Free The Last Days of Rabbit Hayes by Anna McPartlin Page B

teacher. When she was a teenager she’d bought a red clay Buddha in a charity shop, and when her mother asked her why she wanted it, she told her she preferred to look at a fat god laughing rather than a skinny one dying. Rabbit never needed to believe in any god to marvel at the world, to feel joy, hope, love and contentment. Rabbit lived in the moment. She didn’t know what came next, nor did she care. It was likely that death meant a full stop and that didn’t scare her. In fact, when she thought about it, the notion of eternity was far more worrying.
    ‘I get bored if I have to spend longer than an hour at the hairdresser’s,’ she’d said to him once. ‘No way could I do eternity – even the word gives me chills, Da.’
    For Rabbit, a full stop was her reward. Jack wondered if she still felt the same. He wondered if she would find God in these her darkest hours. Would she pray for a Heaven? She had lied to her daughter: Rabbit was a lot of things but she was never a liar. Much like her mammy, she’d shoot from the hip, tell it like it was, no matter how much trouble it got her into. It was probably what made her a good journalist, but she also had a habit of alienating those who preferred a pleasant lie to an uncomfortable truth. He was scared she couldn’t accept what was happening, or maybe she just didn’t know. If she was still in the acute hospital surely there would be some hope, but here, in a hospice, well, people only came to these places to die.
Molly should have fought the consultant. People listen to Molly. They do what she tells them to do. It’s all so wrong. And Rabbit, my little Rabbit, hasn’t she suffered enough in this lifetime?
Although the logical, rational Jack didn’t believe in God, his indoctrination over the course of his life, and most especially during his early years, meant that he often found himself talking to the God he didn’t believe existed.
How could you? Why would you do this to her? I don’t want to believe in a God like you. I’d rather she’s right and there is no afterlife than an eternity spent honouring a psychopath like you.
    ‘There! I said it,’ he shouted to the painting on the wall. ‘If you do exist I hate you.’
    ‘I doubt you’re alone there,’ a woman said. She was sitting two rows behind him.
    Jack turned and blushed. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I was alone.’
    ‘You were lost in thought so I didn’t want to bother you.’ She got up and walked over to him, sat down beside him and put out her hand. ‘I’m Rita Brown, the medical social worker assigned to Rabbit and her family. I saw you coming from her room.’
    ‘Jack Hayes, Rabbit’s father.’
    ‘Would you like to talk, Jack?’ she asked.
    ‘There’s nothing to say.’
    ‘That’s not true.’
    He looked at the woman and shook his head. ‘I’m lost.’
    ‘And Molly?’
    ‘She’s given up on our girl . . .’
    ‘But you haven’t?’
    ‘. . . and Molly never gives up on anything.’ His eyes stung.
    ‘Have you talked?’
    ‘She threatened to stab me this morning. Does that count?’
    ‘Your daughter is looking for you,’ Molly’s voice said.
    Rita and Jack turned to her. Her face of thunder suggested she’d heard at least part of their conversation.
    ‘Please come in and sit down for a moment,’ Rita said.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Molly, please, I’m sorry,’ Jack said.
    ‘No, you’re not. You think I’ve brought her here to die.’
    ‘Haven’t you?’ He got to his feet.
    She walked up to him. ‘Of course not, you old fool. I’m buying us some time.’
    ‘For what?’ He was battling tears.
    ‘For science, for medicine, for a miracle, but in the meantime she’s in pain, Jack, and they can manage it much better here.’
    ‘Our Rabbit is dying, Molls,’ Jack said. His jaw trembled and his eyes leaked.
    ‘I won’t let her,’ Molly said, and her tears flowed freely. They walked into each other’s arms and held on tight.
    ‘I’m so sorry, love,’ he