Anthem for Jackson Dawes (6 page)

BOOK: Anthem for Jackson Dawes
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Five

It was a silly game, one to be played when you're lying in a hospital bed, not one that Gemma or the Twins would appreciate. It wasn't like football with all of its rules and its time limits, or going out looking at boys in the shopping centre. There were no winners, no losers. It was more like Patience, that card game Grandad liked to play on his own.

All you had to do was close your eyes and listen, try to work out whose footsteps were going past the door, or who was laughing, or talking. You couldn't cheat by opening your eyes. Not that anyone would know. You could make it as complicated or as simple as you liked, depending on how much time you had, or how bored or sick you were feeling.

There was too much time.

She was bored for most of it.

And now she was feeling sick.

Sister Brewster's shoes squeaked. Megan had studied this. Siobhan's shoes had a kind of clicky sound. It seemed to come from the heels. The cancer consultant, Frog-Man, dragged his feet as if he couldn't lift them properly, or liked the sound they made, liked everyone to know who was walking past their door. Or maybe his job was too hard. Maybe it made his shoes heavier.

He had a huge laugh, which he must have kept for the ward, or maybe just the little ones. You could always hear him. Like everything was a joke. Like this wasn't a ward full of cancer patients trying to dodge
the bigger thing
.

The bigger thing.

When they first told her she had cancer and would need to go into hospital, Megan just sat waiting for the words she'd just heard to go away, so that she wouldn't have to think about it.

‘What if I say no,' she said, because they refused to go away. ‘What if I don't want to go to hospital?'

Mum and Dad had looked at her as if she'd stripped off all her clothes in front of a bus queue.

‘Well, Megan,' Frog-Man said, ‘it's a big thing, this. An important thing. The cancer, the treatment. If you don't have the treatment, and let the cancer stay, you could die. And that's a bigger thing altogether.' He made a tent of his hands and twirled
his thumbs round each other. ‘It's about trying to help you dodge the bigger thing.'

Mum had cried then. She'd obviously been trying hard not to break down in front of Megan and make things seem much worse than they were, but after Frog-Man's summing up of the situation, she must have thought they couldn't get any worse at all.

Dad just sat there like a blank piece of paper on a noticeboard.

Megan knew she was beaten.

It was like going to the seaside and putting every last penny into that stupid machine where the best prize never gets pushed to the front. Every last penny. And wishing you had more to shove in and make it come to you. Only you stop there, because otherwise, it's just mad. You had to know when you were beaten – at the Amusements and in a cancer specialist's office.

‘OK, then,' she said, gazing back into Frog-Man's eyes, trying hard not to cry, or shake, taking it on the chin. As Grandad would say.

Sister Brewster was coming down the corridor and talking to Jackson in a brisk sort of way, sounding like a teacher with a naughty boy. There seemed to be a lot of that. Somehow or other he was always in trouble, and always being caught out. Which meant he wasn't very good at it. Something about that made Megan smile, even though she was feeling absolutely rotten.

They weren't wrong when they said she might feel unwell with the chemo.

‘So there's this phone call, Jackson, telling me that you're all the way down near X-ray. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you weren't down for an X-ray this afternoon, were you?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘
Not exactly
. And as far as I'm aware you aren't due an X-ray at all.' There was a pause when, no doubt, Sister Brewster would be giving him one of her looks. ‘Jackson, you know how important it is that we have just a tiny clue about where you are. I had Kipper trying to get off the ward too. You know she watches you like a hawk.'

Sometimes Megan wished she could get off the ward. Even if it was with Jackson, even if it meant admitting she wouldn't know where to go and having to follow him around.

But Jackson seemed to prefer to disappear on his own. Megan never quite knew if he was on the ward, or had gone home, or was just wandering about the hospital. For all his chattering, he didn't tell her very much.

‘Someone phoned you to say where I was,' Jackson was telling Sister Brewster. ‘No need to get so stressed. It's not like I hopped on the 47 bus or anything.'

‘Jackson …'

He'd be standing there, brazening it out, as if he
liked getting into trouble. They were past her room now, their voices less clear. It was no wonder Jackson wanted to escape to other places, to a change of scenery, no wonder he went walkabout. This hospital, this room, these walls and corridors, were it, were all there was, just as he'd said.

At least the little ones had a playroom. They even had a play specialist who let them mess about with toys and paints and clay. There were finger puppets and dressing-up clothes. If you were little, you could pretend to be a doctor or a nurse and stick needles in your doll.

Siobhan said it was to help children feel normal, to stop them thinking about bad things, to prepare them for all the tests. If they had some idea, it wasn't so frightening for them.

‘It's all right for you older ones,' she said. ‘You can understand what's happening. But the radiotherapy machines, they're like some huge great monster when you're a little person. It's only for a few minutes, but it's like an eternity to the wee ones.'

You didn't have to be little to feel time dragging. Being stuck here was like an eternity. Too tired to move, not enough energy to draw, too wiped out to even text her friends. Not that she wanted to. What was there to tell? They were at school doing real stuff. She was here doing nothing, just listening to Jackson getting himself into trouble.

They wouldn't understand.

She couldn't even remember what she'd be doing now if she
was
at school. She couldn't picture any of it. It was all outside the walls and she was inside. Like being trapped in a snow globe without the snow.

Megan blinked open her eyes. She hadn't really been sleeping but it was easier to lie with her eyes closed than keep them open. She'd managed to draw some useless scribbles earlier, but it was as if the chemo had stopped her mind from working properly and her hand from drawing anything good. She tried to read her book. It was a great book. At least it had been when she started it at home. There was course-work she could be doing too. They'd sorted some out for her at school and Mum brought it in earlier, stowing it in her locker. She must have noticed the Don't-Even-Think-I'm-Doing-Homework sort of look Megan gave her, so didn't mention it. Besides, there were cards to put up on the wall behind the bed. Mum read out all of the names and all of the messages, every single one of them, so that the words spun around in Megan's head.

It was a relief when Mum decided she had to post off a parcel to Dad and though, once she'd gone, there was still the busyness of the ward outside her door, there was peace in her room.

For a little while at least.

Now there was someone at her door.

Megan turned to see an alien standing there, or a princess. She wasn't quite sure. A head as smooth as an egg. Big blue eyes. No eyebrows. And thin as a pencil. The pink frilly dress skimmed her shoulders and fell like a lacy sack around her. She had a fine tube coming from her nose and taped to her cheek. Her name bracelet looked two sizes too big. She was the most beautiful thing Megan had ever seen.

‘Hello … are you … Kipper?' The alien nodded. Megan pulled herself to a half-sitting position and her book slid to the floor. ‘Are you looking for Jackson?'

A shake of the head.

‘I was talking to your mum the other night.' Was it last night? Or the night before? She couldn't remember. Not that it mattered. The girl didn't say anything.

Megan wondered what she was doing there in her doorway and hoped that someone would come and take her away again. She shook herself. How horrible can you get? Did the chemo really make you that nasty?

‘Is there something wrong? Will I call for a nurse?' Kipper shook her head at every question. Megan was tired out. ‘Well, d'you want to come in?'

Interest. At last.

‘Jackson never bothers to ask, so you needn't.' Megan smiled, but the girl didn't smile back or show signs of moving any time soon. She stood like a wedge in the door.

‘So, how long have you been in?'

Kipper shrugged. She was looking at Megan with a kind of expectance on her face. What did she want? Why was she here?

‘Are you allowed juice or anything? Or sweets. I've got loads.' Was she meant to offer her stuff, or let her drink from her glass? Too late now.

No reply.

Kipper began to gaze around the room, as if checking that everything was in its right place, or trying to remember something. Perhaps she'd been in there once and wanted to have a look, now that someone else was in it.

‘D'you like it here?' Megan said. ‘Probably not. Home's best, isn't it?'

Kipper was staring at her, listening perhaps, but showing no sign of understanding.

‘But if you have to be here, the nurses are nice, aren't they? I like Siobhan. She's funny. And the doctors are all right. They just ask too many questions.' Megan tried to laugh, but the girl looking at her like that seemed to suck out all her energy.

‘Have you been in long? I haven't but I'm fed up already. Do you get bored? I think if they gave me some maths to do, I'd just do it, I'm that bored.' Megan gave her a great big grin. She felt like a clown with a painted-on smile, there to make little children laugh. ‘And this chemo makes you feel rubbish, doesn't it?'

The girl looked at her as if she'd gone a bit mad and that clown smiles were for babies.

‘So, you're nearly seven?'

Kipper nodded, gave one final look around the room and drifted away.

‘Bye, then,' Megan said into the space she'd left behind.

They said she might feel sick after a day or so, but Megan didn't realise how tired she would feel too. Nothing made it any better. Lying back on the pillows didn't help; turning on her side was no good. She had just closed her eyes in complete misery when she heard Jackson at her door. His sandals made a soft scraping when he walked.

Great.

Jackson crashed his drip stand into the chair leg. ‘Whoops, sorry. I keep colliding into things with this. Can I come in? I'm keeping out of Rooster's way.'

No
, Megan wanted to scream.
I don't want company, I want to vomit!
She threw up into her bowl.

‘Brilliant!' Jackson was leaning against the wall, grinning at her. ‘You've gone green.' Slumping into the pillows, Megan wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘I don't do green when I'm sick.' Jackson gave her a big smile, teeth white against his black skin. ‘It's more like grey.'

Megan closed her eyes, wishing he would go. Then
something occurred to her. Jackson was breathless, as if he'd run a race. She forced open her eyes once more and looked at him. He was sitting upright in the chair next to her bed. He didn't look comfortable. She saw his chest move in and out, his shoulders rise and fall, saw the bloom of moisture on his skin.

‘Are you OK?'

Jackson smiled at her. ‘Been to X-ray and back, that's all. Long way.'

It took some time to get his breath, but at last he relaxed back into the chair, stretched out his legs and was the old Jackson again.

‘Meet Great-grandfather Dawes,' he said, pointing at his T-shirt. It was long and baggy. On the front was a big picture of an old man in a hat, playing a trumpet.

‘Jackson T. Dawes. Named me after him cos the day I was born, I came out dancing and singing instead of screaming.'

‘Yeah. And you haven't stopped.'

Jackson began to laugh. This was the first time Megan had heard it, a surprisingly low laugh, deep and husky, right from his stomach, which made his shoulders dance. It made him seem an awful lot older than he was and it made her laugh too, no matter how tired she was.

‘So … you want me to do your hair for you?'

Megan took a deep breath as another wave of sickness flooded over her. ‘Stop messing about, Jackson.'

‘It's probably going to fall out, anyway. Might as well shave it off.'

Another deep breath, trying to keep her stomach from heaving, not wanting to be sick, not wanting to be reminded about her hair. ‘Oh, this is so yucky.'

‘Yeah, it is. But it'll get better. Honest. What have you got? You never told me.' Flitting from subject to subject, from flower to flower, like an insect, a bee, a butterfly. Megan turned her head, refusing to answer. Jackson carried on. ‘Mine's so rare it hasn't got a name. They're writing books about it. Bet yours has a name.'

Megan closed her eyes once more. ‘Medulla … thingummy … something. I don't know.' She glanced back at him. ‘Are you going away soon? Please say you are.'

Jackson shrugged, grinned again, then gripped the arms of the chair, pushing himself up from the seat, as if it were just a bit too far, a bit too hard. Megan gazed at the muscles on his arms, the sinews showing through his skin, the tiny pearls of sweat.

‘D'you need anything?' he said.

‘Jackson …' Sister Brewster was at the door, carrying a kidney-shaped dish and a medication chart. She laid them both on the bed table.

Megan sighed. What were they going to do to her now?

‘What she
needs
is for you to go,' Sister Brewster said. ‘Hop it. Now.'

‘OK, OK. Just getting to know each other,' Jackson said, pushing his drip stand ahead of him. ‘You told us to, remember?'

BOOK: Anthem for Jackson Dawes
2.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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