Juliet fixed her ma’s blanket, which was a soft, warm wool mix that had cost Marjorie a fortune. Rabbit pushed it down but Juliet insisted on tucking it in around her waist. ‘It’s not that warm, Ma.’ She wasn’t sure if she was trying to hide from her mother’s deterioration or if she was actually concerned that Rabbit would catch cold. Another wave of guilt followed. Davey sat on the bench with a coffee in hand.
‘Remember all those years we went to Blackpool, Davey?’ Rabbit asked.
‘Hard to forget.’
‘We had a ball.’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘I should have taken you to Blackpool, Juliet.’
‘It’s OK. I loved France and Spain, Vegas and New York.’
‘Still . . .’ Rabbit said.
‘What was the name of the old donkey that used to walk up and down the pier?’
‘Desmond,’ Rabbit said.
‘Desmond the Donkey?’ Juliet said.
‘Desmond was no ordinary donkey,’ Rabbit said. ‘He could count to ten with his hoof and fart on command.’
‘“Blow hard,” the guy would say – what was his name?’ Davey wondered.
‘I just remember he smelt of tobacco and Old Spice,’ Rabbit said. ‘But he said “Blow hard” and Desmond blew hard.’
‘Every kid on holiday visited the farting donkey. I tell you, if you want to really make money, invest in a farting anything. Kids are helpless when it comes to farts.’
‘It’s true. The year we went and he’d died, I cried for hours,’ Rabbit recalled.
‘I remember that,’ Davey said, in a high-pitched voice that suggested he’d only just remembered it and was enjoying the recollection. ‘We had to have a mock funeral for Desmond in the hotel car park.’
‘But you didn’t bury the actual donkey,’ Juliet said.
‘No, we buried a Desmond the Donkey key-ring me ma had bought for Pauline across the road,’ Rabbit explained.
‘Under some wildflowers. Da dug the ground with a dessert spoon and Ma said the eulogy,’ Davey added.
‘RIP, Desmond the Donkey. You brought joy, you brought pain . . .’ Rabbit said.
‘And the likes of your arse will never be seen again,’ Davey concluded.
Rabbit smiled. ‘Make Ma say something at mine. She won’t want to, but make her, OK, Davey?’
‘I will.’
Juliet changed the subject. ‘Would you like something to eat, Ma?’
‘No thanks, love.’
‘You haven’t eaten anything again today.’
‘Not hungry.’
‘Even a snack? The canteen has almond fingers.’
‘I’m fine,’ Rabbit said. ‘How are you and Juliet getting on at the house, Davey?’
‘Great,’ Juliet said, before he could answer.
‘Juliet’s a lovely cook. She made me scrambled eggs this morning.’
‘You should try her scones.’
‘You make scones? What age are you – ninety?’
‘I’ve had a breadmaker for two years plus,’ Juliet told him.
‘Oh, excuse me,’ Davey said, and Juliet grinned.
Juliet and Davey had always had a way with each other, and even though she saw him less than the rest of the family, they always reconnected easily.
‘Why are you squeezing your temples? Have you got a headache?’ Rabbit asked.
‘No, just thinking.’
‘What about?’ Rabbit asked.
‘I’m sleeping in your bed. Is that OK?’
‘It’s great. Are you sure you want to stay at my place, Davey?’ Rabbit asked.
‘He’s sure,’ Juliet said.
Davey nodded. ‘She’s happier at home, and with Ma just out of hospital, we’re better off giving her space. If we stay with her and Da, she’ll just take care of us.’
‘I’m really happy with Davey, Ma,’ Juliet said.
‘I can see that,’ Rabbit said, and before anyone could say any more, Derek Salley, Rabbit’s favourite editor, was coming towards them.
She held out her hand and he took it. ‘Who knew you’d be better-looking without the wig?’
‘Charmer.’
‘We miss you.’
‘This is my brother, Davey, and you know Juliet.’
Juliet said, ‘Hi.’
‘Davey, why don’t you take Juliet for a snack?’ Rabbit suggested.
‘I’m not hungry,’ she said.
‘Yes, you are,’ Davey insisted, getting up and dragging his niece by her collar. She feigned distress, then fell into step, waving back at her mother.
In the canteen, over Davey’s fifth coffee of the morning and Juliet’s second cupcake, he asked her about the editor.
‘She’s been writing a blog for the newspaper, but she’s done extra for a book,’ Juliet told him.
‘What kind of book?’
‘About being sick and other stuff.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Grown-up stuff.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ he said.
‘Nobody does.’
‘Good for her.’
‘Davey, she’s having a really good day, isn’t she?’
‘The best yet.’
‘That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, kiddo, it’s good.’
Derek stayed for fifteen minutes. As soon as he’d left, Rabbit needed to be taken back to her bed: she was suffering breakthrough pain. It was bone-crunching and more than enough to end a pleasant afternoon in the garden. It was obvious to Juliet that her ma was doing her best to be strong and brave, but even though she kept her mouth firmly closed, her cries still escaped. Once inside, the nurse called one of the doctors. He asked Davey and Juliet to give him a moment with the patient. He was in there for fifteen minutes.
Davey and Juliet sat outside on the plastic chairs.
‘What do you think is taking so long?’ Juliet asked.
‘I don’t want to know,’ Davey said.
‘She’ll be OK,’ Juliet told herself. ‘I’ve seen this before lots of times. She’ll sleep now and then she’ll wake up and everything will be OK. She’s having her best day.’
‘I’m going to get a coffee.’
‘You’ve already had too many,’ Juliet said.
‘Oh, sorry, Ma.’ He stuck his tongue out at her.
‘Hold on, wait for me.’ Juliet didn’t want to sit outside that door on her own.
By the time they returned, Rabbit was asleep and the doctor was gone. Davey made some stupid excuse to leave the room. Juliet knew he was going to find the doctor. She sat with her mother and watched her closely, listening to her breathing through her mouth. Just sleep, Ma. It will be better when you wake up.
Grace
Lenny had gone to work early. Grace found it hard to drag herself out of bed. She wanted to stay there, cocooned and in stasis. She heard the kids get up, argue over the bathroom, tramp downstairs and bang around in the kitchen. Jeffrey called her a few times but didn’t dare enter her room, which had been a dedicated child-free zone since he had stopped peeing in his bed at the age of three.
Ryan knocked once. ‘Ma, is it OK if I go out with the lads later?’
He was still grounded, but ever since he had broken his curfew to find Juliet, she had felt bad about imposing it. She wanted to answer, but whether to stick to her guns and say no or relent and let him off with her blessing was a dilemma too far, so she stayed silent.
‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he said, and she was glad he had made the decision for both of them.
She heard the front door slam once, then twice. She couldn’t remember if Stephen had left for the library with his dad or not. It was likely that she was alone. Grace rarely lay on in bed. Usually she was the first downstairs, making breakfast, shouting at the kids to hurry up and planning her day. She left the house at the same time as they did to join her friends for a canal walk or to shop; there was always something. She needed to get up: she had a million things to do before s
he visited Rabbit but still she couldn’t get out of bed. She was tired, she was awake – perhaps too awake. She could hear the birds singing loudly, she could feel the breeze from the open window tickle the fine hair on her arms, and she could smell Breda-next-door’s honeysuckle. A magpie sat on her windowsill with its back to her, surveying the area and minding his own business. One for sorrow. He hung around just long enough to make Grace deeply uncomfortable. What’s next? A crow? She didn’t realize she was crying and she certainly didn’t realize she was crying so loudly that her eldest son could hear her from his bedroom down the landing. A knock startled her.
‘Ma?’
She wanted to tell Stephen to go away but she couldn’t catch her breath properly to speak.
‘I’m coming in,’ he warned, more for his sake than hers. He’d heard about Bernard’s scarring encounter with his ma’s breasts. He opened the door gingerly and sat on the floor beside her. He said nothing while she did her best to control herself. When her emotions were finally in check, he offered her some of her own duvet to wipe her face; instead she used the flat of her hands.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘Studying in my room.’
‘What about the library?’
‘Too crowded.’
‘You mean too many distractions?’
‘Susan started seeing Peter.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Ah, he’s a nice guy. I’m not for her. So, what are you going to do?’ He hunched his shoulders.
‘I can’t seem to get out of bed,’ Grace said.
‘I’ll help you.’ He stood up and stretched out his hand. She clasped it. He hauled her up and kept hold of her until she was standing.
‘Do your thing. I’ll make you something to eat,’ he said.
‘No, don’t. Go back to your study.’
‘Ma, if I fail, I’ll repeat in August.’
‘What about your trip?’
‘There will be others.’
All the anger she’d felt at his failure to knuckle down during the year dissipated, and suddenly she was overwhelmed with pride. He’s becoming an adult.
He had coffee, a boiled egg and toast waiting for her when she finally came down the stairs. He also had laid out the advert about the caravan that Ryan had spotted. He sat beside her at the counter.
‘Nan can’t take Juliet, can she?’
‘She probably doesn’t know it yet, but definitely not.’
‘So, we get the caravan, but instead of Ryan sleeping in it, I will.’
‘Stephen . . .’
‘It’s a short-term solution. I’ll pass these exams, if not next week then next month, and I’ll buckle down next year. I’ll study, get a part-time job and move out.’
‘I’m not pushing you out of your own home.’
‘I’m big and bold enough, Ma.’
Out of nowhere Grace was bawling again.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ he said, as she rocked and sobbed and snotted into her hands.
‘I know you didn’t. I’m so proud. I’m sorry.’
She moved to hug him but he pulled back. ‘I’ll get you a tissue.’
‘OK, son,’ she managed, then burst into a third wave of tears. He phoned the caravan seller while she pulled herself together. It was still up for sale and not too far away, so she agreed there was no time like the present to go and see it.
Stephen drove and they got lost once, but he quickly worked out an alternative route and they got to the guy’s house in less than half an hour. The caravan was parked in the front garden. It was up on bricks and looked like it might once have been white, but over the years it had turned a weird yellow and grey. It was small.
‘The word is bijou, Ma,’ Stephen said.
They were surveying its shell when the guy came out of his house. He was a small man, bald with a long beard. Immediately Grace thought it odd that such a short person would wear such a long beard. You look like a wizard or an elf, or an elfin wizard. He was tanned and had big biceps that emphasized his tiny hands. He wore a fitted biker jacket, even though it was warm and he’d been indoors. Stephen was the first to say hello and shake his hand. His name was Ron and he was friendly, a talker. Once the greetings were dispensed with, Grace remained tight-lipped, letting her son do the business. He took Stephen around the outside of the caravan, pointing out how solid and strong it was. It didn’t seem rusty, at least not to the unprofessional eye, and Ron swore that, aside from slight discoloration, it was as good as the day he had bought it. He opened the door and went inside. Stephen followed, then Grace wedged herself in – it was a real squeeze. Ron stood in one spot, pointing to the dining area-cum-bedroom, the kitchenette, which comprised a cooker, tiny sink and counter, and a shelf with a toaster on it. They shuffled in a line to the bathroom, which was so small that Stephen had to duck and turn sideways to get into it. He was closest to the door so he was first out, followed by Grace, then Ron.
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’ Ron said, without the slightest hint of irony.
‘I like it,’ Stephen said, looking from Ron to his mother, who remained completely unmoved.
‘I mean, a hundred and fifty euro is practically giving her away.’
‘There is the issue of it being up on bricks,’ Stephen said.
‘I have wheels in the garage. They’re pretty threadbare because me and Rhonda here travelled the length and breadth of New Zealand together for four years.’ Ron and Rhonda, Jesus Christ. ‘They’ll hold to get you home, but if you want to take her travelling you’ll have to buy new ones.’
‘Will you throw in the tyres and the bricks for the hundred and fifty?’ Stephen asked.
‘Absolutely.’
‘What about the contents?’
‘It’s all yours.’
‘All around New Zealand, huh?’ Stephen said.
‘Yeah. Worked as an extra on Lord of the Rings, parts one and two.’
‘That makes sense,’ Grace said.
The two men glanced her way; she stared back at them blankly until Stephen re-engaged him. ‘Yeah, serious bit of wear and tear doing that, I’d say.’
‘She’s built for it.’
‘Take fifty off and you have a deal.’
‘No way.’
‘I bet the underside of that van is as bollixed as the tyres.’
The guy looked Stephen up and down. ‘You’re a chancer.’
‘I’ll bet there’s two of us in it.’
‘I’ll take a hundred and twenty-five and it’s a deal.’
‘Done.’
They both seemed very pleased with themselves when they turned to Grace, who was silently crying again.
‘You get into the car, Ma.’ Stephen handed her the keys. She did as she was told and watched Stephen head into the garage with the elfin wizard.
Her phone rang. It was Davey. He’d witnessed Rabbit’s breakthrough pain and it had freaked him out. She tried to calm him down but he was hyper. ‘Is she asleep now?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, they knocked her out. I spoke to the doctor. He says we’d better make preparations.’
Grace was crying again. Her face burned; her jaw and ears ached.
‘I don’t understand. She was having such a good day,’ Davey said.
‘Where’s Juliet?’
‘She’s with her now.’
‘What about Ma and Da?’
‘Rabbit sent them home. Pauline collected them. Where are you, Grace?’
‘Buying a caravan.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Stephen’s going to sleep in the caravan to make room for Juliet.’
‘Keep your money, Grace.’
‘Don’t start again, Davey.’
‘Stop treating me like I’m an idiot. I have just as much right to her as you do.’
‘Grow up, Davey, for fuck’s sake. This is not about you. How many times?’
‘Fuck you, Grace. You think you’re better than me, but she wants to be
with me.’
‘Oh, so you told her. Of course you did, why wouldn’t you? Christ, Davey, she needs an adult in her life, not a child.’
She hung up as Stephen crossed the road. He got into the car, clearly chuffed with himself. He didn’t notice his mother’s anger at first but then she mumbled some random curse words under her breath.
‘What?’
‘Fucking Davey.’
‘What about him?’
‘Nothing. Did you do the deal?’
‘He’s going to put the wheels on and I’ll come back and hitch it up with Da later.’
‘You didn’t pay him, did you?’
‘I may be failing but I’m not slow.’ He took off down the road. ‘Where to next?’
‘I want to be with Rabbit.’
‘So that’s where we’ll go.’
Before Rabbit had got sick, Grace had used the excuse that she hated hospitals to avoid going to see anyone she knew, no matter how deep the friendship or the connection. It was a fear, she told them, a genuine honest-to-God phobia, even. The truth was that it wasn’t the hospital that freaked her out, it was the sick people in it. She hated the smells, the wasted bodies and the cries for help. She despised the vulnerability and the indignity. Grace had never been sick in her life and, much like her mother, she had been made for childbirth so she never spent more than two days in a maternity unit. She’d always gone private, the only real luxury she’d ever insisted upon. She’d wanted to have her baby in her own room with an en-suite and a fridge for her celebratory vodka. Grace didn’t believe in breastfeeding. She had been reared on the bottle and it had been good enough for her – besides, she wasn’t the kind of woman to lob out a tit in Tesco. Rabbit had breastfed Juliet. She’d read the books and gone to the classes. She’d even joined a breastfeeding group, which, of course, Grace and Davey had made fun of, but she didn’t care. Rabbit had always forged her own path and to hell with everyone else. It was one of Grace’s favourite things about her sister.
The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes Page 26