Anthem for Jackson Dawes Read Online Free PDF

place.
    An odd shuffling footfall outside her room made Megan struggle up to see who it was. A parent in slippers and dressing gown was making her weary way along. Half an hour later, the steps returned, hesitating outside her door.
    The woman looked in. ‘Y’all right, love? Need a nurse or summat?’ The kindness in her voice made Megan swallow, made her feel more lonely than ever.
    â€˜No, thank you.’
    â€˜Fust night on ward, is it?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Never mind, you’ll be right. Shall I get you a cup of cocoa or summat, help you go over? Just had one myself. These places weren’t meant to help you sleep.’ She gave a tight little laugh.
    â€˜I’m fine,’ Megan said. ‘Thanks, anyway.’
    â€˜Kipper’s my little girl, by the way.’ The woman paused, as if about to say something else, but thought better of it. ‘All right, love. Nighty-night.’
    â€˜Excuse me,’ Megan called out.
    â€˜Yes, love?’
    â€˜Is it her real name? Kipper?’
    Another pause. ‘No, but it’s what she calls herself.Ever since she got ill. Don’t ask me why. And I’m not allowed to tell anyone her real name.’
    â€˜I like it,’ Megan said, wondering if changing your name made it all feel better.
    â€˜Aye, well. It’s what she wants while she’s stuck here. Anything that helps, you know. Right. Best let you get some shut-eye. If you can. Night, love.’ Off she went, her footsteps fading away until they were just whispers along the corridor.
    When she heard the noise, Megan couldn’t quite believe it. A cat? Outside? What was it doing all the way up there? A horrifying thought struck her. Perhaps it had climbed the walls and was on a ledge, unable to move with fright. It might need rescuing. She slid out of bed, heading for the window, but something tugged hard at her skin.
    â€˜Ouch, stupid thing.’ Megan grabbed hold of her drip stand, patting down the dressing that held everything in place. Nothing had shifted, the line was still there, but the tape had lifted slightly. ‘Fancy forgetting you.’
    She gently drew back the curtains to look out, not wanting to frighten the cat should it, by some strange chance, be sitting right outside.
    It wasn’t. How could it be, twelve floors up and no windowsills?
    But where was it?
    Megan looked at a dull black sky with no stars, justa faint suggestion of clouds, a sharper black, scattered like litter across it. Below was a collection of curious shapes, made almost sinister by the lamps, with gauzy skirts of light dropping into the darkness.
    They were the roofs of the old buildings with their chimneys and ridges, gutters and piping; the oldest part of the hospital. Any number of cats could be living there.
    They’d walked past these buildings in daylight, her and Mum and Dad, on that day they told her she had cancer. They seemed ordinary then. Red-brick walls. Grey slate roofs. Chimneys. Towers.
    There were trees growing out of small patches of grass, wooden benches for people to sit in the sun. There had been patients out in their dressing gowns doing just that. And smoking, some of them, which was a bit daft, ill people smoking.
    She didn’t notice anything much the next time she came to hospital, just headed for St Peregrine’s, named after the patron saint of cancer patients. That’s what it said on the brochure, anyway.
    The wing was a shining, glassy tower built on the side of the old Outpatients Department. Its windows glinted in the sunshine. You couldn’t see inside.
    Standing at her window now, Megan thought of Rapunzel. They did a play about her at school once, an alternative version
with attitude
according to the drama teacher. There was still a tower, made out ofscaffolding, from which Rapunzel, Rapunzel had to let down her hair. There was still a prince to rescue her. Megan had been behind the scenes. The hair had to tumble