The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes (9 page)

‘I’m so sorry, love,’ he said.

‘I know you are, ya big bollocks.’

When they parted, Rita was gone. ‘She’s like a panther, that one,’ Molly said, grabbing her husband’s hand. ‘Now, let’s put a brave face on and tonight we’ll go back online.’

He nodded and sighed
. It’s going to be OK.

THE TABLE WAS
covered with all of Rabbit’s copied files, charts, X-rays and scans. Molly made tea while Jack scoured the internet for some good news. An hour and two chicken salads later, he found a new site, which offered trials that seemed to include stage-four patients.

‘Let’s do it,’ Molly said. She spread all of Rabbit’s details in front of her and grabbed a notebook and pen.

Jack clicked on the button that read ‘Match to Trials’ in line with the statement ‘I have metastatic (stage IV) disease. I have cancer that has spread from my breast to other parts of my body.’

Jack rubbed his hands together. ‘And we’re in, Molls, we’re in. Do we have the pathology report and treatment history?’

‘What do you take me for?’

He grinned at her.

‘OK, OK, I’ve read the conditions, click, I’m resident in Europe, click, pressing start . . . Here we go. OK, “About me”.’

Molly looked over his shoulder at the questions. Before he’d even finished reading ‘date of birth’, she was rattling off the answers.

‘Twelfth of September 1972, female, “no” for genetic testing and “no” for currently on a clinical trial.’

Jack keyed in the answers. ‘OK. “My current health”.’

‘Key in the last option,’ Molly said.

He read it. ‘Ah, no, Molls, the second last one. “I require a large amount of assistance and frequent medical care.”’

‘Jack, we’ve got to be realistic.’

‘She’s not completely disabled and she’s only confined to a bed because we put her in that place.’

‘She can’t do anything for herself, and if she wasn’t confined to a hospice bed, it would be another bed.’

‘Completely disabled? We’ve seen completely disabled and it’s not our girl.’

‘Click “completely disabled”.’

‘No.’

‘Jack.’

‘They won’t take her, Molly.’

‘They won’t take her if we lie to them, love. Now press the fucking button.’

With a heavy heart Jack clicked on the worst-case scenario.

‘Good. Now click “none of the above” for “other diseases”.’

‘There’s a load of them there – we should read through them.’

‘No need. Aside from stage-four cancer, Rabbit Hayes is as healthy as a racehorse,’ Molly said. Once again, Jack did as he was told. The next tab was more clinical. Molly scanned through it quickly and delivered answers to questions Jack found difficult to pronounce. ‘Positive, negative, positive, bone, lung, liver and “no” to lymphoedema. Next.’

Jack nodded. ‘All right, calm down. My fingers aren’t as quick as your brain.’

The next tab was on the topic of Rabbit’s treatments and, again, Molly didn’t even have to look at the notes before she rattled off the answers to every question. The lists were endless and laborious but she knew every tedious detail.

‘Are you sure she was on AC followed by Taxol? The next one down is AC followed by—’

Molly flicked open the file, which she had tabbed with coloured stickers months previously. ‘See there.’ She pointed.

‘Fair enough.’

‘Next tab,’ she prompted.

They moved on to racial type and schooling, although Jack had a hard time wondering why that mattered. Then they reviewed the health summary and agreed it was correct. They looked at the button marked ‘Finished/Find Trials’ for the longest minute. Molly prayed silently. ‘Just click it, Jack, before the bleedin’ thing times out and we have to start again.’

He nodded slowly, gulped loudly, stretched his neck and clicked. It took less than two seconds to tell them that Rabbit was eligible for twenty-six trials.

‘Twenty-six bloomin’ trials, Molls.’ Jack jumped to his feet.

‘Twenty-six trials, Jack.’ She stood up and hugged him.

‘Twenty-six trials,’ he repeated, and waltzed her around the kitchen.

‘You see? All’s not lost,’ she said. ‘It’s going to be expensive but we’ll sell the house.’

‘We’ll sell the lot. Hell, I’d even sell myself if I thought it would make the difference.’

‘Twenty-six trials,’ she whispered in his ear.

‘It’s going to be OK.’ He kissed her cheek.

‘Right, back to business.’ She pulled away. ‘You put on the kettle and I’ll start studying the difference between hormone, targeted and bisphosphonate therapies. When we go to Dunne tomorrow I want to be armed.’

‘Good girl. I’ll throw in a few chocolate Wagon Wheels so you can keep up your strength,’ Jack said, but she was gone, lost in research. He settled himself in an armchair and watched the tea go cold, the biscuits remain on the plate and his wife studying biology.

Davey was staring out of Rabbit’s window, watching night fall and talking to Francie.

‘I’ll tell her,’ he said, clicking off his phone. He turned to his sister, who was awake and propped up in bed. ‘Francie can’t make it. Some emergency needs attending to. He’ll come tomorrow.’ He sat beside her, picked up the TV remote and began whizzing through the channels, like a man possessed.

‘It’s nice of him to think about coming,’ Rabbit said.

‘Why wouldn’t he?’ Davey said, and settled on a channel.

‘Do you think I’ll ever leave here?’ she asked.

He muted the sound. ‘Absolutely.’ He meant it. If anyone could, it was Rabbit.

‘Have you ever heard of anyone leaving a place like this?’

‘I haven’t asked.’
No.

‘I feel better now than I did this morning.’

‘Good.’

‘I’ve heard of one case,’ she said.

‘You have?’

‘There was a sixteen-year-old girl in Munich who was dying of end-stage leukaemia and one day, out of the blue, she got out of her bed and insisted on going for a walk. They couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t walked in weeks. But she did walk, Davey, she walked right out of the hospice and never went back. She’s a teacher now in Hamburg. She has a blog.’

‘How?’

‘Just happened. No new drugs, no prayers, no voodoo or alternative therapies. She said it was mind over matter. She decided she was going to live so she lived.’

‘Do you believe that’s possible?’ Davey asked.

‘I’d like to. I want to. I wish.’ A stray tear escaped her right eye and rolled towards her ear.

Davey pulled a tissue from the box on her locker and dabbed it away. ‘Me too.’
So do it. Get better and live, live, live, Rabbit
. ‘But no pressure.’ He grinned and she smiled at him, took his hand and gently squeezed it.

‘I missed you,’ she said.

Marjorie bustled through the door, laden with shopping. She raised her arms high, allowing the bags to swing. Rabbit gave her a big, warm, welcoming smile. ‘You’re back, Marj.’

‘And of course you missed me because life is very dull without me.’ She dropped the bags and put her arms round her friend. ‘I leave you for two bleedin’ weeks and you end up here.’ She was making a valiant effort to be upbeat and Davey silently appreciated it.

‘I see you were shopping,’ Rabbit said.

‘Rome is underestimated as a shopping destination.’ She picked up some bags and placed them carefully on the bed, well away from Rabbit’s legs.

‘You could find something to buy in an Afghan desert,’ Rabbit said.

Marjorie grinned. ‘Probably me own life, knowing those mental cases.’

‘What would that be worth? About a fiver?’ Rabbit said.

‘LOL, baldy.’

Rabbit giggled.

Marjorie turned to Davey, who was happy watching Rabbit and her best friend banter. ‘Am I going to get a hug or wha’?’ she asked.

He stood up and obliged her. ‘It’s good to see you, Marjorie.’

They pulled apart and she brushed his jacket down. ‘Still spending most of your time on a bus?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Looks like it.’ She delved into the bags she had put on the bed. ‘So, I found this little place that does the most incredible nightwear.’ She took out a beautiful black silk nightdress and matching dressing-gown. ‘Feel it,’ she said.

Rabbit did so. ‘It’s gorgeous.’

‘It’s yours.’

‘No,’ Rabbit said. ‘That’s something you wear on a dirty weekend. It doesn’t belong in a place like this.’

‘Well, neither do you, but here you are. It’s yours.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And look,’ she said, her hands disappearing into another bag, ‘for Juliet.’ It was a pretty sundress with cool gold gladiator sandals.

‘She’ll love them,’ Rabbit said.

‘And I’ve got more for you.’ She picked up a bag from the floor, but by the time she’d pulled out a woolly cardigan Rabbit was sound asleep. Marjorie slumped into the chair, all pretence gone. Her eyes filled and, without making a sound, she allowed fat tears to roll down both cheeks. She stared at her best friend and it was as though, Davey thought, she was looking at someone she didn’t quite recognize. The woman in the bed wasn’t her Rabbit. Rabbit had lost a lot of weight in the past two weeks, her skin was paler and dry, her shaved head clammy, and her knuckles dwarfed her fingers. She was an odd colour, somewhere between grey and blue. The last time they’d seen one another, Marjorie had been in town shopping for her trip and Rabbit had come from the newsroom to meet her for a coffee. She was wearing her blonde wig and makeup; her skin was clear, following an intense facial she’d had the day before.

‘It was just two weeks ago,’ Marjorie whispered.

Davey moved across the room to her, took Marjorie’s hand and they walked outside together. The canteen was still open.

‘Come on,’ he said.

Over coffee, Marjorie filled Davey in on Rabbit’s struggle during the past year. ‘It’s been hard. Every blow took that much more out of her.’

‘She’s still fighting,’ he said.

‘I know.’ Marjorie’s eyes filled. ‘And it’s only going to get worse from now.’

Davey didn’t say anything. He knew she was right, but he wasn’t ready to accept it. He just stirred his coffee with one hand and rapped the table with the other. Neither had the will to make small-talk, or the stomach to engage in their usual flirty banter. They drank their coffee, lost in their own misery.

‘I should go,’ Marjorie said, and stood up.

‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ Davey said.

‘No need. You go back to Rabbit.’

They walked together along the hallway to Rabbit’s door. They stopped and faced one another.

‘I was really sorry to hear about the divorce.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ve never apologized for my part in it . . .’

She stopped him by placing her hand on his arm and shaking her head. ‘No, honestly, it wasn’t you, it was me. Neil is a lovely man and I did love him once, but then I didn’t and I faced sleepwalking through the rest of my life or . . .’

‘Cheating with me.’

‘Being with you woke me up and I’m grateful.’

‘How about Neil? Is he grateful?’

‘He’s seeing someone else and she’s pregnant. I hear they’re very happy.’

She looks sad. I should never have gone there. I’m a selfish arsehole.
‘I should have kept in touch.’

‘No. You shouldn’t. I didn’t want you to.’

‘Rabbit was keeping me up to date with everything. She said you handled yourself so well despite everyone piling in to judge and criticize.’
Christ, I could at least have sent an email. What the hell is wrong with me?

‘Every marriage break-up needs a bad guy.’

‘Is your mother talking to you yet?’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘My mother is a cold bitch, Davey. She always has been. Why do you think I spent so much time at your place when we were kids? I would have killed to have a mother like yours.’

‘I thought it was because of me,’ he said, and they laughed a little.

‘Goodnight, Davey.’

He watched her walk down the hallway before steeling himself to open the door to his sleeping sister.
I let everybody down. I can’t do that any more. I have to get my act together. Be an adult, Davey. Fight the urge to run.

Molly had made flapjacks and mugs of tea for everyone. In the sitting room, Francie and Jay were on the sofa, Davey was on the floor, sitting between them even though there was plenty of room for three – the lads liked to stretch out. Grace was swaying on the rocking chair and holding her tea high: if it spilled, it would miss her. Jack was bent over the video recorder, shoving in a tape to see if it was good enough quality to record over.
Miami Vice
appeared on the screen and he paused the tape. ‘Molls,’ he shouted, ‘have you seen
Miami Vice
or will I keep it?’

Molly appeared at the door with another plate of flapjacks. ‘I don’t give a shit about
Miami Vice
.’

‘Ah, great,’ Jack said, rewinding it. ‘It’s a fresh enough tape.’

‘Time check?’ Francie said, chowing down his third flapjack.

Molly looked at the clock above the mantelpiece. ‘Five minutes to show time. I’ll make more tea.’

Rabbit sat on the window ledge, watching for Johnny. ‘He’s going to miss it.’

‘Nah,’ Jay said. ‘He’ll be here.’

Marjorie appeared, holding a mug of tea. Francie and Jay bunched up so that she could sit with them. She was a tiny thing, half Rabbit’s height, with wild curly blonde hair and baby-blue eyes. She looked younger than her twelve years. Wearing her best Sunday dress and little ankle socks with a pink frill under her favourite patent-leather buckled shoes, she sat up on the sofa, waiting for the show to start.

Rabbit was still glued to the window.
Where is he?

Molly entered with a fresh pot of tea and the lads all offered her their cups for a refill. She made Grace get off the rocking chair to pass around the flapjacks. Jack refused tea: it would distract him from pressing Record on the remote at the exact second the show started.

‘This will be the first, lads,’ he said, finger hovering.

While Grace was serving flapjacks, Molly stole her place on the rocking chair.