The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes (26 page)

‘Thanks, Ma.’ Rabbit was crying. ‘Can you ask Enda to come back in? I really need my meds now.’

‘Of course.’

Rabbit lay in the bed building bricks in her head to block out the pain and at the same time she practised her speech to her daughter.
‘Juliet, it’s the end of the road for me.’ No, too country song. ‘Juliet, I’m dying.’ Too direct. ‘Juliet, I have to leave . . .’ Sounds like I’m walking out on her. ‘Juliet, I tried my best . . .’ No, too self-pitying. ‘Juliet, I love you. I’m sorry.’ Too sad. Christ, what am I going to say? I can’t mess this up.

If Rabbit had believed in God and eternal life, she could have comforted her daughter. She could have promised she would watch over her and protect her from above, or possibly from below, depending on how strict God was on the matter of sex before marriage, contraception and theft. Rabbit had once stolen a bag of guitar leads from a band of dickheads called the Funky Punks; it was her one and only dabble with crime and she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it. If she’d been a believer she could have told her daughter that they would see one another again and it wasn’t the end, but as much as Rabbit wished she could offer her daughter some comfort, she couldn’t lie, and if she did, Juliet would know. It would be cruel.

Enda arrived back on his own.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Rabbit said.

‘No need.’ He took her arm in his hand.

‘I was an ass.’

‘I’ve met worse. A man of seventy tried to kick me in the face last week,’ he said, examining her arm and hand for a vein. ‘Your veins are shot.’

‘Why did he do that?’ she asked. ‘This one is still good.’ She showed him a vein in her other arm.

‘He took issue with me inserting a catheter.’

‘I haven’t left this bed in ages. Do I have one of those?’

‘Yes.’ He inserted the needle.

‘Huh, I don’t remember getting it.’

Enda fixed the cannula. ‘There. All done.’ He injected the meds. ‘I’m going to change your patch too.’

‘Enda?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Where’s my ma?’

‘She’s on the phone.’

‘Is it late?’

He looked at his watch. ‘Just after nine.’

‘My daughter said she’d come back tonight. It’s too late now. She has school in the morning.’

‘There’s always tomorrow.’

‘If I’m still here.’

‘Oh, you’ll still be here, with that kind of fight in you, trust me.’

‘Promise?’

‘Goodnight, Mia.’ Enda didn’t have to make any promises because Rabbit was already drifting into sleep.

‘Rabbit,’ she said, as he closed the door to her room. ‘My name is Rabbit.’

It wasn’t often a living saint came to town. At least, that was what Johnny said to Rabbit when he tried to convince her to bring him to see Mother Teresa. Rabbit was not convinced, insisting to Johnny that her da would take him.

‘But I’ve only got two tickets and I want you there.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I know it’ll annoy you.’

‘I’m not going.’

‘Please! I’m really sick and she might help me.’

‘If she could really help you, that kip she runs in India would be called the living rooms not the dying rooms – and stop playing the sick card.’

They were lying side by side on the sitting-room floor, listening to music and staring at the ceiling.

‘It’s getting worse, Rabbit.’

She turned on her elbow and gazed at him. He was still so handsome, but he always looked tired now and older than his twenty years. She sighed heavily. ‘OK, fine. I’ll do it.’

He smiled at her. ‘Maybe she’ll change your mind.’

‘Doubt it.’

‘If she fixes me.’

‘If she fixes you, I’ll definitely change my mind.’

‘This is a big deal, Rabbit. These tickets are gold dust. We’re really lucky.’

That made her sad, because she was staring at a beautiful boy, with so much talent and so much love to give and life to live, and he was struggling to sit up. He wasn’t lucky at all.

The next day Rabbit’s mother insisted she wear her best dress, and when Davey picked Johnny up he was wearing a suit. Molly took a photo of them by the window. Johnny sat on the edge of the sill and put his arm around Rabbit so that he could lean on her. If you didn’t know he was sick in that photo, they looked like a happy young couple about to go out on a date, not a disabled man with his best friend and part-time carer. Davey drove them to the church. Now Johnny had to use a stick, but he insisted on walking up the church steps himself, so it took a while and Mother Teresa was speaking by the time they made it through the door.

Although they were late, Johnny walked with his stick right up to the front and Rabbit followed obediently. He pushed in beside a woman with a large growth on the side of her head. She smelt of antiseptic. The church was packed and it was a hot day. The smell of incense, mixed with antiseptic, cheap perfume, sweat and desperation, turned Rabbit’s stomach, and when black dots floated in front of her eyes, she put her head into her hands and hoped she wouldn’t faint. Johnny didn’t notice: he was mesmerized, but all Rabbit could see was a tiny woman dressed in blue and white tea-towels. She spoke in a low and sometimes inaudible voice. He leaned forward: he didn’t want to miss even one word that fell from her mouth. Rabbit was too busy telling herself not to fall down or puke to engage in what the woman had to say.

At the end the sick lined up for a blessing. Johnny got up more quickly than he had in a long while and, despite heavy competition, he managed to be one of the first in her receiving line. Rabbit stood behind him ready to catch him if he fell and hoping no one would have to catch her. She could see his legs shake a little, but she wasn’t sure if it was the disease or his nerves. The old woman stood in front of him and blessed him, then moved on. She wasn’t in front of him for longer than four seconds and she mumbled a prayer rather than engaging with him. When Mother Teresa was ten people ahead, Rabbit whispered into his ear, ‘Can we go now?’

‘Are you joking?’ he whispered back.

‘How many Irishmen does it take to screw in a light-bulb? One to hold the light-bulb and twenty to drink until the room spins. That’s a joke. “Can we go?” is a request.’

He gave her a filthy look, which told her they were going nowhere any time soon. It was another two hours before they got to leave. Davey was asleep in the car, but he woke up to their heated argument when Rabbit opened the passenger door.

‘No, I’ll do it myself,’ Johnny shouted, and pulled away from Rabbit when she tried to help him into the car.

‘Fine. Take another half an hour to get into the fucking car. After all, we’re young and we have time.’ She climbed into the back seat and slammed the door.

‘It went well, then?’ Davey asked, starting the engine.

‘Your sister is the most disrespectful person I’ve ever known,’ Johnny said. It was clear he was both hurt and angry.

‘You’ve only copped that now?’ Davey asked, trying to lighten the mood, but it was a losing battle: his sister was as angry as his friend.

‘I sat in there for three hours listening to a talking walnut tell us that suffering is a fucking gift,’ Rabbit said.

‘You see?’ Johnny said. ‘She’s unbelievable. That’s a saint you’re talking about.’

Rabbit gave Johnny the finger.

Davey shook his head. ‘Jaysus, Rabbit, ya can’t be calling Mother Teresa a talking walnut – it’s fucking blasphemy.’

‘Oh, don’t you start too, Davey. It’s all bullshit, smoke-and-mirrors shite talk. Why can’t you see that, Johnny?’

‘I should never have taken you there.’ His disappointment was almost palpable.

‘You’re right.’

‘You’ve just taken a deeply special once-in-a-lifetime experience and totally ruined it.’ His knee started jerking. He slammed his hand on it hard to try to stop it but the spasm continued.

‘Just stop!’ he roared, and hit his leg again, scaring Rabbit. He did it once more, and his leg kicked out, his knee hitting the dashboard. Davey and Rabbit looked at one another in the mirror. They were both savvy enough not to say anything to Johnny, who had covered his face with his hands and was softly crying. Rabbit felt terrible. She had done her best to support him, but she felt awkward in churches and he knew that none of it made sense to her, and when the old woman had talked about the abomination of abortion, it had really rankled. She shouldn’t have muttered that the nun should mind her own business, especially as she had spoken loudly enough to be heard by the monk in the wheelchair and the woman with one leg sitting next to him. They weren’t impressed. The monk had whispered to her that if she felt like that she should leave. The woman had tutted and glared at her.

Johnny was incandescent with rage. He didn’t speak for the rest of the trip home. He would allow only Davey to escort him into his house. It was the one real fight Rabbit and Johnny had ever had and they didn’t speak for two whole weeks. Finally Rabbit broke. She threw stones at his bedroom window and threatened to climb the tree in the twins’ garden and burst through it if she had to. At sixteen, she was still too young to understand that Johnny’s outburst in the car had had little to do with her lack of respect and everything to do with his disappointment at entering and leaving that church as a cripple. She apologized profusely for being a total dick and promised faithfully never to enter another church with him. He was lying on his bed; his guitar was beside him. His eyes were closed. He didn’t speak and she worried that her apologies and promises weren’t enough.

‘And I will never, ever call Mother Teresa anything other than Mother Teresa. It’s great that she cares for the sick, and she can say whatever she likes about anything. We’re all entitled to our opinion.’

‘That’s big of you.’ His eyes were still closed, but the smile on his face encouraged her to go on.

‘And I should never have threatened to kick that nice one-legged lady.’

‘Probably not.’

‘Even though she deliberately jammed her crutch on my foot.’

He opened his eyes. ‘I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have asked you to come. It was unfair.’

‘More painful than unfair.’ She sat down in the armchair his mother had placed by his bed.

‘I’ve written loads of new songs.’

‘Let me hear them.’

He sat up slowly and she placed his pillows behind his back just the way he liked them. He picked up the guitar. He sang and played her the songs.

She closed her eyes and listened. When he was done, she stood up and kissed him on the lips. ‘Let’s never fight again.’

‘OK.’ He seemed a little shocked at her boldness.

‘Got to go,’ she said, standing at the end of his bed and putting on her jacket.

‘Where to?’

‘I’m going to break up with my boyfriend.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m in love with you.’

‘Rabbit, I’m too old and too sick for you.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘We’re just friends,’ he shouted to her, as she went down the stairs.

‘I can wait,’ she yelled back.

When Ryan and Juliet were smaller they had played together all the time. They were the closest cousins in age, so it made sense that they always gravitated towards one another. If the photos their mothers pulled out at least once a year were indicative of how they truly felt, they were completely obsessed with each other. In every single photo, and there were too many to count, the cousins were either holding hands, hugging or kissing. They were less than five at the time but still it caused huge embarrassment every time their parents took a trip down Memory Lane.

In recent years they hadn’t hung out as much. They went to different schools; they were interested in different things. Ryan was always so sure of himself and what he wanted out of life and, aside from wanting to cure cancer, Juliet had no idea who she was or what she wanted. Ryan was popular with girls and always the centre of attention. Juliet preferred life on the sidelines. She’d been asked out a few times but the thought of a boy shoving his tongue down her throat was too much to take. Besides, she was busy with her mother. She had far too many things to think about and do to waste any time running after some boy. Ryan had had girlfriends since the age of nine. He was experienced. Juliet’s only experience had occurred when she was ten and Timmy Sullivan had licked her face for a bet. It was wet and disgusting and left traces of cheese and onion crisps on her cheek. He was gone before she could kick him, and she was so shocked she started to cry. She had not touched cheese and onion crisps in the two years that had passed since the incident.

Before Ryan had turned nine and discovered girls they had spent most of their time in her wooden playhouse at the end of her garden. It was their getaway, a place where they could hide out from the rest of the world. They’d have picnics, talk about cartoons and play Ludo, Connect 4 and Ryan’s favourite, Buckaroo. Juliet hadn’t ventured into her playhouse since Ryan had virtually disappeared from her life. Kyle hated enclosed spaces and Della thought it smelt like old socks. She hadn’t really noticed it before today, but Della was right: it did smell of old socks.

It was dark, too. She found a torch on the shelf beside the games, switched it on and looked out of the window towards her house, which was also in darkness. Earlier she had thought about going inside but had known that if she did they would find her, and she’d been right: twice that evening Grace and Lenny had been through the house from top to bottom, screaming her name, and Davey had waited for her for a few hours. She had watched him pace around the kitchen. He had left an hour ago but he would come back.

She wasn’t sure what she was doing. She just wanted to be left alone. Her heart was aching so badly she wanted to reach inside her chest and rip it out. She hadn’t eaten and the tips of her fingers were white and numb. She was tired. She checked her watch. It was ten p.m. She opened the press and pulled out the old blanket she and Ryan used to picnic on. She wrapped herself up in it and fell asleep.

She woke with a start to the light of her own torch being shoved into her face. She shielded her eyes. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked, in a squeaky, terrified voice.