by Celia Bryce
‘He’ll not be long. I’ve got to go now.’
Gemma wasn’t having any. ‘Are we not friends any more?’ There it was. Just a slight tremor, hardly there, if you didn’t know her. They’d been friends since junior school. Since they were eight, when Gemma was new and didn’t know anyone.
‘Yeah. Course we are.’ Megan sighed. Go away. Leave me alone. Dad’ll be home soon and he’s not going to be very happy with me and I can only deal with one problem at a time.
‘Well, it doesn’t feel like it. It’s like you don’t want anything to do with me or the Twins.’ There was a pause. ‘I know you’ve been ill and it’s been horrible and everything. And I don’t know what it was like. But I’ve missed you. And you never ring me. Or text. It’s always me. And I’m sorry I didn’t come in to see you but …’
‘You were busy … It doesn’t matter. The hospital’s too far away, anyway. I know.’
‘Well, yes, all of that. School and everything. But it does matter … And I was frightened.’ Gemma was crying now. ‘And I didn’t know what to say. Or do. Or ask. I got a book about it, but I couldn’t even read it. And I looked it up on the internet and there was all this stuff and photographs of kids and stuff, dying and everything and …’
You can get a book about your friend having cancer? Maybe she should read it and find out how it’s meant to work.
‘Well, I’m still here,’ Megan said, though it felt like the biggest lie of all. She was here and not here.
A car rolled up outside. Could be a taxi. Voices now. Could be anyone.
‘It’s all right, Gemma. Honestly. I’ve got to go. Dad’s here now.’
Maybe it was a lie. Maybe not.
Seventeen
Dad sat like a big cat yawning and stretching and all slumpy in his chair. He’d had a shower and a shave as soon as he got in, which left him looking dark and shiny, like wood, he was so tanned. Sleep was what he needed, but he wouldn’t be allowed back upstairs until at least ten o’clock, to get over his jet lag. Mum’s orders.
‘Lord, you’re a hard woman!’ he said, yawning again. ‘So is your mother. By the way, we have to make sure any mail goes down to Grandad’s. Even though we’ll be back in a week. Make sure there’s a bill or two in there. You know how she likes to worry about bills.’
Megan sat down on the floor with a bundle of stuff which had come earlier and the mail from the day before. ‘I’ve got them here. A whole stack came this morning.’ She began to go through them, wondering if Dad already knew about her not wanting to go with him.
The newspapers were there for Dad, in a pile waiting to be read. He liked to look at them and catch up with what was happening in the world, sitting in his own armchair, in his own home. But he wasn’t reading anything. He was just sitting and after a while Megan noticed he was looking at her. This was it. This was where he was going to convince her that she needed to go to Grandad’s and she was going to have to convince him that she didn’t.
‘Is it my hair?’ she said, playing for time.
‘No, it’s not that.’ Dad clasped his hands. He was going to come out with it. Serious talk. He looked even more tired than before, all of a sudden. Maybe he should just go to bed and sleep right through till morning. ‘I heard there was a letter.’
Megan stiffened. Her heart began to thump in swift panicky jolts.
Tell me I have to go to Grandad’s.
Make me go. Don’t talk about the letter.
And I’ve told so many lies, don’t you want to know about that?
And Gemma hates me. Let’s talk about her.
‘Mum told me. She was upset, worried, you know. About you.’
The black hole came back and began to grow inside her again. Just as it did with every single memory, with every single hour she remembered of the hospital. And it wouldn’t go away. It never did. No matter how hard she tried to put it away. But Dad was still looking at her, as if he wanted an answer, when he already had it, as if he wanted her to remember even though it hurt.
‘Yes, there was a letter.’
‘I was very sorry to hear about it,’ Dad said. ‘Very sorry. I wanted to call, but I didn’t know what to say. Wanted to see you face to face. But now, I still don’t know what to say.’
‘It’s all right,’ she told him. ‘I’m fine.’
She gazed down at the mail on the floor. Mainly white envelopes, some brown, with see-through windows filled with black writing, the same name, the same address, the same everything that was on the letter that came before.
It had been addressed to Mum, the hospital stamp making it look horribly official. Megan immediately thought there’d been a mistake, that they hadn’t got rid of the tumour after all.
She remembered Mum sitting down and opening the envelope, which revealed another. ‘Sister Brewster sent it,’ she said, opening the next, complete puzzlement in her voice.
Megan frowned, but even so a sudden hope flickered into life, like a dying candle given air at the very last moment. Of course! Why didn’t she think to ask Sister Brewster to send a letter? It would have been so simple. ‘It’s from Jackson, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not from Jackson.’ Mum hesitated, reading it. She handed it to Megan. ‘It’s from one of his sisters. Oh, dear me. I’m so sorry, love.’
And Megan knew.
She knew what the letter would say before she even looked at it; she’d known since Sister Brewster told her that he wasn’t coming back to the ward.
How could she not?
After the first few lines, Megan pushed it back at Mum. ‘Why don’t they just come out with it?’
Mum folded it again and again until it was just a small square. ‘Come out with what?’
‘That he’s dead. Why don’t they just say it? He wasn’t even sixteen.’ Megan spat out the words.
Mum didn’t move. ‘He’s at peace now, love. In a better place.’
‘How can you say that?’ Megan yelled. ‘He should be here! This is a better place.’
‘But they could do nothing for him. It’s in the letter, if you’d read it. In the end it’s what he wanted.’
Megan had slammed her hand down on the table so that the cups rattled. What did Mum know about Jackson? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. ‘It’s not what he wanted. It’s not!’ she screamed, head hurting, hand stinging. ‘He wanted to be a musician, he wanted to live. He did!’ Mum’s arms went around her but Megan shook them off. ‘It’s not fair! How could he do this?’
She raced out of the kitchen, so angry with Jackson that she refused to cry, so furious with him, with Mum, with the whole world, that she swept every single book off her shelves. Bang, bang, bang, they went, slamming one on top of another to the floor. Dust spiralled into the air. Mum ran upstairs.
‘Stay out!’ Megan yelled, fire blazing somewhere deep within her. ‘I don’t want you in here. Go away, Mum!’ She ran to her door, jamming herself against it. The footsteps halted, and retreated downstairs. Megan shut her eyes, blocking out the sunlight in her room, her breath coming in short bursts, as if she’d run a race. Inside her head she was screaming, the noise so deafening that she couldn’t think any more.
‘But you see, I don’t believe you are fine,’ Dad said, bringing her back. ‘Anything but. And Mum’s worried about you.’ He sighed. ‘It’s been hard for her to help … when you won’t talk about it … no one can help.’
Megan couldn’t bear to look at him because he’d made her remember and remembering made the fire inside blaze even more. Was that supposed to help? Why was he doing this? The best thing was not to think about it at all, could he not see that? Couldn’t Mum?
‘I only met Jackson once,’ Dad went on as if he wanted to torture her, saying Jackson’s name like that, as if he were still alive, still breathing and laughing, still holding her hand. ‘But I was glad to see the boy you couldn’t stop talking about.’
Megan stared at the pile of letters, then realised with a start what Dad had just said.
> ‘You met him …? Jackson?’
Dad frowned, examining his fingers. ‘Of course I did,’ he said, sounding puzzled. ‘He came barging in after your operation, demanding to see you, because he was going home.’ Megan froze. ‘When I say, barging in, it wasn’t exactly like that.’
‘He came? To see me?’
‘Yes.’ Dad was looking at her as if she should know this. ‘Siobhan pushed him in. He was in a wheelchair, but that lad was determined.’ Dad started to look uncomfortable as if something dreadful was dawning on him. ‘Said he had a story to finish. I didn’t catch much. You were very ill. I wasn’t really concentrating.’
Jackson had been to see her?
That couldn’t be right.
Megan’s head spun with a thousand thoughts. If he had, why hadn’t someone said?
Dad carried on. ‘I think maybe Jackson knew he mightn’t get to see you again … that’s why he came.’ He paused. ‘To say goodbye.’
Megan looked at her shoes. They were blurred, out of focus, as if they didn’t really belong to her feet. Her throat tightened.
‘I didn’t know,’ she said, her voice almost a squeak. ‘No one told me. Why didn’t you tell me?’ Something huge began to well up inside her.
‘Oh, Lord.’ He closed his eyes and for a few seconds it seemed he would never talk again. His face looked even more crumpled. ‘You were so ill. We … thought we were going to lose you …’ he said, his voice trailing away. ‘Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I thought Mum had told you.’
‘But I thought he’d just gone off … without saying anything … All this time, I’ve been thinking …’ She was about to explode, like thunder.
Dad eased himself off the sofa, down on to the floor beside her. ‘I don’t know what to say, love. I really don’t.’ Megan couldn’t look at him. ‘And I know it’s a shock, but now you know, maybe you can …’
‘Don’t tell me to move on. Don’t tell me to celebrate his life.’ Megan said, her voice level, cold. ‘Just don’t. That’s what they all say.’
Nodding slowly, Dad put his arm lightly around her shoulders. Megan could feel his strength, his warmth. ‘I’m not going to.’
‘He’s dead.’ The words felt like pieces of stone in her heart. ‘There’s nothing to celebrate.’
‘There is, you know,’ Dad leaned towards her. Megan shook her head, suddenly and completely miserable. ‘The fact that Jackson could make you feel this way tells me he was a fantastic young man.’ Megan stared at Dad’s shoes, the pattern of tiny holes in the leather, the double knot he always tied them with, the polished gleam of them. ‘He made you happy, I know he did. Helped you through. And Grandad thought the world of him because of it.’ But Jackson was gone, that’s all Megan knew. ‘And he was strong enough to fight all the way,’ Dad went on. ‘And that’s what’s great about him. That’s what you could celebrate.’
‘I can’t.’ Megan’s throat filled, her eyes filled, everything so full to bursting.
Dad pulled her to him. ‘It’s not running around with balloons and shrieking and dancing. It’s not like the party Grandad’s going to have.’ It was all Megan could do to breathe, yet crying seemed easy, and now it was the only thing she could do, weeks of crying all at once. ‘Remembering the good times you had with him, love, that’s what I’m talking about.’ Dad’s voice broke through.
‘Don’t know how,’ Megan wailed. ‘I can’t do it.’
‘You can. You will,’ Dad said, his voice solid. ‘You had good times with him, didn’t you?’ Megan nodded into his shoulder. ‘Remembering them and having a smile. That’s what I mean about celebrating.’ Dad eased Megan away from him, his warm hands clasped around her shoulders. He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘Oh, love, one day you will, I promise. One day you will celebrate.’ Then pulling her to him once more, he held Megan as if he would never let her go.
Eighteen
‘Well, hello, stranger!’ Sister Brewster towered above Megan, hands on hips appraising her from top to toe. She sounded amazed, looked it too, for a brief moment, then it was back to the same Sister Brewster. ‘You missed the opening ceremony,’ she said. ‘The new unit?’
Megan ignored this and handed over the present she’d brought with her, still not sure why she’d decided to come; even now her stomach was churning, her hands trembling. But she’d stay just for a minute, that’s all. ‘These are for you.’
‘Mmmm, lovely. That’s really kind, but you gave us lots when you went home, remember.’
‘They’ll all be gone now and nurses love chocolates. Besides, Mum sent them.’ Another lie, but she didn’t care. ‘These are from me.’ Megan held out a plastic bag. ‘For the new place. If you want them. If you’re allowed.’ There were half a dozen of her own CDs and DVDs. ‘They’re not new or anything.’
‘That’s so kind, Megan, really it is.’ Sister Brewster took them out and examined them. ‘These are great. Thank you.’ She laid them aside and clasped her hands together. ‘But we wanted you to come to the opening. As our special guest. Why didn’t you?’
Megan swallowed. You know why, she wanted to say. But the words wouldn’t come.
Sister Brewster looked at Megan with those big eyes, trapping her almost, as if there was much more to say, much more to hear. But this was a busy ward, she would have lots to do. Even now there was the wail of a baby, the shriek of a toddler. Maybe she should go.
‘Would you like to see the unit, now that you’re here?’ Meeting her gaze, Megan saw something supremely warm and kind in it just for her.
Megan tried to smile. ‘I can’t stay long. Dad’s at home. We’re … meant to be going to Grandad’s today. He doesn’t know I’ve come. I mean, he’s all jet-lagged and sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb him.’
‘So, is that a yes or a no?’
‘Have you got time?’
‘Of course, I have. But hang on just a second.’ Sister Brewster went off, leaving Megan by the Nurses’ Station. There was a tap on her shoulder.
‘Well, now! And who’s this?’
‘Siobhan!’
One big hug later they were both grinning.
‘You look great! Told you, didn’t I?’ Siobhan sounded delighted. ‘How’s everything else?’
Such a small question, just a few words, but the answer was too huge to give.
‘Grandad’s ninety-six on Sunday. He’s having a party.’
Siobhan smiled. ‘Ninety-six! That’s a fantastic age!’
‘Yes, it is,’ Megan said, almost puzzled by how proud she suddenly felt to have a grandfather that old.
Siobhan squeezed her arm. ‘And back to school for you! That’ll be great, won’t it?’
Megan nodded because it seemed that Siobhan wanted it to be so. Sister Brewster came up, handed over a bunch of keys and exchanged a few quiet words at the desk.
‘Off to the unit, hey?’ Siobhan said. ‘You’ll love it! Got to go. Keep in touch!’
Sister Brewster strode down towards the ward doors, unlocking them. It was a quick march down the main corridor, a turn to the right and down another corridor. Sister Brewster’s black shoes squeaked as she walked.
‘You have to be at least thirteen to get anywhere near this place, mind you. No screaming babies or annoying toddlers, no elephants, no octopus, and no Disney characters. Especially no Disney characters.’
Megan grinned, embarrassed. The number of times she’d complained …
‘It has a pool table. There’s table tennis, a sitting room, music room, quiet room, you name it room. And anyone who stays has to suggest ways of making it better. There’s a box for comments.’ Sister Brewster pulled a face at that. They reached a set of double doors, pressed a button on the wall and pushed open the doors. ‘So here it is.’
Unbelievable. This wasn’t a ward, it was … amazing! It was like something from a film, it was almost sci-fi. There was a brand new smell about the place, like something unwrapped for the first time.
Sister Brewster opened the door
of one room and gestured Megan in.
‘Flat-screen TV for everyone, so no fights over programmes.’ She closed the door again. ‘There’s internet access, laptop computers, we’ve got musical instruments, PlayStations …’
Megan caught sight of movement on a nearby roof outside. ‘There’s a cat!’
Sister Brewster glanced at it before moving on. ‘Oh, that old thing. Been around for ever. We call him Mr Henry.’
Megan followed, grinning, not able to take her eyes off it. ‘Really?’ She thought of Kipper and Jackson and her heart filled.
‘We’ve got quite a few strays around the place. They’re all called Mr Henry. It’s easier. Now then, look at this.’ A door was swept open to reveal a kitchen. ‘For all those burgers and things you all seem to want. Pizzas. Over here,’ Sister Brewster breezed past her, ‘is the Graffiti Wall. We’re getting an artist in once we open to do some work with patients.’
‘Wow!’ Everything was gleaming, sprayed with newness. In one corner was a huge purple beanbag. Megan went over to it, poked her finger into it. There was a rustle, a squeak. She plonked herself down and it moulded into her. She let out a delighted whoop. ‘This is – fab, it’s like a posh hotel!’
‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Sister Brewster smiled. ‘We’re all very pleased about it. No doubt there’ll be teething problems when we get going, but I’m sure we can iron those out.’
Megan heaved herself back out of the beanbag, rearranged it, punched out the cave her body had made, the echo of herself. There was a corner with a sofa and easy chairs, a coffee table and … ‘Is that one of those jukebox things?’
‘Exactly what it is. Bit sparkly, isn’t it! Lots of music on it. Some I even recognise.’ She gave a smile. ‘I expect we’ll be able to use these CDs in it. Not that I know how to work it. But someone will.’
Sister Brewster placed Megan’s pile of CDs and DVDs on a shelf next to the jukebox. ‘That’s great. Thanks for these. A good start for our collection. And here …’ There was another room with soft chairs and a rug, and shelves ready to be filled. ‘Quiet study … or just somewhere away from everyone else.’ She clasped her hands together and gazed down at Megan, face serious. ‘Well, do you like it? Do you think people your age would like it?’