The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes (3 page)

From the start Rabbit loved being in the garage with her coat and gloves on, watching the lads play and listening to Johnny singing. She’d sit quietly in the corner for hours, so quietly that, hidden behind draping, amps and an upturned sofa, they’d often forget she was there. Sometimes she read a book, others she’d just lie on the floor and listen to them play, banter and laugh. Rabbit could listen to Johnny sing all day. He had such a cool, clear, sweet, sorrowful voice, and despite her brother’s many attempts to get rid of her, Johnny always stood up for her.

‘Let’s take it from the bridge. One, two, three . . .’

Rabbit loved it when her brother counted in before hitting the drum. She loved the bass and guitars kicking in, then Johnny’s voice, giving her goose-bumps and making her spine tingle.

Rabbit spent half her childhood in that garage, listening to her brother and his band rehearse and dream. They were going to make it. After all, one of the lads from U2 had grown up down the road and they were filling stadiums in the USA. It was a sign and, like the lads often said, soon Kitchen Sink would make U2 look like a bunch of bleedin’ amateurs. And Rabbit had been there from the beginning, lying on her duffel coat on the cold hard floor while Johnny Faye sang just for her.

Now the past was so real it sometimes felt more real than the present. It might have been the opiates or perhaps it was because Rabbit was so tired when she was awake that her mind only became energized in sleep. And when she was awake she had to face the truth of her situation. Two weeks ago she had been living with cancer; now they were telling her she was dying and would leave behind her twelve-year-old daughter.
Nah . . . I’m just tired. I need a few days to rest and I’ll feel better. I’m not leaving Juliet. No way. Not happening
. She couldn’t face it. She couldn’t talk about it. She couldn’t accept it. Instead of forcing herself awake and into the present, she remained in the past, listening to Johnny Faye sing his heart out.

Davey hadn’t slept for more than four hours straight in at least twenty years. That meant it was easy to talk to the family on the phone or Skype, no matter what time zone he was in. He had been playing poker on the tour bus when his mother had called four years ago to tell him his sister had breast cancer. He came home just after her mastectomy when she was hopeful that it had all gone. After chemo and radiation it
was
gone, but only until the second call had come three years later. He was just about to go on stage when his ma had told him tearfully that it was back in the other breast and in her liver. He’d flown home immediately. Things were bleaker, but Rabbit Hayes was nothing if not a fighter. She would get better, and if she didn’t, the medication would help her manage the cancer. That time, he’d stayed for three weeks, until Rabbit had demanded he go back to work.

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ she’d promised. Besides, he couldn’t let his drum tech step in for ever. ‘What if they realize he’s better than you?’ she asked, and laughed.

‘Funny,’ he said.

‘Go back to your bus,’ she told him, and they hugged. Even though she pretended not to cry, his shoulder was damp when they parted.

That third call, four months back, had taken his breath away. It was in her lungs but there was still hope. She’d see him at Christmas. He wasn’t to worry. She had years in her yet. The last call had come when he was lying in bed in a hotel room in Boston. He was just about to hop into the shower when he saw his ma’s name appear on his vibrating phone. He considered not answering, but then he remembered . . . Rabbit.

‘Hey, Ma,’ he said, but she was silent. ‘Ma?’

She couldn’t speak. All he could hear was her muffled sobs and he knew. He remained sitting on his bed in silence, listening to his mother cry. He didn’t move one inch. He didn’t say one word.

‘It’s in her bones,’ Molly said eventually. ‘She fell in the kitchen – Juliet found her. It’s really bad, son.’

‘I’m on my way, Ma.’

Then his mother had said the most frightening word he’d ever heard: ‘Hurry.’

For ten years Davey had been drumming for a successful female country singer. He divided his time between Nashville, New York and a tour bus. Casey was a Grammy-winning artist and the mother of two boys. When she was recording he lived in Nashville; when she was on tour, he was on tour; when she took some time off he headed to his place in New York. Davey often worked with other bands if they were stuck for a drummer and Casey was on sabbatical, but she always came first, even if he’d never imagined he’d end up playing country music. ‘Life has a funny way of rolling out.’ That was what Casey had said to him when she’d seen her old friend looking wistful. They were halfway through a gruelling tour and venues weren’t selling out like they used to, so she had a very heavy promotional schedule on top of performing most nights. She was mentally and physically exhausted and the last thing she needed was her drummer leaving her in the lurch.

When he’d knocked on her door and called her name, she’d told him to come in. He found her lying on the sofa in her room with a cold cloth covering her eyes. ‘Another headache?’ he said.

‘Yip.’

‘You need to get that checked.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me. Hell, it would be a damn miracle if I didn’t have a permanent headache.’ She lifted the cold cloth from her eyes. ‘What?’ she said, sitting up.

‘It’s Rabbit.’ He burst into tears. ‘Oh, God. I’m sorry.’ He was ashamed of the tears but still he cried.

‘Oh, Davey, I am so, so sorry.’ She stood up and put her arms around him.

‘They say she’s dying, Casey.’

Casey soothed him while her PA booked him onto the next flight home.

‘Don’t you worry about a thing. Stay as long as you need to. We’ll be here waiting when you get back,’ she said, and he was grateful: he’d been in the business long enough to know that, no matter how talented a player you were, if you weren’t a songwriter you were easily replaced. But Davey often under-estimated himself and his role in Casey’s life.

They had met when he worked in a New York music bar. She was a singer-songwriter, while he was bar-tending and looking for a band to play with. She was petite and pretty, and when she sang, even though it was raw, he knew she had something. They made polite conversation a few times and nothing more until one night a guy came on to her at the bar. She politely declined. He pushed anyway. She said no. He asked her if she was a lesbian and she told him she was. He called her something vile and Davey stepped in, warning him to stay away.

‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

Later he was putting out the trash when he heard a scream. Casey was fighting off the same guy – he’d waited for her outside. Davey knocked him out with one blow. At the time Casey was living in her car but that night Davey moved her into his apartment. She got the bed, he took the floor, and they had been working together ever since, through a lot of rough times. At one point when a second record company had dropped her, he was the one band member who stayed with her. He gave her that thumping sound. ‘I am the C to your DB,’ she often said. To her he was irreplaceable and they were their own kind of family.

She had walked him to the limo that would take him to the airport. ‘I’m with you,’ she’d said. ‘You know I’m with you.’

‘I do.’ They’d hugged it out.

‘Don’t make me miss you for too long, ya hear?’ she said.

He had sat quietly on the plane, didn’t stir out of his seat or engage with fellow passengers; he didn’t sleep or eat or watch a movie, just thought about his sister and that funny, sweet, precocious little girl of hers.
What about Juliet?
Davey had missed much of his niece’s short life but even as a toddler she had never failed to recognize him. Her excitement on seeing him always made him feel special. Rabbit kept his photo on the wall and spoke about him often, but it had been clear early on that Juliet and Davey had a strong connection. He dreaded seeing her.
Poor Juliet
.

When the plane landed, as he had only carry-on luggage he walked straight through Customs to where Grace was waiting. Her eyes filled when she saw him and they held each other tightly for a long time.

‘The car’s this way,’ she said eventually.

‘Where’s Juliet?’ he asked.

‘She’s at ours at the moment but Ma wants her with Rabbit when . . .’ She didn’t finish the sentence.

‘How are the boys?’ he asked.

‘Ryan’s such a lunatic, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t burn the house down. Bernard needs three grands’ worth of orthodontistry if he ever wants to eat anything chewier than porridge. Stephen’s failing his first year in college and Jeffrey is clinically obese.’

‘Wow.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You need money?’

‘No, thank you. The diet we’ve put Jeffrey on is saving us a fortune.’ She smiled at her brother and he laughed a little, but then they remembered Rabbit was dying and their smiles faded. They were silent until they were nearly home.

‘How long?’ he asked.

She shook her head as though she couldn’t believe what she was saying. ‘Weeks.’

‘But . . .’

‘She was fine,’ Grace said. ‘The palliative chemo was going great but then she fell over last week and her bone snapped and . . .’

‘Does she know?’

‘She knows, but has it really sunk in? They told us last night and moved her into the hospice today.’

‘And Ma?’

‘Ma is Ma. She’s barely left Rabbit’s side. She’s not sleeping, eating or drinking but she’s insisting everyone else does. She’s in fighting form. She’s Ma.’

‘And Da?’

‘Not talking.’

‘And you, Grace?’

‘I don’t know, Davey.’ She was clearly struggling not to cry.

When they got home, Davey saw his da standing at the window. Grace used her key so Jack Hayes remained where he was, only turning to face Davey when he entered the room.

‘Da.’

‘Son.’

They nodded at one another.

‘Have you had your tea?’ Grace asked.

‘I had a biscuit,’ her father said.

‘I’ll put something together.’

‘No, it’s all right. I’ll wait for your mammy.’

‘She could be late.’

‘I’ll wait anyway.’

‘OK.’

Jack gazed at his son. ‘You look well,’ he said.

‘I’m grand.’

‘Good. Would you like some tea?’

‘Lovely.’

‘All right.’ He walked towards the kitchen, his children following. He insisted on making the tea himself so Grace and Davey sat together at the table, watching him. He had aged ten years in two days. He was pale and seemed suddenly ancient, even slightly doddery. Until now, seventy-seven-year-old Jack had looked young for his age. He was never much of a drinker, had no time for smoking and had enjoyed sport of all types well into his early sixties. In later years he’d taken to bowls and had become captain of the team. The man muttering to himself ‘Where will I find milk?’ looked nothing like their father. He was a shadow of himself.

Nobody spoke until he finally placed the tea on the table. He sat with his children but focused on his mug.

‘How’s America?’ Jack asked, after what seemed like an eternity of quiet.

‘She’s good,’ Davey said.

‘And Casey?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘That last one was a great album. I play it in the car all the time.’

‘Thanks, Da.’

‘And her lovely wife Mabel?’

‘She’s great and so are the kids. It’s all good.’

‘And that other stuff in New York, how’s it going?’

‘I did some studio work for an up-and-coming act, a soul singer. He’s got the talent and the songs, now it’s just publicity and luck.’

‘You’ll go on the road with him?’

‘Only if it doesn’t clash with Casey.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah.’

‘What’s the weather like?’

‘I’ve come from Boston. It’s raining there.’

‘It was snowing here last week. Snow in April, never thought I’d see that. Feels like the end of the world.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘I’m going for a lie-down. It’s good to have you home, Davey.’

‘Thanks, Da.’

After Jack had left the room, Davey lifted his mug. ‘The end of the world, huh?’

‘Yeah,’ Grace said, and they finished their tea in silence.

Molly was in the canteen when she bumped into Rabbit’s consultant oncologist. Mr Dunne, a short, fit, bald man in his forties, was queuing with a middle-aged woman, who had frizzy black hair, the kind you’d see on a rocker in the eighties. She was wearing a dense wool dress, thick tights with rosebuds on them, a cardigan that matched the tights, with the same rosebuds, and the kind of clunky shoes you’d only see in documentaries about psychiatric patients in the last century.

‘Molly, I’ve just arrived. How’s Rabbit?’ Mr Dunne grabbed an orange.

‘Sleeping mostly.’

‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t there yesterday to talk to you myself.’

‘Your friend did a fine job,’ Molly said.

‘I’m so very sorry, Molly,’ he said, and she could tell he meant it, even though he dealt with death every day.

She tried to smile. ‘Thank you, but all is not lost.’

He looked from Molly to his friend and back to Molly. Clearly he was unsure as to whether or not she realized how grave Rabbit’s condition was.

Molly registered his unease. ‘She’s here today, isn’t she?’ she said, and he seemed to relax.

‘I’ll be in to see her in about an hour if you’re still around?’

‘Where else would I be?’

‘Nowhere but here,’ said the woman with the clunky shoes.

‘This is Rita Brown. She’s a medical social worker,’ Mr Dunne said.

‘Nice to meet you, Molly. I’m here for you and your family if you need me,’ Rita said.

‘Thanks,’ Molly said, and moved away. She’d decided against a mug of tea: her stomach was playing up. She looked around for the toilets.
Quick, quick, quick, Molly, don’t have an accident. That’s all you bloody need, Arctic winds and no knickers.

She made it to the Ladies, then spent some time washing her hands under piping-hot water. The soap was a luxury brand, which smelt delicious on her hands, not the antibacterial cleanser that hospitals supplied. She looked at herself in the mirror. Molly had always been plump but her weight had served her well in old age until now. Her skin had always been soft and flawless but it was dull now and her eyes were dark holes in her head, surrounded by firm creases. At seventy-two, she asked herself,
When did I get so old?
Her hair had been grey for many years and she usually added a little silver blonde to it, but since Rabbit’s fall and her subsequent diagnosis, Molly had had little time for anything or anyone else. Now the roots looked bad and Rabbit kept reminding her that she needed her hair done – but how could she spend a few hours at a hairdresser’s when her youngest child needed her most?