The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes (10 page)

‘Ah, Ma!’

‘Don’t ah-Ma me, Grace Hayes. Now give me a flapjack, love.’

Rabbit stayed quiet: still no Johnny.
Where are you?
Just when she thought all was lost, he rounded the corner with his hair tied up and his black leather jacket open and flapping. It was a second before she registered the girl he was walking with, arm in arm.

The programme started and Jack went to press Record but in his excitement he knocked the remote off the chair. ‘Oh, Lord, no!’ he shouted, jumping to his feet.

‘Da! Get out of the way,’ Grace ordered, from her position on the floor next to Davey, who was hunched over and peering through his father’s legs.

‘Ah, for God’s sake, Jack, will ya move yerself?’ Molly said.

‘Calm down,’ Francie said. ‘We’re not on till halfway through.’

Jack stood up. ‘Maybe I’ll wait till you hit the stage. That way I save the tape.’

‘No, Da, record now,’ Grace said.

‘Why?’

‘Because I want to see meself in the audience.’

‘Right.’ He pressed Record just as Johnny entered the room with the mystery girl.

‘There you are, son,’ Molly said.

‘Hiya, Mrs H. This is Alandra.’

Molly nodded and smiled, but everyone else looked at Alandra as if she was an alien.

‘Marjorie, sit on the windowsill with Rabbit. Francie, Jay, bunch up for Johnny and Alandra,’ Molly ordered. Everyone did as they were told as the two TV presenters talked about the bands that were about to hit the stage. When they mentioned Kitchen Sink, the lads roared and Jack clapped his hands together. Then the room fell quiet and everyone watched the first band intently. No one spoke. Everyone faced forward, except Johnny, who was staring at Alandra, and Rabbit, who was staring at Johnny staring at Alandra. She was tall, with long black silky hair and olive skin, rocking a simple black dress and big silver jewellery. She wasn’t just the coolest person Rabbit had ever seen in real life, she was also the most beautiful. Johnny was mesmerized. Rabbit fixed her glasses on her face, holding them against her forehead, and focused on not crying.

When Kitchen Sink were finally introduced the room exploded. Even Davey, who was usually so reserved, raised his arms and hollered. On screen, Davey clicked his sticks together, ‘One, two, three, four . . .’ beat the drum and the band kicked off. Jack wiped away a tear and Molly rapped on the armrest in time with her son. Rabbit shifted her gaze from Johnny on the sofa to Johnny on stage. He sang so beautifully it made her want to cry even more.

‘Are you all right?’ Marjorie whispered.

‘Fine,’ Rabbit said. ‘Why?’

‘’Cause you look like you’re in pain.’

‘How?’

‘Your face is doing this.’ She demonstrated.

‘Oh.’ Rabbit straightened it and glanced at Johnny, who wasn’t focused on the TV but on the cool girl, who had intertwined her silver-ringed fingers with his. The sight made Rabbit’s stomach knot.

Afterwards, when the band were done and the presenters had cited them the next best thing, Jack rewound the show and watched it ten times over while Molly cleared up and the band went into the garage to work on a new song. Marjorie wondered why Rabbit didn’t want to watch them rehearse.

‘It’s boring,’ she said.

‘Seriously?’ Marjorie didn’t believe her friend for a second.

Instead they went outside to sit on the wall. It was a warm night and some lads were playing football on the green. After a while Marjorie joined them. Rabbit remained on the wall, determined to find something interesting in Marjorie and the boys chasing a ball. She heard the side door open and, without turning, she felt Johnny behind her. Alandra was stuck to his hip and they were still hand in hand when they stopped in front of her.

‘So, what did you think, Rabbit?’ he asked.

‘Good.’

‘Just good?’

‘Great.’

‘Good.’ He turned to Alandra. ‘Alandra, this is my good friend Rabbit.’ He turned back to Rabbit. ‘Rabbit, this is my girlfriend, Alandra.’

‘It’s so nice to meet you, Rabbit,’ Alandra said, putting out her hand to shake Rabbit’s.

My girlfriend? When? How? Why?
Rabbit shook Alandra’s hand.

‘Well, we’ve got to get going,’ Johnny said. ‘See ya later, Rabbit.’ He raised his hand in the air, and she watched them walking down the road together.
My girlfriend! Makes me wanna puke
, Rabbit thought.

It was dark when Francie and Jay left. Davey called Rabbit in from the wall and Marjorie off the green. ‘Hey, short stuff, let’s go,’ he shouted. Marjorie grinned at him and ran over, happy to do as she was told.

‘Hey, Davey, I thought yous were amazing,’ she said, as they followed a very unhappy Rabbit inside.

‘It’s only going to get better from here on in,’ he promised.

‘When I’m old enough, will ya take me to one of yer shows?’ she asked.

‘Marjorie, when you’re old enough, you and Rabbit will be at every show.’

Marjorie jumped and screeched a little. Rabbit made a face.

‘What’s with you?’ Davey asked.

‘I have a life, you know,’ Rabbit said.

‘News to me.’ Davey closed the door.

Later, when Marjorie was clad in her Tinkerbell nightdress and jumping on the bed, singing a medley of Kitchen Sink’s songs, Davey found Rabbit sitting on the stairs.

‘What’s going on?’ He sat down beside her.

She looked behind her. ‘Grace won’t get out of the bathroom.’

‘I’m not talking about that.’

‘When do you think the Spanish girl is going home?’

‘She’s here for a year at least, maybe more.’ Rabbit looked like she was about to cry. Davey put his arm over her shoulders. It was out of character for him to show affection to his sister, even if he felt it in spades, so the move was slightly awkward. Rabbit looked from his arm on her shoulders to his face.

‘He’s too old for you, Rabbit.’

‘It’s only four years. Me da is three years older than me ma,’ Rabbit said.

‘Four years is a lot when you’re only twelve,’ Davey said.

‘I’ll grow up, then.’

Davey laughed a little and nodded. ‘OK.’ He got up to bang on the bathroom door.

‘And, Davey,’ Rabbit said, ‘when I do it’s going to be great.’

Rabbit woke up in a foul mood. Jacinta came as soon as she was called.

‘I need another stupid patch.’

‘I just changed it an hour ago when you were sleeping.’

‘Well, I’m in agony so it must be faulty.’

‘Just relax for a minute.’ Jacinta felt Rabbit’s forehead.

Rabbit pulled away like a bold child. ‘Leave it, leave me.’

Jacinta checked Rabbit’s chart. ‘I can give you a shot.’

‘So just do it, then.’

Jacinta left to get the medication. Rabbit stared at the ceiling, counting to ten in her head. When Jacinta reappeared, Rabbit closed her eyes and waited. Once the shot was administered and she felt the liquid rip through her veins, she relaxed enough to respond to Jacinta’s shock question.

‘So, who’s Alandra?’

Rabbit opened her eyes wide. ‘What? Why?’

‘You were shouting “Fuck Alandra” in your sleep,’ Jacinta said, battling to curb her smile.

‘I was?’

Jacinta nodded.

Rabbit sighed. ‘She was a girl I used to know a long time ago.’

‘A girl you didn’t like?’

‘She was lovely and always kind to me. I was just a jealous kid who wished really bad things would happen to her for the entire time she went out with the boy I loved.’

‘Like what?’ Jacinta asked, as she sat down.

‘Like being hit by a car, run over by a train or brought down in a plane.’

‘Remind me not to get on the wrong side of you.’

Rabbit gripped the bed, closed her eyes and her body stiffened. She moaned softly and tears trickled towards her already damp hairline.

‘Count to ten.’

‘Sick of counting to ten.’

‘OK, I’ll count down from ten. Ten, nine, eight . . .’

‘Please, please, stop,’ Rabbit begged.

‘Tell me about Alandra.’

‘It’s not working.’

‘Give it another minute.’

‘Please, please, please.’

‘Tell me about Alandra.’

Rabbit inhaled deeply and opened her eyes.
It’s OK, you’re OK, just keep talking, Rabbit, and the pain will fade away.

‘She was a stunner, and by the time she left she had a great Dublin accent,’ Rabbit said, and smiled at the memory.

‘Why did she leave?’ Jacinta asked.

‘Her father got sick.’

‘Your boy must have been very sad to lose her.’

‘He didn’t seem to be. He was always so aloof and hard to work out.’

‘Even for you.’

‘Back then, especially for me. It took me a while to learn how to read him.’

‘You’ve stopped gripping the rail.’

‘It’s passed.’

Jacinta fixed Rabbit’s blankets. ‘Want to go to the loo while I’m here? I can bring in a bedpan.’

‘No.’

‘Is there anything else I can do?’

Rabbit was in tears again. ‘Just let me sleep.’

Jacinta nodded. ‘Goodnight, Rabbit.’ She closed the door and left Rabbit alone, blinking at the ceiling. The medication had slowly spread through her body, reaching the top of her head, making a dead weight of her brain, clearing her mind of cognitive thought. With numbness restored, her heavy lids closed and she disappeared into the welcoming darkness.

25 September 2009

One in the Hand . . .

Two days after the operation Marjorie began to refer to me as the ‘One Tit Wonder’. She’s been waiting a whole two weeks for my big reveal. The truth is, I was scared to look. I just couldn’t seem to bring myself to stand in front of a mirror and strip off. It sounds vain and stupid – after all, it was only a breast, for God’s sake, but it was
my
breast. My left one, specifically.

My mother pointed out last night that I was left-handed and right-breasted, which is a kind of symmetry in itself and, apparently, better than some piece of silicone shoved under my skin. I haven’t decided. First, I have to beat cancer. Then I’ll think about replacing parts.

So today came along and Marjorie visited with more food than Juliet and I could eat in a year, flowers, wine, two mastectomy bras, a prosthesis and a partridge in a pear tree! It was time to face the music. ‘Get it out,’ she said. So I stood in my bedroom, and just as I started to take off my top, she shouted, ‘Stop!’ and proceeded to whip off hers quicker than Matt the Flasher outside Nelly’s Newsagent’s. In seconds she was standing in front of me bare-chested with a stupid grin. I ripped off my pyjama top and there it was, my right breast, next to ugly, scarred flatland. I didn’t want to cry, but I did. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t me. Marjorie was quiet. We both just stood in front of the mirror, staring. She didn’t try to comfort me or stop me reacting. Instead she handed me a hanky and there we stood until my eyes and nose stopped running.

By the time we replaced our tops my new physique didn’t seem as horrifying. I’m not saying I’ve fully embraced it, but I feel better than I’d thought I would. And Marjorie? Well, she put her top back on and complained bitterly that, even though she still had two, my one was bigger, and you know what they say . . . ‘One in the hand . . .’

I love my best friend.

MOLLY AND JACK
sat outside Mr Dunne’s office, waiting to be called in. Molly held a large file, thick with details of the various trials for which Rabbit was considered eligible. She clasped it to her chest and rubbed the tips of her fingers on its edge, up and down, up and down, up and down. Jack hung on to a plastic bag, eyes glued to the black hand on the large white wall clock moving silently to mark each passing second. In the background, somewhere in the corridor, a radio was on and voices were debating whether or not the Americans should intervene in Syria. Jack’s stomach grumbled. Molly shifted her hand from the file to her pocket and pulled out a bag of nuts and seeds for him. He took it without a word and ate the contents, all the while keeping his eye on the passing time.

The door opened and Mr Dunne beckoned them inside with a sweep of his hand and a merry hello. He shook their hands and they all sat down. He glanced from the file in Molly’s hand to her face and back to the file. His sigh was audible. ‘You’ve been on the net again, Molly.’

‘I want to talk to you about some trials happening in Europe, specifically something called PDT.’

‘Photodynamic therapy.’

‘You’ve heard of it.’

‘Yes, I have.’

‘Well, then, you’ll know that eighty-five per cent of applicants are deemed suitable, including people with deep-seated metastatic and late-stage cancers.’

‘The effectiveness depends on many factors.’

‘Doesn’t everything?’

‘Rabbit has a compromised immune system—’

‘Which can reduce effectiveness, but many patients have still shown significant favourable responses with PDT in spite of prior heavy chemotherapy.’

‘In Rabbit’s case, the tumour has spread to critical structures.’

‘I’m not saying it will cure her, but it could still prolong her life.’

‘Molly, PDT is in its infancy. It’s not covered by insurance and it’s not available in this country.’

‘So, so and so?’

‘Rabbit is a late-stage palliative patient who is a very likely candidate to suffer from complications that can arise from rapid necrosis of tissue around the major arteries and some other areas of the body. That’s if she would even be considered, which she wouldn’t be because she’s bed-ridden.’

‘She is not bed-ridden,’ Jack said, as if the very idea was an insult to his daughter.

‘She is non-ambulatory, Jack.’

‘What?’

‘She can’t walk independently.’

‘Because she’s got a broken fucking leg,’ Molly said.

‘She has a broken leg because her bones are compromised by cancer. It’s too much.’

Molly and Jack shared a look of despair, then Molly shook it off. ‘Fine,’ she said.

Mr Dunne moved to stand.

‘Ah, where are you going?’