The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes (22 page)

‘Juliet? You were thinking of Rose.’

‘The second I saw her . . . She’s a Juliet.’

‘Beautiful.’

‘Wait till you see her, Grace! She has your eyes.’

‘You said.’ Grace chuckled.

‘Grace.’

‘Yeah.’

Rabbit whispered, ‘I didn’t think I’d ever be really happy again.’

‘I know.’

‘I just wish Johnny could have seen her.’

‘Maybe he’s looking down.’

‘Ah, Grace, you know I don’t believe that shite.’

‘I thought maybe the miracle of birth might have changed your mind.’

‘I always believed in Nature.’

‘All right, all right.’

‘Now, seriously, I have to go and be a mother.’ Rabbit giggled. ‘I’m a mother, Grace.’

Molly had been annoyed when Rabbit had revealed she wouldn’t be christening Juliet. Even though her daughter had expressed her atheism since she was a child, it had never occurred to her mother that she would pass it on. Grace was forced to intervene when the subject came up over a Sunday roast in her house a month after Juliet’s birth. It was Lenny who initially put his foot in it.

‘Seeing as it’s summer and we have the big garden, you’re more than welcome to have the christening party here.’

Rabbit laughed. ‘Right, thanks.’

She was being sarcastic, but Molly chose not to hear that. ‘That’ll be lovely,’ she said.

‘Ma, are you on drugs?’ Rabbit asked.

‘Lipitor, Atenolol, aspirin and lactulose. Why?’ Molly matched her daughter’s sarcasm.

‘Juliet is not being christened.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

Grace gave Lenny a filthy look and he mumbled ‘Shite’ under his breath. Jack kept eating as though it wasn’t all about to kick off. Stephen and Bernard were quiet, watching and waiting. Ryan was only two at the time – he was sitting in his high chair, clapping and laughing as though he knew what was happening and was really happy about it.

‘Ridiculous is indoctrinating my child in a bogus belief system.’

‘That’s blasphemy, Rabbit.’

‘Ah, blow it out your arse, Ma.’

‘Oh, no,’ Grace said, while Ryan bounced up and down on his high chair.

‘Rabbit, don’t speak to your mother like that,’ Jack said, then asked Lenny to pass him the roast spuds.

Molly stood up. ‘Let me make this very clear, Rabbit Hayes. You may not believe in God but I do, with every fibre of my being, and if you think my grandchild is not getting christened, you are very wrong.’

Rabbit laughed. ‘Ma, if you want to take her down the road so that Father Frank can splash a bit of water on her head, go for it, but don’t expect me to put on a dress, throw a party or even acknowledge it, because it means nothing to me. No matter what you say or do, Juliet will not be brought up a Catholic.’

‘Fine,’ Molly said. ‘I will then.’

‘Good. Have a nice time,’ Rabbit said.

‘I will,’ Molly replied. ‘And I will tell her the Good News.’

‘The Good News? Seriously, Ma, you’ve been reading too many posters.’

‘Maybe, but make no mistake, your daughter may not accept God in her life but she will be introduced to Him,’ Molly said.

Grace silently prayed that Rabbit wouldn’t retaliate, because their ma meant business and nobody, not even her own kids, messed with Ma when she meant business. Rabbit remained silent, even though the anger was clearly written on her face. Jack asked for more carrots. When Lenny managed to catch Grace’s eye he mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

Everyone ate quietly for a few minutes until six-year-old Bernard piped up, ‘My friend Aamir doesn’t believe in the Baby Jesus. He’s a vegetarian.’

Everyone at the table burst out laughing, breaking the tension. That would be the first of many arguments Rabbit and her mother had about Juliet’s right to a religious education. It was the only thing that Grace ever remembered her mother and sister butting heads about. Rabbit was adamant that if Juliet needed God in her life she could go off and find Him when she was old enough to make a decision about her own spiritual needs. Molly believed that Juliet had a right to learn about God, and then, if she chose to reject Him as her mother had, at least she would have been given the opportunity to know Him.

Now Juliet was not a Catholic but her nan pretended she was. Unlike her sister and, she suspected, her father, Grace did believe. She didn’t know why and she didn’t like to examine it. She went to mass once in a while, the kids were brought up as Catholics and Grace prayed when the going got bad. She wondered how she could bring her own kids up as Catholics and Juliet as an atheist under the same roof.
Dear God, give me the strength to raise an atheist.

Lenny appeared from the kitchen. ‘It’s time to go, love.’

Grace picked up her mug and went into the house.

‘Are you ready?’ he said.

‘No.’

‘It’ll be fine. We’ll work it out.’ Then he called out to the boys, ‘Stephen, Bernard, let’s go. Ryan, Jeffrey, don’t burn the place down.’ He grabbed his keys.

Grace and her boys followed him to the car.

When Juliet was five she became obsessed with having a dad. All her school friends had dads. Some of them lived in other places but they visited and took their kids to McDonald’s. In all the books she read and cartoons she saw, the characters had dads. Juliet’s cousins had a dad, her neighbours had dads – even the dog next door had a dad, who lived three houses down from him; they used to walk around the cul-de-sac together, first thing in the morning and last thing in the evening. Juliet’s mother explained to her that her dad didn’t visit because he lived just too far away. It was around that time that Juliet Hayes started to tell anybody who would listen that her dad was an alien.

‘He lives in a galaxy far, far away,’ she told Kyle, while they were sitting on her front wall eating crisps.

‘Makes sense,’ Kyle said. ‘That’s why you can bend your thumb back so far.’

‘And I can do this.’ Juliet got off the wall. She stood in front of him and joined her hands behind her back before raising them to her head without letting go. Kyle dropped his crisps on the wall and stood beside her. He copied her, joining his hands behind his back. He couldn’t raise them beyond his shoulder blades.

‘Wow.’ He picked up his crisps and got back onto the wall. ‘I wonder where your dad’s from.’

‘Mars,’ Juliet said, with great authority.

‘How do you know?’

‘I just feel it.’

‘Do you think he has powers?’

‘Dunno.’

‘Do you have any powers?’

‘Maybe.’

‘We should find out.’

‘OK.’

That was the day Juliet jumped off the garage roof and broke her wrist. Even though it was really sore and she was crying, they both waited for a really long time before telling Juliet’s ma in the hope that her self-healing powers might kick in. When they didn’t, and Juliet had to have it set in a cast, it didn’t deter either of them. Instead they decided she’d probably have to wait until she was older for her powers to work.

When she was eight, she gave up on the notion that she was part alien. She accepted her father was Australian and not Martian, but it was a blow. She asked a lot of tough questions, but Rabbit was determined to be as honest as she could be.

‘Did you love him?’

‘He was really lovely.’

‘How come you don’t have a picture of him?’

‘Because I didn’t have a camera on my phone back then.’

‘Why didn’t you go to Australia with him?’

‘Because I belong here.’

‘Does he miss me?’

‘He doesn’t know you’re here.’

‘In Ireland?’

‘I mean he left before you were born.’

Juliet had to think about that for a few minutes. She walked away and sat on the stairs. After a few minutes, Rabbit joined her.

‘Why can’t we find him?’

‘Australia’s a really big place.’

‘So?’

‘He has a really common name.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean Adam Smith over there is like Paddy Murphy over here. There are lots of them.’

‘How many?’

‘Millions.’

‘Why don’t you know where he’s from?’

‘I’m really sorry, sweetheart.’

‘Me, too.’ Juliet climbed the stairs and took to her bed. She fell asleep without dinner that night, and the next morning, when she woke up, her mother was asleep beside her. She didn’t bring up her dad after that. She let him go.

It was only a few months after their talk that they were forced to have another. This time Juliet’s nan and her auntie Grace were there. Kyle’s ma had seen her to the gate, and when she dropped her schoolbag in the hall, she could hear them talking. She rushed in to hug her nan, but as soon as she entered the kitchen, she sensed something was wrong. ‘Have you been crying, Ma?’ she asked.

‘No,’ Rabbit said.

‘Your eyes are all red.’

‘Allergies.’

‘Oh.’

‘Sit up there,’ her nan said, pointing to the counter. ‘I made you your favourite apple crumble.’

Juliet did as she was told. Grace was busy cleaning the kitchen.

‘Why are you cleaning our kitchen, Grace?’

‘I just want to help your mammy out,’ Grace said.

‘Do you have allergies too?’

‘They’re going around.’

‘Oh.’

Juliet was halfway through her apple crumble and a glass of milk when her ma explained that she would be going into the hospital for an operation.

‘What kind of operation?’

‘I have to have a lump removed.’

‘What kind of lump?’

‘It’s going to be fine.’

‘Your mammy might just be a little tired for a while,’ Molly told her.

‘How tired?’

‘I don’t know yet, sweetheart,’ Rabbit said.

Juliet finished her apple crumble. ‘I have homework to do.’ Before she left the kitchen, she hugged her mother. ‘I’ll mind ya, Ma,’ she said, and she’d been minding her ma ever since.

Juliet and Rabbit had their routines: they changed according to whether Rabbit was undergoing chemo or radiation, surgery or simply medication. Juliet had charts for everything and she was not just an expert on her ma’s meds: she was also good at wiping up vomit, changing beds, cleaning toilets, and she’d even changed a few adult diapers when things had got very bad. She kept the house spotless, and knew good cancer foods from bad cancer foods. When her mother was feeling better, she’d teach her how to cook and Juliet turned out to be a quick student; she often took care of dinner so as to give her mother a rest. She was the first up every morning and often the last to bed. She didn’t stay up too late, but her ma was tired a lot of the time. Sometimes she’d hear her ma crying in her bedroom, but she’d never go in. When Juliet cried, she preferred to be left alone, so she guessed her ma felt the same. Once, when the crying went on for a really long time, she shouted, ‘I love ya, Ma,’ through the wall.

Her mother stopped sobbing and shouted, ‘I love ya back, Bunny.’ She didn’t cry after that, or if she did she was quieter.

Juliet knew every one of Rabbit’s doctors and nurses, and they all knew her. She insisted on taking notes when something new was happening, and the staff were always patient, answering any question she had, no matter how silly it might have seemed. In hospital and after surgeries she watched the nurses clean her ma’s wounds so that she could help if need be. At home she was the door police. She insisted on answering to all who knocked, and no one got through without first cleansing their hands with the antibacterial gel she kept on the hall table. And when Rabbit was at her most uncomfortable, Juliet was the only one who knew where to place that extra pillow or how to fix her temperature or when to insist that she eat or drink and when to walk away.

The last four years of Juliet’s life had been sometimes hard and sometimes sad, but mostly they were great, because Juliet’s mammy needed her just as much as she needed her mammy. They were best buddies in the trenches together, fighting for one another. They shared an empathy and closeness that, even at twelve years of age, Juliet Hayes recognized as special. They also laughed a lot – Juliet’s ma was funny. She didn’t tell a lot of jokes, although when she did, they were always the best ones. Her humour came from her reaction to the world. She was positive and buoyant; she smiled a lot more than she frowned, and even when things were really difficult she had a way of finding something to laugh about. But Juliet’s favourite thing was the way she and her ma talked to one another and the things they talked about.

After a bout of chemo they’d often lie together in bed and talk about school and boys and Kyle’s latest motocross accident, or the article her ma was working on, her cancer blog and whether or not she would go for breast reconstruction.

‘I think you should go big.’

‘Your auntie Grace big or Pamela Anderson big?’

‘I was thinking Kim Kardashian big.’

‘I thought it was her rear that was big.’

‘Up top, too.’

‘So she’s well balanced. I might fall over.’

‘Beyoncé has big booby-doos.’

‘Susan Sarandon’s would be my ideal.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘She’s an actress.’

‘Has she done any cartoons?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What was she in?’

‘Oh, lots of things.
Thelma & Louise
was one of my favourites.’

‘Did you see her booby-doos in that one?’

‘Don’t think so.
Bull Durham
was great, and I really liked
White Palace
, even though I missed the end.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ll tell you when you’re older.’

‘Gross.’

‘And then there was
Dead Man Walking
.’

‘Did you see them in that?’

‘She played a nun, so it’s doubtful.’

‘Oh. So when did you see them?’

‘Can’t remember exactly, but I did think, Wow.’

‘If you could remember the film, we could look them up online.’

‘Doesn’t matter, Bunny. Even if I do reconstruct they’ll never look like Susan’s.’

‘Even if you don’t do it you’ll still be pretty.’

‘And we can share T-shirts, at least until yours grow.’

‘They’re growing already.’

‘That reminds me. We need to get you measured for a bra.’