Anthem for Jackson Dawes

by Celia Bryce

  ‘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?’

  Sister Brewster raised her eyebrows and indicated the open door with a nod of her head. There was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth, as if she was trying not to laugh, trying hard to keep a stern face.

  Megan might have laughed herself, but for one thing. ‘Oh …’ she wailed, scrabbling for the bowl in front of her. With one hand, she swept her hair out of the way, and with the other, held the vomit bowl beneath her chin. Just in time.

  ‘Spectacular,’ Jackson said.

  Six

  Kipper was sitting in the middle of Megan’s bed, her lacy dress spread all around her like pink meringue. Megan tried not to look surprised when she came out of the bathroom. She just hung up her towel and put away her toilet bag. The girl sat motionless, like a statue, or some kind of wingless fairy for the top of a Christmas tree. Megan wasn’t sure if she was allowed on someone else’s bed. She wasn’t sure if a nurse needed to know that Kipper was here. They might think she’d gone walkabout, done a Jackson.

  ‘Hiya … I’ve been trying to have a shower, but it’s not easy with this stupid thing.’ She gave her drip stand a little kick. ‘Did you have some supper?’

  A tiny shake of the head.

  ‘Me neither. It smells like …’

  ‘Sweaty socks,’ Kipper said.

  Megan put some vaseline on her lips and slid the tin under her pillow. ‘Exactly. And everything tastes like cardboard to me. Move over, I’m wrecked.’ Kipper shuffled to one side. ‘I need to have a sleep or at least a lie-down. This stuff makes you so tired! Have you had any yet?’

  Kipper nodded.

  ‘Did it make you tired?’

  A look. Nothing more.

  ‘Well, it’s got me whacked out.’

  There was a noise outside which made Kipper give a little start. It was just the porter. His footsteps were easy to recognise. He had a limp, so that one foot trailed just a little behind the other but the biggest clue was the noise made by the wheels of the supper trolley he delivered. He brought it to the ward at half past five; it was plugged into a socket on the wall to keep the meals warm, and a couple of hours later he took it away again.

  ‘Will we get into trouble for not eating our meals, do you think? I’m new, so I don’t really know.’ Another shrug. ‘I think a cat’s got your tongue.’


  A flicker of a smile. ‘Mr Henry.’

  Megan nodded. ‘Ah-ha! I thought so. Have you seen him?’ The little girl shook her head. ‘I think I heard him, but I’m not sure. Jackson said it was him. But I don’t know how it could be. Do you? Not all the way up here. What’s a cat doing all the way up here? I mean, how could a cat climb so high? That’s what I’d like to know.’

  ‘Brian runs up our tree,’ Kipper said, her voice quiet. ‘Then the fire brigade comes to get him down again.’

  Megan laughed, but just as quickly she stopped. Kipper’s face had crumpled and tears began to pool in her eyes, as if the whole world had collapsed around her, like a lost child in a disaster zone.

  ‘Oh, what’s the matter? Come here.’ She put her arm around the little girl, who nudged close to her. Her hands were cold on Megan’s, her fingers light as feathers, as if they belonged to a younger child or a tiny bird. Megan pulled the covers over the girl, tucking them around her. ‘Is that better?’

  Kipper nodded.

  ‘Is Brian your cat?’

  ‘He’s a kitten.’

  ‘Who’s looking after him while you’re here?’

  Kipper sniffed and snuggled in a little nearer, so that Megan could feel every angle of the girl’s body next to hers and the smooth bald head burrowed under her chin. It felt remarkably warm and not quite bald, but slightly downy, like a baby’s. ‘Grandma and Grandad’re looking after him.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’

  Kipper didn’t answer. She just curled up around Megan, arms and legs trapping her in a fierce hug, and began to cry so hard that her body shook as if some invisible hand had mistaken her for a cloth and was shaking the dust out of her.

  Megan woke with a start and had no idea of the time or where she was. Everything seemed stuck together in a damp sweaty mess and she couldn’t think why. When she tried to move, there was the reason, still clamped around her, fast asleep. Kipper took a long, shuddery breath as if rebelling against being woken, though she didn’t wake at all, just shifted position, stretched and settled down again, aware of nothing.

  Her face looked quite relaxed now, as if all her worries had been forgotten, as if there was nothing going on at all in her head. A deep, dreamless, worryless sleep.

  Worries.

  How come Kipper had worries when she was so young?

  Kipper shifted slightly as if she knew she was under scrutiny. Her feet slid into view, slippers still on. Pink. Sparkly. What noise would they make? Would they do a kind of pitter-patter, or a slide? They looked slightly big. Maybe they’d slip a bit, and drag along the floor.

  Not drag. The slippers were too pretty to drag, the girl too light, too delicate.

  Megan studied her. She was still partially cocooned in bedding. One cheek was pale as milk but the other, which had been clamped to Megan’s collarbone but was now only half resting there, had furrows imprinted on it and glistened pinkly. A pixie ear, whose whorls and tiny ridges looked almost transparent and delicate as a flower, reminded her of the little girl she used to babysit for. Mr and Mrs Baker’s daughter from Number 19. She was only two and a half. Did ears grow at the same pace as the rest of you?

  Kipper was nearly seven.

  ‘Oh,’ Megan said to the air, conscious now of her arm wrapped around the girl. ‘What am I going to do with you?’

  As if in answer Jackson appeared at the door, took one look and grinned. ‘Have you kidnapped her or has she kidnapped you?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘I’m not really sure.’

  Jackson sat on the edge of the bed and leaned into Kipper. ‘She’s not waking up any time soon. That’s for sure. You’re stuck there. For ever, possibly.’

  ‘Yeah, but my arm’s gone numb.’

  ‘Uh-oh, we’ll have to shift her.’

  Jackson slid the covers off her and somehow peeled Kipper away from Megan, who immediately felt the cold. She pulled her dressing gown from the head of the bed and wrapped it around the sleeping girl, who was now lying between them on the bed.

  Blood pumped back down Megan’s arm. She flexed her fingers then eased her head from side to side, realising how much her neck was aching.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Day staff’re going home soon.’

  So she hadn’t been asleep for very long. Yet it felt like hours.

  Siobhan came in then. ‘Ah. Here she is. Her mammy goes off to the café for a bit of a break and she comes back to an empty bed!’

  ‘I think she’s missing her kitten. Worried about him,’ Megan explained.

  ‘Is she?’

  ‘And I didn’t know what to do. Or if she was allowed or anything. In my room, I mean. But she was too upset to send her away. Then she fell asleep.’

  ‘Poor wee mite. I’ll take her back.’

  Megan watched Siobhan lift the girl in such a swift yet delicate movement, so carefully, that she might have been something fragile or precious, made out of thin pink glass, something which might shatter if you just breathed the wrong way.

  Kipper, however, still heavily asleep, nestled herself into the nurse’s body, as if she believed that no such disaster could possibly happen to her.

  It was past eleven and she should have been asleep, but Megan’s mind wouldn’t stop working. She tried reading again, she tried drawing, she tried lying as still as possible, hoping that sleep would come, but it didn’t. Eventually she climbed out of bed and headed off down the corridor.

  The visitors’ waiting room was dark, except for a dull silver glow from outside, and from the corner table, an anglepoise lamp oozing out a small pool of golden light. Megan was drawn in when she had intended only to take a walk. It seemed cosy, somehow, peaceful.

  Negotiating the chairs and coffee table with her drip stand, Megan made her way to the window and looked out at the river, the roads, the buildings, all alive with light, all so different at night. Everything stretched out from the hospital gates like a glittering blanket, spread over that other world, the one Mum lived in, the one she brought with her in little parcels of information – about next door’s dog, or the church roof being stripped of its lead, or the new ‘Sainsbury’s Express’ opening at last and how she’d gone to have a look. She might have been talking about a trip to Mars. But Megan had listened and tried to look interested, when all she wanted was for Mum to go. Which made her feel bad, ungrateful. Even now.

  Megan switched off the lamp so that the room was almost completely dark. Somehow, that made her feel better, made her forget about Mum, made everything outside shine even brighter.

  It was wide awake, the city. Strings of brightly lit roads lay in all directions, like some kind of strange crop in a black field. They reached far into the distance. Cars moved along in fits and starts. Who were they, all those people driving? Where were they going at this time of night?

  From nearby, street lamps bled a hazy whiteness like netting, which caught the odd shadow; a person, an animal. Mr Henry, perhaps. If he really existed. He might be prowling the city, right now, looking for rats.

  A train trundled across the bridge over the river and away. Megan wished she could be on it. A late-night bus eased along the road past the hospital. That would do, to take her home.

  Above her roared an aeroplane. Whether it was coming in to land or taking off, she couldn’t tell. Nobody on that aeroplane, no one in that world beneath her, in those cars, the train, the buses or the shadows, knew a thing about her. She was as insignificant as an ant, just someone in a window looking out. Someone whose friends hadn’t come.

  Two whole days.

  It was school, Gemma said, when she texted; it was homework, the Twins said. It was all the other stuff they did, when not at school. And the hospital was so far away. When she came home, they said, they’d see her every day. It wouldn’t be long …

  Jackson was right, and for that Megan wanted to hate him, but couldn’t. He’d tried to warn her and she hadn’t listened. And she was mis
sing her friends the way Kipper was missing her kitten, so much it hurt.

  The moon suddenly appeared in the window, from behind a cloud. It looked like a ball of ice, illuminating the room with a light which made the anaemic walls more bloodless, more colourless, the line of blue chairs more shadowy somehow, their worn-down edges weary, raw, like wounds. Megan wiped her eyes. It was stupid to cry, but she couldn’t help it.

  A movement in the dark made her squeal.

  ‘Ssshhhh!’ Jackson said.

  ‘Well, stop creeping up on people!’

  ‘I’m not! This is my hiding place, you know.’

  ‘Not tonight, it isn’t,’ Megan managed, ‘and I’m not hiding.’

  Jackson shuffled up to her. ‘Are you going to at least share?’

  Megan couldn’t speak any more, not wanting to be crying in front of him, not wanting to be so weak, so stupid, but not able to stop any of it. And just like that she was thinking of Kipper again. Poor little alien princess. Why did she keep turning up? And changing her name? What was all that about? Yet, why not? Nothing was real in hospital. Not like home. Maybe changing your name made you feel better about being ill, being stuck on a ward. You could pretend it was happening to someone else.

  If only she could change her name. Be someone else.

  ‘Am I making you worse?’ Jackson said, his voice soft. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  Megan looked up at him. She felt dwarfed, he was so tall. She barely reached his shoulder, yet there was something about his height which gave him a strength and steadiness, like a solid piece of rock, something that would never move or let you down.

  No, she didn’t want him to go.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said.

  ‘So … what’s up?’

  ‘Don’t know.’

  Megan so wanted to lean her head against his arm, rest it there, just for a second or two. She did know. It was everything. It was the way he could be so happy and cheerful all the time, when she was so angry and upset. It was not believing what he said about her friends. When he was right all along. It was not wanting him around her. When, really, she needed him more than anything. Especially now.