The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes Page 9

  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?’

  ‘I thought we were finished.’

  She snorted. ‘We’re only getting started. Jack, break out the sandwiches.’

  Jack reached into the bag he was carrying. ‘Chicken and stuffing, ham salad or tuna mayo?’ he offered Mr Dunne.

  ‘I’ll take a ham salad,’ Mr Dunne said, conceding defeat.

  ‘Right. Bisphosphonate therapies, pros and cons,’ Molly said.

  Forty-five minutes later, Molly was on her feet shouting about advances in hormone therapy, and accusing the Irish medical system of being both backward and corrupt. Mr Dunne remained calm and even-toned. He repeated that he understood their anger and frustration, then explained again why the particular therapy Molly was pitching wouldn’t work. Molly flopped back into her seat and flicked through her file until she realized she had exhausted every option.

  ‘Twenty-six trials! Twenty-six! One of them will take her. I don’t care how much it costs.’

  ‘Maybe, but if they do, it will be experimental, not curative and not palliative. It’s not what you want for her.’

  The file fell onto the floor. She put her head into her hands and rubbed her temples, then met the doctor’s eye. ‘There has to be something we can do.’

  ‘There is.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You can prepare her.’

  Molly shook her head. ‘There has to be something else.’

  Jack stood up slowly and took his wife’s hand. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  Molly looked up at him, confused. ‘No, Jack, wait.’

  ‘It’s all right, Molls. We’ll keep looking.’ He glanced towards the doctor. ‘Sorry to take up your time.’

  ‘It’s fine, Jack. I understand.’

  Molly hung her head and bit back her tears. ‘I’m sorry for shouting, Mr Dunne.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said.

  ‘We’re grateful for everything you’ve done.’

  ‘If you have any more questions you know where I am.’

  Jack helped Molly from her chair and they walked out of the office, leaving the file on the floor.

  They arrived at Rabbit’s door in time to hear her agonized cries and Michelle’s soothing words of comfort. ‘Hang in there, Rabbit, any second now.’

  ‘I can’t, I can’t – please help me.’

  ‘Nearly there,’ Michelle said, and Rabbit sobbed.

  When Michelle emerged five minutes later, she walked into Molly and Jack, holding each other tightly. ‘She’s been suffering a little more breakthrough pain, but Mr Dunne’s team have been notified and we will fix it.’

  ‘I should go to her,’ Molly said.

  ‘She’s sleeping. She’ll be sleeping for a while. Why don’t you both get out of here? It’s a beautiful day and, God knows, we don’t get many of them.’

  Molly looked to Jack for guidance.

  ‘I think that’s a good idea, Michelle,’ he said.

  ‘I just want to see her before I go,’ Molly said.

  ‘Of course.’

  Michelle opened the door to reveal tiny Rabbit, lost in blankets and shallow breathing.

  ‘Her head looks bigger than her body,’ Molly said, moving closer, picking up a tissue and wiping the sweat from Rabbit’s brow.

  ‘It’s bloating,’ Michelle said.

  ‘It’s terrifying,’ Molly said sadly, then bent to kiss her daughter’s face.

  They left her to sleep and sat in the car for a minute or two before Jack attempted to put the key into the ignition.

  ‘I think we should call in Michael Gallagher,’ Molly said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The seventh-son faith-healer.’

  ‘Oh, Molly.’ Jack rubbed his tired eyes.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, but he has an eighty-five per cent success rate.’

  ‘He didn’t cure Johnny.’

  ‘He was in the fifteen per cent. Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.’

  Jack turned to face his wife. ‘Johnny had faith. He believed God would cure him. Remember the hours spent queuing for a glimpse of Mother Teresa, the quest for Padre Pio’s glove and every bloody saint’s scapular from John of the Cross to St Bernadette? It’s a wonder he didn’t strangle himself with all he had hanging from his neck. It didn’t work for him when he believed so fervently. How do you expect it to work for Rabbit when she doesn’t believe in all that mumbo-jumbo?’

  ‘It’s not mumbo-jumbo. Michael saved that woman’s sight. I met her. She was blind all her life and after he had laid hands on her she could see.’

  He sighed. ‘And there’s no chance she was making up stories?’

  ‘I’m not a fool, Jack.’

  ‘I’m not saying you are.’

  ‘There are so many things we don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, I know one thing,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘If you bring some self-styled agent of God into Rabbit Hayes’s room, it’s him who’ll need healing by the end of it.’

  ‘So we’ll do it when she’s asleep.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I am not.’

  Jack turned the engine on. ‘I can see this going wrong,’ he said, then drove off. ‘Where to?’ he asked.

  ‘Home. I need to find the number.’

  ‘We haven’t given up on finding a treatment, though, have we, Molly?’

  ‘I’m not giving up on anything, Jack.’

  ‘Good woman.’

  I’m not giving up, do you hear me, God? she screamed in her head. Does anybody fucking hear me?

  Juliet

  The lunch bell went and not a minute too soon. Miss Baker had been banging on about osmosis for the full fifty minutes. She had a propensity to overcomplicate the easiest of topics: seemingly enthralled by her own intelligence, she never realized her entire classroom was silent not because th
ey were engaged but simply because they had collectively lost the will to live. Juliet shoved her books into her backpack and walked quickly towards the door. Kyle caught up with her in the corridor.

  ‘How’s yer ma?’

  ‘Good, thanks.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’ He seemed genuinely surprised.

  ‘Yeah, why?’ Juliet was shocked by his reaction.

  ‘Oh, nothin’.’ He went puce red.

  Kyle was a nice kid, not a master of deceit. Juliet surveyed him and decided against pushing the matter. Instead she made the position clear. ‘She’ll be home next week, maybe the week after at the latest.’

  ‘Oh, great, good, that’s brilliant.’ He was still puce red.

  ‘Yeah, it is.’ She walked away quickly, leaving him standing in the corridor among the passing throng. The encounter disturbed her. What’s his problem? she wondered. She joined Della in the canteen. Della had already bought and paid for two baked potatoes, with tuna, and bottled water for them both. Juliet dropped her bag and sat. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Saw Kyle after class.’

  ‘Yeah? Does he still love you?’ Della asked, and made kissing sounds.

  ‘He was acting weird,’ Juliet said, choosing to ignore Della’s stupid insinuation.

  ‘That’s because he is weird.’

  ‘He’s not weird, Della.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  Kyle was Juliet’s neighbour and they had been friends since they were two years old. He was shy and didn’t like to mix with the kids in school: he had enough pals on the motorcycle track where he spent at least three hours every evening. His dad, Charlie, was a dedicated motocross racer, and even though he’d pretty much broken every bone in his body, he’d introduced Kyle to the sport as soon as he’d turned five. Kyle was a natural and his dad was grooming him to be a champion. Kyle and his dad had come to Juliet’s rescue when she’d found her mother lying on the kitchen floor with a gruesome open fracture. Rabbit had passed out but she was breathing loudly so Juliet knew she wasn’t dead. Juliet had felt panic rising but she battled it. She knew what to do. She’d rung the ambulance, then run over to Charlie, who had been clipping the hedge when she’d passed him less than two minutes earlier. She’d screamed, ‘Please help us. She’s on the floor. It’s bad. Please.’ He had dropped the clippers and run for her house. Kyle had come from nowhere and followed him inside. Rabbit had been barely conscious but Charlie shouted for a pair of scissors and a clean tea-towel. Kyle grabbed the scissors from the counter and handed them to his dad, who had cut Rabbit’s trouser leg off, exposing the bone jutting through the flesh and the extent of the bleeding.

  Juliet’s heart was beating so hard it felt like it would break through her skin. She had struggled to control her breathing. ‘Oh, no, it’s spurting – spurting is bad,’ she’d said, and held her hand up to her mouth. Her legs felt weak and she thought she might be sick.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ Charlie said. ‘I’ve seen a lot worse.’

  ‘Me too,’ Kyle said, riffling through drawers to find a clean tea-towel. He threw it to his dad, who put pressure on the wound. Rabbit moaned, sounding as if she might choke, but Charlie was on it.

  ‘It’s all right, Ma – do you hear me? Charlie knows what he’s doing and the ambulance is on the way.’ Juliet could hear tears in her voice. She put her hand to her cheek. It was wet.

  Kyle disappeared and was back in seconds with a cushion on which his dad rested Rabbit’s head. Juliet collected herself: just having them there calmed her enough to think clearly about what had to be done.

  ‘I’ll take care of everything, Ma. You don’t worry about a thing,’ she said, and while her mother was safe in the neighbours’ care, Juliet ran around the kitchen grabbing her mother’s medicines, her medicine chart and her file, then tore upstairs to get fresh nightclothes and a washbag. By the time the ambulance came, she had a full suitcase packed, including books and snacks for the inevitable long night ahead. Rabbit had passed out again but Juliet talked to her anyway. ‘I’ve packed your favourite nightdress and perfume and that lip balm you like. Everything will be OK now.’

  Kyle offered to go with her in the ambulance. It was really nice of him but she declined his offer, and she could tell Charlie was glad that she had: A&E on a Friday night was no place for the average twelve-year-old. He had waved at her as the ambulance doors closed. ‘She’ll be OK, Juliet,’ he shouted. ‘Don’t worry about anything. We’ll watch the house!’ Kyle and Juliet hadn’t hung out that much since she’d turned eight. She’d found some girls to go about with, and he’d disappeared into his motocross racing, but no matter how little time they had spent together in the past four years, he was always on her side.

  Juliet was ruminating on Kyle’s earlier reaction to the news of her mother’s wellbeing when Della clicked her fingers in her face. ‘Hello? Earth calling Juliet?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Are you going to finish your lunch?’

  Juliet pushed it towards her. ‘Have it.’

  Della finished it off in three bites. ‘I’m always hungrier on my period.’ She turned towards the counter and surveyed the contents of the glass case. ‘You feel like sharing a slice of carrot cake?’

  Della was having her fifth period and Juliet hadn’t started hers yet, so it pissed her off when Della talked about it. Deep down she knew she wasn’t boasting, but it always felt like it.

  ‘Not hungry.’

  ‘Crap, don’t want to eat the whole thing myself.’

  ‘So just eat half.’

  ‘You know if it’s there I’ll eat it.’

  ‘So don’t buy it, then.’

  ‘Ah, screw it, I’ll have it.’ She got up and brought back the slice of cake with two forks. ‘Just in case.’

  Later, they sat on the grass watching the lads play football. Della was antsy and it wasn’t just because she had her period. Juliet pretended not to notice. She was too tired for drama. Grace’s sofa did not make for the most comfortable of beds, but even if it hadn’t been hard and lumpy, she would have found it difficult to sleep. As soon as she lay down, her brain would take off in so many directions her head actually ached. She’d relive the days, hours, minutes and moments leading up to finding her mother on the floor. Over and over she’d pick apart what she should or could have done to prevent her mother’s fall. She mentally checked the floor: it was clear she hadn’t left anything lying around for Rabbit to trip over. The chairs had been pushed under the table; there was no spillage or damp spot. She had brushed the floor before she’d gone to school. She’d been brushing the floor twice a day every day, along with cleaning every surface with disinfectant, since her mother had been diagnosed. She hadn’t forgotten.

  She wondered if Rabbit had fainted. Sometimes she did after chemo, but she hadn’t had chemo in a while, and usually Ma was pale and tired before she fainted but she had been perfectly fine that morning. She’d had a meeting with her editor about her cancer blog and she’d looked good in her wig and makeup. They had talked about Juliet’s French test and Ma had made a joke about her transferring to German, seeing as Germany would own Ireland within the year. She was sick but she was fine. If she hadn’t been, Juliet would have known. She would have noticed the change, no matter how subtle – she watched her ma like a hawk every minute she was with her. So what happened? And why? And what if? She’d lie awake, eyes streaming, heart racing and body shaking, wondering, What if. . .

  During the day, she put on her game face, and the only thing she allowed herself to think about was when her mother would come home. Life would resume as normal, which, of course, wasn’t really normal but it was normal enough, and that was OK. Juliet, much like her mother, was good at putting on a happy face and even better at fooling herself. Every new morning brought fresh hope. It’s going to be OK.

  Della coughed and shuffled as though she was trying to soften the ground with her bum cheeks. Juliet remained silent, pretendin
g to watch the game. In the absence of an invitation to talk, Della came out with it: ‘Me ma wants me to ask you if you want to stay at ours.’

  ‘That’s nice of her, but I’m fine at Grace’s.’

  ‘But you don’t even have a room there. We have a spare.’

  ‘It’s only for a short time.’

  ‘OK.’ Della didn’t sound convinced. ‘Still, me ma said you’re always welcome, like for as long as it takes . . . Even for ever.’

  Juliet looked at her friend quizzically. Della sat on her hands. ‘Not that you’ll need to stay for ever. It’s just that me ma really likes you. Sometimes I think she likes you better than me.’ Della was nervous, Juliet thought. She spoke quickly, then trailed off. She couldn’t meet Juliet’s gaze. Instead she pretended to be fascinated by Alan Short’s control of the ball. ‘Jaysus, he’s deadly, isn’t he?’

  Just as she said it Alan Short tripped and landed face down in the dirt. On another day they would have laughed loudly, but not then. Juliet got up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Della asked, but Juliet didn’t answer. Instead she just walked away.

  Don’t cry, Juliet. Don’t overthink it. Everything is fine. Ma is coming home. All we have to do is get through the next few days. We’ll be OK.

  She started to run.

  Grace

  Grace had fallen in love with Lenny on the day she met him. He wasn’t the handsomest man in the world, but he had a warm smile and sad, soulful eyes, and when he accidentally brushed against her in the office break room, her skin tingled and her stomach turned. ‘I’m Lenny,’ he’d said, and put out his hand. Her da had warned her of the dangers of a weak handshake so she shook it firmly, too firmly, in fact, so much so that he yelped and rubbed it with his other hand as soon as she let go.

  ‘So sorry,’ she’d said. ‘Nervous, first day.’

  ‘Don’t be, we’re all lovely here.’ He offered her a mug from the shelf above the sink. She took it, smiled and held his gaze.

  ‘Really?’ she said hopefully.

  ‘No, but I’ll let you decide who to avoid.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He poured himself a coffee, then poured some into her waiting mug. ‘So, what drew you to the wonderful world of banking?’