But then, she thought, wasn’t that just the same as the two boys in Sam’s diary? Pretend it’s not happening. Try and blot it out with a few jars. One of them was dead within a fortnight.
If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, how would you spend tonight?
Rosie smiled gloomily to herself. Panic, big time. Surely that’s what anyone would do – unless they were religious like Boxer. And Rosie wasn’t religious.
The fool has said in his heart that there is no God. She had just typed the words and now they came back to her. Guess that makes me a fool.
But supposing, just supposing people like Boxer were right. Rosie’s thoughts flicked back to the little church in Applemarket and the conversation she’d had there with Beth. Hadn’t Beth said back then that she still believed in God, even though she’d admitted she’d gotten too busy for him? Had the cancer changed that? Had that flickering faith been snuffed out by the unfairness of everything that had come upon her? It wasn’t something Rosie felt she could ask her. It was all too personal, too intimate.
But somehow, all of a sudden, it mattered.
A couple of hours later as they sat in De Souza’s, Gavin seemed full of sympathy for Beth’s plight. “What will happen now, Rosie? Will she need an operation?”
Rosie shrugged. “Dunno yet. They’ve started another whole load of tests on her to see if it’s spread anywhere else. Apparently they can’t really begin treatment until they find out what stage it’s at – whatever that means.”
Gavin nodded thoughtfully. “The waiting around must be terrible … when it’s your own health that’s at stake. How’s she handling it all?”
“Very well, considering.” Rosie had been impressed at Beth’s resilience. “I’ve seen her a couple of times since she found out. All in all she seems quite strong. Her parents have travelled down today from Yorkshire.”
Gavin straightened in his chair. “Oh? How long will they be staying?”
“I’m not sure,” Rosie began. “I think they’re leaving it flexible. Guess they could stay as long as she needs them to. Her mother doesn’t go out to work, and since her dad retired, he’s been a local artist. I suppose he can choose if and when he wants to paint. I don’t get the impression they’re too tied. Apart from sometimes looking after grandchildren that is.”
Gavin looked decidedly interested in this disclosure. “They might stay down here for Christmas. After all, we’re getting towards the end of November already. It’s not long now. That would be nice for her. And your brother.”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” said Rosie, suddenly quiet.
Gavin reached across the table and took her hands gently in his. Rosie felt limp. She almost knew what was coming.
“Have you thought about what I asked you, about coming away with me?”
His hazel eyes looked intently into hers. She wanted to look away; there was something so searching about him tonight. But she found she couldn’t. As Mel had expressed only a few weeks ago in this very place, he really was the most beautiful guy she’d ever come across. It was easy to detach herself from that fact when Gavin was acting like an insensitive moron. But when he allowed his humanity to come through – when he was kind and thoughtful, and interested in the things that mattered to her – Rosie was undone. Any woman would be. Her thoughts raced. She’d be out of her mind to say no. How many girls would give their right arm for an offer like he’d made her?
Gavin pressed her fingers to his lips for a moment. “I have to go myself, Rosie; I’ve given the guy my word now.” His voice was huskily soft. “But I really would like you to come with me. It would mean a lot …”
Before she knew what was happening, Rosie found herself nodding. “Assuming everything’s okay with Beth, I guess I’ll have to say yes.”
There. The words were out. Too late to go back now.
Gavin looked delighted. “Oh Rosie, that’s fantastic. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.” His eyes were shining as he squeezed her hands. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll take care of you.”
I’m sure you will, thought Rosie. Maybe that’s what I’m worried about.
____________
The fingers on the ward clock flicked to eleven thirty-five, but Beth was wide awake. This was to be her last night on Whitstable. Tomorrow she would move to B1 – the cancer wing. It was a scary thought. She’d seen her parents briefly that evening at visiting time. They’d arrived in London just before seven and headed straight for the hospital before going back to Streatham with Ciaran. It had been so good to see them. Her mother had filled up as soon as she’d set eyes on her.
“What’s up?” Beth had done her best to joke. “Do I look that bad?”
Cassie had quickly wiped away the tears and taken her daughter in her arms. “No, darling. I’m just so happy to be down here. It’s been awful not being able to see you.”
Ed had been quiet. He had spent much of the time just looking at Beth, as though struggling to comprehend that his little girl could possibly be as ill as they’d been told.
Beth had squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be okay. They’re looking after me.”
Ed had just smiled, a perplexed look in his eyes. It had made Beth feel sad.
Now as she lay in bed, her mind swirled with images and questions. She’d had an ultrasound the previous day, and a battery of blood tests. There was an additional scan they wanted to do, and some other, unpronounceable procedure. She’d been warned it would take a few days before any results were available. Her heart quickened as she thought about it. This all felt too unreal to be true. Yet she knew it was – and it was happening to her.
In the bed opposite, Velna was snoring. She could afford to sleep soundly, thought Beth flatly. She was due to go home within the next couple of days, all patched up, sorted, ready to get back into life. Not that Beth begrudged her that. Velna had been particularly sweet with her since the diagnosis. Quite motherly in fact.
“I’ll come back and see you when I’ve got myself together,” she’d promised brightly. “A few days at home and I should feel up to it.”
Beth had smiled politely, but with a certain degree of scepticism. Velna couldn’t wait to get out. It was hardly likely she’d be coming back to visit once she’d managed to escape. Still, Beth had appreciated the thought.
She sighed and turned over. Oh God, I’m scared. What are they going to do to me? What are they going to find? Why is it me, God? Why?
Chapter 10
Michael Romily took a long, slow mouthful of coffee and looked down at his desk again. The results were worse than even he had feared. Inoperable high-grade adenocarcinoma, extensive lymph node involvement, metastatic disease in pancreas, multiple liver tumours. The girl was on borrowed time. He cast his mind back to the concert. She must have had symptoms back then. How on earth had she managed it? Yet understanding these things as he did, he knew that she would have pushed herself regardless. The human spirit could be very resilient. What a tragedy. He’d not even had a shot at helping her beat it. The thing was practically over before it began. He drummed his fingers on the desk in frustration. If only she’d presented earlier.
He knew Sarah would cry when he told her. This would be one anniversary neither of them would forget in a hurry. He allowed himself the morbid luxury of brooding on it for a few minutes more, then shook himself. He needed to see her. Give her the score, talk about the choice of treatment. He would run things by another senior colleague first – just to make sure. But deep down, he knew. Palliation was the only option now. To the fighter in Michael Romily, palliation was like a white flag.
____________
Beth sat in her chair staring out of the window. She was now in a quiet, four-bedded room in B1, on the top floor of the hospital. The wing looked out over miles and miles of surrounding landscape. As far as the eye could see stretched a jumbled tableau of variation. Smart, grey office buildings, clean-bricked housing developments, a power station which
belched steam into the atmosphere and made the pale sky hang heavy with cloud; thin, snaking roads with cars that looked like Dinky toys, an equally toylike train chugging along a barely visible railway track, and in the distance, sprawling somnolently towards the horizon, acres of fallow farmland. Beth hardly saw any of it.
“Beth – your mum to see you.” The voice of the young nurse broke Beth’s reverie. She wheeled slowly round and smiled weakly as her mother came towards her.
“Hello, darling. Your dad gave me your message.” Cassie put her arms gently round her daughter and kissed her cheek. She felt frail enough to break. “I was just having a quick shower when you rang.”
Beth nodded slowly. “You didn’t mind coming, did you?”
Cassie laughed. “Course not, silly girl. That’s why we’re down here. We were coming after lunch anyway. I didn’t realise we could visit mornings.”
Beth lowered her head. “Strictly speaking you can’t. But I asked them if I could ring you. Can we go somewhere – the coffee shop or someplace like that? I just need to get away from here for a while.”
Cassie looked at her, concerned. “Come on. Let’s take you for a drink.”
The coffee shop was fairly full when they arrived there. Beth shook her head. “I don’t fancy that. Wonder if there’s anywhere quieter.” Then she remembered. On her trip to the chapel the previous week, she had passed something on the main corridor. At the time it had only momentarily caught her attention, and being in the middle of conversation with Laura, she hadn’t bothered to ask about it. Now as her mother wheeled her towards the same spot, Beth’s eyes scanned the corridor wall. Yes, there it was. She quickly made indication to Cassie and within moments they had stopped by a small sign. ‘The Conservatory’ it read, an arrow directing the visitor to a set of double doors immediately to the sign’s right. Passing through the doors, they made their way along a narrower corridor which suddenly opened up into an annexe. It was in the design of an old-fashioned glasshouse, light and spacious and airy with a high, glass-panelled ceiling. There were plants and climbing vines and a couple of benches in verdigrised wrought iron.
“This is rather lovely,” Cassie smiled as she pushed Beth over to one of the benches. The conservatory looked out over a small garden. It was neatly maintained but colourless in its winter garb. Only the evergreen shrubs showed any sign of life as they shivered out in the late November air. Beth hugged herself and stared down at her feet in their pale blue slippers. She hadn’t worn shoes for weeks.
“Well, what’s all this about then?” Cassie ventured at last, stroking her daughter’s arm gently.
Beth closed her eyes and bit her lip. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to hear herself speaking the words. While ever she kept the thing quiet, it was suspended, arrested. So long as she told no one, so long as no one knew, it had to stand still and wait. Wait for her permission to continue. Her hands pressed into the hard mass under her nightie. It was waiting for nobody.
“Mum … I don’t think I’m gonna make it.” Her voice tumbled out, half panicking, half sobbing. It was the voice of a little girl to her mother.
Cassie frowned and looked at her intently. “Course you are. Don’t talk like that, sweetheart. Of course you’re going to make it.”
Beth began to shake her head in distress. “You don’t understand, Mum. It’s all too late.”
A look of confusion shadowed Cassie’s face. “What do you mean? What are you saying, Beth?”
Beth dug her fingers into the arms of the wheelchair and tried to pull herself together. “I saw Michael Romily this morning for my results. I didn’t tell you I was seeing him. I didn’t tell any of you.”
Cassie was suddenly nervous. “Go on …”
Beth covered her face with trembling hands. For a moment she was unable to continue. Then she spoke in a low, small voice. “It’s spread, Mum. They found it too late. It’s incurable. I only have a few months at the most.”
Cassie stared blankly at her, her mind at first uncomprehending. Then Beth’s words began to penetrate like ice-cold needles. She took one of the small, fragile hands in her own. “Oh Beth. Beth … .” Her voice was a broken whisper. “Oh God, no. No, please –”
Beth began to sob uncontrollably. “It’s my fault, all my fault. I knew there was something wrong. It’s all my fault.” She flopped forward, her whole body convulsed with anguish. Cassie caught her and cradled her, and the two of them wept together.
“You should have had someone with you. Why on earth didn’t you say anything?” The thought of Beth receiving the news on her own tore into Cassie’s heart.
“I just thought – I thought it might be easier,” Beth stammered between sobs. “I don’t even know what I was expecting to hear. I think perhaps –” She was struggling to articulate. “I – I guess I imagined they’d be able to do something to make it better.”
Cassie held onto her, her own hot tears stinging her eyes. Suddenly Beth was a little child again. Somewhere in a rambling North Yorkshire garden she cried out, and Cassie was beside her in an instant. Grazed knees and dirty hands; whatever the problem, somehow Cassie had always been able to make it better. Now as she watched her daughter’s distress, a terrifying realisation broke upon her mind. This time, she was completely helpless.
____________
Rosie had been on a course all day. She was fast coming to the conclusion that the more courses she went on, the less she found herself wanting to do the job. Now it was six o’clock and she’d only just arrived home. The course tutor had been passionate about her subject. Not one of these let’s-see-if-we-can-finish-early types. Oh no. She’d rattled on ad nauseam and overshot the estimated finishing time by forty minutes. It had put Rosie in a lousy mood. She really had to start thinking about a career move. For a few minutes she toyed with the idea of visiting Beth, but eventually decided against it. Ciaran would go straight from work, and Beth’s parents were down in London so they’d no doubt be visiting. No, she’d give it a miss tonight. She went to her room to check something out. One of the girls from work was throwing a makeup party. Rosie had promised to look on her planner to see if she was free. It had been a stalling tactic. She hated things like that. But it seemed only decent to check anyway and come up with an excuse later. Perhaps she could wangle a date with Gavin for that night.
Mel came in shortly afterwards. She was seeing Dan later that evening and wanted to have a long soak. “How’s it going with Gavin?” she asked as the bath was running.
Rosie was deliberately noncommittal. “Good. We’re getting on fine.” She didn’t mention Christmas. That would make Mel unbearable.
“You seeing him tonight?” Mel called out from the bathroom.
“No, we’ve not arranged anything. Besides, when I’ve had a bite to eat I want to get a bit more of Beth’s diary typed up.”
“Oh, that old thing!” There was a giggle from the bathroom.
Yes, thought Rosie, that old thing. But I don’t suppose you can get your dizzy little head round something like that, can you?
____________
Lozenge Wood October 1st 1916
Here we are, Em, bivouacked in this delightful sounding place. Due to move on again tomorrow. Tired, tired, tired. Been doing all the usual stuff, lugging around ammo and supplies, shoring up trenches etc., but quite a few of us are suffering from heavy colds, and the temptation to dream of home comforts is overwhelming at times. Watching Wilf mourning his pal, I find myself thinking of Harry. I’ve heard nothing about him. I’ve no idea if he’s living or dead. But somehow I think I coped better than Wilf is doing …
Wilf was in an awful state these days. He hardly seemed to know where he was. Losing his friend had made him nervy and agitated, nothing like the excitable youngster he’d been at first. His big adventure had blown up in his face.
It wasn’t as if he was the first one to lose a mate. The only way to not lose friends out here was to not have friends in the first place. No; losing mates
was a part of life. You just had to accept it and get on with things. But, Sam reflected, everyone was different. Some men, usually the more sensitive types, seemed to find things harder to handle than others. But a man couldn’t very well change his nature, could he?
You met every kind of chap out here. The officers were in a class of their own of course. But even then, there were good officers and there were brutes. Fortunately Sam had only come across a couple of the latter. Most of the officers were decent fellows who didn’t expect their subordinates to do anything they weren’t prepared to do themselves. Sam hadn’t crossed paths with any of the funk wallahs that other lads talked about.
As for the ordinary men in the ranks, they were a real mixed bunch. There were the young hotheads who wanted to blow the Hun into the sky and who took the most terrible risks at times. Then there were the older, quieter men who spent their spare moments writing letters home or gazing at photographs of their wives and children. And of course, there were the comedians who somehow managed to turn everything into a joke. Sam smiled to himself. The humour could get a bit black out here. He’d met hopeful men and cynical men, sensitive men and hard men, generous men and selfish men. But whatever kind of a man one happened to be, Sam had come to the conclusion that it all came down to one thing in this game. You were either alive or you were dead. Simple as that …
At the end of the day, Em, we’re just the PBI; the ‘poor bloody infantry’ as they call us. Whether we happen to be a builder or a baker, a poet or an errand boy, there’s no difference between us. We all bleed the same, our flesh is the same soft flesh. Not one of us can catch a lump of shrapnel and not be ripped to pieces – and that doesn’t matter whether you’re a Tommy or a German. You’ll have seen enough of that to know what I mean, Em. Pardon my misery today!
Better go, officer’s shouting up ahead. Don’t want field punishment for writing seditious material, do I?
A Song in the Night Page 16