Anthem for Jackson Dawes

by Celia Bryce

  ‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘Ssssh.’

  And he began to cut.

  As the first bits of hair fell into her lap Megan picked them up, allowing herself to examine them properly. How soft they were, baby soft almost, and so much colour. She thought her hair was brown, just plain ordinary brown, yet each strand looked different somehow now that it was parted from her head, now that it was lying in the palm of her hand. It was as if each one had taken up a new colour, red or gold, as well as brown.

  And she was just noticing it now.

  More hair fell in clumps, amputated from her head, bits of it drifting to the floor. Jackson was singing as he snip, snip, snipped away.

  No more fussing with her hair. No more bobbles. Or scrunchies. No more shampoo or conditioner. No frizz, no straighteners.

  She steadied herself again, clutching at his legs.

  Another handful was tugged away from her head, the blades of the scissors chomping around it, as if the work was too hard for them, her hair too thick.

  Megan’s throat began to ache and wouldn’t swallow. Her eyes blurred, so that all around her faded into a watery haze. Nothing felt real any more.

  Scissor blades opened and closed, opened and closed, unstoppable as they crunched through her hair. What would they say, when they saw her? Mum, Dad, Grandad, her friends. They’d look and see … not her. She wasn’t Megan any more.

  Jackson, as if only aware of the task he had to perform, took another handful of hair and chopped through it. Megan watched as everything about her, everything that said who she was, slid down her shoulders and cascaded to the floor, like leaves shaken from a dying tree.

  Ten

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Sister Brewster appeared at the door. There had only been one sweep with the razor so far but it hadn’t been at all pleasant. Megan half wondered if Jackson really knew what he was doing. ‘Give that to me right now!’

  The game was up.

  ‘I was making her look presentable,’ Jackson declared, smiling his most winning smile. Sister Brewster wasn’t to be won over. She held out her hand, waiting for the razor. ‘It’s a safety one, can’t do any harm.’ Jackson, sounding sulky, handed it over, smile all gone.

  Sister Brewster shook her head. ‘And Megan, I would have thought you had more sense than to let Jackson anywhere near you with this!’

  She brandished the razor at them both, her face furious, ranting on about safety regulations, about the dangers of sharp blades. There were babies and toddlers on the ward for goodness’ sake, what would have happened if … and where on earth was their common sense?

  Megan stared at her hands, saying nothing, heart thumping. She closed her eyes in disbelief when Jackson spoke up, his voice sullen, stubborn.

  ‘She lets the doctors at her. What’s sensible about that?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Sister Brewster faced him.

  ‘Don’t, Jackson. It’s all right.’

  Jackson swung round to face Megan, his face stormy. ‘No, it’s not all right! You let them, why not me? At least I was doing some good.’

  Megan groaned. She knew when they’d lost, knew there was no point in prolonging the agony.

  ‘Jackson …’ Sister Brewster stood with her big eyes resting on him, her mouth in a straight line. He should have seen the warning in her face.

  ‘You’ve never had your hair fall out, have you? You’ve never had needles stuck in you. Not the way we have. And what good does it do, anyway?’

  Something in Jackson’s voice made Megan look up. His face was set like stone, though the nerves in his cheeks twitched with anger.

  Sister Brewster remained calm. ‘It’s all very important, as you well know. We don’t stick needles into people for nothing. We don’t do it for fun.’

  ‘But what good does it do? You tell me!’ He was glaring at Sister Brewster, looking at her as if he hated what he saw.

  What was he doing?

  Why wouldn’t he stop?

  ‘It can do a lot of good, Jackson.’ Sister Brewster’s voice changed slightly, there was a hint of kindness in it. ‘It can. You know that.’

  ‘Like it’s helping Kipper?’ He spat out the girl’s name.

  ‘Let’s not discuss her now, Jackson.’

  ‘Why not? You didn’t mind discussing her when I took her for a walk … and you sent the whole army to find us.’

  Megan swallowed. What was he on about? What did he mean about Kipper?

  ‘I think it’s time you went to your own room, Jackson. You’re all finished here.’ Sister Brewster straightened her back, which made her even taller than before, and held the door wide open.

  It was Siobhan who tidied her up, Siobhan with her long black hair piled high on her head, tiny corkscrew curls framing her face. She had milk-white skin, green eyes.

  That lovely Shee-vorn, Grandad once said, sounds like an angel.

  Megan had seen her once, coming on to the ward. She wasn’t on duty, and was wearing ordinary clothes, but her hair tumbled loosely down her back, like a princess in a book. She was wearing a big diamond engagement ring. Somehow Megan hadn’t expected that. Siobhan belonged with them on the ward. That she could have another life outside seemed strange.

  ‘You two!’ Siobhan said now, cleaning up the last of her hair. ‘The Terrible Twins, that’s what you are. You mustn’t try any more tricks like this. Sister Brewster’s scalding mad.’

  ‘He was only trying to help,’ Megan said, her voice trembling.

  Siobhan turned to face her, hands on hips. ‘Next time he tries to help, push that bell and I’ll deal with him myself.’

  The hair was swept up and tidied away into a paper bag.

  Siobhan was looking at her severely but even so, there was a kindness in her face, a softness in her voice. ‘You know what?’ she said. Megan shook her head. All she knew was that she’d been stupid and so had Jackson. ‘I have something that you might like. Shall I go and get it?’

  Everything was so strange – her hair in a bag like that, a bag for hospital waste, ready to go into the bin. The air seemed so much colder, her head lighter, as if it didn’t belong to her.

  ‘Yes, please,’ Megan said, feeling smaller than before, younger, more stupid.

  ‘Now, don’t go looking at yourself till I get back. Promise?’ Siobhan was at the door. ‘You’re not bald, exactly, but you’re not tidy either. But it’s the best we can do for now.’

  The word bald came as a complete and utter shock to Megan, but that’s what Jackson had been aiming at, wasn’t it? She desperately wanted to cry, but whisked at her eyes, stopping the tears. ‘OK.’

  Siobhan was back in no time with a bright red baseball cap. ‘Try this on. It’s adjustable.’ Megan pushed the cap on her head, immediately feeling better. ‘But when you go home, get yourself to a hairdresser. Someone who’ll do it properly.’ She paused. ‘Want me to stay while you look in the mirror? It’ll be a shock with all that hair gone.’

  Her voice was so gentle that Megan did long for her to stay, longed to be wrapped up and held until this nightmare – because suddenly it was a nightmare – ended. And yet this was something she had to do on her own. It was her fault. She’d told Jackson he could do it. Megan shook her head.

  ‘Well, you know where I am.’

  ‘Yes,’ Megan said. ‘Thank you.’

  Siobhan left her with another smile.

  Picking up the bag, Megan opened it, staring at the mess nestling in the bottom. She pushed her fingers inside, let the hair sift through them, drift over them like small threads of silk, then she closed the bag, took it over to the bin by the sink and dropped it in. The lid came down with a heavy clunk, like a prison door closing.

  It was Kipper who told her the story. It was Kipper who made her mum push her to Megan’s room and go away. It was Kipper who demanded to have a feel of Megan’s head, her large eyes seeming even bigger, more determined somehow that she wouldn’t be refused anything.

  ‘Was S
ister Brewster mad at Jackson?’ she asked, trailing her fingers through the tufts of Megan’s hair. They felt light, papery, her fingers. They tickled.

  ‘At both of us. And when I go home, Mum’ll probably be mad as well.’ Megan rolled her eyes, as if it didn’t really matter. It was only hair.

  ‘Jackson’s always getting into trouble. He’s very naughty,’ Kipper said with a hint of pride in her voice. She smoothed her hand over Megan’s head. ‘Are you going to get bald and buy a wig? I’ve got a pink one, but it’s itchy.’

  Megan supposed she would just have it all shaved off, it was such a mess. Go straight to Mum’s hairdresser and get it sorted. ‘I’ll have to see.’

  Kipper sat back with a sigh as if all of a sudden touching her head was boring, or that not knowing which kind of wig to get was a sign of failure.

  Megan replaced the red cap, felt its warmth hug her. She glanced at Kipper. It was strange to see her in a wheelchair, a proper one, not the sort you went down to X-ray in.

  ‘Do you want to go back to your bed?’

  Kipper shrugged. ‘Only Mam, or a nurse, is allowed to push me.’

  ‘Uh-oh. Is that because of Jackson? Do I feel a story coming on?’

  There was a big smile in reply and the tale began, Kipper grinning as she told it, her face almost glittering with the fun of it all.

  Jackson had been telling some of the children about Mr Henry and they wanted to see him. So he said they could hunt for him on the ward and those who could followed him.

  ‘How many was that?’

  Kipper looked puzzled and had to think hard. ‘Three. It was three. And they looked behind all the beds and in the bathrooms,’ she said, ‘but he wasn’t there. And they looked in the pillowcase cupboard and he wasn’t there either. And Jackson was in the lead …’

  ‘Sounds like the Pied Piper,’ Megan said, imagining it all. ‘The story with rats in it,’ she explained when Kipper gave her a baffled look. ‘Did you go?’

  ‘I just watched. My legs stopped working and I fell down and I hurt all over and Jackson said he’d take me properly. Not just round the beds with the little ones. Round the hospital.’

  She was still full of it. Being off the ward with Jackson, being away from all the machines and the babies crying and being sick into dishes, and all the doctors and the dinners that smelled of sweaty socks and tasted of cardboard, and all the people saying hello and smiling at her and saying how good she was and not meaning it because she was always naughty.

  ‘Where was your mum?’

  No wonder there was trouble.

  ‘The hairdresser’s. We went all the way down the corridor to the front door where the porter men live and we saw the amblinces coming in and making the noise and flashing and everything and we went outside and looked at the grass and saw the birds. Then someone found us and made us go back in.’

  ‘Did you see Mr Henry?’

  Kipper shook her head. ‘He was asleep.’

  Of course, he would be, Megan thought. A ghost cat awake during the day, a ghost cat who might only exist in Jackson’s stories.

  ‘So you had a nice time?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kipper smiled a huge smile, which faded as she remembered the rest. ‘Sister Brewster went mad again. Everyone was looking for us.’

  ‘Bet they were.’ Megan frowned, noticing how much paler Kipper was, as if all that talking had sucked the energy out of her, making her slump even further into her chair.

  A flicker of alarm. Megan’s heart began to thump. She could feel it in her ears. ‘Are you tired? Will I get Siobhan? Kipper? Do you need to go back now?’ She reached for the bell push.

  ‘I’ll take her.’ It was Jackson.

  Megan shook her head. ‘You can’t. You’re in enough trouble. I’ll get a nurse.’

  ‘I said, I’ll take her.’

  Kipper’s eyes flickered towards Jackson for a fleeting second but there was something urgent in her voice. ‘I want to see Brian. Will you tell them I want to see him?’

  ‘I’ll tell them,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Will you say now? I want to go now?’

  But how could Kipper go home? Didn’t she have more treatment to get? Something new they wanted to try? Hadn’t her mum said that? Her bloods were all to pot, she’d said. Maybe they were better now. But if not, how could she see Brian? He was at home. She was here.

  Didn’t Jackson understand anything?

  Couldn’t he see that he was just going to make even more trouble?

  And yet.

  Kipper was smiling now, at the thought of seeing her kitten. Megan could picture her so easily, away from here, in her own house, on a sofa perhaps, cuddling Brian. She’d be kissing his tiny nose and he’d be purring and digging his claws in just a little to tell her he was happy she was home, and he wouldn’t climb any more trees and have to be rescued because Kipper was there holding him. And there’d be no more clicking machines, no more beeps, no more nurses, or drips and needles, just her mum and dad and her pet.

  Something about that picture was so perfect, so right, that it made Megan turn away and not try to stop Jackson.

  ‘See you later, Kipper,’ she said, as they left.

  Could you have enough of treatments? Could you be so fed up with being in hospital that no matter what, you just want to go home? Could you know, when you’re not even seven years old yet, that it’s not working? All the treatment. Was this the reason for Kipper’s bad temper? One minute lovely, the next screaming her head off? So bossy with her mum?

  There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead.

  When she was good she was very, very good and when she was bad she was horrid.

  Megan gazed through the window and saw a lone bird drifting across the clouds which hung in fuzzy white drapes, as if billowed by the wind and frozen into shape. The bird was a gull, she decided, watching it being slowly swallowed by the sky, white into white, until there was nothing left.

  Eleven

  Megan was back in hospital for her operation and though it meant the end of her treatment, perhaps, she dreaded having her head cut open. What would happen if they found something worse inside?

  Deciding not to think of that, she tore the wrapping off one of the new magazines Gemma and the Twins had given her and went straight to the problem page at the back, same as always, and same as always she decided they weren’t real. They must pay people to make them up.

  Does my boyfriend fancy my best mate?

  My mum’s got a new partner and he hates me.

  I think I’m pregnant.

  Same old stuff every time.

  They didn’t know what problems were. They should come to this ward and see the real stuff. They’re going to slice my head open – what can I do?

  ‘Is that glued on? Or does it come off?’ Jackson was in her doorway. ‘Can I come in?’ He stood there as if he’d never walked into her room without asking. ‘Pleased to see me?’

  Megan grinned. ‘No. Yes. Yes. And definitely.’

  And it was true, but … she took in how his legs looked thinner, each bone sharper than before, like blades pressing through. His eyes were dark caves under the shadow cast by his hat. His skin looked dull. Maybe they were trying another new treatment on him.

  She wondered what it was like to be so rare that they couldn’t work you out, and to have all sorts of treatments, and things written about you. Wouldn’t you just get sick of it? Wouldn’t you just want to go away somewhere and never come back?

  Shaking these thoughts out of her head she smiled at him. ‘You’re allowed to come in and distract me. I’m not going to enjoy this next bit of my life.’

  ‘Like the rest’s been just one long party. Wig’s good.’

  Megan gave her head a shake, fanning the silver wig across her face in a movement she’d tried out on Gemma and the Twins. She’d even got herself a pink one, as Kipper had suggested.

  ‘I’ve got loads. I can be different every d
ay if I want to.’ She climbed on to the bed to give Jackson her chair. He didn’t sit down, but propped himself against the door frame. ‘Want to see the red one? Mum says I look like a lollipop in it.’

  ‘Megan Bright, Megan Silver,’ he said in a singsong way. ‘No, that’s the one for me. Does she forgive me for trying to scalp you?’

  ‘She has. Don’t know about Sister Brewster.’

  ‘I’m out of jail for that. Took a while, though. I’ll have to do something else very bad and see what happens.’

  Megan narrowed her eyes. ‘What? You’ve done everything there is. If I believe what you tell me. Not that I do, half the time.’

  Jackson put on a wounded face. ‘Nope, there’s got to be something …’

  ‘You’re in hospital, remember?’

  ‘And you think that’s going to stop me …?’

  She had to concede that it probably wouldn’t. Jackson was gazing at her, smiling.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well …’ he sat down on the bed. ‘Shove over, Wig Girl. Sometimes I jus’ have to lay me down …’

  ‘Not here you can’t.’ Megan shot a glance at the door.

  Jackson was stretching out on her bed, as if it were his own, though it seemed even more like a baby bed, he was so tall. He kicked off his sandals, laid his head back on her pillow, and tugged his hat over his face.

  ‘Why not?’ he said.

  ‘Because …’ Megan pulled up his hat so that she could see him. ‘Because …’ He was grinning at her. The hat dropped back down. ‘Oh, never mind.’

  She shoved over.

  The bed was an island. All about them were sharks and things that chomp on bones. There were storms, and heat which dried you out till plates of skin dropped off and there was nothing to drink. Or so Jackson said.

  ‘I like it here,’ he added. ‘Much better than a ward. I might just stay for ever. This is a place for stories.’

  Footsteps approached, then passed her door. Megan tried to work out who they belonged to but couldn’t. It didn’t matter.

  ‘Want to hear one?’ Jackson said.

  ‘Do I look like a nine-year-old?’

  ‘It’ll be good, promise. And I need to practise on you.’ Jackson rolled over and lobbed his hat on to the chair. His face was close to hers. He was looking straight at her, as if he remembered another time, in the darkness of the visitors’ waiting room, and might want to kiss her again.