‘He doesn’t want to hear from me.’
‘You’re the only one he’ll listen to,’ Jay said.
‘Not tonight.’
‘Just do it, Rabbit – seriously. Our lives are on the line here.’
‘Why don’t you do it, Davey? It’s your band.’ She was too frustrated to admit she was scared.
‘She has a point,’ Francie said.
‘So you do it,’ Davey told him.
‘If I go in there, I’ll lay the fucker out.’ Francie held his hands in the air. ‘I am what I am.’
Davey sighed. ‘Biggest night of our careers and I’m surrounded by arseholes.’
He walked off the stage, leaving Francie, Jay, Louis and Rabbit. Jay cleaned the blood from his nose and pocketed the stained tissue. Louis straightened his finger and walked behind his keyboard. ‘It might need splinting but if someone gets me a drink I think I’ll be OK.’
‘Wanna jam?’ Jay asked Francie.
‘Fuck it.’ Francie picked up his guitar. Rabbit made her way towards the dressing room and arrived in time to witness Davey being thrown out.
‘He’s lost it,’ Davey said. ‘He’s totally fucking lost it.’
He walked onto the stage, leaving Rabbit to stare at the door for a minute or two before she knocked. Johnny didn’t answer. She knocked again.
‘Go away.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ she said.
‘Please go away.’
‘Just talk to me.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why not?’
Johnny opened the door. ‘Because I’m screwed.’
Rabbit walked inside and closed the door. ‘What’s happening, Johnny?’
‘I can’t seem to hold meself up, Rabbit. When I close me right eye, I can’t see a thing. The fans are wearing their laces open on their biker boots like me because they think it’s a fashion statement. It’s not. Me stupid feet are swollen to twice their size.’
‘So we’ll go to the doctor. Maybe it’s a virus. Me ma’s friend Pauline picked up a virus in Jersey and she lost some hair and was on her back for weeks.’
‘It’s not a virus.’
‘Are you a doctor?’
‘No.’
‘Well, then . . .’
‘I don’t think I can do this gig.’
‘Yes, you can.’
‘You don’t get it. I’m going to fall on me face.’
‘So sit down.’
‘It’s hardly rock and roll.’
‘It is if you’ve just been in a tour-bus crash.’
He cocked an eye. He was listening, so she went on: ‘Francie’s nose is smashed, Jay has a black eye, Louis’s finger is probably broken. We’ll splint your leg and one of the lads can do something to Davey. You say you crashed on the way here but you’re still going on because you love your fans and that’s how hardcore you are. We can sell it to the lads because they’re in bits anyway.’
‘That might work.’
‘It will work. You’ll get a magazine cover out of this.’
‘Rabbit, you’re my saviour.’
‘So we’ll go to the doctor tomorrow.’
‘You don’t have to come.’
‘I’m coming.’
Johnny apologized to the lads and convinced them that a bus crash was a good idea. Back in the dressing room, Davey needed extra convincing because Francie was flexing his fist, ready and waiting to give him an injury.
‘What if we say I travelled in a separate car?’ Davey pleaded.
‘Not rock and roll,’ Rabbit said.
‘Ah, come on.’
‘Don’t be a bleedin’ baby. I’ll just give you a tap,’ Francie said.
‘Your version of a tap is brain damage.’
‘It’ll be over before you know it,’ Johnny said.
‘How come you can fake it?’ Davey complained to Johnny, who was having his leg fake-splinted by Rabbit.
‘We can’t splint your arms because you couldn’t play and we can’t see your legs, so it has to be the face,’ Jay said, and Francie nodded.
‘Now, do you want to go down in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame or not?’ Francie asked.
‘I do,’ Davey said.
‘Nice one.’ Francie punched him in the mouth.
That night Kitchen Sink played to a packed house. Johnny sat in a chair with his splinted leg up, backed by his banged-up band. He sang his heart out to a grateful and fawning crowd. Afterwards he gave an exclusive about Kitchen Sink’s near-death experience to a rock journalist, and when he was so tired he needed Rabbit’s help to walk to the bar, Peter Moore, the record-company man, was waiting with a pint. ‘You just went up a gear tonight, guys,’ he said, and the lads smiled at one another.
‘Keep this up and our sister company in the UK will get on board. You are going to be huge.’ He raised his glass and the other lads raised theirs. Johnny looked at his, picked it up slowly and clinked it before putting it down. He didn’t take a sip. Johnny wasn’t a big drinker. ‘Remember this night,’ Peter said.
‘Oh, I will,’ Johnny replied. ‘It’s going to be hard to forget.’
Chapter Eight
Rabbit
WHEN RABBIT WOKE up, she was surrounded by family. Her ma and da, Grace, Davey and Juliet, who was asleep, her head resting on her nan’s lap.
‘What time is it?’
‘Just after seven,’ Molly said.
‘I missed the whole day?’ Rabbit asked.
‘You must have needed the rest,’ Grace said.
‘Maybe I’ll ask for a vitamin.’ She tried to pull herself into a sitting position. Grace rushed to help.
‘I can do it,’ Rabbit argued.
‘Yeah, well, I can do it better,’ Grace said. She raised her sister and fixed her pillows behind her.
‘How long has Juliet been asleep?’ Rabbit asked.
‘I’m awake now.’ Juliet scratched her head and sat up slowly.
Rabbit grinned at her. ‘Hello there, Bunny.’
Juliet went to her mother and hugged her. ‘Hello yourself.’
Rabbit surveyed her. ‘You’re pale.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘Davey took me to Fiddlers.’
‘Oh, fancy.’
Juliet looked towards her uncle, seated by the window, and smiled at him. ‘Yeah, it was really nice.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said.
‘Are Stephen and Bernard still here?’ Juliet asked, and Grace said that they were.
‘Do you want to see them, Ma?’ Juliet asked.
‘Of course.’
‘OK, I’ll get them, but we can’t all stay here,’ Juliet said.
‘I could do with stretching my legs,’ Jack said, getting up. He picked up the beige bunny from the floor and handed it to his daughter, then kissed her forehead. ‘A rabbit for my Rabbit.’
She laughed. ‘I love it, Da.’
‘I love you.’ For a split second everything stopped in the room. ‘Right, come on, Juliet. Let’s put the boys out of their misery.’
When they’d left, Rabbit looked at her ma and then Grace. ‘What’s wrong with Juliet?’
‘Nothing,’ Davey said, and not because he felt Rabbit needed protecting from the news of her daughter’s menstruation, but because he couldn’t face talking about it.
‘Grace?’
‘She got her period today.’
Davey covered his face.
‘Oh,’ Rabbit said. ‘Is she OK?’
‘She’s fine. Davey sorted it.’
‘Davey?’
‘I gave her money. She went to the chemist. The end. Now can we move on?’
Grace laughed. ‘I really wish I could have been there to see his face.’
Rabbit was entertained by the idea of her easily embarrassed brother having to deal with a young girl’s period, but part of her felt like crying.
Molly piped up, ‘I got mine when I was riding a horse. I got off Duke and Ricky
Horgan shouted that I’d jam on me arse. It wasn’t jam at all.’
Rabbit and Grace laughed. Davey went puce. ‘Jaysus, Ma.’
‘I was on a camping trip with the Girl Guides. I filled me knickers with dock leaves, said nothing and no one was any the wiser,’ Grace said.
‘There you go, Grace, a green sanitary-towel option. You could package that,’ Molly said, over Davey’s groans.
‘I’ve no story,’ Rabbit said.
‘Good,’ Davey said.
‘Everyone has a story,’ Grace said.
‘Shut up, Grace,’ Davey pleaded.
‘Shut up yerself.’
‘Ma, seriously, tell Grace to shut up.’
‘Are you twelve, Davey Hayes?’ Molly asked.
‘Go on, Rabbit,’ Grace said.
‘I was just on the loo, saw blood and called me ma.’
‘Right, that’s it, I’m going to the canteen,’ Davey said, and was gone.
Molly chuckled. ‘I remember, you were only ten. You screamed, “Ma, Ma, I think I’m dying . . .”’ Rabbit’s eyes instantly filled with tears and there was silence in the room. ‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ Molly stuttered. ‘I shouldn’t have said it.’
The room fell into total silence. The three women cast their eyes downwards and that was when Rabbit accepted the truth.
‘Ma,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Ma, look at me. Ma, please, look at me.’
Molly took a deep breath, then met her younger daughter’s eyes.
‘I think I’m really dying, Ma.’
In a second, and despite two titanium hips, Molly was up and out of the sofa, holding Rabbit and wiping away her tears. ‘I know ya are, love. I know.’
‘I’m sorry, Ma,’ Rabbit said, and Grace gulped as hot fat tears rolled down her face.
‘Noooo, don’t be sorry, love. We love you so much.’ Molly stroked her head.
At that very moment Stephen and Bernard strolled in.
‘Hiya, Auntie Rabbit,’ Bernard said.
‘Fuck off!’ Grace shouted. The two lads assessed the situation and backed out without another word.
Rabbit cried in her mother’s arms for a few more minutes, then wiped her eyes and promised no more tears.
‘You cry all you want to,’ Grace said.
‘I’m done,’ Rabbit said, then asked the question that was on everyone’s mind. ‘Juliet?’
‘We need to tell her, Rabbit,’ Molly said.
‘Davey’s organized a meeting tomorrow at Ma’s to talk about who’s going to take her and, don’t you worry, everyone wants her,’ Grace said.
Rabbit nodded and bit her lip. ‘Davey did that?’
‘He was very assertive,’ Grace said.
‘Good for him.’ Rabbit addressed her mother: ‘Can we wait just another day before telling her?’
‘Of course.’
‘If I get worse . . .’
‘I know, love,’ Molly said.
‘OK.’
They fell into silence again. ‘“Ma, Ma, I think I’m dying,”’ Grace repeated, with a big grin. ‘Jaysus, Ma, another classic.’
Molly looked at Rabbit for a signal. Rabbit’s grin was enough. ‘The other day I told her the bath was big enough to drown in,’ Molly said sheepishly.
Rabbit and Grace were laughing when Juliet popped her head around the door. ‘Where are the boys?’
‘They’ve been in and gone,’ Grace said.
‘Oh,’ she said, coming in and taking a seat by her mother. ‘Quick.’
‘But memorable,’ Rabbit said, and Grace laughed.
‘All right, yous are all acting strange but that’s OK. It’s been a strange day,’ Juliet said.
‘I heard,’ Rabbit said, and squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘I bet it’s a good story.’
‘Oh, it’s a story,’ Juliet agreed, much to her mother’s enjoyment.
When everyone had gone home, Rabbit lay in bed attempting to make peace with her imminent demise. She wasn’t angry or even that frustrated. She wasn’t scared or worried. She wasn’t bitter or vengeful. She was just sad to leave the people she loved most, especially her daughter. She had fought for so long, but finally she knew that she couldn’t go on. It was hard to have to say goodbye to life, with its ups and downs and all the things that made it beautiful. Marjorie was on her mind. She wished her friend was in a happier place and in a relationship. Rabbit’s death wouldn’t hit so hard if she had someone’s shoulder to cry on. She briefly daydreamed about bringing Davey and Marjorie together; it would be a fairy-tale ending of sorts. Rabbit pops her clogs and Davey pops the question; they’d adopt Juliet and live happily ever after. She laughed to herself as she remembered Sister Francine’s stark warning to her when she was sixteen and had dared to admit her scepticism in religion class: ‘It’s easy to turn your back on the Lord when the going is good, but wait till you’re on your deathbed, my girl. Then you’ll go looking for Him and I hope it won’t be too late.’ The way Sister Francine had said ‘I hope it won’t be too late’ implied not only that she hoped it would be too late but that she’d be disappointed if it wasn’t. Sister Francine had been pushing eighty back then, so she was long dead. Pity. I’d love to give her a call and tell her I’m dying and still not looking for the Lord, so screw you, penguin. We can all be bitchy, Sister F.
When she looked back on her life, she had no regrets. Well, maybe a few, but overall she had done her best, and she wouldn’t change anything, except maybe leaving for America when Johnny had told her to go. Maybe if she had stayed, things would have worked out differently, although, either way, by the time she got on the flight to JFK she had lost him anyway. The things she regretted were in the future she’d never have. She regretted not being around for Juliet, never finding another love and not finishing the book based on her blog. She regretted not putting more money away for Juliet’s education and basic needs, and leaving the burden of that on her family. She wondered why she wasn’t angry. It was all so unfair. Maybe it was because she was so tired.
‘Have you any pain?’ Jacinta asked, changing her patch.
‘I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘You’re coming in and out.’
‘I was mean to you last night. I’m sorry,’ Rabbit said.
‘No, you weren’t.’
‘I was rude.’
‘You were in agony. I’ve had to deal with way worse than you,’ Jacinta said.
‘How long do I have left, Jacinta?’
‘It’s hard to say.’
‘Not long, though.’
‘Probably not.’
‘But it’s hard to say.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I have no pain,’ Rabbit said.
‘Good,’ Jacinta said. ‘Sleep well, Rabbit.’ But Rabbit was already gone.
Rabbit Hayes’s Blog
4 December 2009
S Is for Shitting Yourself
I haven’t been writing for a while. Chemo has a way of making death seem like a holiday. So here’s a list of my side effects in alphabetical order: abdominal pain, acid reflux, bruising, chest pain and chills, dry mouth and diarrhoea. Nothing in the Es, so moving on to F: flu-like syndrome and fatigue; nothing I through L, but under M, memory loss, mouth sores, then numbness, skip O, pain under P, rash under R, skip to V for vomiting and finishing off with W for weight loss. X, Y and Z are letting the side down. Other than that, chemo is a breeze.
Juliet’s being great. She’s reading about cancer foods on the net and insisting that we juice. We produced a green concoction that made her throw up through her nose last week, and when she stopped gagging and crying, she said, ‘Ma, at least you’re not vomiting alone.’ The thing is as bad as it gets – and, trust me, with constant heartburn, bad breath, vomiting, shitting yourself and forgetting where the clean pants are kept, it gets bad – but I’ve never felt alone. My mother is on the phone morning, noon and night, and when she’s not on the phone, she’s in my house, cleaning, cooking and giving out about
deaf Annie next door.
‘Who in the hell watches daytime TV at that level? There’s fucking discos that are quieter than that auld one’s sitting room.’
She’s banged on the wall a few times and threatened Armageddon, but if deaf Annie heard her she doesn’t let on, she just waves and smiles and shouts about the weather every time they pass each other on the street. Grace is always here, and when my mother isn’t cleaning she is. She tries to cook and it’s appreciated (mostly by nextdoor’s Husky and deaf Annie’s three cats). My dad has learned to text just so that we can talk even when my buzzing head aches too much to speak. Davey Skypes and sends care packages from various spas around the world. The last one was from India and smelt of rotten eggs. It’s in the garden shed only because it’s too expensive to throw out but definitely not expensive enough to try.
Marjorie is my light relief: she flits in and out, never outstays her welcome and always knows what to say and do, even if it means her saying, ‘I don’t know what to say or do.’ Sometimes she sings me a little song she’s made up on the journey over. She’s funny, funnier than she knows. I wish she’d find someone. Juliet is my constant.
I may be sick to my stomach, exhausted and absolutely terrified, but I am definitely not alone.
DAY FIVE
Chapter Nine
Molly
MOLLY LIKED TO walk when she couldn’t sleep, while Jack favoured lying there, eyes wide open, staring. He could have been mistaken for a dead man if he hadn’t been a sniffer. Jack sniffed a lot. It was a tic and/or a habit he’d had since he was a child. The amount of sniffing was directly linked to how much pressure he was under. If there was a world record in sniffing, Jack Hayes would probably break it overnight. Molly put on a coat and walked around the green in front of her house, around and around, until darkness faded into light and Pauline Burke came out of her house in her dressing-gown and slippers, holding two mugs of hot tea.
‘You’re freezing.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Your slippers are soaked in dew and you’ve either got snot or an icicle at the end of your nose.’
Molly rubbed it off and stared at the offending item. ‘I think it’s just dry skin.’
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes Page 16