Anthem for Jackson Dawes Read Free

last, ‘and I’m very sorry that the tests couldn’t have given better news.’ He flipped open a folder, which must have been Megan’s. There seemed to bea lot of pages. A lot of tests. ‘But now that we know, and we’re sure about it, we can think about how to treat you.’
    Treat me? With chocolate? Ice cream? New clothes? Don’t think so, somehow.
    â€˜I think what we’ll do is try some chemotherapy and that should make it easier to remove.’
    â€˜How do you do that?’ Megan asked. Her mind had gone completely blank. ‘How do you remove a tumour?’
    The consultant seemed taken aback. ‘We do an operation,’ he said.
    â€˜You mean, cut my head open?’
    â€˜Yes, Megan. That’s exactly what I mean.’
    But why, when she didn’t feel ill? Why didn’t Frog-Man get his head cut open? Check there was a brain in there, because he’d got it all wrong. He must be thinking about some other patient. Probably that stupid nurse with the little mouth had given him the wrong file. There was probably another Megan Bright. That’s what had happened.
    Easy-peasy. Lemon-squeezy. And yet, she began to shiver. It wasn’t cold in the room, but she was trembling all over. Someone took her hand. It was Dad. She had to check, because everything was feeling very strange now. She felt like a foreigner, someone who didn’t understand the language, someone who’d do anything to hear something familiar.
    The consultant gave his frog smile. ‘… I think wecan feel very positive about your treatment, Megan. I want you to know that.’
    Like waving a magic wand. Yeah. Right.
    â€˜So, an operation?’ That was Mum, twisting her handkerchief between her fingers. It was a small lace-edged thing with a green shamrock sewn into the corner. She sounded as though she’d just fallen into the room from another place and wasn’t sure about anything much.
    â€˜When?’ Megan asked.
    â€˜I can’t say at this stage,’ the consultant replied. ‘But you will have to come in as soon as we can find you a bed.’ He closed Megan’s folder. Was it a sign for them all to go?
    No one moved. Everyone just waited for what would happen next.
    At last Dad gave a little cough. He squeezed Megan’s hand. ‘How does that sound?’ he said.
    It sounded rubbish.
    The bright pink suitcase sat like one of those flowers that grow in the desert after the rain. Mum was putting things away, arranging them the way she arranged everything. Clothes were folded into neat parcels and placed, with meticulous care, into the locker, as if it mattered a great deal where they went.
    Standing by the bed, Megan wished Mum would stop.
Don’t do that, not yet
, she wanted to say.
I need to do it – my way, when I want to. They’re my things
.The words were there, but they stuck in her throat, swelling up inside her.
    At last, everything was in place, the locker packed with pieces of Megan’s life, all ordered and hidden behind the doors. Mum’s cheeks were flushed. She was gazing around the room as if taking it all in, or maybe just wondering what to do or say next, hating to be idle.
    â€˜If only your dad was home,’ she said, out of the blue. ‘He wanted to come, be here with you.’
    It was enough to un-stick everything. Megan exploded. ‘No!’ ‘He has a job to do and it’s too far away. He’ll phone, email. You can print them off. I don’t
want
him to come.’ Megan stopped, realising that she was shouting, but gave the room a disgusted look. ‘It’s not as if there’s a computer
here
.’
    Deep breath in, deep breath out. Keep calm, don’t lose it now.
    Yet with the breathing in and the breathing out, all her strength seemed to go; it just seeped out of her. Not even her eyes would stay open; they were too full, too heavy. She
did
want Dad, she wanted him