,’ he said to Mum and Dad, and went back to the kitchen.
‘Busted,’ muttered Alisha.
‘Itchy nipples?’ said Nan to Thomas, concerned. ‘Have you got itchy nipples?’
Thomas nodded guiltily, not looking at Mum and Dad.
‘It’s just a bit of stress,’ said Mum. ‘The doctor says it’s nothing to worry about.’
Nan frowned.
‘My grandfather’s brother Aaron had something like that,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t nipples, it was… what was it… teeth I think. His teeth used to get itchy for no reason.’
Thomas stared at her.
‘Or was it his dog’s teeth?’ said Nan.
Thomas reminded himself that Nan was eighty-three and her memory was almost as clapped-out as Mum and Dad’s car.
The meals arrived.
Thomas remembered something himself.
‘You mustn’t eat that veal, Nan,’ he whispered after the waiter had gone. ‘It’s been frozen.’
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Nan, chomping happily. ‘I like frozen stuff. I just say I don’t to keep them on their toes.’
Great, thought Thomas. Nan was lying too. No wonder my nipples were going ballistic.
He had another thought, an awful one.
Was this how he was going to have to spend the rest of his life? Grabbing two glasses of iced water every time somebody didn’t tell the truth?
Thomas peered at the garlic prawns he and Dad were having. The prawns didn’t look like they wanted to scratch their nipples any more. They just looked sort of worried.
Worried about what was happening to them.
Thomas knew exactly how they felt.
5
Thomas stared in horror at the bosom on the computer screen.
He clicked to make it go away.
It didn’t. It stayed there, a lady’s bosom, big and pink with a big dark-pink nipple.
Thomas frantically clicked again.
The bosom didn’t budge.