A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  “Course I do, Kitch … she has to be your priority. Enjoy every minute with her. Don’t let anything spoil it.”

  Kissing her forehead, Ciaran turned and walked to the other side of the car. Within moments the engine was purring, and then they were off. Rosie summoned all her courage and began to wave. She felt Gavin’s arm slip around her shoulder and realised that he was waving too. They stood there for what seemed an age, until the car was well out of sight.

  Rosie felt numb. A wave of loneliness swept over her as she turned and looked at the house. Her fingers closed around the keys in her pocket. Only a couple of hours ago the house had been full of people and noise. Now it stood empty and stark.

  “You okay?” Gavin brushed his lips across her hair.

  Rosie tried to speak but the words stuck in her throat. Somehow Gavin’s tenderness was the last straw. To her horror, she felt herself begin to shake. Within seconds her whole frame was racked with sobs. Gavin had the sense not to say anything. He pulled her close to himself and held her as she tried desperately to stop the tears. Rosie wanted the ground to open up. It was bad enough that she’d just had to wave goodbye to her dying best friend and her brother. But for Gavin to see her in this state …

  It was almost a relief when the slate sky began to spit drops of cold, biting rain. “Come on,” Gavin said softly. “Don’t want you catching anything.” Putting an arm around her, he walked her to his car and gently helped her inside. There they sat in silence, listening to the raindrops pelting the roof and smacking on the windscreen. Rosie felt exhausted with emotion and more embarrassed than she could have described in that moment. When she felt she could trust herself to speak, she tucked her damp hair behind her ears and turned to Gavin with an awkward smile. “Sorry about that. Had a feeling I might lose it today. Just glad I managed to hold off till they were on their way.”

  Gavin stroked her cheek gently. “Hey, don’t apologise.” His voice was soft and reassuring. “I was getting pretty choked up myself.”

  Rosie was grateful for his diplomatic response. She turned her head and stared out of the window. The downpour was beginning to ease slightly now, and she suddenly felt her eyes drawn to a small, straggly sparrow perched on a railing outside. Despite the rain, it seemed intent on foraging from a branch that was overhanging from a neighbouring garden. It hardly seemed to notice how wet it was getting. She found herself wondering if sparrows minded the rain. Did they have the capacity to sense adversity? Or were they programmed to just get on with living, whatever the conditions? How simple life must be for them, she thought almost enviously. How simple and how painless.

  Gavin squeezed her hand gently. “Feeling any better?”

  Rosie hesitated for a moment. She wasn’t quite sure how she was feeling. Stupid for one thing. Scared too. And heartbroken …

  Beth’s face came to mind just then; Beth’s pale face pressed against the car window as they’d set off. Those sad eyes drinking in their last glimpses of everything she was leaving behind. That had to be one of the most heartbreaking sights Rosie had ever witnessed. Afraid that she might cry again, she leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands. “Today’s been tough,” she said simply. “Beth’s like a sister to me. I can’t imagine what it’ll be like when she’s gone.” Her jaw tightened as the prospect raised its head again. “It seems unreal to think that in a few months she won’t be around anymore. Anywhere. Nowhere to be found – as if she’d never existed. I don’t know how I’m gonna feel when it happens. It’s kinda scary.” Rosie bit her lip. Why was she offloading all this stuff onto him?

  But her memory was quick to supply an answer to that one. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’ve just bawled like an idiot in front of him for the last twenty minutes. Now you’re just being courteous in offering him an explanation for the whole ridiculous performance.

  “Don’t think about it.” Gavin stroked the back of her hand. “You’ll face it when you come to it. But don’t try to face it before it happens. You’ll find the strength when the time comes – I’m sure you will.”

  Rosie forced a smile. “Anybody ever tell you you’d make a great counsellor?”

  Gavin laughed. “No … but I do make a great cappuccino. How d’you fancy coming back to mine? Let me spoil you a bit.”

  Rosie stayed at Gavin’s for the rest of the afternoon. They had a bite to eat, watched a film, and looked at some of Gavin’s old childhood photos.

  “I can’t believe this is you!” Despite the upset of earlier, Rosie had managed to collect herself and was now finding Gavin’s photo album highly amusing. There was something extremely gratifying about seeing the boy beautiful in all his humble beginnings. “I mean, come on,” she sniggered, pointing to one particular shot. “What was going on with your hair in this one? And who’s the muppet standing next to you?”

  “That muppet –” Gavin began, doing his best to keep a straight face, “happens to be my brother. His name’s Bellamy.”

  That was almost too much for Rosie. “Bellamy …? You’re joking right?”

  “And what’s so funny?” Gavin tried to sound offended.

  “Bellamy Pennington? Are you for real? Who picked the names in your house?”

  There was a glint in Gavin’s eye. “It’s family tradition. My dad’s Bellamy, and my granddad, and his dad before him. My mum wanted to claim a bit of ground for her side of the family, so I was named after her brother – my uncle Gav. I reckon it’s bone idleness on my dad’s side. They can’t be bothered to come up with anything fresh.”

  “Like Horace perhaps …?” Rosie snorted and promptly went into hysterics.

  Gavin shook his head, but he was secretly glad to see Rosie’s mood so much changed. It gave him a sense of achievement to think that their afternoon together had produced this result. Only a few hours ago she’d been inconsolable. Now she was laughing as though she hadn’t a care in the world. He rather wished Ciaran could have been there to see it.

  Later on when he took her home, Gavin held her close to him for a long time. “Don’t worry about getting upset today, Rosie. If ever you need to sound off, I’m here for you.” His kiss was gentle and unhurried, and she was surprised at how comfortable she felt in his arms.

  “Thanks for everything. I’m glad you were around today.” Her cheek was resting against the front of his shoulder and she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. They stayed like that for a few minutes more, then he kissed her again and let her go. As Rosie let herself in through the front door, her head was doing somersaults. What a weird day this had been. Her emotions had been all over the place, from one bizarre extreme to the other. Rainbow moods her mother used to call them; tears and laughter, like rain and sunshine, all in the space of half an hour. Yet strangely, she realised she no longer felt anywhere near as embarrassed as she had earlier. Gavin had taken it all in his stride and shown a tenderness which she’d badly needed today. Would it last? She hardly knew. But now, more than ever before, she found herself hoping it would. What was it he’d said? If ever you need to sound off, I’m here for you. She chewed the phrase over in her mind … I’m here for you. They were pretty big words.

  Suddenly she really wanted them to be true. Now, with Ciaran so far away, she felt terribly vulnerable. It would be good to think there was someone else there for her. Could Gavin step up to the mark this time?

  ____________

  Late that night, she found an e-mail from Jonathon waiting on her computer.

  Hi Rosie –

  Thought I’d drop you a line and see how you are. I bumped into Josh Simmons last night and he told me that Beth and your brother would be travelling up today, so I’ve been thinking about you. Hope the wrench isn’t proving too painful. Things like that are never easy, are they?

  Enjoyed the last diary entry. Uncle Philip sounds a cool sorta guy, don’t you think? (Well, I must have inherited it from somewhere – lol …!) Looking forward to further offerings.

  I’
m hoping to pop round to see your family soon – I’ll just give them a couple of days to settle in. Are you planning a visit in the near future? We’ll have to book some nice weather for when you come, eh?

  Luv Jonathon

  Rosie smiled to herself as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. It was nice of him to make contact today. She thought for a few moments before beginning her reply.

  Hi Jonathon –

  Thanks for your e-mail. Nice to know someone was thinking about me. Well yes – I was a bit upset when they first set off, but I managed to come round eventually …

  She paused. A bit upset? That’s a laugh – you were bawling your eyes out. Streatham was nearly put on flood alert.

  The other bit was true; she had come round eventually. Should she mention Gavin? After all, he’d been pretty key in the unfolding of today’s events. No, she decided. Jonathon didn’t need to know about all that.

  I’ll be coming up there as soon as I can. Beth’s pretty insistent about it. Haven’t got any dates yet – I need to look into it when I get back to work tomorrow. I’ll let you know when I’m likely to appear.

  There’s still plenty more of the diary to go at. Sorry you’ve had to wait, but here at last are ‘further offerings’. Enjoy.

  Rosie.

  Zillebeke January 30th 1917

  It’s still bitterly cold out here, Em. I can barely feel my hands and feet. Sometimes I find myself thinking that if the Bosch don’t get us, the weather will. It seems even the dead are touched by it. They lie there, their blank eyes staring up at us, their mouths frozen into hopeless grimaces. I wonder who’s the most to be pitied. And to think that two and a half years ago they said it would all be over by Christmas. Would we have joined up so eagerly if we’d known? I think not.

  Boxer’s been missing for a couple of days. We were out on a night working party when he took a shrapnel hit in the top of his leg. He didn’t make much of it, but the lieutenant told him to get it checked out. He went to the aid post and hasn’t reappeared since, so heaven knows where they’ve sent him. It feels strange without him around. I hadn’t realised how reassuring his presence was until now. Jimmy seems calm enough about it. I happened to mention today that I was a bit concerned about the business. “Hope he’ll be coming back to us,” I said. Jimmy just nodded. “He’ll be back,” he assured me. “God’s looking after him.” I had to smile, Em. It was like listening to Boxer himself. Still, I have to admit, it did make me feel better in a funny kind of way. Never thought Jimmy could have such a comforting effect on me. This war really does seem to be making a man out of him.

  Well, it’s dark now and here we are, manning our bit of the trench and trying not to freeze to death in the process. It’s hard to describe the tedium of our trench life, Em. We spend long hours hanging around, just waiting. Waiting in case the enemy should decide to kick off. It’s a bizarre situation if you stop to think about it. The only thing likely to break our boredom is a skirmish – and that could mean losing a limb or worse. What’s the best option, eh? To be sitting here in a frozen dugout, every inch of our bodies seizing up with cold and inactivity, or being caught in the middle of a bombardment, hearts thumping out of our chests as the shells rain down on us? Not much of a choice, is it? Ah well, Emily, I won’t write any more tonight. I might lose my fingers to frostbite if I don’t get them in my pockets soon.

  Zillebeke February 4th 1917

  I killed a man today, Em. In stone-cold blood, I killed him. Of course he’s not the first I’ve done for since I’ve been out here. Grenades, Mills’ bombs, rifle bullets – we don’t send them over for fun. But this was different. I was different …

  The German bombardment had been going on for what felt like hours. It had been a long, testing day. For those in the allied front line, it was a case of sitting tight until the firing eased up. Then it would be full alert. The Bosch usually tried a trench raid after a pounding like this.

  “Glad we’re not up front for this one.” Twinny One dragged on his cigarette and breathed smoke into the frozen air. Their unit was positioned in the support lanes a short distance behind the front line. “Bet it’s been a blood bath up there. They haven’t stopped all afternoon.” He cursed and stamped his feet against the cold.

  Sam sighed. Why couldn’t they all just go home? Surely everybody had had enough by now. Why drag the thing out any longer? Sometimes, the temptation to turn round and walk away from everything was almost overwhelming. It was an idea which seemed to present itself most strongly when the weather was particularly cold, or particularly wet, or when they all felt particularly hungry because the rations hadn’t come down. Extreme conditions always addled the brain more than normal – made it hard to think straight.

  Walking away was a stupid idea of course. Totally impossible. If any man was foolhardy enough to try a stunt like that, he was signing his own death warrant. The army didn’t have room for deserters and cowards. But for Sam at this moment in time, cowardice didn’t come into it. He was, quite simply, fed up.

  Darkness fell, and with it, the temperature. Sam tried to think of things to take his mind off the cold. He thought about Boxer and Twinny Two in hospital somewhere. He thought about home with its warm, welcoming fire, and the family singing songs around the piano. And he thought about Emily. He pictured her standing by the roadside that day, waving to the new troops as they’d set off from their villages. How beautiful she’d looked. His mind had sealed that vision like a photograph. One that he looked at a thousand times a day, one that kept him focused when everything else seemed hopeless.

  “Sam!” Jimmy’s voice hissed through the blackness. “Stand to, mate. What’s up – you dropping off or something?”

  Sam hadn’t heard the order. Neither had he realised that the German guns had fallen quiet for the first time in hours.

  Twinny One sniggered. “It’s alright, Sam. We’re not expecting any action this far down. You go back to sleep, pal.”

  Ignoring his sarcasm, Sam readied his rifle. He felt embarrassed. He’d been in a world of his own. Somehow, since his sickness, he seemed to be finding life out here twice as exhausting as before.

  Twinny One’s gruff laughter rippled through the trench as he shared a joke with the man next to him. “Hope they come over to say hello. This beauty’ll give ’em a tickle they won’t forget!” Defiantly, he ran his finger over the topside of his rifle blade.

  Sam shuddered as he fixed bayonet. Sometimes he heard a callousness amongst the men which scared him. It was one thing to be forced to kill one’s fellow human beings. But to actually relish the idea – to gloat and boast and make distasteful jokes about it, surely that bordered on barbarism. Sam hated bayoneting. He’d hated it ever since he’d been in training camp. It was something he found hard to bring himself to do. Whenever he’d been picked to go out on trench raiding parties, he’d always been selected for bomb throwing. There was something detached about that. Like shooting. But bayoneting, that was personal. Your brute metal strength against another’s soft flesh. If the war were to continue for another twenty years, Sam doubted he could ever get used to bayoneting.

  The time dragged slowly as the night air became colder and colder. Apart from the occasional thunder of heavy artillery much further up the line, all was quiet. Men stamped their feet and blew on their hands. It felt as if the very blood had frozen in their veins.

  It had reached about two in the morning when Sam heard movement. The sound of light scuffling seemed to be getting nearer and nearer. Rats probably, coming straight from a big feed if the earlier bombardment was anything to go by. He certainly wasn’t going to stick his head out to check.

  Next to him, Jimmy frowned. “You hear what I hear?” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

  Sam nodded. Two men at the side of them seemed to be dozing. They were standing with their backs against the trench wall, heads lolling forward and eyes closed. It was an easy thing to do. Sam had dropped asleep on route marches before now. How much easie
r tonight when the air was cold enough to stultify your brain. Sam and Jimmy stood stock-still as they tried to focus on the direction of the approaching sound. A sudden, agonised scream pierced the darkness, and then the noise of grappling. An enemy trench raid.

  Sam and Jimmy readied their rifles, their hearts pounding. There was a lot of shouting now, some of it in German. Foul words and dull, ugly thuds seemed to fill the trench. In the dark it was hard to make out what was happening. A voice rang out. “Take ’im – he’s the one with the bombs – don’t shoot the bag whatever you do!” A single shot followed by a groan. “There – got ya! Nice of you to call, Kamerad.”

  There was more scuffling, and then a man broke free into Sam’s view. He was large and heavily set, and almost fell towards Sam in his bid to escape being taken. For a split second, his wild eyes rolled in confusion as he tried to work out his next move. He glanced at Sam, then turned his attention to one of the men who had been dozing only minutes previously. Sam shouted out to the Tommy but it was too late. His reactions were groggy and slow, and Sam could see it was about to cost him his life. The German thrust his bayonet clumsily into the other’s chest. Twinny One’s voice screamed down the trench. “Take ’im, Sam! I got my ’ands full up this end.”

  Sam felt panic rising in his throat. The young Tommy was still impaled on the German’s gun, his face crumpling with the realisation that it was all over for him now. For a moment his gaze met Sam’s, and the look in his dying eyes hurt like nothing Sam could ever remember. The German’s teeth were clenched with effort as he tried to wrench the weapon free.

  In that small second, Sam felt a surge of furious hatred he’d never known before. As the German turned to face him, Sam rammed his own bayonet full force up into the man’s diaphragm. He pulled out quickly and thrust in again. The German’s harsh expression seemed to melt into a look of surprise. He staggered forward putting his hand out to steady himself and, in doing so, caught hold of Sam’s arm. For a moment they stood there, eyes locked, each searching the other’s face. Then, with a gurgle of blood oozing from his mouth, the German soldier fell heavily into the bottom of the frozen trench …