Anthem for Jackson Dawes (17 page)

‘But I have school soon, Grandad, beginning of September.' Only a week and half left.

Another pause, as if he was trying to work out a problem. ‘Yes, of course. I forgot about that.' He brightened. It sounded real, not put on. It made Megan chew her lip. Grandad was trying so hard to be positive, trying so hard not to be hurt or worried.
‘Back to all your friends and football and everything. Of course! Everything the way it was. That's going to be great, isn't it?'

Her throat tightened. He always sounded as if nothing could get him down for long and he expected the same from everyone else. But how could he know what it felt like? He couldn't. He never would. He might be ninety-six almost but he couldn't know.

Ninety-six. How does a person get to live that long?

‘Still there, Pet Lamb?'

‘Yes, Grandad. Still here.'

The words were hard to find. She didn't want to speak to someone that old, not right now. She didn't want to celebrate the fact that people could reach almost a hundred and still sound as if they would go on for ever.

When Gemma rang again the next day, she didn't sound normal. ‘I thought you were going away? But my mum says she saw you going into the shop this morning. Are you all right?'

She had never said so much in one go. Which could only mean one thing.

Megan paused. More lies to tell. ‘I thought I'd wait till Dad got home. Go with him.' The clock began to chime. ‘He should be home soon. We're going tomorrow.'

‘Oh. You didn't say. When I rang, I thought you would have told me.'

‘I only decided yesterday.'

‘You could have come to the concert with us, then. You could have stayed. Mum wouldn't mind. She'd love to see you. Do you want to come round now?'

And do what exactly? Same old stuff they used to do? Like nothing had happened. Like everything was the same? Swapping clothes? Straightening hair? Trying out make-up? The problem page? Talking about boys? Nothing was going to be the same, ever again.

‘Can't. Dad'll be home soon.'

‘Will I come round there, then? Till he comes?'

Gemma was hurt. That's what all this was about. She didn't stamp about and cry the way the Twins did if they were upset. She did it quietly, like everything else, and she didn't accuse people or judge them and she was fair and sorted out everyone's problems because she listened. But it showed in her face. In her eyes and in her mouth. And, Megan realised, in the sound of her voice, the number of words she used.

‘He'll not be long. I've got to go now.'

Gemma wasn't having any. ‘Are we not friends any more?' There it was. Just a slight tremor, hardly there, if you didn't know her. They'd been friends since junior school. Since they were eight, when Gemma was new and didn't know anyone.

‘Yeah. Course we are.' Megan sighed. Go away. Leave me alone. Dad'll be home soon and he's not
going to be very happy with me and I can only deal with one problem at a time.

‘Well, it doesn't feel like it. It's like you don't want anything to do with me or the Twins.' There was a pause. ‘I know you've been ill and it's been horrible and everything. And I don't know what it was like. But I've missed you. And you never ring me. Or text. It's always me. And I'm sorry I didn't come in to see you but …'

‘You were busy … It doesn't matter. The hospital's too far away, anyway. I know.'

‘Well, yes, all of that. School and everything. But it does matter … And I was frightened.' Gemma was crying now. ‘And I didn't know what to say. Or do. Or ask. I got a book about it, but I couldn't even read it. And I looked it up on the internet and there was all this stuff and photographs of kids and stuff, dying and everything and …'

You can get a book about your friend having cancer? Maybe she should read it and find out how it's meant to work.

‘Well, I'm still here,' Megan said, though it felt like the biggest lie of all. She was here and not here.

A car rolled up outside. Could be a taxi. Voices now. Could be anyone.

‘It's all right, Gemma. Honestly. I've got to go. Dad's here now.'

Maybe it was a lie. Maybe not.

Dad sat like a big cat yawning and stretching and all slumpy in his chair. He'd had a shower and a shave as soon as he got in, which left him looking dark and shiny, like wood, he was so tanned. Sleep was what he needed, but he wouldn't be allowed back upstairs until at least ten o'clock, to get over his jet lag. Mum's orders.

‘Lord, you're a hard woman!' he said, yawning again. ‘So is your mother. By the way, we have to make sure any mail goes down to Grandad's. Even though we'll be back in a week. Make sure there's a bill or two in there. You know how she likes to worry about bills.'

Megan sat down on the floor with a bundle of stuff which had come earlier and the mail from the day
before. ‘I've got them here. A whole stack came this morning.' She began to go through them, wondering if Dad already knew about her not wanting to go with him.

The newspapers were there for Dad, in a pile waiting to be read. He liked to look at them and catch up with what was happening in the world, sitting in his own armchair, in his own home. But he wasn't reading anything. He was just sitting and after a while Megan noticed he was looking at her. This was it. This was where he was going to convince her that she needed to go to Grandad's and she was going to have to convince him that she didn't.

‘Is it my hair?' she said, playing for time.

‘No, it's not that.' Dad clasped his hands. He was going to come out with it. Serious talk. He looked even more tired than before, all of a sudden. Maybe he should just go to bed and sleep right through till morning. ‘I heard there was a letter.'

Megan stiffened. Her heart began to thump in swift panicky jolts.

Tell me I have to go to Grandad's.

Make me go. Don't talk about the letter.

And I've told so many lies, don't you want to know about that?

And Gemma hates me. Let's talk about her.

‘Mum told me. She was upset, worried, you know. About you.'

The black hole came back and began to grow inside her again. Just as it did with every single memory, with every single hour she remembered of the hospital. And it wouldn't go away. It never did. No matter how hard she tried to put it away. But Dad was still looking at her, as if he wanted an answer, when he already had it, as if he wanted her to remember even though it hurt.

‘Yes, there was a letter.'

‘I was very sorry to hear about it,' Dad said. ‘Very sorry. I wanted to call, but I didn't know what to say. Wanted to see you face to face. But now, I still don't know what to say.'

‘It's all right,' she told him. ‘I'm fine.'

She gazed down at the mail on the floor. Mainly white envelopes, some brown, with see-through windows filled with black writing, the same name, the same address, the same everything that was on the letter that came before.

It had been addressed to Mum, the hospital stamp making it look horribly official. Megan immediately thought there'd been a mistake, that they hadn't got rid of the tumour after all.

She remembered Mum sitting down and opening the envelope, which revealed another. ‘Sister Brewster sent it,' she said, opening the next, complete puzzlement in her voice.

Megan frowned, but even so a sudden hope
flickered into life, like a dying candle given air at the very last moment. Of course! Why didn't
she
think to ask Sister Brewster to send a letter? It would have been so simple. ‘It's from Jackson, isn't it?'

‘It's not from Jackson.' Mum hesitated, reading it. She handed it to Megan. ‘It's from one of his sisters. Oh, dear me. I'm so sorry, love.'

And Megan knew.

She knew what the letter would say before she even looked at it; she'd known since Sister Brewster told her that he wasn't coming back to the ward.

How could she not?

After the first few lines, Megan pushed it back at Mum. ‘Why don't they just come out with it?'

Mum folded it again and again until it was just a small square. ‘Come out with what?'

‘That he's dead. Why don't they just say it? He wasn't even sixteen.' Megan spat out the words.

Mum didn't move. ‘He's at peace now, love. In a better place.'

‘How can you say that?' Megan yelled. ‘He should be
here
!
This
is a better place.'

‘But they could do nothing for him. It's in the letter, if you'd read it. In the end it's what he wanted.'

Megan had slammed her hand down on the table so that the cups rattled. What did
Mum
know about Jackson? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. ‘It's
not
what he wanted. It's not!' she screamed, head hurting, hand stinging. ‘He wanted to be a
musician
, he
wanted to
live
. He did!' Mum's arms went around her but Megan shook them off. ‘It's not fair! How could he do this?'

She raced out of the kitchen, so angry with Jackson that she refused to cry, so furious with him, with Mum, with the whole world, that she swept every single book off her shelves. Bang, bang, bang, they went, slamming one on top of another to the floor. Dust spiralled into the air. Mum ran upstairs.

‘Stay out!' Megan yelled, fire blazing somewhere deep within her. ‘I don't want you in here. Go away, Mum!' She ran to her door, jamming herself against it. The footsteps halted, and retreated downstairs. Megan shut her eyes, blocking out the sunlight in her room, her breath coming in short bursts, as if she'd run a race. Inside her head she was screaming, the noise so deafening that she couldn't think any more.

‘But you see, I don't believe you
are
fine,' Dad said, bringing her back. ‘Anything but. And Mum's worried about you.' He sighed. ‘It's been hard for her to help … when you won't talk about it … no one can help.'

Megan couldn't bear to look at him because he'd made her remember and remembering made the fire inside blaze even more. Was that supposed to help? Why was he doing this? The best thing was
not to think about it
at all
, could he not see that? Couldn't Mum?

‘I only met Jackson once,' Dad went on as if he wanted to torture her, saying Jackson's name like that, as if he were still alive, still breathing and laughing, still holding her hand. ‘But I was glad to see the boy you couldn't stop talking about.'

Megan stared at the pile of letters, then realised with a start what Dad had just said.

‘You met him …? Jackson?'

Dad frowned, examining his fingers. ‘Of course I did,' he said, sounding puzzled. ‘He came barging in after your operation, demanding to see you, because he was going home.' Megan froze. ‘When I say, barging in, it wasn't exactly like that.'

‘He came? To see me?'

‘Yes.' Dad was looking at her as if she should know this. ‘Siobhan pushed him in. He was in a wheelchair, but that lad was determined.' Dad started to look uncomfortable as if something dreadful was dawning on him. ‘Said he had a story to finish. I didn't catch much. You were very ill. I wasn't really concentrating.'

Jackson had been to see her?

That couldn't be right.

Megan's head spun with a thousand thoughts. If he had,
why
hadn't someone said?

Dad carried on. ‘I think maybe Jackson knew he mightn't get to see you again … that's why he came.' He paused. ‘To say goodbye.'

Megan looked at her shoes. They were blurred, out of focus, as if they didn't really belong to her feet. Her throat tightened.

‘I didn't know,' she said, her voice almost a squeak. ‘No one told me. Why didn't you tell me?' Something huge began to well up inside her.

‘Oh, Lord.' He closed his eyes and for a few seconds it seemed he would never talk again. His face looked even more crumpled. ‘You were so ill. We … thought we were going to lose you …' he said, his voice trailing away. ‘Oh, God, I'm so sorry. I thought Mum had told you.'

‘But I thought he'd just gone off … without saying anything … All this time, I've been thinking …' She was about to explode, like thunder.

Dad eased himself off the sofa, down on to the floor beside her. ‘I don't know what to say, love. I really don't.' Megan couldn't look at him. ‘And I know it's a shock, but now you know, maybe you can …'

‘Don't tell me to move on. Don't tell me to celebrate his life.' Megan said, her voice level, cold. ‘Just don't. That's what they all say.'

Nodding slowly, Dad put his arm lightly around her shoulders. Megan could feel his strength, his warmth. ‘I'm not going to.'

‘He's dead.' The words felt like pieces of stone in her heart. ‘There's nothing to celebrate.'

‘There is, you know,' Dad leaned towards her.
Megan shook her head, suddenly and completely miserable. ‘The fact that Jackson could make you feel this way tells me he was a fantastic young man.' Megan stared at Dad's shoes, the pattern of tiny holes in the leather, the double knot he always tied them with, the polished gleam of them. ‘He made you happy, I know he did. Helped you through. And Grandad thought the world of him because of it.' But Jackson was gone, that's all Megan knew. ‘And he was strong enough to fight all the way,' Dad went on. ‘And that's what's great about him. That's what you
could
celebrate.'

‘I can't.' Megan's throat filled, her eyes filled, everything so full to bursting.

Dad pulled her to him. ‘It's not running around with balloons and shrieking and dancing. It's not like the party Grandad's going to have.' It was all Megan could do to breathe, yet crying seemed easy, and now it was the only thing she could do, weeks of crying all at once. ‘Remembering the good times you had with him, love, that's what I'm talking about.' Dad's voice broke through.