A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  As Mama phoned the emergency services, Rosie watched her gloomily. She knew she had to call Ciaran. It went onto voicemail after a few rings. He was probably right in the middle of something. She decided to try again rather than leave a message. This time, he picked up.

  “Sorry Ros, didn’t get to it in time. What’s up?”

  She tried to play the situation down, but the sight of Beth hunched into a ball on the settee and the intermittent sound of her whimpering softly, didn’t make it easy. On the other end, Ciaran sounded frantic. As he promised to get there as soon as he could, Rosie promised to keep him posted with any developments. Miserably, she flipped her phone shut and sighed. She’d heard the panic in his voice; he’d probably try and sprout wings. What a day this had been.

  The ambulance arrived quite quickly, parking round the back of the restaurant where there was an outer door which connected directly to the staff quarters. Two paramedics – a tall rake of a man and a young, dark-haired woman – came into the staffroom and gently examined Beth. They asked several questions and Rosie told them all she knew.

  “We need to get her seen by a doctor.” The female paramedic spoke kindly. She seemed to exude an air of calm authority far beyond her years. Rosie found herself wondering if the woman could be much older than herself.

  It was obvious Beth couldn’t walk very far and a trolley was brought in. She briefly opened her eyes as they wheeled her out, but Rosie could see that she was utterly exhausted. She squeezed Beth’s hand and smiled as reassuringly as she could. “See you up there. Ciaran won’t be long.”

  Within a couple of minutes the ambulance was gone. The sun was still shining and the afternoon still young. Everything looked just as it had a couple of hours ago. Rosie shivered. So why did everything feel different all of a sudden?

  ____________

  Ciaran gave an agitated sigh. They’d been here three hours at least now. Why didn’t someone come and tell them what was going on? Rosie glanced at him sympathetically but said nothing. She’d slipped out of the hospital about an hour earlier to ring Gavin. He was supposed to be picking her up at seven thirty.

  “Really sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it tonight. My sister-in-law’s been taken into hospital. We’re up there now. My brother’s pretty shaken – I really need to stay with him.”

  “Oh right. That’s a shame. I’d booked us in to a film at nine.”

  Rosie had tried to think fast. “It’s possible we might be out by that time. I could always ring you if I am …”

  Gavin had dissuaded her. “No, don’t stress yourself. I can still go myself. I’ll see if I can get one of my mates to come along. It’s not a problem.”

  Well, thanks for your understanding. “Er right, okay then. See you when I see you.”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you a ring. Hope everything goes alright. Bye Rosie.”

  It had been a strangely cold phone call. Just when things between them had seemed to be looking up. She’d tried to bury her disquiet as she’d walked back into the hospital. Her brother didn’t need any more hassle.

  Ciaran shook his head disconsolately. “I hate that smell,” he grumbled to no one in particular. He began to wring his hands, then became conscious of it and stopped. He let out another sigh. This was not a side of her brother Rosie was used to.

  “I knew there was something up, Ros.”

  There was such a pathos in his voice that Rosie put a hand on his shoulder. For a few moments neither of them spoke. At length, Ciaran shook himself with a slight, embarrassed laugh. “D’you remember when we first came over from Ireland, Ros?”

  Rosie frowned. “Vaguely. I was only a little kid.”

  Ciaran gazed down the corridor. “I hated England at first, y’know. Seemed so ugly. And everybody talked so weird.”

  Rosie laughed. “We talk just like them now.”

  “That was one of the first survival lessons we learnt.” Ciaran looked thoughtful. “Do you remember Mum’s cousin – the one we came to live with?”

  Rosie screwed up her face. “Not very well. Was she called Bridie or something?”

  Ciaran nodded.

  “Didn’t she move pretty sharpish after we arrived? Where did she go?”

  Ciaran sat back in his chair. “She moved to Saudi. Nursing. Mum once told me about it when I asked her if she’d gone because of us. Apparently it paid better than the NHS. After she left, Mum carried on renting the house for a couple o’ years.”

  Rosie grimaced. “Yeah, until she shacked up with Mickey you mean …” She hadn’t intended to sound harsh, but even she had heard the bitterness in her own voice. That name almost stuck in her throat.

  Ciaran looked surprised. “You remember that bit then?”

  How could she forget? The dank winter day they’d moved in; the coldness of the house with its foul-smelling rooms. Oh yes. She remembered it well. She tried to make light of it. “Like it was yesterday.”

  Ciaran smiled and then went quiet as though deep in thought. After a while he turned to her, his eyes troubled. “You didn’t mind that I got married, did you, Ros?” He paused as though he wanted to get his words just right. “I mean, I know I’d promised to find you somewhere to come to once you were old enough to leave home. You didn’t mind sharing it with Beth – did you?”

  “What goes on in that mind o’ yours, Kitch?” Rosie stared at him quizzically. What on earth had prompted him to ask a question like that? But looking at him, she could see that he was entirely serious. She thought hard for several moments. It was something she’d never even asked herself. She pictured herself as a sixteen-year old again, arriving in London for the first time. Moving in with her brother and his young wife. Feeling cared for, really cared for … for the first time in a very, very long while. The memory of those days was warm and clear. The period she’d spent in their Streatham home had truly been the happiest of her life.

  “Beth’s the best thing that ever happened to you, Kitch. I’m gonna hate myself for saying something as naff as this – but you two were made for each other.” She rubbed the back of his hand and forced a grin. “Anyway don’t forget, I got a new sister out of this deal.”

  A grateful smile crept over Ciaran’s face. “Thanks, Ros. I needed to hear that today.”

  A doctor suddenly appeared on the corridor and began to make his way towards them. Ciaran jumped to his feet, his jaw stiffening.

  “Mr Maconochie …? I’m Doctor Stafford.” The doctor extended a hand and Ciaran shook it nervously.

  “This is Rosie, my sister. How’s my wife?”

  Dr Stafford invited them to sit down again. “We need to keep her in to run some tests. There are several possible causes of the problem, but it’s impossible to diagnose accurately without further investigation. She’s actually very weak. She informs me that she hasn’t been eating well for the last couple of months. I’m pretty sure she’s anaemic. We’ve done some blood tests and we need to wait for the results from those. We’re going to put her on a drip for the time being – build her up a bit.”

  Ciaran glanced at Rosie then shook his head. “I could kick myself. I should have tackled her about the eating business earlier. Made her get help.”

  Dr Stafford smiled sympathetically. “You’ll be able to go up and see her in a few minutes. She’s been taken to Ward 7a; Whitstable Ward.”

  Whitstable Ward …? Rosie was faintly amused by the coincidence. She hoped the irony would not be lost on Beth. Okay, so maybe her sense of humour had been a bit lacking today. Rosie smiled to herself. Wait till she wakes up tomorrow, she’ll find it hilarious. A couple of free nights at a Whitstable health farm.

  Ciaran’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Blood? Are you sure?” His face had paled.

  Dr Stafford nodded. “Yes. She was sick as soon as she arrived here. And there was a fair amount of blood present.”

  Rosie’s heart quickened as she tried to work out what was going on.

  “Beth obviously didn’t real
ise what it was,” Dr Stafford continued. “It’s altered blood, you see. Looks more like coffee grounds.” He looked at them kindly, his expression warm and reassuring. “There are a number of conditions which can cause haematemesis. Our priority is to stabilise her and identify the root of the problem as quickly as possible. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands. We’ll look after her.” He proceeded to give a few more details of the various procedures Beth would undergo next. Rosie and Ciaran exchanged glances. No wonder Beth hadn’t been herself – she was vomiting blood. How long had that been going on?

  ____________

  The next morning was a drag. The impending inspection had put Rosie’s supervisor in the worst of moods, and it seemed that neither Rosie nor her colleague, Ellie, could do anything right. After biting her tongue for what felt like the millionth time since arriving at work, Rosie looked at her watch irritably. Only another half an hour, then home sweet home. She hadn’t been in the mood for working. Her mind had been on Beth most of the time. She’d tried ringing the hospital in her break but they hadn’t been very forthcoming. “Spent a comfortable night,” was all they would say. It had been on the tip of Rosie’s tongue to ask what brand of pillows they used, but she’d resisted the temptation. Being facetious would get her nowhere. Perhaps Ciaran had managed to glean more information. Half past twelve crawled slowly round and she left at last. It felt like the longest shift she’d ever done.

  She’d only been home about quarter of an hour when there was a knock at the front door. She went to answer it and was surprised to see Ciaran standing there.

  “Hi. Thought I’d call by and see if you were back.” He looked pale. “Wondered if you fancied a walk on the Common. I’ve got sandwiches if you haven’t eaten – chicken tikka … .” He rattled a little bag in front of her and gave a hopeful smile. Rosie hadn’t the heart to disappoint him. Besides, maybe a walk would do her good; clear her mind a bit.

  “Give me five minutes.”

  There were quite a few people out walking. Though the sky was bright, there was a definite coldness in the air, as though the last ragged vestiges of mellow autumn had conceded defeat and gone home.

  “Winter seems to have come all of a sudden,” Ciaran shivered, pulling up the collar of his coat. They ate the sandwiches as they walked, their bare fingers stiffening in the wind chill. “Seemed weird without Beth last night.” His voice was tinged with melancholy. “It’s the first time we’ve spent a night apart since we got married. It’s funny how you get used to someone just being there.”

  Rosie nodded but said nothing. She wasn’t sure what she could say.

  Ciaran continued. “I’ve been in touch with Ed and Cassie. They were on about coming straight down here, but I said they might as well hang fire – wait until we know a bit more. They look after Meg and Tammy some days after school. It seemed daft messing everything up till we find out what’s wrong. I mean, I’m guessing she’ll be out of there soon. Might be nice if they come and see her once she gets home again. Just seems an awful long way to come for a couple of hours’ hospital visiting.”

  “Did they sound upset about her?”

  “Well, it was Cassie I spoke to. Obviously she was very concerned, but she’s a steady sort of a woman. She told me to try not to worry. Said they’d be praying for us – and something about getting Beth on a prayer list. Not sure what all that was about. But it was good to talk to her.”

  Rosie nodded quietly as a question began to form in her mind. “Don’t suppose you’ve spoken to Mum?” Her words sounded small, and suddenly, stupid.

  Ciaran shook his head. “Not much point in that is there, Ros? Can’t imagine her belting down here to do her Florence Nightingale bit, can you?” With a weak smile, he threw his arm around her shoulders as if in a gesture of solidarity. “No, little sis. It’s just you and me as usual, I’m afraid. ’Cept that we’ve got Beth’s family now, eh?”

  By this time they had reached the Rookery, a formal landscaped garden area adjoining Streatham Common. Ciaran spotted the café. “Cup o’ tea, Ros? I could murder one myself.” They went inside and sat down by the window. Ciaran closed his eyes as he warmed his hands on his mug. “I’m glad it’s Saturday. I couldn’t cope with any school kids today. I hardly slept a wink last night.”

  “So, what’s the situation with her? Are we any nearer finding out what’s what?”

  Ciaran shrugged. “Looks like it’ll be Monday before they get cracking on the tests. Unless she takes a turn for the worse. Y’know, if she starts vomiting again or anything like that. I spoke to her on the phone this morning and she said they’re gonna do a barium meal, and possibly put a camera down into her stomach. Routine procedure from what she tells me.” His face was strained. “I can’t believe it, Ros. Vomiting blood. I should have known there was something wrong. I should have made her get herself seen to.”

  Rosie felt for him. “Don’t blame yourself, Kitch. You weren’t to know. Anyway she’s in the best place now – they’ll sort her out. What time are you going to see her?”

  Ciaran looked at his watch. “Visiting’s three till eight. Guess I’d better get going soon.”

  Rosie gave a knowing smile. “And wild horses wouldn’t drag you away before eight, would they?”

  “You think I’m getting soppy in my old age, don’t you?” Ciaran grinned sheepishly. “But I’m missing her so bad already, Ros. I daren’t think how long they’ll keep her in there. Still, so long as they get to the bottom of things, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?”

  They left the café and made their way to the Rookery’s ‘White Garden’. Everything there was white by design, from the benches to the flowers in its borders. Not that there were many flowers left in bloom, Rosie observed. Even this place seemed curiously subdued today.

  Ciaran was thoughtful as they walked around. “Beth loves it here, y’know, Ros.” He kicked distractedly at a stone. “She always calls it ‘Mary’s Garden’. Something about it once being a favourite place of Queen Mary.”

  Rosie suddenly found herself remembering the white butterfly in the old church at Applemarket. It wouldn’t have been out of place here. A blast of wind made them shiver. They decided it was time to leave.

  “By the way, are you planning to visit, Ros?”

  “I’ll come up now with you, if you’re alright with that. Don’t worry, I’ll just stay an hour. Give you two lovebirds plenty of time on your own.”

  Ciaran smiled appreciatively. “I’m not expecting anyone else to visit at the moment. I rang Emmett to put him in the picture, so it should be all round the orchestra by now. But I asked him to pass it on that she wouldn’t be up to seeing anyone till after the weekend. To be honest, Ros, looking at her yesterday, I think it’d wear her out. I reckon she could do with a couple o’ days complete rest before she starts dealing with visitors.”

  Rosie’s mind went back to the night before. She pictured the small, white face slumped against the starched hospital pillow. Beth had barely managed to open her eyes before they’d left. Couple o’ days? Rosie couldn’t help thinking it was going to take a bit longer than that to get Beth socialising again.

  Chapter 6

  There were six beds in Room 3, Whitstable Ward. Only four of them were occupied but, unfortunately for Beth, both beds near the window had already been taken. Hers was a middle one and despite her usually easygoing disposition, she felt oddly hemmed in. The other women on the ward were nice enough – all older than her and, seemingly, hospital veterans. Listening to them chattering away like old friends, Beth found herself wondering if that was one of the strange quirks of being trapped in an institutionalised regime. You only had to be there a day or two and you were fully in the swing; comrades and fellow sufferers, knowing the ropes, ready to pass on your vast wealth of experience to the next poor rookie. These women were on first name terms with the morning news vendor, felt comfortable enough to tell the young Spanish orderly that he’d ‘missed a bit’, had nicknames for the nurses, opinio
ns on the doctors, slated the food, and generally seemed to thoroughly enjoy being there. How long, Beth wondered, before she became a seasoned veteran herself? She glanced over at the clock. Two forty-five. Another quarter of an hour until visiting. She closed her eyes.

  So, she wasn’t pregnant after all. She felt almost silly about the whole thing now. She’d mentioned it to one of the nurses on the early observations round. “When did you have your last period?” the nurse had asked matter-of-factly. Beth had had to go into explanations then. “Can’t actually remember. Probably about three months ago, but that doesn’t mean anything in my case.” Obligingly they’d tested her. Negative. Beth’s relief at the result was tempered by a new concern. If she wasn’t pregnant, what on earth was the problem? The conversation she’d had with Dr Stafford earlier that morning came back to her. Any personal or family history of this kind of thing? What kind of thing was he meaning? Stomach problems, nausea, reflux – anything like that. The questions sounded familiar. She was sure he’d asked her the same stuff the night before, only she’d felt too ill to respond properly. Family history? No, not that she was aware of. Personal history? Actually, yes. She’d almost forgotten. There had been something, just after she’d turned eighteen. Discomfort, a burning sensation after eating – in the end they’d detected Helicobacter Pylori infection in her stomach. The treatment had been pretty lousy, she remembered, but there’d been no recurrence. Dr Stafford had seemed interested in this disclosure. “Some people have a predisposition to such things,” was all he’d said. His face had brightened. “Well, at least you’ve had an endoscopy before. It shouldn’t be such an ordeal for you when we decide to do one.”

  Beth had winced at that. He had to be joking. Knowing what was coming made it worse. She found herself thinking about the pregnancy test back home in her drawer, well hidden under a pile of underwear. She’d never got round to using it. Funny – a few days ago, getting a negative showing would have been the best news she could have imagined. Now she felt oddly detached about it all. In the last few hours, a strange exhaustion had wrapped itself around her, making the whole situation seem almost surreal. She suddenly felt terribly tired, more tired than she’d ever felt in her life. Perhaps it was the drugs they were giving her. Random snippets of conversation flitted through her head. Her mind went to the tests that had been mentioned. It was all a bit daunting. She felt too weary to do anything at the moment, least of all be brave while a bunch of total strangers did nasty things to her. Still, she tried to console herself, at least they wouldn’t be doing much before Monday. She might as well make the most of the respite.