Trio
From a poem by Edwin Morgan

"You canny bring that dog in here, 
Moira."

Neilly had never been best friends with 
the little Chihuahua she had the cheek to 
call Fluffy.  They had joked that there 
wasn’t a fluff on its entire body; Neilly 
had joked that it looked like a cat after 
a fight with a pair of sheep shears.  But 
Moira knew he liked Fluffy well enough, 
despite his huffing and puffing, and the 
little dog looked quite festive, in its 
little Royal Stewart tartan coat.  But 
Moira knew that hospitals were not really 
the place for animals, even though Tommy 
missed it, and liked seeing it.

She offered him the dog on clasped 
hands.  "Just for a wee minute, come on 
Neilly."  She always knew just the right 
tone of voice and supine pose to get 
around her big brother.  Neilly took the 
dog and stuffed it mercilessly down the 
front of his jacket.  Moira smiled the 
smile she wore when things went the right 
way: her way.  She patted the little 
dog’s outline through his jacket.  "Be 
good for your uncle Neilly, son.  No 
pissing in there."

The two of them walked casually into 
the impressive foyer of the Sick 
Children’s Hospital.  For such a 
depressing place, the foyer was light, 
clean, and friendly.  Visitors were 
buying presents from the wee shop decked 
with winter flowers.  The seats, which 
lined both sides of the large 
entranceway, were packed with kids in 
pyjamas and their relatives, some of them 
dragging infusers behind them like thin 
shy friends.  Despite obvious illness, 
most of them were smiling and laughing 
with relations.  Moira wondered if it was 
just adults who moped and grumbled and 
felt so sorry for themselves.  But she 
soon shook the image off: these kids were 
the ones on the mend, about to go home in 
the next few days.  For every cherub here 
there were a dozen in the beds and 
intensive care units upstairs in a much 
worse state.

Moira and Neilly, twenty-six and 
twenty-eight, felt much older as they 
slipped through the foyer and into the 
lift.  The lift went up – to the cancer 
ward, and to Tommy.  Moira felt her face 
drop as the lift doors opened.  The 
bright, colourful décor and the smiling 
Disney characters did more to depress her 
than anything else.  The cancer ward.

Tommy had been here for four months 
already, and during that time, Moira had 
watched her little brother lose his hair 
and grow pale as the doctor’s battled 
against the leukaemia which took him a 
step further away from them every day.

She glanced into the rooms as they 
walked down the passage.  So many kids 
facing death, some of them only toddlers 
who caught your eye as you passed with 
eyes as old as time.  Old, old eyes.  
Eyes tired from staring out the Reaper 
every day of their young lives.  Tommy 
was twelve, and he needed a bone marrow 
transplant, and he deserved one.  But 
there was a problem.

If anyone deserved to be spared this 
fate, then Tommy did, since Tommy did not 
have any relatives to donate the precious 
matched bone marrow material which could 
turn his illness around.  Tommy was not 
their real brother, he didn’t have any 
living relatives that anyone could 
contact.  He had been the child of the 
young couple down the stairs when they 
had lived in Atlas Street.  The mother 
had been knocked down by a bus, and the 
father had taken to drink, and nothing 
more had to be said.  The times being 
what they were, they had taken the baby 
in.  Nothing had been signed or agreed 
with the authorities, Tommy had just 
become Neilly and Moira’s little brother.  
And then ten years later, the leukaemia.  
It wasn’t fair.

Neilly glanced at her pensive face as 
they got to Tommy’s door.  "Cheer up your 
face, Moira he’s only a kid."  She 
clutched his elbow with both hands, and 
pasted a ridiculous smile on her face.  
They went in.

Tommy sat cross-legged on the bed with 
his Bay City Rollers LPs scattered in 
front of him.  The wall behind was 
covered in posters proclaiming the 
Summerlove Sensation in garish colours.  
Others chanted the manta of Shang-a-Lang.  
Signed photos of Les McKeown and Eric 
Faulkner made up the central altar on a 
shrine to the tartan troupe.

"Still listening to the Way Shitty 
Rollers, wee man?"  Neilly was pulling a 
couple of chairs out for himself and her.

"No kidding, bro.  They’re pure 
cracking, and I know you sing Bye Bye 
Baby while you’re in the bath."

"No chance", he said as they sat down.  
A scrabbling inside Neilly’s jacket 
reminded them about the stowaway.  Neilly 
grinned.  "We brought a wee pal to see 
you."  He unzipped his jerkin and Fluffy 
jumped out onto the bed.

Tommy was ecstatic.  "Hey Fluffy boy, 
you’re wearing Rollers tartan as 
well...ah Moira, you should have called 
him Woody like I wanted."

Moira shook her head, laughing.  
"That’s no name for a dog.  Here, you 
better watch the nurse doesn’t see him, 
or we’ll be out on our ears."  Tommy 
played with the little Chihuahua.

"I wanted to speak to you both, anyway, 
but mostly Neilly."

Neilly looked concerned.  "What have 
those doctors been telling you?"  Tommy 
looked at him sharply.  Moira felt 
chilled by the look.

"We all know what’s going to happen."  
Tommy glanced at them both, but Neilly 
looked away.  "Anyway, it’s about the 
leukaemia.  And about my Christmas 
present.  And about a dream I had last 
night..."

Moira nodded sympathetically.  "Were 
you dreaming about your mother again?"

Tommy nodded.  "I know I hardly knew 
her, and Maw’s been all the mother I 
could have wanted."  He clutched at his 
bedclothes.  "It’s hard not to feel as 
if... I’m betraying her or something.  
But the dreams are real."

Neilly patted his legs.  "You’ve got an 
old man’s head on there, wee man.  Kids 
your age shouldn’t know about betrayal."  
But you could see that Neilly didn’t feel 
old.  At that moment it felt like Tommy 
was the oldest in the room.

"She spoke to me in the dream.  She 
told me she would be seeing me soon.  I’m 
going to die Neilly, but I’m not scared."

"Don’t be stupid, Tommy."  Neilly 
couldn’t handle that sort of talk, the 
resigned and accepting way that Tommy 
did.

Moira tried to lighten things.  
"There’s every chance..."

"I know, I know... I might get better.  
She said that too."

Neilly threw his hands up.  "Well, 
there you go then, so let’s have no more 
talk..."

"She said I would be coming to her 
unless you fulfilled a... sort of 
promise.  She told me that there is a 
present you have to get me for Christmas, 
a special present.  If you get me the 
present then I will be allowed to stay 
here with you.  If you can’t find it, 
then I am to go on with my mother.  I 
think that means I will die."

"What are you talking about?"  Neilly 
had recovered slightly.

Moira had been in shock, but had 
recovered a bit.  Tommy had been fooling 
them.  He looked old and wise sometimes, 
and it was difficult to take what he said 
as the words of a child.  But this silly 
outrage was nothing more than the trick 
of a childish mind, just a ruse to get a 
special gift for Christmas.

"No more talk of dying.  What’s this 
thing you want me to get you?  Just name 
it, kid.  No need to play on your 
illness."

Tommy shook his head, and drew a couple 
of ragged breaths.  He lay back on the 
bed.  "I can’t tell you Neilly."  He 
flailed briefly at the plastic cord, 
which held the alarm button, caught it 
and pressed it.  "My mother told me I 
couldn’t tell you.  That’s not part of 
it.  You have to find it yourself.  
You’ll know it when you see it.  Then I 
can stay with you and Moira..."  He 
coughed weakly, tears streaming from his 
eyes.

Neilly stood up and called through the 
door for the nurse to hurry up.  She was 
already almost at the door, and herded 
Moira and Neilly away from the bed.  She 
placed an atomiser mask on Tommy, and he 
dropped off into a fitful sleep.  She 
cleared the bed, and placed the pile of 
albums on the bedside table.
Moira huddled the little dog out of 
view.  "What’s up with him, nurse?"

The nurse ushered them out, and 
switched off the light.  "I would have 
thought that was obvious.  He’s a very 
sick boy, just remember he tires easily."  
Neilly nodded and it seemed to Moira that 
he was tired, as he wiped his face with 
his hands.  "The doctor would like to see 
you before you go."  Tommy was sleeping 
more soundly, so they began walking down 
the corridor.

The doctor’s room was messy, boxes of 
hypodermics and dressings and various 
mysterious tubes and sealed paper packets 
lay on every available surface.  The 
plate on the door read Dr. Sam Johnson, 
by Moira knew that the Sam was Samantha, 
and the painfully young blonde consultant 
was engrossed in paperwork.  Moira 
chapped the door apologetically.  "You 
wanted to see us before we left?"

"Ah yes, about young Tommy."  She 
closed her ledger, and then paused, as if 
composing what to say.  "I don’t want to 
alarm you.  Please sit down, if you can 
find any seats."

"We’ll stand.  You’re alarming us 
already.  What is it?"  Neilly was on the 
defensive, his nerves already shot by 
what Tommy had said to him.

She put on a pair of little round 
spectacles and opened Tommy’s file, which 
she must have been reading recently.  
"Let me put it this way.  Tommy hasn’t 
been responding to the chemo as we would 
have hoped.  He hasn’t got any worse, but 
we are not making as much progress as we 
had hoped."

Neilly fiddled, looking for the pocket 
of his jeans and missing it nervously.  
"So what are you saying?"

"You must appreciate that having a 
serious illness drains the body’s ability 
to sustain itself against the everyday 
rigours of life.  For any other kid we 
would recommend a bone marrow transplant, 
but you said before that he has no blood 
relatives, is that right?"

Moira answered.  "That’s right, he’s 
adopted."  She looked nervously at 
Neilly.  "He had a father, but we have no 
idea what ever happened to him.  His 
mother died.  We don’t know anything else 
about any other family.  I’m sorry."

Dr. Johnson made a small exasperated 
expression with her hands.  "We can fight 
the cancer, I’m sure of that.  But there 
comes a time in the therapy where it can 
go either way quite rapidly, despite our 
best efforts.  A lot of it has to do with 
the psychological state of the patient as 
much as any physical pathology."

Neilly hammered his hip with his fist.  
"Are you saying that things could get 
worse again?"

"It’s possible."  She saw the looks on 
our faces.  "Look, he is exhibiting some 
signs of depression at the moment, 
asthmatic bouts and fatigue.  These 
symptoms are not uncommon in cancer 
patients, but in my opinion they should 
be abating at this stage in the 
treatment."

Moira held Neilly’s hand tightly.  "So 
what can we do, doctor?"

Dr. Johnson looked uncomfortable.  "He 
told me about this dream of his."

Neilly shook his head.  "Oh that silly 
thing, I wouldn’t take any notice of 
that..."

"On the contrary.  If Tommy believes 
it, then it can have serious implications 
on his state of mind, and ultimately his 
overall health."

Neilly was close to anger, and Moira 
clutched his hand tightly.  At last he 
said "You mean that if I can’t get his 
this mystery present, then he could get 
worse... even..."

"Die?"  The doctor smoothed down her 
hair nervously.  "It’s far too difficult 
to say, and I wouldn’t want to put you 
under such pressure.  All I can say is 
keeping Tommy happy has to be our number 
one concern at the moment.  If he’s happy 
then our treatment has every chance of 
succeeding.  If that means going along 
with this fantasy, then I would ask you 
to do so."

"But I don’t know what it is I’m 
supposed to get for him!"

"I do sympathise.  I really do, all I 
can ask is that you try your best."  She 
looked at her watch.  "I really must get 
on, and I think you should too, there’s 
only a couple of hours until the shops 
close."

Moira and Neilly nodded, and looked at 
each other.  Dr Johnson guided them out 
of the room.  "I’m sure you’ll find 
something."

The bus from Yorkhill into the town was 
empty, considering it was so close to the 
time on Christmas Eve when the shops 
would close their shutters and begin 
putting up their January Sales posters.  
Another bus took them from High Street to 
home.  There was not a sign of snow, 
though their breaths rasped the air as 
they hopped off the bus in Springburn 
Road.

Moira had been quiet on the bus, but 
she felt some of the frustration and 
helplessness she imagined Neilly must be 
experiencing.  Neilly had always tried to 
be the world’s best big brother, and she 
could barely imagine the mixed feelings 
of confusion and desperation, and even 
anger that he was feeling.  Moira shared 
some of his anger.  Anger that the little 
brother who he loved could put such a 
burden on his shoulders.  It felt like 
ingratitude, and then when she remembered 
Tommy’s predicament, she hated herself 
more, and the guilt mixed with 
frustration didn’t make for a good 
Christmas shopping mood.

As they buttoned themselves up at the 
bus stop at the Co-op, Moira broke the 
silence.  "Have you no idea what he would 
like?"

"Not a clue, doll."  He blew into his 
hands.  "Something to do with the Rollers 
maybe?  Or something for when he gets 
out?  Maybe one of those new skateboard 
things, or a Chopper.  You know how he 
always wanted a bike."

"Can we afford a bike?"

"If that’s what he wants then he can 
have it, no matter what it takes.  I got 
a bung off Big McLatchie."

"Aw Neilly, you didn’t borrow money 
from that big thug?"

"McLatchie’s alright.  When he heard it 
was for Tommy’s Christmas present, he 
gave me it no bother, no interest either.  
Tommy went to school with his wee brother 
before he got no well.  He’s alright."

Moira was not satisfied, and didn’t 
trust McLatchie.  But they had bigger 
fish to fry.  "So do you think it’s a 
bike?"

"He said I’d know it when I saw it, and 
a bike doesn’t ring any bells."

They began in the Co-op, then went 
methodically into every shop on 
Springburn Road that might sell anything 
that could be a present.  The High Walk 
shoe shop lived up to its name, there 
were a load of platform boots in the 
window.  Moira thought it would take a 
real hard man to wear them up this part 
of town.  Sellyns had some cracking 
clothes that Tommy would love, including 
a white Rollers suit with tartan insets 
and piping.  Woolies had toys and games, 
and even a few bikes, but nothing special 
jumped out at them.

Neilly was getting agitated.  "Maybe we 
should try Hoey’s."

"That shut down years ago, Neilly.  
Come to grips.  I don’t think we’re going 
to get anything here.  We’ve been up the 
length of Springburn Road." She glanced 
at the clock on the Quin’s building.  It 
was wrong, as always.  "It must be nearly 
six, the shops are shutting."

Neilly was overwrought.  "It’s going to 
be my fault, I can’t find it."

Moira was tired, and she let Fluffy 
down for a sniff in the gutter.  The last 
of the shoppers were making their way up 
the Balgray hill, and all the buses were 
full on the way out of town.  The wind 
had begun to blow the trees across the 
road at the swings, and it seemed that 
the whole place was battening down the 
hatches for a stormy Christmas.  

Moira glanced back up Springburn Road 
again at the too few lighted shops.  
"Look, maybe he’ll have forgotten all 
about it by tomorrow..."

And then Neilly was gone.  Up and away 
and under the wheels of a bus.  It was 
still moving when Moira screamed.

And later, after a flicker of days, 
Moira began to understand.  Grief for 
Neilly was tempered with a fiery pride at 
what he had done.  The papers had been at 
his funeral in Sighthill cemetery, and 
there were too many willing hands to 
lower him into the earth.  McLatchie was 
there, and Moira had wept into his arms.  
A child’s life had been saved in a 
stupid, needless accident.  A moment’s 
lapse of attention and a bus going at 
country speed while still in the town.  
And Neilly, just him.

Moira hadn’t even seen the young boy, 
but Neilly had.  And in throwing him safe 
to the far kerb, he had been caught under 
the wheels himself.  Only Neilly, stupid 
brave Neilly would have done that, but he 
had saved Tommy too.

Moira had never believed anything.  But 
Neilly had leapt across that wide 
junction at Quin’s from a sense of 
something, some inborn goodness he hadn’t 
needed to think or preach about.  That 
was worth believing in; if it meant so 
much to Neilly then it was something 
worth holding on to.  Maybe it was that 
same fate or destiny that brought the 
tear-stained father of the kid to the 
hospital to offer anything he could.

It could only have happened in a 
Hollywood story.  Who could have imagined 
that the man would turn out to be Tommy’s 
uncle – his real uncle, the brother of 
his dead mother.  And a positive bone 
marrow match.  

March was blowing the remnants of 
winter from the cold foyer of the Sick 
Children’s Hospital as Moira and Tommy’s 
Uncle Jim went up to collect Tommy from 
the hospital.  The taxi was waiting for 
them, and as they passed under the wide 
canopy, Moira thought of the times Neilly 
had accompanied her through here.  The 
lift and cancer ward held no fears for 
her now.  Uncle Jim had a present for 
Tommy, but he sneaked it into the room.

Tommy’s hair was growing back in 
patches.  "Moira... and Uncle Jim!"  He 
hugged them both in a way uncommon in 
boys of his age, then grew serious.  "I 
dreamed about Neilly last night."  A tear 
was hanging on his cheek, and Moira 
smiled, her own eyes misting up.

Uncle Jim sat on the bed.  "He loved 
you very much, Tom.  I owe him so much."

"It’s OK", Tommy said.  "I’m not sad.  
At least...  not like before.  I dreamed 
that Neilly was happy.  You were in it 
Moira, and Fluffy.  But my mother was in 
it, your sister, Uncle Jim."

Jim nodded, smiling encouragingly.  "I 
loved her, too."

"And I think I was in it too, but I was 
just a baby.  It was all mixed up in 
time, you know the way dreams are."  They 
both nodded.

"We were all walking in the town.  
Moira and Fluffy, my mother and me as a 
baby.  And Neilly was in the middle.  It 
was Buchanan Street, and it was 
Christmas, and the lights were.. lovely.  
I’ve never seen them so lovely."

"And Fluffy had his wee tartan coat on, 
and you were all laughing.  And Neilly 
had a present for me.  He had a guitar 
for me."

Moira covered her mouth with her hand, 
and choked back a sob.  "Oh no, Tommy, 
please."  She picked up the brown paper 
bundle which Jim had sneaked into the 
room, and broke the paper.  Inside, a 
milky white plastic cover swelled out 
containing a brand new acoustic guitar, a 
sprig of mistletoe tied to the neck.

Tommy embraced it, tears spilling onto 
the torn brown paper.  "Oh Neilly, I knew 
you would find the right present.  I knew 
you would."