A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  We’re losing light now, nearly time for ‘stand to’. Wonder if we’ll have a lively time of it tonight. Oh Emily, how I wish I could see you.

  ____________

  Rosie reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a packet of M&M’s. She opened it slowly as her eyes looked out over the garden. A phrase was running through her mind. They Shoot Horses Don’t They? Was it a film? A book perhaps? She couldn’t be sure where she’d heard it. Nevertheless, it planted a strange notion in her head. Would Beth want someone to shoot her? It seemed a bizarre idea, but then, who could know what sort of misery lay ahead of Beth before the end? Would she suffer horribly – would she want to be put out of her agony like the dumb animal in Sam’s diary? Rosie shuddered and tried to push the disturbing thoughts away. A flurry of snowflakes swirled outside the window.

  I’m dreaming of a white Christmas …

  The words slid incongruously into her mind.

  Just like the ones I used to know.

  Ah yes – Christmas. It was almost upon them. She found herself remembering the conversation where she’d broken the news to Gavin that she’d be spending Christmas in Yorkshire. Her announcement certainly hadn’t filled him with festive cheer. Still, credit to him, he’d managed to recover pretty quickly. She wondered what he was doing now. He might have rung at least; just to keep in touch, see if she’d arrived safely. Well, one thing was sure. She certainly wasn’t going to ring him. He’d have to make the running if he was still interested. She was tired of trying to work him out.

  She pressed her face against the window and looked out over the garden. In the middle of the frosted lawn was an old-fashioned, wrought iron lamppost that looked like it had come straight from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia. She watched mesmerised as the snowflakes danced in its light. What was it, she wondered, about this time of year, and snow, and lamplight? Somehow they seemed to kindle in her an aching for days long gone – some elusive golden time, somewhere way, way back. She tried to think about past Christmases, but struggled to find anything in the way of festive nostalgia to pull out of her memory. Christmas Day back home had always been like an episode from Eastenders. Mickey stoned out of his head, only the occasional belch reminding them all of his disgusting presence. Her mother, stressed up and teary-eyed, moaning about the lousy dinner she’d subjected them to. Ciaran and Rosie had usually spent the afternoon upstairs out of the way, playing board games or reading. It could have been any old day. Christmas had always been the biggest non-event of the year, not even worth the slight twinges of hopeful anticipation that had always managed to sneak their way into her heart. No, she certainly didn’t ache for days gone by. Yet here they were again, those strange, deep longings. They seemed to reach out to memories that weren’t even there, and the sweetness of it all made her sad with a sadness that was almost unbearable. She threw a couple of M&M’s into her mouth and breathed out slowly. Just like the ones I used to know? She chomped cynically on the sweets. I don’t think so.

  How ironic, she mused, that this year she should find herself here; amongst this most robust and well-adjusted of families, staying in this most cosy and welcoming of homes, about to celebrate Christmas in the most traditional and wholesome of ways, whilst all the time, Beth was dying. In almost every sense this was going to be Christmas like it ought to be. Christmas as it always was in books or schmaltzy films. Except that now, every second of every day, Beth’s cancer, like some huge Sword of Damocles, was hanging ominously over them all, ready to slice each heart asunder the moment it fell.

  Rosie bit her lip till it hurt. This was so unfair. For the first time in all her years, things had been starting to come together. She was trying hard to move on; slowly, tentatively building a new world for herself. And in that world, Beth was her best friend, the first person outside of Ciaran she’d ever got close to. Life without her now was simply unimaginable.

  As the horrible prospect formed in her mind, Rosie’s hands tightened into fists. Why do things have to turn out like this? Why? Why …?

  Without warning, a surge of heartbroken anger welled up inside her. What’s wrong with me? Why does stuff just seem to follow me around?

  It was a peculiarly selfish moment, but she hardly cared. As tears threatened to spill, she buried her face in her hands. Isn’t it time I got a break? Hasn’t life been lousy enough so far?

  She steeled her jaw and blinked hard, determined to hold back the wave of grief that was threatening to engulf her. She felt afraid to give in to it, afraid of where it might take her. But she was quite unable to stem the unexpected wash of guilt that suddenly broke over her head. It was the same guilt she’d felt the day Mel had brought her the cream cakes and Gavin had taken an hour out of work to visit her. Here she was again, thinking it was all about her. This thing was far bigger than that.

  She forced her mind to think of Ciaran. How would he carry on? Beth was everything to him; his dream, his princess. Even in his beloved music he was joined to her. Their music was their backdrop, the signature tune for their intertwined lives. What had he said once? She’s the only person I don’t mind playing second fiddle to. He’d meant it as a joke, a playful remark, but he’d meant it all the same. From the moment he’d met Beth, his personal ambitions had taken a back seat. She’d become his whole world.

  And then there was Beth’s family. So brave now, but after Christmas – what? When all the celebrations were over and the trimmings taken down, what then? Rosie remembered Cassie’s face the day they’d stood together in Beth’s bedroom. She’d seen then what Beth meant to her family. Losing her would be like having a limb ripped off.

  They Shoot Horses Don’t They? Rosie stared grimly down the garden. Suddenly the lamplight didn’t look quite so magical. As her eyes rested on the frozen trees creaking in the wind, a cold depression began to seep into her mind.

  Anyone have a gun?

  ____________

  “Ciaran and me are going down to Tom Bennett’s to pick up some logs,” Ed announced as they walked into the kitchen. “Should think we’ll be back about half five. He usually has plenty to tell me when I go down.”

  Cassie nodded. “Well, dinner’ll be ready about six. Don’t worry if you get stuck there. It’s stew – it’ll keep.”

  Ciaran moved round to the back of Beth’s chair. “Will you be okay?” he whispered, rubbing her cheek softly.

  She squeezed his hand. “You go. I’ll be fine. It’ll give me chance to have a chat with Mum.”

  “See you in a bit then, princess.” He kissed her gently and the two men left.

  Cassie flicked the kettle on. “You go into the living room, love, it’ll be warmer for you in there. I’ll bring the drinks in when they’re ready.”

  Beth sat in the armchair closest to the fire. She leaned back and closed her eyes. One of the logs was singing in the heat, and for a few moments she focused on the sound in an attempt to still her mind.

  Lord, I’m going to die.

  The thought had crept in again. Her heartbeat quickened and she instinctively clasped her hands to her stomach. But then she remembered. It wasn’t just her stomach now, was it? It was taking over the whole of her insides. Little by little, this thing was eating her alive. She tried to fix on the log song again.

  Lord, I’m scared. Soon I won’t be here any more. All of this will just carry on … but I won’t be here. I won’t be part of any of it.

  She stared into the fire. As she watched the familiar sight of flames flickering and playing amongst the pine, an overwhelming sensation began to fill her. She loved this fire. This room. This house. She loved being out in the open air. Getting wet in the rain. Listening to the birds. And the wind. And music. Playing her violin – wild as a storm, soft as a whisper. Losing herself in its song; mistress of it and yet under its spell. Crescendo, decrescendo … rising and cascading in the glorious sounds that had taken her years to perfect. Each melody a birth, each cadenza a droplet distilled from the sum of all she had ever known, and been, an
d loved. It hit her with force. She loved being alive.

  Oh God, I don’t want to die. I want to stay here. I want to be with you, Lord – but does it have to be so soon? I feel I hardly know you. And there’s so much here I don’t want to leave just yet. Please … please don’t let me die.

  Sudden panic gripped her. She felt her skin crawl as her mind began to wrestle with a dreadful notion. The ugliness of death. The unnatural wrenching of spirit from body. Surely God had never intended that for his precious ones? Surely death was an enemy?

  She tried to harness her chaotic thoughts. Belinda had shown her some Bible verses about all this, she remembered. Fumbling in her bag, she pulled out the small Bible that Belinda had given her. Somewhere there should be a list of scriptures they’d discussed. She leafed through the pages until her trembling fingers fell upon a piece of paper inserted in the Bible. The telephone rang. Her mother’s voice sounded in the hallway.

  “Oh hello, Janie. How are things with you?”

  Janie Fellows – good. She always talks for ages. That should give me a bit of extra time.

  She scanned through the list of Bible verses. Romans 5: 12 –

  Therefore, just as sin entered the world through one man, and death through sin, and in this way death came to all men, because all sinned –

  She scanned again. Hebrews 2: 14-15 –

  Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death – that is, the devil – and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death.

  For a moment she found herself wishing Belinda was there to help her out. She turned to the book of John. Ah yes, here was a familiar one. She remembered it from her Sunday school days; the story of Lazarus.

  Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.’

  She closed her eyes. She’d won a prize once for memorizing that verse. But now it meant more than the chance to impress her Sunday school teacher. Her whole eternal destiny was riding on this one.

  Cassie came into the room with a tray. Beth was slightly startled. She’d been so absorbed in her cogitations, she hadn’t noticed the end of the telephone conversation. She stuffed the Bible behind her cushion.

  “Sorry about that, love. Janie always picks her times, bless her.” Cassie set the tray down and took a mug of tea over to Beth. She noticed the discomfited expression on her daughter’s face and frowned. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”

  Beth faked a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired.”

  Cassie picked up her own tea and sat down, her eyes filled with concern. “Not hurting anywhere, are you?”

  “No, not at all.” Beth spoke as reassuringly as she could. “Since I’ve been on the meds, the pain and sickness are a lot better.” It was a truthful answer. The morphine tablets had taken care of the gripping stomach pains, and since she’d been fitted with the cyclizine syringe driver, even the relentless nausea that had plagued her for months had subsided. It was almost tempting to imagine that she was recovering. These days, the most prominent physical symptom was a nagging sense of exhaustion. But without the more obvious signs of a medical condition, it would have been easy to attribute the fatigue to some other, less sinister cause. The truth that the cancer was now devouring her silently and painlessly was somehow harder to grasp than the illusion.

  She gave a dismissive laugh. “I suppose the thing that really reminds me I’m ill is when I look in the mirror. I look awful. Like I badly need a makeover.”

  Cassie wasn’t having any of it. “You don’t look awful, sweetheart. You’ve never looked awful.”

  There’s time yet, thought Beth, not really wanting to think about it.

  Cassie took a long, slow drink from her mug. “Ciaran’s finding it hard, isn’t he?”

  Beth looked down sadly. “He’s really struggling. I know he’s trying to be brave for my sake but …” Her voice tailed off. She couldn’t imagine how he was going to cope. She remembered the day she’d told him her condition was terminal. The news had devastated him. He’d hardly smiled since. “To be honest, Mum, I’m finding it all a bit tricky. Having to come to terms with everything … plus trying to keep my chin up in front of Ciaran. Even Dad. I don’t think either of them could handle it if I got upset.” She forced another little laugh. “It’s not so hard with you. I already lost it in front of you at the hospital, so I know you’re not gonna fall apart.”

  Inwardly Cassie winced, but she didn’t let it show. “No pressure then, eh?”

  Beth smiled. “Sorry, Mum. But you’ve always been strong. And I’ve never been more glad of it than I am now.” She stared into the fire again. “It’s an awful thing to be told you only have a few months left. Everything seems to become terribly real all of a sudden.”

  Cassie frowned gently. “What do you mean, love?”

  Beth watched as a flame curled round a log and thinned into a smoky spire as it disappeared up the chimney. What did she mean? It was hard to explain to someone who wasn’t experiencing this same heightened sense of reality. She shook her head. “I dunno. It’s as if I’ve just woken up from a dream. I’m noticing things – things that were always there I guess. Only now I see them. I suddenly see everything as it really is. Bright and full of life. Wonderful somehow. All the things I’ve taken for granted – they seem so precious, so very, very precious … now that I know I’ll be leaving them soon.” Her voice broke then and it was a few moments before she could speak again. “Can you understand, Mum? Can you understand what I’m saying? Everything seems so beautiful all of a sudden. So desperately beautiful.” She cast a longing glance around the room. “And I so desperately, desperately want to stay here.”

  Cassie clenched her jaws together. Beth needed her to be strong; she’d just said so. But as hot tears pricked mercilessly at her eyes, Cassie knew she was in the darkest trial of her life.

  Oh God, how can I be strong? I feel like my heart is crumbling to pieces. Help my baby, Lord. Please help my baby.

  For a little while neither of them spoke. Apart from the hum and crackle of the fire, the room was still. The clock chimed on the hour and then all was quiet again. Both women were lost in their thoughts. At last, Beth sat forward in her chair.

  “Mum … can I tell you something?”

  Cassie straightened and looked at her.

  “I want to be buried up here. At Saint Edwin’s.”

  Cassie fought to hide her shock. Even though she’d been planning to ask Beth about her final wishes, her daughter’s blunt request came as a surprise. “Really? Not in London?”

  Beth shook her head. “I don’t belong in London, Mum. I never did. It got me where I wanted to go – musically anyway. But it’s not home. I want to come home.”

  Cassie frowned as she considered the implications. “Have you told Ciaran about this?”

  Beth shook her head again. “No, I haven’t brought it up yet. I know we really need to start thinking about all this practical stuff, but he’s hurting so much already. And there’s something so final in talking about where you want to be buried. I’ll have to pick my moment to tell him. But I wanted to bounce it off you first.”

  Cassie nodded slowly. “Do you think he’ll object?”

  Beth leaned back in her chair. “No. No, I can’t imagine he will. He’s no more attached to London than I am. It’s where we live, where we work. But we’re both so busy all the time. Tutoring, practising, teaching, rehearsing. Always racing here, racing there; it would hardly matter where we were really. Ciaran could get Peri work anywhere. We’re only in London for the Avanti. Take that away and the place has no soul. Not for me anyway.”

  Cassie gazed through the window. Oh God. She talks about soul. What about her own soul? She held her tongue, afraid to broach that subject, yet desperate to do so.

  Beth ran her
fingers thoughtfully through her hair and looked across at her mother. “Well, what d’you think? Do you think it’s a possibility? You don’t have any objections yourself, do you? Having me up here full-time, I mean?” She smiled awkwardly.

  Cassie’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh Beth. Beth … .”

  Beth shuffled in her chair. Perhaps this was the right time to say something. “It’s not some kind of insurance policy, my wanting to be buried at St Ed’s.” She paused, suddenly embarrassed. Well, Beth – time to admit that they’ve been right all along. “I know I haven’t been near the place in years. I haven’t let you talk God stuff to me in years.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been hard as nails towards all that. I know I’ve been running from him.”

  Cassie stared at her.

  Beth leaned forward and focused her gaze on the fire. “I’m still working things out, Mum. There’s a lot I don’t understand. But I wanted you to know, I’ve made my peace with God.”

  Cassie swallowed hard. She looked expectantly at Beth, willing her to elaborate.

  Scrutinising the expression on her mother’s face, Beth felt encouraged to continue. “I guess I started to feel something just after I first got diagnosed. It kinda puts things in perspective getting news like that. But when I realised I wasn’t going to get better, that really clinched it for me. I met a Christian nurse on the ward and she talked me through a lot of things.” A wistful smile came as she remembered Belinda. “I wish I had more time, Mum. There’s such a lot I don’t know. Sometimes I feel a real peace, and other times I’m frantic at the thought of leaving all of this – all of you. But one thing’s sorted. Whatever happens to me now, I know where I’m going. I just wanted you to know that.”