The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes by Anna McPartlin Page B

but firmly. ‘If you ever accuse me of giving up on one of my kids again, I’ll take a carving knife to you.’ She stood up and grabbed her dressing-gown.
    ‘Molly!’ Jack shouted after her. ‘Please!’ His voice was breaking. ‘I’m begging you! Get her out of that death house, Molly.’
    ‘Fuck you.’ Molly walked onto the landing, biting back tears of anger and frustration.
How dare you, Jack Hayes? How could you?
    Davey was at the top of the stairs. ‘He didn’t mean it, Ma.’
    ‘He did.’
    ‘Please, he’s just—’
    ‘Blaming me.’
    ‘It’s not like that.’
    ‘It’s exactly like that,’ she said. ‘He’s a coward, snivelling in her face, avoiding the responsibility, leaving it all up to me, then judging how I handle it. How fucking dare he?’ She went into the bathroom and slammed the door. Then she opened it, came out onto the landing and screamed as loudly as she could: ‘I have not given up, Jack Hayes. I will never give up, do you hear me?’
    She turned back into the bathroom, closed the door and cried till she couldn’t cry any more.
Rabbit
    Rabbit hated bed baths.
    ‘Oh, please run me a bath,’ she begged Michelle.
    ‘Are you sure?’ Michelle asked, her gloved hands resting on her hips.
    ‘I’d like to float for a while,’ Rabbit said.
    ‘OK, but I’m staying with you.’
    ‘Fine.’
    ‘Good.’
    ‘You can tell me your troubles,’ Rabbit said.
    ‘I don’t have any troubles.’ Michelle laughed. ‘I’m the luckiest woman in the world.’
    ‘Everyone has troubles,’ Rabbit said. ‘Give me something.’
    ‘Let me think about it.’
    ‘You have till the bath is drawn.’
    ‘You’re bossy, aren’t you?’ Michelle said.
    ‘You have no idea,’ Rabbit replied, with a smile.
    She was lying in a bath of bubbles with a facecloth placed on her bony chest and her eyes closed. The water was so high it touched her chin.
    ‘Don’t slip now,’ Michelle said, dropping the lid onto the toilet and sitting on it.
    ‘Tell me your story,’ Rabbit said.
    ‘I asked my boyfriend of five years to marry me and he said no.’
    Rabbit opened her eyes. ‘And?’
    ‘And he told me he had met someone else.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘We’re still living together in separate rooms.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because we bought a house that’s worth half of what we paid for it, and even if we rented it out it wouldn’t cover a quarter of the mortgage.’
    ‘And the girl?’
    ‘She shares his room a few times a week.’
    ‘Jesus, that’s terrible. It’s not stage-four-cancer terrible, but it sucks big-time.’
    ‘Thanks, I appreciate the sympathy,’ Michelle said.
    ‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Rabbit asked.
    ‘I slept with an old boyfriend a week after we split up, but it was terrible . . . not stage-four-cancer terrible, but it sucked big-time.’ Michelle mimicked Rabbit, making Rabbit giggle.
    ‘Do you like anyone?’ Rabbit asked.
    ‘Nope, you?’
    ‘Mr Dunne’s not bad,’ Rabbit said.
    ‘Wow! That’s an image I really don’t care for.’
    ‘Well, it’s not like I get out much,’ Rabbit said, by way of explanation. ‘Besides, he’s nice, good bedside manner. He’s been with me since this all started.’
    They were quiet for a while, both comfortable in silence; neither felt the need to fill empty space with meaningless words. After about ten minutes, Rabbit opened her eyes again and raised herself slightly. ‘I’m not planning on dying.’
    ‘I know,’ Michelle said.
    ‘I’m determined to get out of here.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘You don’t think I can,’ Rabbit said.
    ‘I meet the most extraordinary people every day, Rabbit, men, women and children who survive days, weeks, months and years against all the odds. I won’t count you out.’
    ‘Thank you.’ Rabbit closed her eyes and slipped down into the bath again. ‘It’s lovely in here,’ she said. ‘I could stay like this for ever.’
    When Rabbit found it difficult to hold her head up and was sleepy,