Anthem for Jackson Dawes (18 page)

‘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.

‘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?'

Megan nodded, still amazed, still looking around. ‘It's just great.'

‘We think young people with cancer will do well in a place like this. They'll feel better about being in hospital. Do you think they will?'

It was hard to take it all in, hard to answer. ‘But … what about all the treatment and stuff? They must have to go somewhere else to get that …'

Sister Brewster shook her head. ‘All done here.' It seemed so simple, so wonderful.

Megan stood in the middle of the unit absorbing everything. A thought struck her. ‘How did it all happen so quickly?'

‘Well, units like this cost over a million pounds to build new, but they completely gutted the old Outpatients Department. The builders have been here for ever. I'm surprised you didn't notice … on your travels.'

Megan smiled. How did she miss this?

‘Then we got some additional funding …' Sister Brewster spread her hands as if to take in the whole place. ‘You'll see who from when we go out.
So, anyway, this is it. We get our first patients in next month. They'll be coming from all over the place. This is the quietest it's ever going to be, I imagine!' They were making their way back to the entrance now.

‘Will you be working here?' Megan asked.

‘Well, yes, actually.' Sister Brewster smiled. ‘Can't think why. There were a couple of teenagers I had to look after once, I remember. Nothing but trouble.' Megan could feel herself blush. ‘But they were two of the nicest people I've met and one in particular is still talked about by cleaners, consultants, the mortuary technician …'

So it hadn't been stories after all! Good old Jackson!

They were heading back towards the doors, towards the real world of hospitals, out from the magical place that was the new unit for teenagers. Sister Brewster pressed another button and they pushed back through the double doors. She paused by the plaque on the wall. It was made of polished wood with words cut into it, painted gold. Megan read the inscription, felt her eyes sting, felt her whole body almost crumble.

‘Well, what do you think?'

Megan could say nothing at all, she was so full of pride and love and wishing.

Sister Brewster put an arm around her shoulder. ‘I know,' she said. ‘That's what I think too.'

Megan pushed open the garden gate. Dad must still be in bed. Or in the bath. He liked to have a long steep, just like Mum, with lots of bubbles. He said it was never the same when he was away. The baths were never as nice as home.

She didn't go into the house, but sat on the seat Dad had made under the big tree. Somehow she couldn't seem to think straight. Perhaps it was the visit to the hospital. Perhaps it was seeing the unit, seeing the staff again, but her head seemed full of pictures and sounds, memories and questions, all flying about like jigsaw pieces and she couldn't solve any of it.

She closed her eyes against the sun and she was there in the middle of it all, trying to sort it out. A
squeal of rubber on the floor. She knew that sound. A wheelchair. Yes. She was lying on a bed with all sorts of machines around her, bleeping and wheezing. The room seemed full of people, their words scrambled. Yet beneath it all was someone talking in a low, mysterious voice.

There was a famine in the land, and for months, no rain. Day after day the sun burn in the cloudless skies, the grass parch like a coffee berry. The trees also parch, and brown, same way. …

There were murmurs, soft movements. Hushes and whispers. Footsteps. Sister Brewster's maybe, or Siobhan's. Or was it someone new? Where was this, exactly? She recognised Mum's shoes with the low heel which clipped along the floor, and Dad's lace-ups, creaking as he walked. There was a cough. Someone sniffing. The voice carried on in snatches. Some of it she caught, some of it drifted away.

… Mister Anancy get up, next morning, dress in a long coat, tall hat and black bag, and he set off to Fish Country. When he get there, he take him an office, hang up a signpost:
M. Anancy. Surgeon …

Megan tried to find Jackson. It was his voice, but there was only darkness. Yet he was there, filling the place, talking like an old man from a faraway land.

… his first patient is very large fish … Anancy
look in her eye from all angle, he take a long, long, time … suddenly he just come up and say, ‘Your eye they is weak, but I think I can help you …'

Megan moved in and out of the story as the words fell around her. There was some trick the spider played and money to be paid and oh she wanted to hang on to all those words, because it was Jackson, in the room, close by, close enough to touch.

… and the fool, fool, fish pay him and he set off on his journey home … Anancy dash across the river …

More movements. The air hissed with whispers. Jackson's voice began to trail away as the story reached its end. There was that squeal of rubber again, the wheels of his chair swinging round, the sound drifting away and away.

Another door. Her own back door. Dad was striding towards her, in his sunglasses, his shirt sleeves rolled up, showing his tanned arms. He looked big and strong.

‘Hello. You're in a world of your own.' He sat down next to her on the seat. ‘What's wrong? If it's to do with Grandad, then, don't worry. We can sort it out.'

Megan wiped her eyes. ‘It's not. It's just … I remembered the story Jackson told. Bits of it, anyway.' She slipped her arm through Dad's. He squeezed it. ‘It was about a fish,' she went on.
‘Anancy cheats a fish out of its money. He pretends he's a doctor. Was that it? Something like it?'

Dad frowned. ‘You know, I think it was. I mean, he had this funny accent, which made it hard to grasp, but that was the gist of it, I think.'

Megan smiled. ‘I knew it.'

‘Well, I never,' Dad said. ‘Fancy you remembering that.'

‘And where was I? Not in my own room. Was I somewhere different?'

Dad paused, looking uncomfortable. He stared into the distance. ‘We used to call it Intensive Care …' He looked at her, his eyes glistening, face drawn, as if in pain. ‘Oh, you were so ill, love.'

Megan pressed into him, leaning her head on his shoulder. ‘But I'm better now, Dad,' she said, ‘you know I am.' She'd won her battle, that's what people said, yet it felt like a poor victory when Jackson didn't, when Kipper didn't.

Dad was blinking as if the sun were in his eyes. ‘Yes, you are, thank God.'

They sat for a while in silence.

‘So, where did you go off to, so early this morning? I woke up to find you gone. Didn't want to pry, with you being so upset last night, but now, you say you're better, so I'm asking.' He raised his eyebrows and peered over the top of his sunglasses at her.

‘I went to the hospital. To the new unit.'

Dad looked surprised. ‘Did you really? I thought you didn't want to.'