A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  “Come on, Rosie,” Mel begged, “give him another chance. You need cheering up.”

  Rosie would have found her hangdog expression irritating if it hadn’t been so pathetic. “I – I dunno. I’ll think about it.” She wanted to kick herself the moment the words were out, but Mel seemed suitably appeased.

  “If you do decide to change your mind, we’re thinking about Friday.”

  ____________

  Two days later when Ciaran arrived at the hospital straight from a teaching stint, he passed Michael Romily on the corridor of B1.

  “Ciaran … just the man I wanted to see. Can you spare five minutes before you go in to see her?”

  Ciaran frowned nervously. “Sure. Is everything okay?”

  The consultant led him into an interview room and the two of them sat down. “I’ve spoken with Abby Whittaker, the counsellor who saw Beth this morning.” Michael glanced quickly at his watch. “I think she should still be in the hospital, Ciaran, and I know she wants to talk to you. If I can get hold of her now, would you let her put you in the picture about some of the things they discussed?” His hand was already on the phone.

  Ciaran shrugged. “Yeah, course.”

  Abby Whittaker was a slight, dark-haired woman in her late thirties. She spoke in a soft, lilting accent and her eyes were animated with well-practised empathy. When formal introductions were out of the way, she leaned forward in her seat and began to speak with a comforting familiarity.

  “Beth has given me permission to share with you the things we talked about this morning.” She smiled almost apologetically. “I know that all sounds rather official, you being her husband and everything, but we have to do things this way these days.”

  Ciaran nodded. “I understand.”

  Abby looked down at a small notebook on her knee and scribbled a couple of jottings. Then she looked directly at Ciaran. “You and Beth aren’t from round here, are you?”

  Ciaran shook his head. “We both moved to London when we were younger to go to music college.”

  Abby smiled. “Yes, so Beth was telling me.” Her face became serious. “I’m afraid she’s very unhappy, Ciaran. It took a while before she would admit it to me, but she really doesn’t want to be here.”

  Ciaran’s frown deepened. “You mean in hospital?”

  Abby shook her head. “No. I mean in London. It does happen sometimes. Everyone responds differently in a situation like Beth’s. Some people want to fulfil lifelong ambitions – go on cruises, visit Disneyland, even climb mountains if they’re able. Some people spend their last months fundraising for research. It’s their way of kicking back against the disease that’s killing them. Others, like Beth, find they have an innate wish to go back to a particular place. It’s often the place where they were born or raised. Somewhere they associate with happiness. It’s a kind of security thing. It seems to help them face the end.” She paused. “Beth kept telling me this morning what a wonderful Christmas you’ve all just spent. She said she’d never been so happy. Whenever she talks about her home in Yorkshire, she seems bright, almost hopeful. From the sound of it, the problem really started when she got back down here. Obviously her contracting the chest infection hasn’t helped her general state, but I do think the sudden decline in her condition can be more accurately attributed to emotional causes rather than physiological ones.”

  Ciaran exchanged glances with Michael Romily. He turned to Abby in consternation. “What are you saying exactly?”

  Abby was scribbling again. “I don’t know how direct Beth will be with you, Ciaran. When we were talking this morning, there was a real reluctance on her part to tell you how she felt. She didn’t want to put you under pressure.”

  “Pressure to what?” Ciaran looked slightly confused.

  Abby’s clear gaze met his troubled eyes. “Deep down, Beth wants to go back up to Yorkshire – to her family home.”

  “Yorkshire? What – now?” Ciaran ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Is that even possible? I don’t know a thing about the health care up there. Surely she’s better off down here – with someone like Michael looking after things?”

  Michael shot a glance at Abby then leaned forward in his chair. “If Beth had presented earlier, Ciaran, I might have been able to do more. As it is, I’m afraid my expertise is no more valuable now than the next man’s. We caught it too late. That’s the simple truth. I wish with all my heart I could tell you otherwise.”

  Ciaran dropped his head dejectedly. “I don’t honestly know what to say. I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

  Abby gave a sympathetic smile. “I suppose it’s a bit of a bombshell for you, isn’t it? As I say, she was very reluctant to mention anything. But in Beth’s condition it’s inadvisable for her to keep quiet about issues like this, even at the risk of sounding selfish. I think that’s her main fear.”

  Ciaran frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, there’s your job situation to think about for one thing. And your home. Beth doesn’t want to put you in danger of losing everything.”

  Ciaran scowled. “I’m losing everything anyway. Who gives a damn about the house or the job …?” His voice trailed away.

  Michael Romily looked thoughtful. “You have to weigh all the pros and cons, Ciaran. There’s no problem transferring her to another health authority. I can’t say that Beth will live any longer if you decide to make the move. But quality of life is a definite factor to take into consideration.”

  Ciaran stared down at the floor. “How long, Mr Romily?” His tone was blunt. “Being honest, how long do you think she has?”

  Michael Romily squared his jaw. “Given the aggressive nature of Beth’s disease, and the fact that it’s in her liver and pancreas – I think four months max.”

  Ciaran swallowed hard. “That’s with everything on her side?”

  Michael nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid so.”

  Ciaran swore under his breath. After a few moments he looked up, his eyes damp. “I’ll talk to her parents.”

  ____________

  Rosie felt strangely distant as she sat in the lounge of Le Papillon Rouge. They weren’t due to eat for another half hour, and Dan and Gavin had gone to get some drinks. Though the lounge was a swirl of chatter, the acoustics of the room were such that each conversation seemed trapped in its own private bubble – tastefully muted in volume, and largely indecipherable to anyone sitting more than a couple of feet from whoever happened to be doing the talking. Rosie felt that she could quite easily have been absorbed into the fancy flock wallpaper without anyone noticing. The idea was almost appealing. Even Mel’s excitable comments floated somewhere above her head. Rosie was in a complete world of her own.

  Meanwhile over at the bar, Gavin was in victorious mood. “I’ll get all the drinks in tonight, mate.”

  Dan frowned. “What – all night? Your ship come in or something?”

  “I owe you, don’t I?” Gavin was grinning. “I don’t think Rosie would have come out with me this evening without you two being around.”

  Dan’s frown deepened. “Dunno if I like what I’m hearing.”

  Gavin slapped his shoulder playfully. “Hey man, don’t get in a lather about it. We just didn’t leave each other on the best of terms at Christmas, that’s all. Things didn’t work out as planned.”

  “But you still like her?”

  Gavin winked. “Let’s just say Rosie intrigues me.”

  “Intrigues you, eh?” Dan shook his head. “I’ve never got to grips with your take on women, Gav.”

  Gavin laughed. “I like a challenge. And Rosie’s certainly that. She’s pretty smart – and she doesn’t throw herself at me. I’m not used to that, mate. But I like it. Brings out the conqueror in me.”

  Dan raised his eyebrows. “Conqueror? Are you for real?”

  Gavin shrugged. “Give me a break, Dan. I’ll bet you’ve done your fair share of conquering with Mel over there.”

  It was a distasteful co
mment to make, and Dan felt the sting of it. For a split second he contemplated countering the attack with a mouthful of his own. But he decided against it. Obviously Gavin’s testosterone levels were running high and impairing his sensitivity. For the sake of friendship, he swallowed his annoyance and spoke in a quiet, measured voice. “I really like Mel, Gav. I don’t look on her as a conquest. I never have.”

  Gavin looked away as Dan’s meek reply brought him up with a start. “Sorry, mate. I wasn’t meaning anything. I like Rosie too. Really I do.”

  ____________

  It was nearly midnight when Rosie and Mel got home. Mel was giggly and flustered; Rosie wasn’t sure if it was the result of too many glasses of Chardonnay or just an overexposure to male company. Whatever it was, she was clearly in talkative mood. Rosie made her excuses and went off to bed. “Catch up with you in the morning,” she called out as she went into her room. “Think I’m just getting the mother of all headaches.”

  It wasn’t true, but Rosie knew it probably soon would be if she stayed around for one of Mel’s girly gossip sessions. She slid the lock on her bedroom door as an extra precaution, then threw herself onto the bed. How had she ever ended up sharing a house with somebody like Mel? They were so different – polar opposites in many respects. She felt a twinge of guilt. Poor old Mel meant well. She was just so irritating at times. And at the moment, she was more than Rosie could cope with.

  Rosie thought back over the evening. Gavin had been super attentive. He’d laughed loudly at her jokes – which, in view of the fact that she hadn’t actually made any, had been quite an achievement. It had come as something of a revelation to Rosie to discover how amusing she managed to be without even trying. The downside of this remarkable gift had been Mel’s insistence on trying to outlaugh Gavin every time Rosie inadvertently dropped a wisecrack. The bizarre carry-on had had all the appearance of flirting. Rosie hoped for Dan’s sake that it had not been so. Throughout the evening, Dan had seemed quiet; smiling and affable enough, but quiet all the same. Rosie couldn’t help feeling that Mel needed to be careful. Perhaps joint dates were not the best idea if she wanted her relationship with Dan to last. As Rosie’s mind played over the last few hours, a faint breath of Gavin’s aftershave floated across her face. She put her nose to her sleeve. Great – she even smelt like him now. But then it was hardly surprising; he did go a bit mad with the stuff. She remembered his kiss at the end of the evening. It had been a relatively restrained affair, nothing like as passionate as some of the clinches he’d had her in during the period leading up to Christmas. Obviously he was playing it cool. That suited her just fine. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the whole thing anymore. In the early weeks of her relationship with Gavin, something in her had hoped, deep down, that he would be genuine, sincere – as sound on the inside as he was gorgeous on the outside. It was easy to find him attractive. It was also easy to enjoy the attention he generated. Rosie had got almost used to being the object of envious glances from other females whenever Gavin took her out. It was strangely affirming. If truth were told, she’d even secretly revelled in Mel’s fascination with the beautiful man. Even if Rosie hardly ever knew where she herself stood with him, at least she stood nearer to him than Mel did. Yet therein lay the crux of the problem. The never knowing where she stood with him. Gavin was slippery. One minute things would seem to be going well, the next, everything would be up in the air and infuriatingly uncertain. Several times over the last few weeks, her hopes had been built up, only to be dashed by periods of unexplained silence or crass insensitivity on his part. Rosie knew she would never be able to open her heart to someone on such part-time terms. She swallowed hard. Then again, how did she know if she’d ever be able to open her heart on any terms? She never had before. Her stomach gave an unexplained lurch and she turned over onto her side. Before she could stop it, her mind threw up a memory of the day she’d met Jonathon in the churchyard at Saint Edwin’s. Caked in dirt, his piercing blue eyes laughing out from beneath his tousled fringe, there had been a warmth in his smile she’d never encountered in a guy before. She tried to imagine Gavin clearing leaves so that an old man wouldn’t fall and break his neck. The picture didn’t come easily. She remembered Jonathon’s last e-mail. I think you should visit us once in a while – to recharge your batteries and all that.

  She exhaled slowly with a weariness that seemed to come from her bones. Life’s not that simple, Jonathon. Not my life anyway. A sudden sense of despair swept over her and she sat bolt upright as panic threatened to grip her again. Man, I’m losing it. I’m cracking up … I must be.

  She instinctively reached for her laptop. She had to e-mail Jonathon. Just to make contact. If she couldn’t visit, at least she could do that. No. What was she thinking of? He’d think she was desperate. He might even think she was coming onto him. Hang on a minute … . She quickly scrambled for the diary and found her page. Surely this was a reasonable excuse for getting in touch? Her hands were trembling as she tried to prop the book open. Come on, girl, get a grip.

  Tuileries November17th 1916

  I think perhaps I will not write very much this evening, Emily. We’re back on the front line and the Bosch are giving us a merry time, but tonight I feel oddly detached from the whole business. I’m strangely weak; ill I fear. Hardly surprising when we stand for hours in these temperatures, knee-deep in water at times. I must try to keep going, Em, but I’m not sure how much longer my legs will hold me upright. My mind keeps drifting. Memories assail me, memories of our beloved England. How I wish we could all be back there. I find myself thinking of that day we left the village for the training barracks. Could it really have been only eighteen months ago? I have seen so much since then …

  “You alright, Sam?” Boxer was counting out Mills’ bombs as he shot his mate a look of concern.

  Sam sighed heavily and pushed his notebook back into his bag. “I dunno. I’m not sure how I feel.” Except for a bone-gnawing weariness that was steadily creeping through his whole body, and a throat so dry it felt like he’d spent the last week in a desert. His head was hurting too, and his skin was hot to touch. It certainly wasn’t on account of the warm weather.

  “You ought to see the MO, Sam,” interjected Jimmy. “You look pretty rough to me.”

  “How can you tell in this light?” Sam tried to laugh, but it seemed to make him ache all over. “I don’t think any of us look like oil paintings when it’s nearly pitch black.”

  “Maybe not.” Jimmy’s voice was low as he drew on his cigarette. “But the rest of us aren’t hobbling about like old women.”

  Seeing a wry smile pass over Boxer’s face, Sam tried to straighten up. He was beginning to feel terrible.

  “Egg and brandy!” Twinny Two’s voice hissed through the darkness.

  “Eh?” someone else retorted sharply.

  “Raw egg and brandy. Best medicine when you’re nursing a cold.”

  Twinny One started to snigger. “You remember that time we tried it at home with that bottle of Dad’s?”

  “Oh yeah … and me hand slipped,” Twinny Two recalled. “Got a right whippin’ for that, didn’t we?”

  The two brothers began to chortle like naughty schoolboys. Sam ran his hand over his forehead. What wouldn’t he do for a drop of brandy right now? A sniper’s bullet whistled through the blackness, followed a split second later by an agonised scream from the latrine just ahead.

  “Poor beggar, whoever he is,” Jimmy growled, stubbing out his cigarette. It was a fact of life; relieving oneself could be a very risky business. A clatter of gunfire came from behind them and echoed across no man’s land.

  “Looks like our lads are returning the favour,” Boxer said grimly.

  But Sam hardly cared. By now he was feeling so awful that he would have gladly lain down in the trench and let someone shoot him. A new volley of fire opened up between the two sides. Flares lit up the sky as a burst of machine gunfire raked the ground.

  “Not a good time to g
o to the lav,” Twinny One winked at Sam. “Otherwise it’ll take more than eggs and ruddy brandy to bring you round.”

  Sam hardly knew what happened next. He had just forced a grin in reply when there was a sudden explosion a few yards ahead of their position. The parapet itself took most of the shrapnel, but the impact of the shell’s blast blew in the front wall of the trench with remarkable force. Sam groaned as a mountain of sodden soil buried him. The last thing he knew was the taste of earth in his mouth and then, blackness.

  ***********************

  “His temperature’s still rising, Doctor.” The young nurse lays another strip of wet fabric on the patient’s forehead.

  The doctor places a hand on the sick man’s burning cheek and frowns. “The next few hours will be crucial. It’s clear this man was ill before he ever took a hit. His injuries are fairly superficial.” He glances around the gloomy ward, his face furrowing as he surveys its other pitiful occupants. “Do your best for him, Nurse Parker. This is one that could be saved – unlike some of these other poor wretches.”

  This was the day Sam had been waiting for. Today he would leave everything he had ever known and start out on a journey to somewhere he’d never been before, somewhere he’d never even dreamed of going. Going abroad was for the rich, for those with means. Yet here he was, little old Sam, off on the adventure of a lifetime. Of course there were things he didn’t want to leave behind. His family for one. And Emily. Still, it wouldn’t be for long. And then what stories he would have to tell. There were eight of them leaving from the village. They would walk into the next two hamlets, meet up with the other new recruits, and then travel together by rail to the training barracks in London.

  “He’s burning up, Sister …”

  The older nurse shakes her head sadly. “I think we’re going to lose this one, Nurse Parker. Influenza is difficult to fight when the body is already weakened. He won’t be the first we’ve lost to it.” She strides down the ward and disappears out of a side door.