Anthem for Jackson Dawes

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Book: Anthem for Jackson Dawes Read Free
Author: Celia Bryce
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so much it hurt, but he mustn’t come. She had made him promise. Made him cross his heart. He mustn’t do anything different. He worked away, that was normal; he came home on leave, when it was his turn, and that was normal.
    He had to keep it all the same.
    That way,
that way
, she would get better. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, her voice quiet, controlled. ‘He doesn’t need to be here. And neither do you.’
    An Irish nurse called Siobhan came in to see if they were all right. They weren’t, not really, but at last, after a cup of tea and a little more fussing, Mum said she might think about going home for a few hours.
    â€˜You can stay,’ Siobhan said. ‘There’s a pull-down here.’ She indicated the extra bed folded like a broken wing against the wall next to Megan’s. ‘Parents do.’
    If I was little, yes, if I was a
baby. ‘Tomorrow, Mum. Come back tomorrow. I’ll be fine. Really, I will.’
    She watched an exchange of glances between Mum and the nurse, who suggested that Mum could stay while she had some blood taken.
    â€˜They’ll be starting your treatment.’ Mum exchanged another glance with the nurse. ‘I should stay.’ Megan gave them a look, a shake of the head. ‘All right,’ Mum said, ‘I’ll leave it till tomorrow. But first thing, I’m coming back. And you have to ring if you want me in sooner. Any time, mind you.’
    At last Mum was on her way out, still fussing, still not wanting to leave. ‘Why not talk to that boy? He’ll know all there is to know about the ward and everything.’ Megan refused to acknowledge her. ‘You could be friends, love.’
    â€˜I’ve got friends. I’m fine.’
    As soon as Mum went home, Megan yanked out every single one of her belongings, surrounding herself with them. She sat like a hamster in the middle of its nest. They were private things,
her
things, letters from Dad, make-up, underwear. Everything. She wanted them around her for a little longer, wanted to feel them still, these small fragments of home. They were part of her, they told her who she was.
    Megan looked at the sink, the shelf above it, the bin below, the bed with all of its levers and pedals, the TV on a stem growing from the wall behind, the whiteboard with a name written in big blue letters. Her name. Somehow that was a surprise.

Two
    â€˜So, Megan Bright,’ Jackson read out her name from the doorway, ‘homesick yet?’
    â€˜No.’
    Shoving her things into a rough pile, Megan threw her dressing gown over the lot to hide them. It was a green dressing gown, making her bed look as if it had grown a hill. Something about that was satisfying – it made her feel slightly better. This was her own hill and only she was allowed to climb it or dig into it, nobody else.
    â€˜Can I come in? Just got a refill.’ Jackson indicated the fattest bag of fluid hanging from the drip stand.
    Megan slid her eyes from his grinning face and looked at the green hill on her bed, smoothed out the folds, patted it down.
    â€˜Well, can I?’ Jackson leaned up against the door frame.
    â€˜I thought you’d be too old for a baby ward,’ Megan said, ‘with your important scientific research and everything.’
    Jackson sighed. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to run you over, but it gets so boring, it does your head in. Rooster reckons –’
    â€˜
Who
reckons?’
    â€˜Sister Brewster. Says as long as I don’t bug you, then it’s OK for me to come and say hello, us being the only
teenagers
in the whole wide world.’ He spread his arms, making a dramatic sweep.
    Megan fiddled with the belt of her dressing gown.
    â€˜Honest. This ward is the world. And we’re the oldest in it. Only they don’t treat you like it. You need
parental permission
to get out. Just to the shop! You wouldn’t believe it.’ Jackson plonked

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