Anthem for Jackson Dawes (5 page)

‘Just been keeping her company. She's new, you know,' Jackson said.

‘I didn't invite him in. He just turned up,' Megan said. ‘He keeps doing that.'

‘Yes, I know,' the nurse replied, her voice knife-sharp, ‘but call one of us if he bothers you. That's what this is for.' She indicated the bell push by the bed. ‘Well, you'll know next time. As for you, Jackson, if you're still here in five minutes, it's going down in your notes and there'll be trouble. We'll tag you or
something and there'll be no more walkabouts. We might even be forced to tie you to your bed.' Her mouth twisted into a kind of smile.

Jackson stood up. ‘OK, I'm going.'

‘Mind you do.' The nurse disappeared with a rattle of keys and a squeak of shoes on the floor.

‘Thanks, Jackson. That's us both in trouble.'

He was by the door. ‘Ignore her. She's always on my case.' Well, what a surprise. ‘Want the light off? Or have I made you scared of rats and cats and things that go bump in the night?'

Megan shook her head. ‘No to both questions.'

‘See you, then.' Jackson left, the corridor swallowing him up in its shadows. Megan watched, trying to breathe normally, but her breath wouldn't come except in short gasps, as if she'd run a race, as if Jackson had worn her out just by being there.

Sure that he was gone and not coming back, Megan lay back in bed, but it wasn't comfortable. At last, she punched the top pillow, which gave a surprised wheeze, then she eased back on it, staring up at the ceiling where the light gleamed coldly back at her. Somewhere, out on the ward, the baby began to cry once more, bleating like a lost lamb.

Sleep came in snatches, like small rafts floating by. Every now and then, Megan climbed on to one and began to settle. Yet, just as her body relaxed, her breathing slowed and everything felt comfortable, something disturbed her, a pull on her drip, a sound from outside, a rush of thoughts, and the raft just sailed from under her.

When morning came, with its own brand of noise – the rumble of the medicine trolley, the chatter of breakfast plates, the emerging busyness of the place – it was almost a relief not to have to think about sleep.

Megan climbed out of bed to clean her teeth, but that simple task made her so tired she couldn't bear the thought of trying to shower with the stupid drip
attached to her or attempting to get dressed. She looked in the mirror and was dismayed at how pale her face was, how dark her eyes were, as if someone had tried to erase them with a dirty old rubber. And her lips were so dry. Where was her tin of vaseline?

When Jackson arrived he looked great, as if nothing affected him.

‘So they didn't tie you up, then? Didn't tag you?' Megan said, getting back into bed, which felt so much more inviting than it had during the night.

‘Nah. They like having someone to complain about.' He grinned at her. ‘Any sign of the cat?'

‘No.' Megan yawned, not believing there'd ever been a cat, a Mr Henry, from the eighteen hundreds or whenever. She'd imagined the whole thing, that's what it was. Maybe it was the chemo making her hear things.

Jackson settled into her room as if he owned the place. If he thought he could just turn up every time he liked, then he had another think coming. And just how was he so … cheerful all the time, so full of energy?

From outside her room came a noise rather like a large but muffled hairdryer. It was coming nearer and nearer.

‘What's that?'

‘The buffer,' Jackson answered. ‘They polish the floors with it. It's got a brush and it spins round. Like one of those street cleaners. They won't let me
have a try on it, but I know where they keep them. All I need is the code to open the door …'

She should never have asked.

‘Do you want me to go?' Jackson smiled at her. ‘I won't talk too much, nothing about cats or rats. Promise. When your friends appear, I'm out of here. But while you're waiting … can I stay?' Megan tried to speak. Jackson just carried on. ‘What else are you going to do? Stare at walls?'

‘Draw. I like to draw. People.' Megan gazed down at her hands, afraid that he might be right about her friends after all; that they wouldn't come. But this was only the second day. There was time. And Gemma was texting her, sending rows of
s to make her feel better, let her know she wasn't forgotten. The Twins wanted to know if there was anyone nice to look at.

‘You need peace and quiet to draw,' Megan said, giving him a pointed look. ‘I do, anyway.' Her sketch pad, a present from Grandad, was still empty, the new pencils still unused, still in the packet, but
he
didn't need to know that.

‘I haven't spoken for at least five seconds,' Jackson said. ‘I'm waiting to hear all about you. Or I can tell you all about me. You've met my mum.' He made a face. ‘I've met yours. But there's probably a lot more where they came from.' Jackson pulled another face. ‘There's hundreds in my family.'

Megan thought about hers. What was there to tell? It was so small. Everyone had got married late,
is all she knew. Like missing a bus and catching the next one, or even the one after that. Grandad was past fifty when Mum was born, past eighty when
she
was born. Dad had one brother who had a wife and one son. The sum total of her family could be squeezed into one house and still leave room.

‘We don't have to speak at all, if you don't want to,' Jackson said, twiddling his thumbs, shifting around in the chair. He was grinning like a maniac. ‘I'll just sit here and think of when I get out. Don't mind me. No need to say a word.' Pulling down his hat, he stretched out in the chair as if about to go to sleep, the way parrots do when you cover their cages. ‘I'll just wait for
you
to say something.' He was watching Megan from under the brim of the hat, with that grin still on his face, his long legs twitching, feet tapping as if he was listening to music.

‘Jackson! Do you never just sit still?'

‘Me? No.' Jackson smiled. ‘It's the music, see? They say I take after my great-grandfather.' He pushed his hat up a fraction. ‘You want to hear about him?'

‘No.'

‘This is his trilby …'

Megan made an exaggerated sigh.

The hat was pulled back down, but Jackson's whole body still pulsed with rhythm, as if it ran right through his blood, like chemotherapy.

‘All
right
!' Megan folded her arms and refused to
look at him any more. He was so … She rolled her eyes … what was he, exactly? ‘Where do you live? Tell me
that
.'

Jackson shook his head. ‘Nah. Too late. You had your chance and blew it.'

From outside the open door came a familiar sound, giggly and high-pitched.

‘Hello,' Megan said, her voice flat.

Two heads appeared. ‘We're looking for Jackson.'

The girl called Laura was the first to speak. Becky gave her a nudge, as if she alone owned Jackson, as if only she had the right to enquire about him as it was
her
brother they were visiting.

‘Yes,' Becky added, ‘we want to ask him Something Important.'

‘He's here,' Megan answered. There was an eruption of giggles.

‘
He's in her room
…' an astonished voice squeaked.

The two girls inched through the doorway, both wearing jeans and T-shirts, glittery slides in their hair, flashing trainers. They might have been sisters rather than friends, might have been dressed by the same mother, from the same wardrobe. They each wore a rucksack, one shocking pink, the other powder blue. Megan couldn't stop herself smiling. Had she ever been like this? She glanced at Jackson as if to say,
You deal with them
, and busied herself looking for her tin of vaseline, opening the small side
doors of her locker and there it was. She took it out, opened it and began to spread some on to her lips.

Jackson swivelled round in the chair in that lazy way of his. ‘Hi, you two! Come to see your brother, Becky?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's good. How is he, anyway?'

Something flashed across the girl's face, a moment of doubt, indecision. Perhaps she didn't really know. ‘He might be coming home soon. Tomorrow, maybe.'

Laura rolled her eyes. ‘She always says tomorrow, and he never does.'

Becky scowled.

‘And is he waiting to see you?' Jackson said.

Becky nodded and exchanged a glance with Laura, seeming to come to some sort of silent understanding. They both turned to Jackson. With one voice the girls asked, ‘Are you going to be her boyfriend?' They glanced meaningfully at Megan, who felt her face flush.

‘Hey, girls!' Jackson replied, his face serious. They frowned. ‘The name is Megan, not
her
. Say hello …'

‘Hi, Megan,' the girls chimed obediently, then turned to gaze at him once more. Despite everything, Megan found herself gazing too, taking in the whole relief of his face, from his long eyelashes to his full mouth – everything about him carved out like a statue, only walking, talking, smiling.

‘And I hardly know Megan,' Jackson went on. ‘She
hardly knows me, as she's only been here a day and well, you wouldn't want me to rush things now, would you? Rushing's not good.' The girls glowed with all the attention and stood in the doorway, eyes like owls. ‘Except when you need to rush to see your brother, Becky. Who's been
waiting
to see his sister.'

Another look between the girls which seemed to say,
Yes, it's time to go
, and they made to turn back. Yet, obviously, they weren't finished.

‘Put your spooky face on, Jackson,' Becky said. ‘Laura hasn't seen it.'

Jackson shook his head.

‘Pleeease,' begged Laura.

‘Spooky face, spooky face,' they chanted.

Megan tried not to laugh.

‘OK, but then you have to go,' Jackson said. ‘Close your eyes.' The girls closed their eyes. Jackson beamed a smile at Megan then pulled a face like a grotesque mask. ‘O … p … en your eyesssss, girls …'

Becky and Laura did as he commanded and squealed, throwing their hands to their faces, hiding their eyes but for the gaps between their fingers. The mask fell and Jackson was back. The girls stopped squealing, laughter beginning to bubble up instead.

‘Now go,' ordered Jackson with a grin. ‘Go on. Scat.'

‘See you later, Jackson. See you later,
Megan
.' Off they went in a storm of giggles.

Megan replaced the lid of her vaseline, pushing it back into her locker, and tidying as she went along, determined not to look at Jackson. He just loved being the centre of attention, obviously. She wasn't going to be stupid about him, like everyone else.

‘So … what?' There was a grin in his voice.

Why did he always sound like he was laughing at her?

‘They're like your own little fan club.' Megan continued tidying. ‘You should give out badges. Mugs with
Jackson
all over them. Hats. You could sell them.'

Jackson began rifling through his pockets, then stopped. ‘And I thought I had badges in here. You could have had one for nothing, now that we're almost going out and everything.' His eyes were huge, shining. Megan tried not to look at him any more, her cheeks warm. ‘I mean, give it another few days, we'll be engaged, if Laura and Becky have anything to do with it.'

Megan gaped at him, feeling her whole body blush. ‘Very funny, Jackson. So funny I could laugh myself to bits.' But Megan couldn't laugh, even if she'd wanted to. Tiredness was flooding over her, like some huge wave. She closed her eyes. If Jackson wanted to be part of a story made up by two little
girls, then let him. No way was she joining in. And if she kept her eyes shut, maybe he'd get the hint.

‘Right, sleepyhead, I'm going.'

‘OK,' Megan muttered.

‘Off, right now.'

She kept her eyes clamped shut. ‘So you keep saying …'

‘By the way …'

If only she had something she could throw at him. Something sharp. Or heavy. That would do. Only right then she didn't have the energy, even if she had a whole line of things to chuck at him.

‘What?'

‘Vaseline.' Leaning forward, Jackson touched her mouth, so gently that it might have been something delicate, something that might break. He dabbed at her bottom lip, concentrating so hard that this might have been the most important task ever. ‘You missed a bit,' he said.

Megan couldn't speak. He was so close to her that she couldn't utter a word, so close she could hardly breathe. For that brief moment everything seemed to stop, as if the whole world, their world, on the ward, in the hospital, was put on hold and dared not move, because if it did, the moment might disappear.

At last, Jackson's gaze met hers. There was no smile in his eyes, no mockery; just the window, opposite, the shape of it, mirroring in each one, perfect reflections of the day's pale light.