____________
A banging at the front door startled Rosie. When she opened it, Ciaran practically fell inside. His hair was damp and dishevelled and his coat spattered with raindrops.
“Didn’t realise it was raining.” Rosie held the door ajar and looked out into the night. On closing it, she turned round to see Ciaran slumped against the wall in the passageway. The sudden sight of his drawn, grey face alarmed her.
“Kitch? What’s the matter? You look terrible …”
Ciaran said nothing. His head had dropped forward, and for a few moments Rosie was unable to see his expression. She noticed, however, that he seemed to grind his fingers into the grooved Artex, his agitated movements causing his knuckles to whiten. Suddenly, without warning, he gave a low, strange moan which began quietly but became gradually louder and, to Rosie’s ears, more terrifying.
Panic gripped her. She took him by the shoulder and started to shake him. Her heart was thumping wildly. “Kitch! Come on! What on earth’s up with you?”
The moan became a howl, like that of a wounded animal, and Rosie felt an instinctive pull to get him to safety – whatever that might mean. She was relieved to find that he offered no resistance as she began to propel him towards her room. When she had managed to get him into a chair, she stood back watching him. Seemingly unaware of her presence, he made anguished rocking movements, gripping his wet coat around him as he continued to wail. Rosie had never seen anything quite like it. At first, everything inside her longed to storm in and put an end to his torment. Yet the longer she watched him, the more she wanted to get out of the room. She had to collect her thoughts, brace herself. Something was badly wrong and shortly he would tell her. But right away, she needed caffeine.
She went back to the room five minutes later to find Ciaran hunched forward with his hands covering his face. He was whimpering softly like a small child, and the sound of it caused Rosie’s throat to tighten into a lump.
“Coffee for you, Kitch.” She spoke gently, afraid of adding to his distress.
At last he looked up. His eyes were swollen and his face puffy and blotched. He glanced at her hopelessly as fresh tears began to spill down his cheeks. “She’s dying, Ros.”
Rosie’s heart lurched. “What d’you mean?”
“They can’t treat her. It’s too far gone.” A sob caught him then. He shook his head repeatedly as though it tortured him to say it. “They told her this morning. They can’t operate – just make her comfortable – give her stuff for pain – sickness – until –” He stammered the words, all the time twisting his hands and rocking gently in his chair.
Rosie sat in horrified silence. This did not compute. Where was the girl who planned to take the world by storm with her wonderful music? People like Beth didn’t die. They were too full of life, too alive to die. Rosie breathed out slowly. There must be some way of changing this. They couldn’t just sit back and let it happen. Surely there was something they could do. But as she looked at the wild grief in her brother’s eyes and saw the desolation in his countenance, she felt sick. Ciaran had always been her hero, but it seemed that even he couldn’t sort this one out.
His face contorted in distress. “I’m losing her, Ros. My beautiful Bethy. I’m losing her forever … .” His voice trailed off into an inaudible whisper.
Rosie swallowed hard. Her throat felt like it was packed with marbles.
____________
It was just after eleven o’clock. Ed Simmons lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. Cassie sat by the window, hunched over in a small rattan chair, her face expressionless. They were staying in the spare room at Beth and Ciaran’s home, but neither of them was ready for sleep. Cassie hadn’t even closed the curtains. Somehow the familiar sound of passing cars punctuating the night stillness was a welcome distraction from the gathering storm in her head. Outside, the cold winter air had left a sprinkling of frost on the pavements and the road glistened silver under the street lamps. Cassie shivered.
“Can’t believe it,” Ed mumbled for the hundredth time since that afternoon. “I can’t believe it.”
Cassie didn’t reply. She’d had the job of breaking the news to her husband on her return from the hospital. Beth had asked that they let Ciaran visit on his own that evening so that she could break the news to him. Cassie got up from her chair and walked over to the bed. She lay down next to Ed and reached for his hand. “I hope that boy’s alright.”
“Wonder where he’s got to,” Ed said quietly. “It’s late enough.”
“He’ll have gone round to Rosie’s I should think. Poor thing.” Cassie’s eyes filled up. This was pain she’d never known before.
“How come they haven’t picked up on it before now, d’you suppose?” Ed’s face was a picture of misery and bewilderment.
Cassie shrugged sadly. “She’s kept quiet about things. Today she admitted to me that she’s been vomiting for a while. She went to a pharmacy some weeks back and got something for nausea and stomach upset.” Cassie remembered Beth’s distraught face that afternoon as she’d related the chain of events. It went through her. “She didn’t pick up on the blood thing. I don’t think she realised what it was. She’d even started to imagine she was pregnant, bless her.” Cassie swallowed. “With the concert almost upon her, she put all her concentration on that. She was hoping the symptoms might clear up once the pressure was off.”
Ed turned over onto his side. “I always thought our Beth had more sense. I mean, what can be more important than your health, Cass?”
Cassie touched his face gently. “She’d no idea it was anything like this, love. At twenty-four you think you’re going to live forever. Don’t you remember?”
Ed’s eyes misted. “It’s not right, Cass. Here I am an old man; she’s just a little girl. None of it’s right. I wish it was me.”
Cassie rubbed the back of his hand. “Don’t, Ed. Don’t talk like that.” But deep down inside, she had found herself wishing she could swap places with her daughter from the moment Beth had broken the news to her. “We must look to God now. Either he gives us a miracle or –” Her voice faltered. “Or he gives us strength to bear the pain. One or the other.”
Ed nodded slowly. “Whatever happens, Cass, we must pray that she’s ready.”
____________
Beth was rummaging in one of the drawers of her bedside cabinet. It was hard to rummage quietly at two o’clock in the morning, but the singsong snoring of the woman in the next bed assured her that she wasn’t being too disruptive. There must be one in here. There had to be. Still, she hadn’t noticed one when she’d put her stuff in just days earlier. A wave of frustration swept over her. And then a sense of panic. She was going to die. How could a person live with that thought and stay sane? She flopped back onto the bed, tears pricking her eyes. At that moment, soft footsteps padded across the room and Beth saw the figure of a young nurse standing by her bedside.
“Are you alright, Beth?” The voice was gentle, half-whispered. “Were you looking for something?”
For a few seconds Beth hesitated. She didn’t recognise the nurse; the night staff had just changed rota. Should she tell her? For a brief moment, embarrassment silenced her. Then she shook herself. It wasn’t like she had anything to lose now. “I was looking to see if there was one of those Gideon Bible things. I thought they normally had them in hospitals.”
The nurse arched her eyebrows. “I’m afraid we don’t have any on this wing at the moment. They were all removed during recent refurbishment. Nobody’s got round to putting them back yet.”
Beth closed her eyes as she tried to swallow the new wave of panic that was threatening to choke her. She felt trapped and hopeless. They didn’t even have a Bible, for crying out loud. What sort of lousy place was this? A sickening sense of despair swirled round her head and she began to cry.
The nurse bent down and took her hand. “Beth, I have a Bible you can read if you want to. If you ask me, I’m allowed to get it for you.” She gav
e a little smile. “Hospital rules, y’know.”
Beth looked at her, her face wet with tears. “Really? You have one with you?”
The young nurse nodded. “I never go anywhere without it. But I have others at home, so you can keep it as long as you need.”
Beth pulled a tissue from her sleeve and began to dab her face. “Are you into God then? Hope you don’t mind me asking … it’s kinda important to me right now. I could do with talking to someone.”
The young nurse smiled again. “We’re quiet at the moment. Would you like to go into the sitting room and have a chat? I can make us a cuppa.”
The nurse was called Belinda. It turned out she had worked on the unit for two years, hailed originally from Chingford, and had been a Christian since her late teens. Beth asked her if she found her job depressing. Belinda said it was very hard at times but immensely rewarding. Beth couldn’t imagine what possible reward there was to be found in watching people die, but she kept this opinion to herself.
After the initial introductions were out of the way, Beth found herself wondering how to get the conversation rolling. As Belinda sat across from her, her expression gentle and unhurried, she decided to get straight to the point. “This morning I was told I only have months to live. I don’t know what to do with that.” She pushed her long hair behind her ears in thinly disguised agitation. “I’m twenty-four years old. I just can’t get my head round it.”
Belinda looked at her sympathetically but said nothing. The young ones often got angry; it was best to let them vent it before trying to counsel them.
“I had such dreams. I was on the point of really making something of my life. I’m twenty-four, for crying out loud.” Beth shook her head, a look of desperation in her eyes. “Why? Why would God let this happen to me? Is he mad at me? Is it some kind of punishment?” She shuddered then, as though afraid of the answer. “I know I’ve let him down. But I’m sorry. Really sorry. I wish I could turn the clock back. Do all the things I should have done – undo some of the things I did do.” She buried her face in her hands and began to cry again.
Belinda came to her side and began to stroke her shoulder. For the moment there were no words to be said. The girl was crumpled with grief, and though Belinda’s mind teemed with a thousand things she wanted to say, she knew she had to let Beth weep. Some time later, when the raw emotion had subsided and Beth, dazed with exhaustion, was slumped back in her chair, Belinda looked at her intently.
“God loves you, Beth. Your illness isn’t a punishment.” Her dark eyes searched Beth’s face. “I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but one thing I know for sure. The Lord loves you very, very much.”
Beth shook her head again and looked down at the table. “I don’t want to die, Belinda. I don’t want to. I want someone to tell me it’s all a dream – a nightmare.” She was shaking now and her lips trembled as she spoke. “How would you feel if it was you?”
It was a direct question, but there was no malice in it. No accusation of injustice or hint of resentment. Just a pleading enquiry from a girl who was scared to death.
Belinda thought for a moment. “I can’t say, Beth. I honestly don’t know.”
Beth shuddered. “I feel trapped inside my own body. I want to be someone else, somewhere else – anywhere but here … .” She gave a sob. “But I can’t, can I? I’m me. I’m stuck in me.” Her voice thinned to a thread. “Please help me, Belinda. Please.”
Belinda closed her eyes. The sight of this young woman so desperate to live cut into her like a knife. She breathed a silent prayer before continuing. “A long time ago, Beth, I had a little brother. He was ten years younger than me. My mother once told me he was her ‘lovely surprise’.” She smiled gently. “I thought the world of him, we all did. But you know, Beth, he was born with a congenital immunodeficiency disease. From the start, we knew that without a miracle we weren’t going to keep him long. I found that terribly hard to deal with.” Belinda lowered her eyes. “I remember my parents used to pray for him every day. Sometimes I’d catch my mum crying when she thought no one was around. All his short life she knew what was coming. She was preparing herself for it. He was only seven when he died.”
Beth wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
Belinda smiled again. “That little boy was so special, Beth. He loved Jesus with all his heart. Somehow he seemed to know he wouldn’t be staying around. But it didn’t upset him. He talked about heaven all the time, like he couldn’t wait to go there. I learnt something so precious from him. That there’s very little we can hold onto in this world. Not even life itself. From the moment Jamie was born, we knew he’d only been lent to us. We had to change our outlook on a lot of things – the whole family did. Make the most of every moment, not knowing how long we had. And I had to start searching for a deeper meaning to all this ‘life’ stuff. My parents had banged on at me for years about getting right with God, but well, you know what stroppy teenagers are like. I had to find it for myself.”
Beth nodded slowly. “Yeah. At that age I was pretty stroppy too.”
Belinda sat back in her chair. “In the end, I did get it. I figured, why spend your life trying to cling onto this old world when you’re only gonna lose it anyway in the end? That’s when I started getting into God I guess. Somehow, losing Jamie took the fear of death away for me. I knew exactly where he’d gone. That’s when I felt God calling me to do this.”
Beth frowned. “Do what?”
“Work with cancer patients. When I began my nurse training, I knew this was where I wanted to end up. You know, Beth, many people find that cancer’s a wakeup call. They have to make changes. Everything begins to take on a new perspective. For those like yourself who find themselves terminally ill, the perspective is even sharper. People who are facing death usually have questions. I don’t have all the answers, but I can pray that they will ask the right questions – the ones that really matter.”
It was several moments before either of them spoke again. Beth sat with her eyes closed, her thin hands stretched flat on the table in front of her. Eventually she lifted her head and looked straight at Belinda. “So what are the questions that matter, the ones I should be asking?”
Belinda looked towards the window. Please Lord, help me out here. Help me get this right. Her face broke into a smile. “I was hoping you’d ask me that, Beth.”
____________
Rosie felt too keyed up to go to bed. Ciaran hadn’t left until past midnight, about half an hour after Mel had texted to say she wouldn’t be coming in. Since then, Rosie’s head had been milling with questions that seemed to have no answers. She’d made up her mind not to go into work tomorrow. How could she work, how could she do anything? Beth was dying. It was too much to take in. As she mooched about the living room wondering what to do with herself, Sam’s words suddenly came back to bite her.
It all comes down to one thing in this game. You’re either alive or you’re dead. Simple as that …
How could anybody be so laid back about it? Was it possible, Rosie wondered, to be so surrounded by loss that one no longer felt it? Her mind went back to her schooldays. She could see the boys in her class playing football on the top field. She tried to imagine them in army uniforms. Surely it would have been like that; whole classfuls of boys, not two minutes out of school, answering the call of duty. She found it hard to think of lads like Blondie Savage or Shane ‘Six- Pack’ Robertson coming under orders. They’d have probably been shot within a week of joining up. Still, most of the guys in her class hadn’t been so bad. Just big kids really. They’d have loved a bit of war – make a change from computer games at least. A whole nation of lads queuing up to get a taste of the action; a whole heap of them on a one way ticket. It was like Beth times multitudes.
A dark sense of futility swept over her then. What was it all about anyway? A few years trying to get by in a world that didn’t seem to know why it was there either. Just a miserable lit
tle ball spinning around in space. No explanation for its existence; its cities swarming with the living, its dust heavy with the debris of the dead. None of it made any sense when you really looked at it. It was all so stupidly pointless.
What was it Boxer had said? The sorriest thing in the world was that a man die without ever having discovered why he was born in the first place, or something to that effect. Rosie sighed ruefully. It wasn’t something she’d ever given much thought to. She’d always been far too busy dodging the clouts and swipes that life had aimed at her; philosophising about her own existence had never been a luxury she could afford. But now it seemed the question had caught up with her.
So … why was I born in the first place?
She allowed herself to brood on it for a few moments, but no answer came. Only a vague, shadowy emptiness, and a sudden sense of being terribly alone. Beth was dying. The best friend she’d ever had. There was no explanation for something like that. Why should she expect anything else to make sense?
Losing mates is a part of life. You just have to accept it and get on with things.
Chapter 11
Rosie had woken with a terrific headache. She’d hardly slept at all and now she was trying to distract her mind with a bit of aimless housework. She’d rung Mel early that morning to put her in the picture.
“Oh, you poor thing!” Mel had gushed. “I’ll bring you in something nice to cheer you up. Vienna slice, chocolate fudge cake – something yummy like that.”
Rosie had tried to protest but Mel had insisted. It was vital, she had counselled, to comfort eat. The body had to keep strong when all around was going pear-shaped. Rosie hadn’t bothered to argue. It’s me that’ll be going pear-shaped by the time you’ve finished feeding me up, Melanie. Still, Mel meant well. In her own dopey, mindless way.
Around dinnertime Rosie’s mobile bleeped. She was slightly surprised at the caller ID. Gavin didn’t usually ring in the middle of the day.
“Hi Rosie!” His voice was bright at the other end. “I’m just calling to let you know that we’re booked in. And this morning Mike e-mailed me some photos of our room. It’s got a fantastic view over the golf course, right down to the lake. Can’t wait to get over there – won’t be long now!”
A Song in the Night Page 17