Something Like Happy

by Eva Woods

  “What for?”

  “Um, I don’t know,” George vamped. “Agent forgot to tell me, ha-ha.”

  “Okay.” Polly waved a hand. “See you guys soon?”

  “Tomorrow. Remember?”

  “Of course I remember. Duh, I’ve still got some of my faculties. See you then.”

  As she left, Annie looked at George again, and the two of them burst out laughing. “Dear God,” she said. “I’ve had general anesthetics that were more enjoyable than that class.”

  “Let’s never go again. Even if she begs. Pact?”

  “Pact,” she agreed. “Do you really have an audition?”

  “Ha, no. The way things are going, I couldn’t even get picked for a police lineup. Unless someone’s casting for the role of ‘battered husband.’”

  Annie fell silent. She suspected there was more behind his black eye—now almost healed—than he was saying, but was afraid to ask.

  He slung his man-bag over his shoulder and pushed his hands into his gilet pockets. “Bye, Annie. See you tomorrow for yet more ridiculous antics with my sister.” And he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Annie blushed. She would never have even spoken to someone like George—so grouchy, so opinionated—in her life, if not for Polly and all this madness. Unless he rang up to complain about his council tax. And yet here she was, on a weekday morning, giggly and glowing, with an hour left before she had to be at work. Time to buy a latte somewhere, and maybe a croissant, and sit for a while in the spring sun. She thought of the city spread out before her, and she thought of Sharon and Jeff and Fee all cooped up in that smelly little office in Lewisham, and she heaved a deep sigh of something that might have been close to contentment.

  DAY 32

  Volunteer

  “This is the worst yet,” George said. “I mean...look at me.”

  “You look great. That yellow really matches the whites of your eyes.”

  He glared at Polly. “May I say it again, if you weren’t already dying...”

  Annie plucked at her own costume. “I get that George is the Easter bunny, but what are we?”

  “Chicks, of course. Groovy chicks.”

  That explained the fluffy yellow dress and the orange tights. At least she got to wear a beak headdress that would hopefully hide her identity.

  George was still moaning about his costume, which was made of pale yellow fur, with floppy ears. “This is so humiliating. I’m in Equity, you know.”

  “Think of it as a top acting gig,” Polly urged. She managed to make her own chicken costume look like couture. “Come on, guys. This is really important.”

  Annie and George exchanged grouchy commiserating looks. “At least you’re not dressed like a dumpy showgirl,” she said. “You’ve got the starring role.”

  “Hmph. What’s my motivation for this part?”

  “To give Easter eggs to the poor suffering kids on the children’s ward,” Polly said sternly. “The ones who can’t go outside because they’re so ill it will kill them?”

  “Fine, fine.” He adjusted his ears. “I’m going to play it as an Easter bunny that missed out on the lead role in Watership Down because of a tragic brush with myxomatosis, and compensates by bringing a depth and pathos to even this gig.”

  “Whatevs. Right, we’ve hidden the eggs around the ward already, so you just have to help the kids find them and be nice and stuff. Think you can manage that?”

  “Yeah,” mumbled Annie and George.

  “Och, it’s Bugs Bunny!” Oh, no. Scottish accent. Dr. Max was approaching, today in a shirt and tie, both crumpled, as was his face with tiredness. With him was Dr. Quarani, neat as always.

  “Hi, Dr. McGrumpy!” shouted Polly. “What do you think?” She gave a minitwirl, adding, faux-nonchalantly: “Oh, hi, Dr. Quarani.”

  “Hello,” he said. Polite but distant. Annie saw Polly’s face fall. “How is your mother, Ms. Hebden?”

  “Much better, thanks. I found her doing the word search in her magazine earlier. It’s been months since she could manage that.”

  “Interesting outfit.” Dr. Max was looking at Annie.

  Annie blushed, pulling down the edge of her fluffy dress. “It’s for the kids,” she said.

  “Is it, or is it to make the adults feel better about themselves? I hope the costumes have been sterilized. Seriously, Polly, some of these wee ones are vairy sick indeed.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Stop fussing! It’s going to be great.”

  “Well, sorry, but it’s my job to fuss. Hand hygiene, everyone. If they’re on ‘nil by mouth’ that means nothing by mouth. Don’t give them chocolate. If they’re on ‘limited contact,’ do not cuddle them or pick them up. I know it might make you feel all fuzzy inside, but it could actually kill them. Aye?”

  “Do you want to join us, Dr. Quarani?” Polly said innocently.

  “I tend to deal with the older patients.”

  Dr. Max glanced at him. “Sami is a serious doctor. I doubt he’d want to be associated with grown-ups dressed like farm animals.”

  “Rabbits aren’t farm animals.” Polly adjusted her beak. “Come on, the kids are really cute!”

  “I must go. It’s time for my run.” Dr. Quarani hurried off without a backward glance, fiddling with his Fitbit.

  “Well, isn’t he a barrel of laughs,” muttered Polly.

  Dr. Max frowned. “I’m serious, Polly. Leave Sami alone. And be careful around these kiddies. They’re vairy fragile.”

  “Are you coming in?” said Annie.

  He shook his head. “I’ve to excise a brain tumor. It’s not a—”

  “Not a nine-to-five, yes, we know.” Polly rolled her eyes again. “That really is your catchphrase.”

  “Well, petition the government for more funding if you want things to change. Have fun, though.”

  Funny how he could always make her feel frivolous and stupid, even when she was trying to help. Annie pulled her hem down again. Polly stuck her tongue out at his retreating back. “Never mind Dr. McGrumpy. Come on, let’s do this.”

  Annie was strangely nervous as the doors buzzed open, rubbing a layer of hand sanitizer into her palms. Sick adults she could cope with. At least they could understand their situation. But what did you say to a small child who might die before they’d even lived? At least there wouldn’t be any babies. She couldn’t have coped with sick babies.

  There were six beds on the ward, each with a face peeping out. At the end, one little boy in Superman pajamas stared hopefully from a plastic tent. Annie swallowed hard. Tried to smile. The color palette in there was brighter, but awful somehow. The yellow of lying hope, the pink of pointless love.

  “Hi, everyone! It’s the Easter bunny and the awesome chicks!” Polly ran into the ward, flapping her wings. There was silence.

  “They’re a bit shy,” said the nurse, a strapping young man whose name badge said Leroy. “Hiya, Polly.”

  “Babes.” They exchanged cheek kisses. Annie raised her eyebrows at George. How did Polly know everyone?

  “This is Leroy, who basically runs this place, and that’s Kate, the pediatrician.” This was a freckled young woman with plaits and scrubs who looked about twelve.

  “Hi, guys. Did Dr. Max run through the infection control? I know it’s a pain but some of them are pretty sick.”

  “What’s—I mean, what do they have?” George made a rather subdued mythological figure, staring at one kid whose head was wrapped in bandages.

  Kate went around them, pointing her stethoscope. “Bilal there had fluid on the brain. Amy has a hole in her heart—she’s getting her fourteenth surgery soon.” This was a little girl with pigtails to match Kate’s, in a pink elephant onesie, who looked all of three. “Matty has brittle bone disease—this is his tenth fracture.” A kid
playing on a Game Boy, both legs in plaster. “Matty!” She mimed taking headphones out and he did, reluctantly. Kate moved around the room. “That’s Anika—she has a brain tumor.”

  “Snap,” Polly said with the disconcerting smile she wore whenever she talked about her illness. She’d told Annie, “Oh, it’s just everyone says ‘cancer’ in that same way, like they have to swallow the word down in case it kills them. Like it’s Voldemort. I’m just trying something different, is all.”

  Kate came to the final two kids. “That’s Roxy. Fifteen going on fifty, doesn’t think she should be in the children’s ward.”

  Roxy was a Goth-looking teen in a black jumper and leggings, with a black scarf around her bald head. She’d drawn her eyebrows back on with dark pencil. She tutted. “I can hear you, you know. And this is lame.”

  “Yes, Roxy, we know you hate everything. And in the little tent there is Damon. Poor kid was born with basically no immune system.”

  Annie tried not to look horrified. “So, he has to stay in there?”

  “We’re prepping him for a stem cell transplant, so we can’t risk infection. Even his parents have to talk to him through that, sadly.”

  Annie felt something tug on her feathers, and looked down to see Amy, the smallest girl, standing there shyly. “Is that the Easter bunny?”

  “Sure is! Um, maybe he’d like to talk now?”

  She could almost see George give himself a pep talk, getting into the role. His voice came out high-pitched, with a slight American accent. “Hi, kids! I’m the Easter bunny! I know you’ve all been a bit poorly, so I’m here to lead the Easter egg hunt. Let’s see what you can find!”

  “What a pro,” muttered Polly.

  Annie would not have believed six children—one inside a tent—could cause so much mayhem. Eggs were located under beds, in the medicine store, in bedside cabinets, in the pocket of Kate’s white coat. Even Roxy joined in, pushing Matty in a wheelchair so he could take part, too. Polly was chatting to Anika. “Did you know we’re brain twins?”

  Anika looked at her shyly. “I have a bad lump in my head.”

  “Me, too.” Polly lifted up her chick headdress to show the bald part of her scalp.

  Kate nudged Annie. “I think Bilal could use a little help. He’s a bit woozy from his surgery.”

  Bilal, half his face obscured by the bandage, was feeling carefully around the edge of a set of shelves that held toys. Although toys was putting it kindly—there were some grubby colored blocks, a doll with one eye and cuddly animals with the stuffing knocked out of them. A bit like the kids. “Hello,” Annie said, desperately nervous. She had no experience of children past the age of two months. “Um, I’m Annie. Are you Bilal?”

  He stared at her.

  “How old are you, Bilal?”

  “Five.” He looked so small, so sick.

  “Look, I think there’s something hiding around the back there. Inside the stacking blocks.”

  He reached in and brought out a small egg, wrapped in purple silver foil. His small face, so wan and scarred, lit up. “The Easter bunny!”

  “That’s right, he left you an egg!” She looked to Kate for confirmation; she nodded. “Why don’t we have a bit?” As Bilal smeared his face in chocolate, Annie looked about her. There was George, letting tiny Amy slide around on his feet/paws. Polly, with Anika by her feet dissecting an egg, was chatting to Roxy, miming putting on eyeliner. Her eyebrows had mostly gone with the chemo, too. Matty was over chatting to Damon, showing him the eggs he’d found, while the other boy looked out. He was bald and pale but Annie saw he had a lightsaber hung over his bed. Would Jacob have been into that, if he’d lived—would she have had to learn about Stormtroopers and football and Lego?

  Annie blinked. Bilal was staring at her from under his bandage. “Hey, I know,” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “I bet you could wear some really cool hats over that bandage. Polly, do you have a hat in your bag?”

  “Of course! I never go anywhere without a hat. Let me see.” She rummaged in her large print bag, pulling out a beanie. “How about this? This is the coolest one I have.” She set it on Bilal’s head, stepping back to look at him critically. “Oh, no! I made him look too cool. We can’t let him wear this, Annie, can we? He’s stealing all my style.”

  Annie played along. “Oh, come on, Polly, just because he’s cooler than you, there’s no need to be jealous.”

  Bilal giggled. It was far too big for him, but it hid the stark whiteness of the bandage, made him look more like an average kid, if a scrawny one wearing Doctor Who pajamas in the daytime.

  George came over, pushing up his bunny ears. He was flushed and smiling. “Guess what? They want me to come back, maybe every week. They’ve got a whole rack of costumes apparently. Who’d’ve had thought Easter bunny would be my breakthrough role! I must go and prep for my motivation as Coco the Clown.”

  Annie met Polly’s eyes, and they started to laugh. “He’s going to be insufferable now,” said Polly. “What about you, Annie? Any life lessons learned on the children’s ward? Did they teach you the true meaning of things?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” Annie looked back at the sad rack of toys. “But I might have an idea what we can do next.”

  DAY 33

  Get organized

  “Right, so Milly’s going to sort out the social media and online stuff—she says if I just stay away and let her do everything she can make a go of it. Suze will do PR and press. Dr. Max is going to clear things with the hospital and—”

  “He is?” Annie interrupted. “I thought he didn’t believe in fundraising.”

  “Well, something’s changed his mind,” Polly said innocently. “Can’t think why that could be, can you, Annie?”

  “No,” she said hurriedly. “I can sort the tickets, getting the money in and so on. We should set up a fundraising page, too, in case people want to donate online.”

  “Good idea. It’s going to be great.”

  Annie wasn’t so sure. Whenever she thought of what they were planning, she got the same feeling as when she’d climbed to the top of the biggest playground slide as a kid—that going back would be too embarrassing, but going ahead was absolutely terrifying, as well.

  DAY 34

  Let out your artistic side

  “What’s that meant to be?”

  “It’s a child. You know, like the ones we’re meant to be helping?”

  Annie regarded the screen Polly was painting. “Looks like a bear to me.”

  “A bear?”

  “Yep. People will think we’re raising money for Paddington.”

  “Okay, okay, I failed art at school, that’s why I ended up doing history of instead. At least I’m having a go.”

  Annie patted her shoulder. Today Polly was wearing her dungarees again, the remnants of her hair tied back in a silk scarf. Annie had to hand it to her; there was nothing she didn’t know about dressing for an occasion. “That’s okay, we’ll tell people the kids painted it. Maybe you should get that white stick, after all?”

  Polly pouted for a moment, then drew back her brush and flicked a dollop of blue paint at Annie. It landed on her jeans and for a moment Annie gaped, then she stuck her fingers in the pot and threw some back. It hit Polly square on the face, and Annie for a second was terrified she’d hurt her, and then Polly burst out laughing and flung some more.

  “Och, for God’s sake,” tutted Dr. Max, who was passing. He was just passing a lot, it seemed, for someone so busy. “Are you two twelve or something?”

  She felt it, Annie realized, around Polly. Like she was young, and she’d found a new best friend, and everything was ahead of them, exciting and fresh and new. Except, of course, it wasn’t. She passed a tissue to Polly. “Here. Sorry about that. Why don’t you let me finish this o
ne, eh?”

  “Okay,” Polly said, surprisingly acquiescent. “I might just...sit down over here for a minute.”

  Annie watched her friend drag herself to a chair, her face set in pain, and a flicker of alarm came and went in her stomach.

  DAY 35

  Help someone

  Annie stood outside Costas’s door, her hand hovering an inch away from it. Buster was snuffling around the edges of the door, unused to seeing it shut. She should knock. She knew that. But she’d never done it before, preferring to text him or leave passive-aggressive notes (actually, she wasn’t much better than Sharon in that respect). On the other side of the door, she heard another gulping sob. It was unavoidable—Costas was crying.

  “Maybe we should give him some space,” she whispered to Buster. The little dog cocked his head at her and gave out a soft whine.

  “Fine, fine, okay.” Sighing, she knocked gently. “Costas?”

  Instantly he went quiet. After a moment he said, “Yes?”

  “Um, are you okay?”

  “Fine, fine!” It was like a parody of his usual chirpy tone.

  “Listen, I heard you. I know you’re not.”

  The door opened and there was Costas in his work T-shirt, his face red and swollen. “What happened?”

  He wiped a hand over his face like a kid. “Is nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing.”

  Dejected, he said, “Is work. I was in kitchen, dancing to the—the Magic FM, you know. My favorite song.”

  “And what was that?” As if she didn’t know.

  “Mariah Carey, of course. And these men, the one who delivers the cups, they laugh at me—call me a bad word.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Fag.”

  “That’s horrible. I’m sorry, but they’re just a bunch of bigots.”

  “I did not think it would be like this here. I thought was okay to be gay, you know.” His face wrinkled up, his breath hitched, and she recognized the symptoms of someone on the verge of a full crying jag. “And all I do is make the coffee. I wanted to work in fashion, Annie. This is why I come to London, you know. We have no fashion in Athens. But instead I just learn to make the swirly patterns on the latte.”