Anthem for Jackson Dawes (9 page)

The medicine was gone.

Another giggle from somewhere. Thomas the
Tank Engine clattered into the cot side. The mouse rose and fell. The teddy bear's cap slipped right off.

‘See you later, Kipper! And if you have any more trouble with that Siobhan sneaking off with your medicine, you just speak to me or my friend Megan.'

He moved towards Megan and laid his hand gently on her shoulder. It felt warm and nice, like the hand of someone old and wise and kind. For a moment, Megan thought he might want to kiss her again. In front of the whole ward. What would she do? Let him? Megan looked up at him, as if to say,
It's all right, I don't mind if you do
.

But Jackson only smiled at her. ‘See you next time, maybe.'

And he was gone.

Megan sat at the Play-Doh table, protecting Kipper's cat. Somehow, and she wasn't entirely sure how, she found herself helping to make a miniature Play-Doh Brian. He was snow-white with blue eyes. They'd only just finished when Kipper had to go back to her bed so that some student doctors could have a look at her. It could take ages, but she made Megan promise to take care of her model.

It was the day before Megan was due to go home and it seemed strange, the idea of losing the drip and stand, her constant companion for what felt like for ever, and to know that she could do ordinary things again.

Ordinary things. What were they?

She looked around at the ward. There was some singing going on. A mum and a nurse with a CD player, singing along with the music. Sitting on a blanket in front of them was a little boy copying them.
Wrinkle your nose
, they sang. The boy wrinkled his nose.
Run your hands through your hair
. He ran his hands over his bald head.
Let your whole self wriggle, wriggle, wriggle
. He flung his arms about, danced his head around and giggled, then clapped because he was so clever.

His skin was a pale yellow and there were small ulcers around his mouth, but that didn't seem to bother him. And when the music stopped with a fanfare and the adults applauded, he just yelled for more.

The play button was pressed again and the song and dance routine resumed.

Bored with waiting for Kipper, and with watching the little boy dance around on his bottom, Megan began to make a nice place for Brian to live. Rolling the dough into sausages for trees, and patting flat green circles for foliage, tiny red balls for apples, she made a garden. It blossomed by the white fence, which overlooked a sky-blue pond with a duck in the middle.

With each piece, Megan concentrated on textures, giving leaves veins, giving trees bark, the pond lilies and the apples sprigs of green, so that everything looked vibrant, alive and splashed with every colour available.

The play specialist nodded approval, while one child slid off her bed, leaving her mother behind, to
have a look at the growing garden. One boy dragged his blanket with him, slipped the corner into his mouth and sat sucking it as he watched. The owner of Thomas the Tank Engine shuffled to the end of his cot and peered through the bars. The dancing boy was soon carried over by his mother and this new distraction made him smile all over again.

If Jackson had been there, he might have spun a story around all the models in their startlingly bright colours. In his absence Megan did what she could.

Here was Brian after his sleep.

Here was Brian searching the pond for fish.

Here was Brian climbing one of the trees.

Kipper was on her way back at last, demanding to see her cat, to see if he was safe. Her mum was made to stay by her bed.

Proud of her Play-Doh garden, Megan stood and took Kipper's hand. ‘Close your eyes.' Kipper closed her eyes. Megan led her to the table. ‘Now open them.'

Kipper blinked into the light, took one look at Brian's new home and her face changed into something quite ugly. She let out a shriek, ran at the garden, and thumping her fist down on to the trees, flattened them one by one.

‘No!' she cried with each thump. ‘No. No. No.'

It took only seconds to turn Brian's garden, with all of its colour, into a muddy mess.

Six pairs of eyes blinked, gazing curiously at the
mess on the table and the destruction of the garden. Kipper's mum came over, slowly, as if this sort of thing happened all the time.

Nonplussed, Megan rescued the cat but only by a second. ‘What's the matter? I thought you'd like it. Doesn't Brian like it?' She waved the cat in front of Kipper's face, which was spotted with angry red blotches.

‘No. He hates it.' She swiped the Play-Doh cat out of Megan's hands and threw him to the floor and, with her perfect pink slippers and glittering toes, stamped him flat.

Megan sat with her mouth open and no idea what had gone wrong. Nurses came running. The Play specialist began to clean up the mess.

‘Come on, love,' Kipper's mum said. ‘Megan's spent all that time making it. Just for you. That's not a nice way to behave.'

‘Don't want it. It's stupid.'

‘It's all right,' Megan said. ‘I was just bored. Just playing. It wasn't very good or anything.'

Kipper stood there staring at the mess and began to cry.

Her mum took her by the hand. ‘Come on, love. Time for a rest, I think.'

When she was finally persuaded to go back to her bed, she curled up on it, still crying, as if the whole world, once again, had collapsed around her and was as flat and messy as Brian's garden.

Later, Kipper's mum knocked on Megan's door. ‘Just came to say sorry.'

‘It doesn't matter. Honestly.'

‘Don't know what gets into 'er. One minute she's fine and the next … Thinks she can do whatever she likes, that girl. I get so mad with 'er …'

Megan smiled. ‘It's being in here. It's all the treatment and everything. I wish I could do what she does half the time. And maybe she thought I'd put too many trees in the garden. I mean, Brian could have climbed up any one of them and got lost. And no fire engine to rescue him.'

Kipper's mum shook her head but gave a half-laugh. ‘You're a noodle, you are, just like that Jackson. But thanks, anyway. She likes you, just as much as she does 'im. She'll miss you when you go.' A shadow swept across her face then, as if the mention of home was just another thing to worry about. ‘Best get back to 'er. Lord knows what she's up to.'

‘Will she be going home soon?'

Kipper's mum pressed her lips together and seemed to have to think of an answer. ‘They've got a few more things to try. 'Er bloods are all to pot and, well, who knows. See you, love. Tek care of yourself.'

Next morning, Megan sat with her suitcase in the visitors' waiting room while Mum spoke to Sister Brewster. Her bed was stripped bare, the locker
emptied, every little indication that Megan had stayed there for almost one hundred and twenty hours had been cleared away, as if a huge vacuum cleaner had come in and sucked it all up.

One hundred and twenty hours.

And it had taken just half an hour to clear it out for the next patient.

Home.

Gemma and the Twins, now that they knew she was on her way, were sending texts like they'd just been invented. They were
dying
to see her, the Twins said. What a funny word to use. In the circumstances. They wanted to know about doctors. Male doctors to be precise. And did she fancy any of them? Which said everything about them.

came from Gemma, which said everything about her.

‘Right, Megan.' Sister Brewster stood at the door. She looked even taller – maybe it was the low seats in the waiting room. ‘You've got your return date, so we'll expect you then. Any questions?'

‘Will Jackson be here when I get back?'
Please
let him be back next time. If cancer didn't get her, boredom might.

Sister Brewster pondered. ‘Off the top of my head, I can't say.' Megan must have shown her disappointment. ‘I know this place is not the same when he's not here. It runs more smoothly, that's for sure, but don't worry, you haven't seen the last of him! He's in
and out all the time.' She clasped her hands. No more about Jackson. ‘So, home! Excited?'

‘It'll be great to be in my own bed again.' Megan tried to remember her room at home and couldn't. She might have been away for years, not just days.

She couldn't remember the colour of her walls, or her duvet. Or the curtains or the pictures. It was all locked away somewhere in her head and wouldn't come out.

Maybe that's the effect of having a tumour.

Mind-numbing.

Mum smiled. ‘I can't wait to have her home, and we're going to have a houseful!'

Megan looked at her. ‘How come?'

‘That's a secret.' Mum grinned.

A small commotion outside made them turn to the door. It was Kipper. She was wearing a bright red woollen hat. Her mother was pushing her in a blue wheelchair.

‘Is Megan going?'

‘Yes, I am.' Megan made her way to the door. Kipper looked very small somehow, her skin so pale it might almost not be there. ‘I was just coming to see you, to say bye-bye. Where're you going?'

‘She's going to …'

‘Mam! Megan's
my
friend,' Kipper said, her voice sharp. Her mum looked away, her cheeks flushing. ‘I'ave to go to X-ray.'

So at least they were still friends – she was
forgiven for making the garden and too many trees for Brian to climb. If that's what it was. She was absolved from the crime of trying to cheer up a little girl and failing miserably.

‘X-ray? So we all know what that's like …' Megan said.

‘Boring.'

Sister Brewster smiled. ‘Well, Megan has to get home now, Kipper. Off you go!'

The young girl gave a wave and ordered her mum to push her down the corridor.

There were balloons on the door. Three bright yellow balloons with the words
Welcome, Home
, and
Megan
, drawn on them. Mum stood there beaming at her but moved aside with a wink. ‘The balloons weren't my idea, by the way.'

‘So who …? Dad? Is he back?'

‘He's got some leave and he's going to be here in a couple of days, but no. It's not his idea either. You'll just have to wait and see. Let's get everything in. You go ahead. And I want you to lie down on the sofa. You look tired.'

‘I'm all right.'

‘No arguments. I'll get your bag from the car.'

Megan opened the door and that familiar smell of home hit her. The lavender conditioner Mum used
on the clothes, the polish she sprayed the furniture with. Everything sparkling and clean as if a special guest was arriving.

Had she done all of this for her? Because she was home?

Megan looked at the sofa. There was a pillow and a blanket already there. On the coffee table, her
Friends
DVDs. A bag of Liquorice Allsorts. Ready and waiting. As if she'd run away from home but had come back and everything had to be perfect, in case she ran away again.

Oh, Mum.

And she was puzzled. Where was everybody? There wasn't a houseful at all. What had she been going on about before?

‘I'm just making a drink,' Mum called through. ‘Want a cup of tea? Or cocoa?'

‘No thanks.'

‘Juice?'

‘I'm fine, Mum.'

Megan stood in the middle of the lounge and listened to the house and all of its noises. She could hear children playing in the street, their shrieks and cries, their tussles with each other. She could hear a football being kicked about. She made her way to the window and looked out. The three kids from next door were playing with the two from Number 5. They pounded up and down the pavement until, shouting a warning, they scattered like
flies. The Bakers' car was coming, turning into Number 19.

She had just begun to babysit for the Bakers when her dizziness stopped her. Their daughter was two and a half and called her Melon, and whenever she did, Megan could only think of those big green and red ones with all the pips. The ones she hated.

The Bakers had sent her a card from their daughter. It had lots of scrunched-up paper stuck on the front and a wild scribble of crayon inside. She'd stuck it to the wall behind her bed along with all the other cards. She had used Blu-Tack and when her cards came down, that last day, there were little blue remnants all over the place. She wasn't sure what the cleaning staff would think of that.

Megan counted the children outside. Ten of them now. She found herself wondering how many would end up in hospital with cancer, or if she was going to be the only one round here.

Eeeny. She put her finger on the glass and pointed at the curly blond boy. Meeny. The red-haired girl. Miny. The dark-haired one with long pigtails. Mo … The car from Number 7 backed out of its drive. There was a warning cry and the children scattered like leaves. Mo … thought Megan. Me.

It was Gemma who pushed open the door. It was Gemma who grinned and threw herself at Megan. ‘Hiya!' she said, as if they'd never been
apart, as if she hadn't
not
visited her in hospital. As if there hadn't been one hundred and twenty hours of no friends.