The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually)

by Denise Deegan

  ‘Hey,’ he says. He doesn’t sound right.

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘In Raphael’s.’

  ‘Hospital?’

  ‘Eh, yeah. It’s OK. I’ve just a little pneumonia.’

  ‘A little pneumonia?’ It’s the biggest killer of people with motor neurone disease.

  His laugh turns into a cough.

  ‘Can you’ve visitors?’

  ‘That’s why I was calling.’

  ‘Can I come now?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ‘Any chance of some Jelly Tots?’

  ‘Definitely,’ I say, relieved. He mustn’t be too bad if he wants Jelly Tots.

  A nurse directs me to Shane’s room. He’s sharing with two other men.

  ‘He’s at the end,’ she says. She smiles and hurries away to answer a call bell.

  I look in but can’t see him because the curtain around his bed is pulled forward slightly. I smile at the man in the first bed as I start to walk in. He looks about eighty. He raises his hand to say hello. It’s attached to a drip. I hope it’s nothing serious. The next man looks younger – by about ten years. Sound asleep, he’s lying on his back with his mouth wide open, snoring so loudly you can probably hear him in the next room.

  When I get to Shane’s bed, it’s Deirdre I see first. She’s scraping butter onto toast for Shane. She sees me and smiles brightly like this is all cool, like she’s making a picnic and we’re off to the beach. Then I see Shane.

  Oh my God. ‘Is that oxygen?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘I just need a little extra till the antibiotics kick in. Did you bring the Jelly Tots?’

  I pull them from my pocket and open the pack fully, so he can get them out easily.

  ‘You’re a life saver,’ he says. He takes a few at a time, like a junkie getting a fix.

  Deirdre pushes the tray of tea and toast up to him. Then she turns to me.

  ‘How are you, Sarah?’

  ‘Good, thanks,’ I say, as jolly as she is. But I don’t feel jolly. I’m worried as hell.

  ‘I might just nip out for coffee,’ she says.

  ‘You should go home,’ Shane says. ‘You’ve been here all day.’

  ‘Are you sure? Just for an hour or two. I’ve a few things to do.’

  ‘Mum, go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I’m a big boy now,’ he says, kind of narked, like she makes him feel useless or something.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’ She sounds hurt. She loves him so much; she just wants to help. But I see his side too. It must be awful having to rely on his parents for everything.

  Deirdre leaves. I go up to him and sit on the side of the bed.

  ‘How’re you doing?’

  He nods. ‘OK.’

  ‘You don’t look OK, Shane. This happened kind of quickly. You were fine yesterday.’ Actually, now that I think of it, he was pretty tired.

  He shrugs. ‘I’d a bad night.’

  ‘Shane, this doesn’t mean that your chest muscles have weakened, does it?’ I’m so afraid of the answer.

  ‘No. They said I’m in pretty good shape.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘I wouldn’t lie to you about this.’

  I close my eyes in relief.

  ‘With some serious physio and intravenous antibiotics I should be out of here in a week.’

  I let out a huge breath and help myself to a Jelly Tot. I lie up on the bed beside him and we watch a movie from the eighties called Splash, about a mermaid who falls in love with a guy. I’m loving it, but Shane’s exhausted and the nurses keep hassling me about visiting time being over. I get up, put on my coat. I don’t ever remember October being this cold. I heave my bag onto my shoulder.

  ‘How’re you getting home?’ Shane asks.

  ‘DART.’

  ‘Why don’t you get a taxi?’

  Being minted, he has no clue about money. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘I know, but it’s late and you’re on your own.’

  ‘Ooooh, look at you, getting all husbandy already.’

  He smiles. ‘I’m serious though. Get a taxi. I’ve money.’

  ‘It’s OK, seriously. I’ll be fine.’ I bend to kiss him.

  He turns his face so that the kiss lands on his cheek. ‘We don’t want you to end up in here beside me.’

  ‘There’s an idea!’ I kiss him on the mouth. ‘Love you,’ I say, then I walk backwards out of the room, blowing kisses, wondering if they would let me stay if we were married.

  The DART is practically empty. There are only two other people in the carriage. A guy in his, I don’t know, thirties, in a long dark coat, sitting nearby. And a little old woman, farther up. I look out the window but because it’s dark, I only see my reflection. After a while, I notice the reflection of the guy. He’s looking at me. So I look away from the window. And just stare straight ahead. I still feel his eyes on me so I take out my phone and send Shane a text. I glance at the window. It’s not my imagination. He’s still looking. This is starting to creep me out. I think of getting up and going to sit next to the woman. But that’d be kind of dramatic – given that he’s probably just bored and doesn’t realise he’s staring. Finally, we pull up at my stop. I get up and walk to the door, hoping he doesn’t follow and telling myself I’m being paranoid for thinking he might. The doors open and he’s still sitting down. Phew, I think. But I only fully relax when the doors close behind me and the DART pulls away – and he’s still on it. Maybe Shane was right about the DART. Maybe I should be more careful. Still, I can’t afford a taxi. And there’s no way I’m leaving any earlier than nine.

  Three days later, in Biology, I notice Alex gripping her tummy under the table. She’s breathing deeply. Looking pale. Oh my God. It couldn’t be. She’s not due till November.

  ‘Are you OK?’ I whisper.

  She nods. ‘Just cramps.’

  Cramps! ‘We need to get to the hospital.’ I try to stay calm.

  ‘No. It’s OK, they’re just false contractions.’

  ‘False contractions?’

  ‘Sarah Healy,’ the teacher barks.

  I look up in shock. ‘I was just asking—’

  ‘I don’t care if you were asking for OXYGEN!’ Her piggy face has gone even more piggy pink. Her full-on unibrow is frowning. Hasn’t she heard of a tweezers? I wait for her to turn back to the board. I look at Alex.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she whispers.

  ‘You sure?’ I whisper back.

  ‘Just my body getting ready.’

  ‘SARAH!’ Miss Piggy has just whipped around with impressive non-piggy speed.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say.

  For what’s left of the class, I pretend to listen. But how can I concentrate on some boring experiment when who knows what could be happening beside me. I mean that’s real biology. In action. I sneak a peak at Alex to make sure she hasn’t gone into silent, secret labour … if there’s such a thing.

  As soon as the class is over and we get out onto the corridor, I turn to her. ‘Have they stopped?’

  She shakes her head. ‘All I can say is, if these are false contractions, I can’t wait for the real ones.’

  I stare at her. ‘Alex. Maybe they’re the real thing. Maybe we should—’

  ‘No. They’re not regular. And they’re too far apart.’

  ‘But what if they get regular and close?’

  ‘Then we worry.’

  Oh my God. ‘OK, give us plenty of notice.’

  ‘Sarah, babies take hours and hours to be born,’ Rachel says, sensibly.

  ‘Thanks, Rache. Comforting thought,’ Alex says.

  Rachel looks at her. ‘You’ll be grand. As long as you go for the epidural.’

  ‘Can we stop talking about this?’ Alex has gone even more pale. She looks like she’s going to faint.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She looks at me, eyes w
ide. ‘No. I’m not ready. I’m not ready for this. I’ll never be ready.’

  Oh, crud. I don’t know what to say. All I know is, if it was me, I wouldn’t be ready either. And someone telling me I was would not help. I find a chair and order her to sit.

  Rachel squats down beside her. ‘No one’s ever ready for this,’ she says, sounding so wise. So Zen. And, not for the first time, I’m glad she’s here.

  After twenty minutes the ‘cramps’ subside and Alex is OK again. We’re given out to for missing class.

  I climb up onto the bed with Shane and snuggle. I tell him about school. About Miss Piggy and her oxygen remark.

  ‘She’s such a pig,’ I say, unnecessarily.

  ‘God, I miss school,’ he says.

  I stare at him. Then get it. I’m actually lucky to be able to go. I guess.

  ‘Would you mind getting off the bed?’

  I look up. There’s a nurse standing at the end of the bed. How did she do that? Just appear so quickly.

  ‘Hygiene,’ she says.

  I get up. Why is the world so full of people with rules? I sit on the chair beside the bed and feel miles away from him.

  ‘Give it a minute,’ he says, ‘then pull the curtain and come back up.’

  God, I love him. I wait three minutes, exactly, then pull the curtain and climb back up. I put my face up to his, nose to nose.

  ‘Hello,’ I say.

  He smiles. ‘Hello.’

  We laugh.

  ‘I was thinking of fortune cookies for the wedding.’

  He smiles again. ‘You really want this, don’t you?’

  I’ve a sudden moment of panic. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘More than anything.’

  ‘Then hurry up and get better.’

  ‘I’m trying.’ He looks at me. ‘It’s four days. I thought I’d be off the oxygen by now.’

  Oh my God. He should be, shouldn’t he? ‘Why aren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Have you asked the doctor?’

  ‘No. But I will in the morning.’

  ‘Good.’

  A tray of food arrives. He ignores it. He needs to eat. So I get up and do what Deirdre normally does. Then I move the tray up to him. He smiles thanks. But only picks at the food. I have this feeling that if I wasn’t here, he wouldn’t bother.

  ‘Here, you have the dessert,’ he says.

  ‘Nah, I’m grand.’

  ‘Go on, I’m stuffed. It’ll just be dumped.’

  I am actually starving. And it is ice cream. ‘You sure?’

  He hands it to me. Then lies back, looking exhausted. I get up and move the tray away. His eyelids look heavy, like he’s fighting to keep them open.

  ‘Sleep,’ I say.

  He looks relieved. ‘Would you mind? Just for a few minutes.’

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘Wake me up in ten, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I say, just so he’ll sleep. I’m not waking him.

  ‘You should get some homework done.’

  ‘You sound like my mum.’

  He smiles. ‘You don’t want to fall behind.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Life goes on, right?’ Meaning he wants my life to go on smoothly after he’s gone.

  ‘I hate when you talk like that.’

  ‘I don’t care. It’s important.’

  ‘Sleep,’ I say, instead of shut up. I love him so much. His eyes close. Like they’re relieved.

  After ten minutes admiring him, I get kind of bored. I think of all the freaking, useless homework I have to do. Why was it ever invented? I mean, what idiot came up with that idea? Some sort of sadist, obviously.

  Finally, and only because I don’t want to be up all night, I take out my stupid homework.

  Shane keeps on sleeping. Someone takes his tray away. A nurse comes to inject drugs into the thingy in his arm. Still he sleeps. Two other nurses come to turn him over. They wake him but by the time they’re finished settling him, he’s asleep again, just facing the opposite direction. The hum of the hospital continues around us.

  At seven, Peter arrives. I shove my books into my bag.

  ‘You don’t have to put them away.’

  ‘Trust me. I was looking for an excuse.’

  ‘What were you doing?’

  ‘Ecosystems.’

  ‘Ah,’ he says, like that explains it.

  He looks at Shane. ‘How’s he doing?’ he whispers.

  ‘Still waiting for the antibiotics to kick in.’

  He leaves a few packs of Jelly Tots on the bedside locker. ‘His fix,’ he says.

  ‘He’s already had a pack. You don’t want to send him over the edge,’ I joke.

  He smiles, then pulls up a chair beside me. ‘How long’s he been asleep?’

  ‘About an hour and a half.’

  ‘You think he’s gone for the night?’

  ‘Don’t know. Maybe. You should have come in earlier.’

  ‘That’s your time with him.’

  ‘I can share,’ I smile.

  ‘It’s OK. He called me after school and we’d a chat so it’s grand.’

  ‘Then why did you come in?’

  He shrugs. ‘Thought you might need a lift home.’

  ‘Who thought? You or Shane?’

  ‘He wants you to be safe.’

  I didn’t even tell Shane about my silent freak on the DART.

  ‘Look, you don’t need to—’ I start.

  ‘I want to.’ He lowers his voice. ‘It’s something I can do for him. You know?’ He looks at the person who’s always thinking of everyone else. My throat burns and I well up.

  ‘It’s not fair, is it?’ I whisper. ‘I mean, why did it have to happen someone so great?’

  And when he looks at me, I see that mine aren’t the only teary eyes in the place. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  I go to the head of the bed and cup Shane’s cheek in my hand, then I bend down and kiss him. ‘I love you so much,’ I whisper, then I force myself to leave.

  THIRTY-EIGHT | PYJAMA WOMAN

  Next day, Shane’s bed is empty. I stand in the doorway looking at it. Wondering where he’s gone. Worrying where he’s gone.

  ‘He’s been moved, love,’ the man in the first bed says. ‘Into a private room.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I say.

  ‘Ask one of the nurses.’

  ‘OK, thanks.’

  But I don’t need to ask anyone because, back on the corridor, I see Shane’s parents. They’re talking to a doctor. Actually, the doctor’s talking. They’re listening, his father frowning, his mother looking worried. I walk closer. I glance into the room behind them. Shane’s lying on his side, eyes closed, wearing one of those oxygen masks that cover your face. He’s on a drip. He’s covered by only a sheet. A fan is blowing air around the room. Suddenly, it’s me who’s cold. I start walking, like I’m in a trance. His parents finish with the doctor. Turning, they see me.

  ‘Sarah!’ Deirdre says.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  It’s his father who speaks. ‘They think he has an infection on top of his infection.’

  ‘Is that serious?’ It looks serious.

  ‘They’re doing tests and changing his antibiotics,’ he says. He’s so formal – like he’s still on TV.

  I look at Deirdre. She smiles but only with her mouth.

  ‘Would you like to see him? We’ll wait out here.’

  ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘We’ve been with him all day. Oh, you have to wash your hands.’

  I look at her.

  ‘Just a precaution.’

  For who? I wonder, but don’t ask.

  I wash my hands, then go to the head of the bed and sit, waiting for him to wake. Willing him to. He looks so much weaker. His chest rises and falls so obviously when he breathes, like it’s taking huge effort. I want to touch him, tell him it’ll be OK but I don’t want to wake him.

  And then, like he’s psychic, he opens
his eyes. And smiles. I take his hand. It’s so hot. I smile to hide my fear. I’m about to ask how he is, when I decide that’s obvious. And I don’t want him to waste energy talking.

  ‘How’re the wedding preparations coming on?’ he asks.

  I burst into a smile. Because that’s what we should be doing, planning for when he gets out, not even thinking about the infection.

  ‘Great! If it wasn’t for the priest and the church, we could actually do it now.’

  He takes off the mask. ‘Then let’s do it. Let’s get married here. We don’t need a church. There’s a priest here. I was talking to the chaplain yesterday,’ he says.

  ‘The chaplain?’ Last time I heard that word, Alex’s mum was dying. ‘Why?’

  ‘He just called around.’

  ‘Why, though? You’re not holy.’

  He smiles. ‘They call to everyone. I was talking to him about you – like I do to everyone – pathetic, right? The wedding came up.’

  I’m worried about him having the mask off. ‘Shouldn’t you put that on?’

  ‘I will in a minute. So what do you think?’

  I want to get married more than anything. But I want it to be the best wedding ever – especially for him. ‘I’d prefer to wait till you’re better,’ I say. ‘Till you’re out.’ Maybe with something to fight for, he’ll get out sooner.

  He gives me this look.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing. They’re changing my antibiotics.’

  ‘I know. That’s good, right?’

  He puts the mask back on. And nods. He rests his head back and closes his eyes, like that one conversation has taken all his energy.

  I glance out to the corridor to see if Shane’s parents want to come back in. His father has his arms around his mum and she is crying into his chest. And I have that cold feeling again. Like there’s something they’re not telling me.

  I stay with Shane for hours. Mostly, he sleeps. His parents wander in and out. Sometimes they sit for a while. Finally, his dad has to go. Deirdre does all these little things for Shane that never occurred to me to do. Which makes me feel useless. When the night nurses come on, she goes out to talk to them.

  Peter arrives. He looks totally shocked. ‘What happened?’