A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  “I’ve no intention of doing,” Rosie snapped coldly. But inside she felt sick. How could she ever have imagined that Gavin was serious about her when all the time he’d been seeing this Kate woman behind her back? And to think she’d come so close to sleeping with him. She felt like kicking herself. She realised Dan was looking at her sympathetically.

  “I’m sorry, Rosie.” His voice was completely sincere. “Gavin’s not a bad guy. But I haven’t liked the way he’s been acting recently – not towards you anyway. I put it down to his breakup with Kate. He’s not thinking right. I know he’s my best mate, but I wouldn’t wish him on any girl at the moment. Not till he gets himself sorted. The blind date thing seemed like a good idea at the time, but I wish I’d never come up with it, Rosie. I think you deserve better.”

  Rosie looked down into her coffee again. Why did she suddenly feel like crying? Surely Dan’s advice was only confirmation of something she’d already decided. Was it the air of finality about it all? Perhaps – partly. But deep down, she knew that what hurt most was the revelation that Gavin had been using her. That all the time she’d imagined things were developing between them, Gavin’s affections had been elsewhere. She’d been a fill-in, a substitute. No wonder it had felt like such hard work.

  “Thanks, Dan.” She picked up her bag and rose from her seat. She knew it was time to leave, before she started getting teary. “I appreciate your being honest. No hard feelings about the blind date. I’ll just put it down to experience.”

  Dan stood to his feet and extended a hand. “Bye, Rosie. See you around, no doubt.”

  Rosie smiled weakly and shook his hand before heading for the door. If Mel didn’t realise what a decent guy she’d got, she needed her head examining.

  That evening, back in her room, Rosie was filled with a sense of dull, aching emptiness. Mel was still out with Dan and the house was depressingly quiet. She toyed with the idea of ringing Beth, just for the sake of having contact with someone. But she couldn’t think of anything cheerful to say, and it didn’t seem right to offload her misery onto someone whose situation was even more dire than her own. As for Ciaran, she couldn’t even picture him now without wanting to cry. She certainly didn’t want to add to his bucket load of troubles.

  It struck her then that she had never felt so isolated in her whole life. So utterly, completely alone in the world. No one to turn to, no one to listen, no one to make her feel that she mattered. At least Gavin had done that – even if he had been lying through his teeth half the time.

  A sudden coldness passed over her and she began to shiver. Falling onto her bed, she curled up in foetal position and hugged herself in an effort to keep warm. But it was not a natural coldness. It was an iciness that seemed to grip her entire being like a vice. A cascade of black thoughts poured into her head. What point is there in anything? Nothing ever goes right anyway. Life is just one long test of endurance, punctuated from time to time with extra special misery. Maybe Beth’s one of the lucky ones after all – at least she’s getting out of it early …

  She hated herself the second the thought hit. An image of Beth came into her mind; Beth with her yellow skin and limp hair, her wasted body and sunken eyes. Beth, who such a short time ago had been radiant and full of bright hopes.

  Rosie pressed her face into the pillow. One of the lucky ones? What am I thinking? But somehow, logic did not come easily tonight. Only despair, and a suffocating darkness that seemed to wrap itself around her like a shroud. She gave way to the tears that were burning her eyes, and cried until she could cry no more. At last, totally exhausted, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

  It was ten twenty-three when she suddenly awoke. At first she was completely disorientated. It took a few moments before she could even work out what day it was. The sound of Mel banging about in the living room pricked her memory.

  Cratchett’s … the conversation with Dan …

  She swore under her breath. How long had she been asleep? Glancing at the clock, she swore again. She was wide awake now and she had to work tomorrow. It was anyone’s guess as to what time she’d be able to get back to sleep tonight. She climbed off the bed and smoothed her clothes. Maybe a hot drink would help.

  “You okay, Rosie?” Mel looked concerned as Rosie made her way to the kitchen. “You look like you might be coming down with something.”

  Rosie glanced into the kitchen mirror and inwardly groaned. Why hadn’t she checked her face before coming out of her room? Her eyes were puffy and swollen and her cheeks blotched with pink. “I think it’s hay fever,” she said unconvincingly.

  “Hay fever? At this time? I would’ve thought it was a bit early.” Mel seemed genuinely confused.

  For want of a better argument, Rosie decided to press the point. “There was a bit of early tree blossom out in Yorkshire. My eyes have been itching like crazy.”

  This explanation seemed to satisfy Mel. Relieved, Rosie warmed some milk up in the microwave. A few minutes later, back in the safety of her room, she sat by the window and looked out into the street. A cat was preening itself under a lamppost. Rosie watched it for a while, something inside her longing to reach out and touch its fur, to find comfort in its living, breathing body. After several minutes, the creature gave a sudden, elegant stretch and stole off into the blackness.

  If I can be of any help – an electronic shoulder to cry on and all that, you know I’m here …

  The thought jerked her back to reality. Jonathon. Of course. She hurriedly set up her laptop and pulled the diary out of her drawer. She’d throw in a couple of entries for good measure. She had to play it casual; she didn’t want him knowing he was practically the only human being on earth she had access to right now.

  Tuileries (Support Trenches) April 15th 1917

  There’s a sense in the air that something’s going to happen soon, Emily. It’s common knowledge that mining operations have been going on in this area for months now. Jimmy and I recently got talking with some miners from the North East who’ve been brought over here to work in tunnelling teams alongside the Royal Engineers. They told us they’ve been laying tunnels to various points deep beneath the Messines Ridge – and packing them with explosives. According to these chaps, our boys are about to blow the whole ridge into the sky any day now! We’ve not heard anything official about it all yet, mind. But I have to say, those fellows certainly seemed to know what they were talking about. I can’t help hoping they’re right, Em. I’d love to see that ridge go up. But you’d have to be in our position to understand why I say that. Let me try and give you the picture.

  The ground we hold at the moment along the Ypres sector is a wedge of land that juts out into the ground held by the enemy – if you can try to imagine it. Instead of two armies ranged against each other in straight lines, our front line bulges forward into the Boschs’ territory so that they almost surround us. That means they can fire on us from three sides at any one time if they feel like it. Not only that, but they hold the ridge of high ground to the south of Ypres which looks right down on our position – that’s the Messines Ridge I was talking about. Geographically, they’ve got a real advantage over us. They’re able to watch practically every move we make. We’re easy targets really. Don’t get me wrong, Em – we put up a pretty stiff fight, and our gunners give them a merry time of it, that’s a fact. But while ever the Germans hold that ridge of high ground, we’re vulnerable. I find it a thing of amazement that we haven’t all been picked off already. Every day one manages to survive here is a little miracle. Meanwhile, we carry on with our orders, hoping that someone, somewhere amongst the brass hats is going to come up with a bright idea to break the stalemate we’re in.

  Life here in the trenches goes on as normal. Now the freezing weather’s behind us, the ground is quickly becoming churned up again. It’s an exhausting business; tramping in full kit, bringing up supplies, hauling telephone wire and ammo – working parties, carrying parties, every kind of party you can imagine – while the mu
d sticks to your boots and everything seems to weigh twice as much as it should. (It reminds me of that day our two families visited the sea many years ago. Do you remember it, Emily – when we tried to race along the soft sand and we kept falling over because our feet were so heavy? That’s rather how it feels. Alas, our present situation is not so picturesque as that was, nor so peaceful.)

  Yes, I have to say, Em, the idea of seeing the Bosch blown off their perch is an attractive one. After all, you can understand that we’re getting a little weary now. Any encouragement would be welcome. Sometimes it feels as if this war will go on forever. Who would have thought that men could witness the things that we have seen and not go mad? And yet, my dear, brave Emily, you have seen things too. Things no woman should ever have to look upon. Oh my dearest, how I long to see your face again – I can’t bear to think that I might not live to look upon it one last time at least.

  Zillebeke (Front Line Trenches) April 24th 1917

  Death comes ever closer, Emily. Yesterday I felt its breath and wondered if it had come for me …

  It had been a lively day. Since early that morning, the British gunners had fired numerous barrages towards the enemy lines, and the German guns had responded generously in kind. Now as darkness fell, things had eased off considerably. Sam’s company found itself once again in Zillebeke, this time manning the trenches on the front line. The men in his platoon were killing time.

  “You lot, take it in turns to try and get some kip while it’s quiet,” the platoon sergeant instructed. “I’ll be down later if anything kicks off.”

  A young lad’s voice sounded in the darkness. “Anything planned for tonight, sir?”

  The sergeant ran a grimy hand over his face. “I’m gonna have a word with the officer in a bit. I’ll probably be back later for some volunteers.” He moved off down the trench and disappeared into another bay.

  “Volunteers, my –” Twinny One spat out a vulgarity. “Anybody else gettin’ fed up of this game?” He lobbed an empty tin over the parapet in frustration. A sniper’s bullet whistled through the black night in reply. “Dodge the Shell, followed by Dodge the Sniper, followed by …”

  “Followed by Dodge the Firin’ Squad if you don’t put a sock in it,” his brother grinned. “What’s up with you tonight? You’re like a bear with a sore head.”

  “He would have been if yonder tin had been his head!” someone joked.

  Twinny One came out with another string of unsavoury comments. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one here who isn’t havin’ a whale of a time.” He cursed again. “My foot’s killin’ me. I swear my toes are workin’ loose.”

  Sam had noticed that Twinny One had been limping for the last couple of weeks. Come to think of it, Sam reflected, the disgruntled Twinny had been moaning about his foot for the last couple of months. Probably trench foot. Not that he was likely to get much sympathy from any of the lads. After all, everyone was in the same boat. No one could avoid standing around in the waterlogged trenches; it was just part of the job. So what if your boots happened to let the mud seep through and your feet swelled up and became so painful you felt like wrenching them off? That was your hard luck. You certainly couldn’t bunk off over something like that. There was a war to be won – feet or no feet.

  As the night wore on, a drowsiness descended on that section of the trench. Some of the men dozed, some smoked, some chatted in low voices. Apart from the occasional distant shell, the guns had fallen quiet. It seemed that both sides were ready for a rest. Boxer had been sitting by a small oil lamp reading his Bible. Now he put it back in his haversack and stared down at the ground, his expression grave.

  “I have a bad feeling about tonight, Sam.”

  Sam’s heart lurched. He knew Boxer well enough to know that he wasn’t in the habit of spreading gloom. If Boxer had a bad feeling about something, there was probably good reason for it. “Reckon we’ve all had it then – think they’re gonna try and spring another trench raid on us or something?” Sam tried to laugh, but Boxer’s words had disturbed him.

  Boxer shrugged his shoulders. “Dunno, Sam. I dunno.” He squatted down into the bottom of the trench. “I’m gonna try and pray a while.”

  Sam nodded and reached into his bag for his diary. Maybe he should write something more for Emily – it would be a distraction at least. A terrific burst of fire suddenly broke overhead. It made him jump. He sighed resignedly and put the diary away. He’d write later. He wasn’t really in the mood just now. Boxer’s presentiment had made him nervous.

  “Game o’ cards, Sam?” Twinny One hissed in the darkness. “Might take me mind off me ruddy feet.”

  “Yeah – why not?”

  Moving over to a pile of sandbags where an oil lamp was casting its soft, yellow glow, they began their game. From further down the trench came the sound of muffled guffaws as some of the lads talked and joked, trying to wile away the time. The card game had been going for almost twenty minutes when Twinny One looked up.

  “You got a girl, Sam?”

  The question took Sam slightly by surprise. For a moment he wrestled with the idea of disclosing his feelings about Emily, but somehow he hardly wanted to bring her into the trench. Some of the boys might get smutty about things if they found out. He’d heard their coarse remarks about other girls. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone tarnishing his Emily.

  “No, not really.”

  “No, not really, eh? Sam, you old rascal! That mean you’ve got several in mind?” Twinny One winked at Sam and laid his handful of cards on a sandbag. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out a small photograph. “I’ve got a girl. Here she is –” He handed the photograph to Sam. A young woman smiled up from the worn print, dark curls framing the delicate features of her face. Twinny One’s eyes were shining with pride. “She’s called Tilly. We’d been walkin’ out together four months before I came out here. We plan to marry when all this is over. I asked her in one of my letters and she wrote back straightaway to say yes.”

  There was a tenderness in his voice which Sam had not heard before. He smiled as he handed the photograph back. “She’s lovely. You’re a lucky fellow.”

  Neither had noticed Twinny Two moving towards them. He suddenly grabbed his brother in a headlock from behind and ruffled his hair violently. “Is he gettin’ all soppy on you, Sam? Showin’ you his little Tilly, is he?” He plonked down beside them with a grin.

  Twinny One shook his head in disgust and put the photograph back in his pocket. “You’re only jealous.”

  “Too true.” Twinny Two threw an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “I’ve already told you what I’m gonna do tho’. On yer wedding morning I’m gonna lock you up in a cupboard and go marry the lass meself. See how long it takes before she notices. Mind you – it’ll be too late by then!” He threw his head back and laughed raucously.

  Sam looked from one to the other. With their identical pale red hair and green eyes, it was hard to tell them apart. A small childhood scar on Twinny Two’s left cheekbone did make the distinguishing process slightly easier.

  Twinny One rolled his eyes at Sam. “Just let ’im try it –” He gave Twinny Two a hefty shove so that he fell headlong onto the trench floor. “She’d be able to tell the difference with her eyes shut, matey. Somethin’ to do with that distinctive smell that follows you around.”

  “Keep it down, you two,” the sergeant’s voice hissed as he approached them. “Save your energy for later – you never know when you’re gonna need it.” He signalled to the other soldiers in the bay to gather round. “The RE’s need a carrying party. I want about ten of you.” He randomly counted off ten heads and gestured them to follow his lead. Finding himself among the number, Sam turned and caught Boxer’s eye. Boxer patted his shoulder. “Go on, mate,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  Sam soon found himself at the back of a line of shadowy figures. The sergeant quickly gave orders to the group, then signalled them to advance behind him. It wa
s in everyone’s interest to draw as little attention as possible to their movement. As quietly as they could, the men began to pick their way along the communication lane, artfully manoeuvring over duckboards which slipped and sucked beneath their feet. For this part of the journey, they had moved from behind trench cover and were completely reliant upon the darkness to shield them from the enemy’s view. Indeed, the night was very dark, the moon for the most part obscured by thick cloud. From time to time it would make a brief appearance, illuminating the shattered landscape with eerie, silver light. Then just as quickly, it would slip coyly back behind its cover, and tired eye muscles were forced once more to stretch and strain in the blackness. Several yards up ahead, Sam could just make out the hobbling outline of Twinny One. Poor chap; he was probably struggling to put one foot in front of the other.

  They had gone about three quarters of a mile when a huge explosion sounded not far from their position. The sergeant signalled them to stop and the group froze to an immediate halt. For a few moments they stood rigid in the darkness. Sam’s heart pounded as he remembered Boxer’s warning. Every nerve in his body seemed to tighten as Very lights suddenly rose into the air, brightening the sky for miles around. It felt like they were on stage, with all the German army as the audience.

  There came a second explosion. Sam heard something whizz past his ear. Eight yards in front, Twinny One jerked violently and smacked onto the duckboard. Another whistle and there were screams from further up the line. Sam rushed towards his friend and bent down. For a moment or two he could barely make anything out, but as more flares climbed into the sky, he could see quite clearly.

  Twinny One was groaning gently. “Get someone to have a look at me feet, pal –” he rasped. “They’re bad today.”