A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  The previous day, things in the sector had been fairly quiet since early morning. Just after noon, the men had been sitting around eating their midday meal. It had been the usual stuff; stew and army biscuits, ‘iron rations’ as they were affectionately known in the ranks – no tooth was safe near them. Suddenly Twinny Two had arrived back from taking a message to Captain Brierley. Unfortunately for him, it was twenty minutes after everything had been dished out. Even more unfortunate was the fact that the cook on duty was a recent arrival to the company – Paddy O’Heany, a sour-tempered, vinegar-faced character who could make grown men squirm as though they were Oliver Twist asking for more. Paddy had glared at Twinny Two’s apparent impertinence, adamant that he’d already fed him. Twinny Two had stood there, dish in hand, desperately trying to convince the antagonistic cook that he’d got him mixed up with his brother. Twinny One, meanwhile, had been doubled up with laughter in a dugout some yards down the line. He’d been just about to come clean when suddenly they’d heard the dreaded sound of a stray whizz-bang. Dishes had gone flying as everyone had dived for cover. Sam could remember the rush of adrenaline surging through his body as he lay sprawled across the ground. The confounded thing had come to rest in a small crater about five yards from where Paddy and Twinny Two had been arguing. For quite a few moments, everyone had lain there, frozen in their positions. But incredibly there’d been no explosion. The thing had been a dud. Sam smiled as he recalled Paddy scrambling to his feet. ‘Don’t you worry, lad,’ he’d promised the Twinny. ‘I’ll make sure you get something.’ He’d been so relieved to be in one piece, he couldn’t do enough for him all of a sudden. Ironically, by this time, the remains of everyone else’s food was strewn across the ground in the aftermath of the failed shell. There was one small consolation. At least the biscuits had managed to stay intact …

  As Harry’s fond of saying, Emily, sometimes it takes a strong stomach to dine at the line. Someone suggested we tie fuses to the biscuits and use them instead of Mills’ bombs. You have to keep your sense of humour, Em. You’d go quite mad if you didn’t. Good job there are plenty of comics in our platoon. I hope for Paddy’s sake that the incident has softened him a little. I can’t see how he can continue to take his high-handed attitude with everybody and not end up with a stew pot on his head. Well, we’ll see.

  Don’t know how the injured boy went on. I just hope he didn’t bleed to death before they got him off the field. If he survives, they’ll no doubt be sending him back to Blighty for good.

  Talking of Blighty, I’ve heard nothing from home this week. Was rather hoping to, it being my birthday and everything.

  ____________

  Beth closed the book and sat up. She reached for the phone extension on her bedside table, her hand trembling with excitement.

  “Hello?” On the other end, Rosie’s voice sounded uptight, almost suspicious. She always answered the phone like that.

  “Ros – it’s me!” Beth could hardly contain herself.

  “Oh, hi you.” Rosie’s tone relaxed. “To what do I owe this honour?”

  “Ros, you’ll never guess what I found in that case. Y’know, the one the old man gave me the other day …?” Beth was trying not to race her words.

  “Hmm, I wonder. A bomb?” Rosie found Beth hilarious sometimes.

  Beth ignored her sarcasm. “It’s a diary! Looks like it belonged to a soldier in the First World War. How incredible is that, eh?” She waited for a response, but was rewarded with an unintelligible mumble from the other end. Had Rosie heard her right? She tried to press the point again. “I’m pretty sure it’s written from the Western Front. Y’know, Ros – the trenches – the First World War trenches! Museums and war buffs go crazy for this kind of thing.”

  A slight pause. “Worth a bob or two then?”

  Beth tried to hide her exasperation. “I’m not thinking of selling it, Rosie. It’s a fascinating document. Some people would give their right arm for something like this.” Another pause. Beth couldn’t help feeling a squeeze of disappointment. She’d hoped to find her friend slightly more enthusiastic about the whole thing. After all, Rosie had been there when the old man had given her the case.

  Rosie’s voice came on the line again. “Sounds great. I’ll have to take a look next time I’m over.”

  Beth realised Rosie was trying her best. Obviously military memorabilia didn’t tick any boxes for her. They spoke for a few minutes more and then said goodbye. Beth came off the phone slightly bemused. What did it take to get some people excited? Glancing at the clock, she decided to tidy away all the stuff she’d been looking at earlier. The place was a tip and Ciaran was due home any time. Looking down, she spotted the folded composition that had fallen out of the diary when she’d first opened it. She picked it up and went over to her violin case. Flicking it open, she slid the sheet behind her violin. It seemed as good a place as any to put it for now. As she closed the case, she suddenly heard the sound of the front door opening. There were footsteps on the stairs and a moment later, Ciaran stepped into the bedroom.

  “Hello beautiful.” He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her. He looked tired.

  “Shall I make you something to eat?” She smoothed back the unruly hair from his forehead.

  He flung himself back on the bed with a sigh. “No, I’m okay. I grabbed a burger on the way home. But I’d love a cuppa tea, Bethy. Big one.”

  She kissed him and went downstairs. Minutes later when she returned with his drink, he was almost asleep. “Come on,” she coaxed, “get ready for bed. You’re shattered.”

  He responded with weary obedience, trudging into the bathroom in zombie fashion. Beth knelt down and began to tidy up the remainder of the books. There was no point telling him about the diary tonight. He had to be in Croydon by eight the next morning – she’d probably end up with an even less enthusiastic response from him than she’d had from Rosie.

  As she stretched over to pull together some of the music sheets, a searing flash of pain shot down through her stomach. It was all she could do to stop herself from calling out. Holding herself, she got up from the floor and went over to the bed. She fell onto it and hunched over. There came a surge of nausea, and with it, a new, strange sensation. A deep burning which seemed to creep through her insides as though her guts were being punctured with red-hot needles. Groaning quietly, she willed Ciaran to hurry. She had to get to the bathroom, and fast. Just then, he came back into the room. To her relief, he seemed not to notice her discomfort. The last thing she needed right now was to start launching into explanations.

  “I’m terrible tired tonight, Bethy,” he muttered as he began to undress. “I’ll be glad when this fortnight’s over.”

  Beth smiled weakly and forced herself up from the bed. “I’ll just go brush my teeth.”

  She limped to the bathroom, closed the door and leaned back against the wall. A second wave of nausea swept over her. She bent forward and gripped her knees, her forehead clammy with perspiration.

  Is this supposed to happen? What if it’s one of those ectopic things?

  Suddenly, she felt like a little girl. Ignorant, frightened, out of control in her own body. She really didn’t like this at all. A rush of vomit forced its way up her throat. She heaved violently. Times like this, she wished her mother lived just around the corner.

  She was in the bathroom for some time. Eventually, when the sickness had subsided and the pain had reduced to a slight tenderness somewhere deep in her guts, she washed quickly and went back into the bedroom. Ciaran was already asleep, his breathing barely audible in the stillness. But Beth lay wide awake. As her eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, a strange unease began to play in her mind. She didn’t fancy any more episodes like that. Maybe it was time to bring the test forward.

  ____________

  Rosie looked at her watch and groaned. Ten to eleven. She felt edgy, and it was practically bedtime. She hated going to bed feeling like this. She tried to tell herself that i
t was because of the kids. They’d been pretty hyper all day. But she knew deep down it wasn’t that. The house phone had gone five times that evening, and each time, her heartbeat had doubled in speed as she’d gone to answer it. Four of the calls had been for Mel, and Mel, true to form, had been out all night. The only call for Rosie had been from Beth, telling her about some dumb book she’d turned up.

  Despite herself, Rosie had been rather hoping that Gavin would ring. Not that she was eating her heart out over him, even though he was drop-dead gorgeous. No, it was the waiting around that got to her. Will he call – won’t he call? She’d been here too many times before. And it was almost a week since she’d last seen him. Maybe he’d been less than truthful with her. All this ‘I’d like to see you again, Rosie – I’ll call you when I get back’ rubbish. Maybe he’d been letting her down gently. Perhaps she wasn’t his type. Not quite the image of perfection he’d been hoping for on his blind date.

  She pulled herself up with a start. What was the matter with her? Poor guy probably only got back yesterday. But that was the worst thing about the dating game. The not knowing where you stood. Apparently it wasn’t so bad once you got past the first bit. The bit where both partners are trying to play it ultracool and not look too eager. Once you managed to negotiate your way through that stage and pass onto the comfortably familiar bit, when either party could ring the other at any time and for no particular reason, things usually went okay. Or so she’d heard. Getting to the Mr and Mrs Comfortable phase was a bit out of Rosie’s experience.

  At that moment, a bleeping sound came from her handbag. Caught by surprise, she pulled out her mobile, her hands beginning to tremble slightly.

  “Oh hi, Gavin. Yes, I’m fine. No, no I wasn’t in bed. Tomorrow …? Yes, that should be okay. You’ll pick me up at seven? Right – great. See you then.”

  She clicked off her phone and mentally kicked herself. Well, that went swimmingly, didn’t it? Couldn’t you have played a little harder to get? What if he’s got the notion you’ve been sitting around waiting for him to ring? She kicked herself again. What was it about this guy?

  She went to bed completely annoyed at herself. He was too confident was Gavin, that was his trouble. Too confident for his own good. She was going to have to take back some ground. Rosie Maconochie didn’t jump for any guy.

  Chapter 4

  It was Tuesday evening and Rosie and Gavin were sitting at a restaurant table waiting to order. Mel had managed to persuade Rosie to wear a scarlet halterneck evening dress that had been hanging in her wardrobe for the past year. Rosie had bought it for a wedding do. It was the only occasion she’d ever worn it.

  “You look fabulous!” Mel had gushed when Rosie had tried it on. “It’s perfect with your hair colour. You look like a model!”

  Rosie had felt less than happy about it. “Don’t you think it’s a bit much? I feel really overdressed – I mean, I’d hate him to think I was trying to impress him.”

  Mel had smiled at that. “I don’t think you could outdress Gavin, Rosie. You might outdress everyone else in the place, but I don’t think you could ever outdress him.”

  Somehow that observation had niggled Rosie, and she’d ended up wearing not only the dress, but also a flamboyant necklace of coloured gems that Mel had offered to lend her. Mel had pinned her hair up, done her nails, and now Rosie was sitting across from Gavin, aware that he was looking intently at her.

  “You’re looking lovely tonight, Rosie.” Gavin’s voice was smooth as butter.

  Rosie merely smiled in reply. If you think I’m gonna say the same about you, sunshine, you’ve another think coming.

  Gavin leaned slowly back in his chair, never taking his eyes off her. Feeling self-conscious, Rosie turned her head and stole a discreet glance around the room. Soft jazz music was playing, and there were candles and orchids on every table. The place was very tasteful – very Gavin.

  “Not knowing too much about you, Rosie, I’d no idea what your eating preferences were,” Gavin began. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred to go for hot and spicy, or whether you were more of a sushi lady. So I decided to play it safe. I figured an English girl had to like English food. And as far as I know, this is one of the best places in London for English.” He was still looking at her, a composed, perfect smile on his face.

  Suddenly Rosie couldn’t resist the temptation. “There’s just one problem.” She looked at him directly. For a split second, she saw a flash of consternation pass across his eyes.

  He frowned, his mouth still set in its smile. “Oh?”

  “I’m not English.” For the first time since they’d met, Rosie knew she had the upper hand. She guessed it might not be for long, but it was a moment to savour. Gavin looked at her questioningly. Was it her imagination or was he feeling ever so slightly embarrassed? Served him right for jumping to conclusions. It was Rosie’s turn to lean coolly back in her chair. “I’m Irish,” she said simply.

  Gavin shook his head, still smiling. “My apologies, Rosie. Your accent gave nothing away.”

  “I’ve lived in England most of my life,” Rosie countered, her confidence beginning to grow slightly. “But I can assure you, I am one hundred per cent Irish.”

  Gavin began to nod, an expression of amusement on his face. “I see,” he said at length. “So tell me – what do young Irish ladies like to eat?”

  Rosie was quiet for a few moments. For someone so charming, there was something incredibly irritating about Gavin at times. Before she had time to think, a bizarre notion flashed through her mind. She suddenly found herself leaning forward and looking him straight in the eyes. “Ever heard of Jack and the Beanstalk?”

  Gavin looked nonplussed.

  Rosie took a deep breath. Oh shoot. I’ve started so I’ll finish.

  “Fee, fi, fo, fum …” she growled in a low voice that she hardly recognised as her own, “I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive or be he dead, I’ll g-r-i-n-d his bones to make my bread.”

  Gavin looked momentarily shocked. Not that Rosie perceived he’d taken the threat seriously. It was more, she suspected, that he’d never dated a girl who recited fairy stories at the dinner table. For Rosie herself, it was time for a horrible reality check. Where had all that come from? He probably thought she was completely bonkers now. Maybe this was the time to remind him that she worked with children. That while he spent his days doing grown-up things like pumping iron and Pilates, she spent hers knee deep in kids’ books and elbow deep in play dough. Trying to regain her composure, she sat back, smoothed her dress over her knees, and said, as breezily as she could and in her best Irish accent, “With Guinness of course. A good meal always warrants a Guinness.”

  For a few seconds there was an awful silence. Gavin looked puzzled at first. Then a quizzical half-smile began to play around his mouth. After a few moments, he threw his head back and began to laugh quietly to himself. Rosie wasn’t quite sure what to do next.

  “Well, that’s a new chat up line on me, Rosie,” he said at last, straightening up in his chair. “You’re not part of a paramilitary organisation, I trust?”

  Rosie hoped that he couldn’t tell how stupid she was suddenly feeling. “Be very afraid,” she retorted, narrowing her eyes.

  Gavin took her hands across the table and squeezed them gently. For the moment, his cool, confident expression had given way to one of bemusement. “Oh yes. I can tell I’m gonna have fun with you.”

  Rosie was relieved to see the look of good humour in his face. She felt herself beginning to relax. Poor old Gavin. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. Perhaps he was just used to girls going totally gaga over him the minute they clapped eyes on him. Girls like Mel. But what was it Sadie at the nursery always said? Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen? Obviously that didn’t extend to threatening to eat a guy on one’s second date, but there was a principle in there somewhere. All the same, Rosie noted to herself, for the rest of the evening she must at least try and zip her mouth until she was
sure her brain was in gear. It would be a shame to lose a catch like Gavin over some silly culinary misunderstanding.

  They met again the following evening. This time they went for a drink and spent the time talking about London, Leicester and Ireland. London was the only place Gavin had ever lived. He was proud of it too. “It must be strange for you living so far from home,” he said suddenly.

  Rosie was caught off guard. “Sorry?” she returned, genuinely not comprehending his meaning.

  Gavin frowned. “You know – your being Irish and everything.”

  “Oh right.” Rosie forced a smile. Home? Where was home? She’d spent far more of her life in England. Even though it was the land of her birth, Ireland was something of a childhood blur, punctuated by vivid, yet disconnected recollections of various places and happenings. She hardly looked on it as home. Leicester certainly wasn’t either, even though she’d spent the biggest part of her existence there. No; if home was the place where one’s nearest and dearest were to be found, then the only home she had now was London. With Ciaran and Beth. At this stage, however, she hardly wanted to explain to Gavin the complexities of her family life. She smiled as disarmingly as she could. “I’m like a tortoise,” she announced, finishing her drink. “Everywhere I go, my home goes with me. My parents very nearly called me Michelle.” It was an old joke, but Gavin clearly hadn’t heard it before. He laughed loudly when it clicked.

  Later that night as they pulled up outside Rosie’s house, Gavin turned to her and took her hand. “I like you, Rosie.” His expression was gentle, almost serious. “You’re different. What my grandad always used to call a feisty lass.”

  Rosie was a little surprised at his directness. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  Gavin’s face broke into a helpless grin. “Oh dear – don’t you like feisty?”

  Rosie shrugged. “Feisty’s fine by me.”