Rosie shivered despite herself. “So what happened then?”
Beth had closed her eyes now. Her face grew taut as she continued to relate the strange dream. “I realised that people were starting to run. Running off the beach they were, yelling as they went. But me – I couldn’t move. It was like I was riveted to the spot. And all the time, I could see this thing getting nearer and nearer. I was so terrified, I couldn’t even scream.”
Rosie could detect the distress in her friend’s voice. She wanted to get this dream thing over and done with, yet somehow, she was reluctant to break Beth’s flow.
“I knew the exact moment the thing hit. One minute, there was blue sky above me … the next, everything was plunged into a chilling greyness. I just stood there, paralysed. I couldn’t even see my own feet, the fog was so dense. It felt like it was going to suffocate me. And silent! I’ve never known a silence like it. All the shouting had disappeared and I realised everyone else had managed to escape. I sensed I must be totally alone on that beach now. But for me there seemed no way out. Somehow, I knew that I was the one the fog had come for. It was horrible, Ros, it really was.”
Rosie needed no convincing. She was finding Beth’s story pretty unnerving. She forced a grin. “I hope you’re going to tell me you woke up at that point.”
“No, not quite.” Beth gave a weak smile. “I seemed to stand there for a few minutes, waiting. Waiting for something to happen. I knew something had to happen; I just wasn’t sure what. Then slowly, in the midst of the fog, I began to make out the shape of a figure. It was standing about fifteen yards from me. Just a black figure at first – I had no idea who, or what, it was. Then I saw the figure look upwards and point. I looked up. But I could see nothing. Just thick grey. The figure pointed upwards again, this time with more agitation. Still I could see nothing. I heard muffled shouts coming through the fog, as though this person was trying to tell me something. And then I realised. The figure was my mother. I called out to her, but the moment I did, she was gone. And then I woke up.”
Rosie was relieved. “Weird,” she commented as breezily as she could. “Totally weird.”
Beth shrugged. “The weirdest thing about it all happened when I did wake up. Jonathon’s words were running through my mind – ‘Don’t forget who you are, Beth, don’t forget who you are, Beth …’ – like an old record that had got stuck. That was the weirdest bit. I lay in bed for ages trying to put the whole thing together. It was only when I got diagnosed that any of it began to make sense to me.”
Rosie frowned. “Well, I’m sure glad you managed to figure it out. I can’t say it makes one iota of sense to me.”
“Don’t you see, Ros?” There was a fire in Beth’s eyes now. “When I found out I was ill, my mind seemed to go back to some automatic default setting. I started praying again, just as I had when I was a child. At first I felt bad – like I was only using God because my life was all screwed up. But then I realised. It was exactly as Jonathon had said. I had forgotten who I was … but suddenly I was remembering. The fog had come to swallow me up. But suddenly, it was as if I could see more clearly than I’d ever seen. D’you understand, Ros?”
Rosie shook her head. “At the risk of looking completely thick, I have to say I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”
Beth suppressed a sigh. “Ros, I …”
The muffled hum of approaching voices sounded outside the door. Rosie was almost relieved. As the door swung open to reveal the speakers, Beth turned to her with an anxious smile. “We’ll have to continue this some other time.”
Rosie pretended to smile back. Not if I can help it.
____________
It was the following Thursday. New Year’s Day had come and gone, hardly observed by the Simmons’ family. For all its highs, the old year had signed off with such dreadful tidings, it was hard to welcome in the new, knowing it was about to reap the harvest of its predecessor. The week had passed gently, a startling contrast from the frenetic pace of city life. Yet already, their stay in Yorkshire was almost at an end. In two days’ time they would travel back down to London. Beth had an appointment to see Michael Romily first thing Monday morning. Still, sitting in the drowsy-warm living room at Oak Lodge, listening to the steady rhythm of the clock and the hum of the afternoon fire, all that seemed a million miles away.
“I could stay here forever,” Beth sighed, nestling her head against Ciaran’s chest. “Isn’t this just the most beautiful place on earth?”
Ciaran looked over at Rosie, his eyes dark and sad. It hurt her to see him like this.
“I’m so glad we came up,” Beth continued, without a trace of melancholy. “It’s been the best Christmas ever.” She snuggled up closer to Ciaran and closed her eyes.
How can she say that? Rosie couldn’t help wondering if the cancer had affected Beth’s judgement. Yet glancing over at the pale, drawn face basking in the glow of the firelight, she could see an expression of genuine satisfaction. She looked away and the room fell into quietness again.
Moments later, however, the stillness was broken by a sharp, rasping cough. Beth jerked upright and put her hand to her mouth as her body seemed to go into spasm. Ciaran held her shoulders gently. “Come on, princess, you’re okay.” He pulled a couple of tissues from a box and pressed them into her hand. Beth held them to her mouth, wiping her lips after each bout of coughing. The attack lasted several minutes. When at last it died down, she collapsed back on the sofa.
“Whew – where did all that come from?” Though Beth’s voice was little more than a croak, Rosie saw the shadow of a grin on her face. She was trying to play it down, but Ciaran looked worried.
“Do you need a rest, Bethy ? D’you fancy a lie-down upstairs?”
Beth seemed to think it over for a couple of moments. “Yeah. Perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad idea. Give me chance to get my breath back.”
Ciaran was on his feet in an instant. He carefully pulled Beth up from the sofa and shot Rosie a glance. “See you later, Ros.”
Beth gave a wink and a wave as she left the room. “Afternoon siestas, eh …?” Her voice was hoarse. “How very continental.”
Rosie found herself alone with her thoughts. So. What to do with herself for the rest of the afternoon. She’d already pulled most of her stuff together into suitcases, so packing wasn’t really an option. Ed and Cassie had gone into Ridderch Standen just after lunch, so there wasn’t even anyone around to talk to. There seemed nothing for it but a spot more transcribing.
As her laptop was loading, Rosie looked around the room which had been hers for the last three weeks. As her eyes took in the expanse of light and space, she felt a strange sadness. There was something about the high ceiling and the view from the large sash-windows which gave her a sense of freedom. She pictured her bedroom back in Streatham. It suddenly seemed poky by comparison, and Rosie couldn’t help wondering how she would adapt to it again. In the short time she’d been here at Oak Lodge, she had grown used to the stillness and tranquillity of the place. Even when the house was filled with family, it seemed to retain an atmosphere of calm and serenity. It would be hard to readjust to the bustle of London.
Opening the diary, she leafed through its musty pages until she found her place. She’d already e-mailed Jonathon the first eighteen entries, but there’d been no reply. She knew he was in Cornwall; perhaps he hadn’t even taken his laptop with him. Ah well, she reminded herself as she screwed up her eyes and tried to focus on the tiny writing, she wasn’t doing this for him. She was doing it for Beth.
Poperinghe Billets October 28th 1916
Well, Em – I’m still here, in one piece and in the pink. We had an inspection yesterday by Lieutenant General Plumer. What about that, eh? He seemed happy enough with things, and it gave us a bit of a lift to know that we hadn’t been forgotten by the big fellows. Sometimes you can’t help wondering if the brass hats at the top have any idea what it’s like to be out here following their orders. Still, he seemed an a
lright sort of a chap, so I guess they must know what they’re doing.
As I write, Em, I’m sitting in a topping little hideaway if ever there was one. It was Boxer’s brother who put us onto it …
“Well, I must say, I’m very glad we found this place.” Boxer spoke in hushed tones as he pulled a book down from its shelf. He sank into a chair and began to flick through the pages like a man who hadn’t seen a book in years. This particular afternoon found Boxer, Sam and Jimmy in the library of a large, welcoming house on the Rue de l’Hôpital in the centre of Poperinghe. Outside, the sky was bleary, and the roll of artillery fire could still be faintly heard from the front line some distance away. But for the three friends, and two other soldiers huddled intently over their books, this small reading room felt like a shelter in a storm.
Anyone who’d been on the Salient more than a fortnight had heard of the place. Talbot House, or Toc H as the Tommies preferred to call it, had been set up in the December of the previous year by two British padres, The Rev. Neville Talbot and the Rev. Philip Clayton. It was a club where any soldier was made to feel welcome, where friendship and goodwill was prized above status or background. Toc H was said to be about the only place an ordinary private could socialise with his officer cousin on equal terms. ‘All rank abandon, ye who enter here’, read a sign in the house. It pretty much summed up the ethos of the place, as did another notice in the hallway. A hand, with a pointing finger extended towards the door, illustrated the point –
TO PESSIMISTS – WAY OUT
On first entering the building, the three friends had spotted a few familiar faces from ‘B’ and ‘D’ companies, but none from their own platoon. The rest of their boys had gone elsewhere. Sam was sure the local estaminets would be doing a thriving business, as no doubt would other, less reputable establishments. The Tommies certainly worked hard for their pay; nobody could begrudge them a penny. It was just unfortunate the way some of them went about spending it.
It had been a recommendation from Nathanael Bocking that had prompted today’s visit to Toc H. “If you find yourself in Pop, you must call in,” Nathanael had enthused to Boxer when they’d last seen each other at Zillebeke. “You’ll get to meet Tubby Clayton – now there’s a marvellous fellow! You’ll like him a great deal … remember me to him.”
True enough, they’d come across ‘Tubby’ almost the moment they’d stepped into the house. A short, bespectacled man with a genial face and friendly manner, he had greeted them warmly and briefed them about the facilities available. “Gets a little lively round here,” he’d smiled wisely. “If your ears need a bit of a rest, try the library – or the chapel.”
The three of them being avid readers, the library had naturally been their first port of call. Now Sam’s eyes searched the shelves. He pulled down a thick tome by Dickens and opened it. Inside the front cover someone had stamped the words, ‘Do not scrounge’. It made him smile. Tubby had explained to them that soldiers were requested to leave a cap badge in exchange for the loan of a book. With that kind of lending arrangement, Sam couldn’t imagine scrounging being much of a problem.
They spent a couple of hours in the library. Despite an occasional din coming from beyond the door, the atmosphere in the room was peaceful and comforting. Sitting there in civilised quietude, it was tempting to try and forget the slaughter that was going on just a short distance away. Sam wondered if there could be any greater contrast than between this gentle haven and the shell-battered, vermin-ridden trenches they’d grown so used to. And to think they’d be back there so soon.
“Hey, you two,” Boxer ventured in a loud whisper. “Fancy a look at the chapel before we go?”
They left the library and proceeded to jostle their way past other soldiers who were standing around in small groups, chatting. Talbot House certainly seemed full today. Soon the three friends were climbing the steep staircase to its loft, and a few moments later, found themselves in what Tubby had affectionately referred to as the ‘Upper Room’. He’d advised them against walking on the middle part of the floor. “I’m afraid it’s a bit temperamental underfoot …” he’d warned. “Not quite safe you might say. But you’ll be perfectly alright if you stick to the seats round the sides.”
Making their way towards the front of the small chapel, Boxer and Jimmy sat down on a wooden bench. Sam found a seat near the back and looked around. Everything about the place felt makeshift and homely, yet Sam couldn’t help sensing that there was something sacred in its simplicity. As his weary mind began to drink in the stillness, a hush seemed to come over his whole being. Even the library hadn’t felt like this. He saw Boxer lower his head, and after a few moments, Jimmy did likewise. Were they praying? It seemed to Sam that they must be. What else could a man do in a silence like this? It invited one to pray. It almost expected it …
How does one begin a journey towards God, Em? In the midst of this awful darkness in which we find ourselves, it seems hard to focus on anything good. And yet I cannot bear to think that there is nothing more than our present hell. This house has made me wonder. Though its façade is as pockmarked as any of the buildings round here, I’ve sensed something within its walls which, I think, can only be the fragrance of heaven. Whatever it is, I don’t want to forget it. I will carry its memory with me, even into the face of death.
____________
As Rosie typed the last few words, there was a light tap at her door. “Come in,” she called out as she pressed the save icon. It was Cassie.
“There’s a visitor for you downstairs, love. He wanted to see Beth and Ciaran too, but I’ve just put my head round their door and they’re both fast asleep.”
“Who is it?” Rosie whispered, her face gathering into a frown.
Cassie leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It’s Jonathon.”
“Hi Rosie – hope you don’t mind me calling in.” Jonathon rose from his seat as she entered the living room.
“Not at all. I didn’t know you were back.”
“I’m only just back. I arrived last night.” Jonathon gave a broad grin as he flicked his blond hair away from his eyes. “I nipped into Ridderch Standen early this afternoon and bumped into Ed and Cassie near the post office. They told me you’re all back off to London on Saturday. I wanted to come and say bye.”
At that moment, Cassie brought in a tray of tea and fruit cake. “Thought you might like a bit of refreshment.” Smiling gently, she left the room again, closing the door quietly behind her.
“Lovely lady, Cassie,” Jonathon commented thoughtfully as he reached for a plate.
“Yes, she is. I’m going to miss her.” Rosie had grown very fond of the older woman over the last few weeks. “Still, they’ll be staying in London for a few days when they take us back down, so it’s not goodbye just yet.”
The clock chimed the hour just then, and inwardly Rosie sighed. That sound was something else she would miss. And the scent of pine that seemed to hang in the air, the morning birdsong outside her window, the glitter of frost on the garden lawn, the fragrance of lavender on her sheets … in fact, she realised sadly, pretty much everything about this place. Suddenly she didn’t want to go home.
“Anyway, Rosie,” Jonathon’s voice broke in, “thanks so much for the e-mails. I only hooked up my laptop this morning – I didn’t realise you’d sent them. I read them all in one sitting though. Absolutely brilliant! I’m really made up about it!” There was a boyish excitement in his face which Rosie found amusing.
“Did you mention anything to Lauren?”
Jonathon shook his head. “There didn’t seem to be an opportunity to be honest, Rosie. We were visiting here, there and everywhere. I never realised she had so many relatives. I hardly got to see her on her own.” He took a sip of tea and smiled. “It’s nice to be back up here actually. I think it’ll take me at least a week to recover. I enjoy my peace and quiet too much – must be getting old.”
It was Rosie’s turn to smile. “Here’s you, glad to be home in
the land of the peaceful, and there’s us, heading straight back to the craziest place on earth.”
“Looking forward to it?” Jonathon looked across at her, his blue eyes suddenly serious.
Rosie shrugged. Somehow it was hard to lie to someone with eyes like that. “Guess I’ve got used to the quiet too.”
A look of sympathy passed over Jonathon’s face. “You ought to come up here more often, Rosie. Have a break once in a while.”
Rosie said nothing. That was hardly likely, was it? Once Beth had gone, what possible pretext could she have for visiting a place like this? It was then that the realisation hit her. This had been a complete one-off. A glimpse into another world. A world so far removed from her own that it had made her own seem temporarily unreal. Yet come next week, Oak Lodge, Saint Edwin’s, and Ridderch Standen would all be a million miles away. Nothing but a lovely memory, their doors forever closed to her. She forced a smile. “Yeah, perhaps. Meanwhile, I’ll keep banging in the e-mails for you.”
____________
The journey back to London was nothing like the one they’d made up to Yorkshire. Beth’s cough had worsened considerably over the last couple of days, and it soon became evident that she was running a temperature. It made travelling difficult for her. She felt nauseous and miserable and they were forced to make several stops. It was a great relief to everyone when, at just after eight in the evening, they arrived back in Streatham. Beth looked wretched.
“I’m not happy about her at all,” Cassie confided to Ciaran when they’d got Beth settled in bed.
“Me neither.” Ciaran ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “She begged me not to send for a doctor – she’s terrified she’ll end up back in hospital. But we’ve got the nurse calling in later to sort her syringe drivers. To be honest, when she sees her she may well insist.”
Cassie nodded slowly. “What time are you expecting her?”
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