A Song in the Night

by Julie Maria Peace

  Over the next few days the house was fraught with activity. One of the early visitors was Mr Aston, the village undertaker, who called round to discuss details of the funeral. Tim the vicar called too, to offer the family pastoral comfort and talk through their wishes regarding the service. He sat in the living room with Ed, Cassie and Ciaran while Rosie made them all a drink. When she came in with the tea tray, Cassie invited her to join them. As the discussions progressed, Ciaran admitted that he felt totally out of his depth in the whole matter. He was quite happy, he said, to leave the planning of the service to Ed, Cassie and Tim. The only thing he had strong feelings about was the music.

  “I don’t really know any hymns,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to leave that to you guys. But I’d be grateful if we could bring her into church to Vaughan Williams’ ‘Lark Ascending’. It meant a lot to her.” There was a moment’s pause. “And I want her to go out to Ravel’s ‘Pavane Pour Une Infante Défunte’ …” He broke off and looked down, his face haunted and pallid. “Because that’s what she meant to me.”

  Rosie wanted to ask for a translation. But no one else said a word, and the catch she’d heard in Ciaran’s voice made her stifle her curiosity. Tim left about twenty minutes later, and almost immediately afterwards, Ciaran disappeared to his room. The whole ordeal seemed to have exhausted him.

  As well as several other visitors to the house, there were also countless phone calls. One of them was from Jonathon. Rosie was in her room when Cassie came upstairs to ask if she wanted to have a quick word with him. “He’d no idea you’d travelled up here till I just mentioned it,” Cassie said, looking slightly puzzled.

  Rosie tried to think quickly. In a strange way she was missing her contact with Jonathon. Yet as she remembered the last e-mail he’d sent her, she felt a hesitancy about speaking to him. His question came back to her. Has anyone ever told you about Jesus? Even just thinking about it, she felt the same claustrophobic awkwardness that she’d experienced when she’d first looked at his words on the screen.

  “Would you mind if I don’t come down just now?” she mumbled apologetically to Cassie. “I don’t feel up to talking to anyone at the moment. Perhaps I could ring him later.”

  “Okay, love – I’ll tell him that.” Cassie left and went back downstairs. But Rosie knew it was one phone call she wouldn’t be making.

  The funeral was fixed for Friday afternoon. On the Wednesday evening, Mr Aston rang to say that members of the family were welcome to visit the chapel of rest from ten o’clock the following morning. For the rest of the night, a gloomy anticipation settled over the house as everyone became lost in their own thoughts. It seemed an ironic and bitter blow to lose Beth so quickly and suddenly when her time had been so short anyway.

  The next day, Ciaran went down early to the chapel. He returned an hour later, ashen-faced and silent. Ed and Cassie visited just before lunch. Rosie was busy making sandwiches for everyone when they returned. Ed disappeared straight upstairs, but Cassie came into the kitchen.

  “Would you like to go and see her, Rosie?” she asked gently. It was obvious that she’d been crying.

  Rosie had never seen anyone dead before. Memories of her time spent at Aunt Mariah’s funereal home came flooding back. “I’m not sure how I’d handle it if I’m honest.”

  Cassie put an arm around her shoulder. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, love. She just looks like she’s asleep. But it’s up to you. It has to be your choice.”

  Later that afternoon, Rosie made the journey with a heavy heart. It was more out of a sense of loyalty to Beth than any kind of desire to look at her. When they arrived at the chapel of rest, Mrs Aston showed them towards a little side room. Cassie reached out and took Rosie’s trembling hand as they stepped inside. Rosie’s heart was pounding as she found herself submitting to Cassie’s lead. For a few seconds she averted her eyes, everything in her recoiling from the sight she knew was coming.

  “There now …” Cassie’s voice was soft and reassuring. “Look. She’s just sleeping, Rosie.”

  Rosie forced her eyes towards the coffin. Her heart lurched as she saw Beth. She lay, dressed in the crimson velvet gown she’d worn for the concert only a few months earlier. Her blonde hair had been carefully combed and positioned to look as though it was flowing over her shoulders. The yellowness had gone from her face. Instead, her skin was pale and her lips, which were set in a slight smile, had the faintest tint of colour. Her thin hands were joined across her stomach as though she were enjoying an afternoon nap. With some consternation, Rosie imagined she could see Beth’s chest rising and falling. It was a surreal experience.

  “You know, love – this isn’t Beth any more.” Cassie’s low whisper broke into Rosie’s consciousness. “It’s just her old house really. They’ve made her all beautiful so that we can look at her one last time. And that’s hard isn’t it?” There was a slight catch in her voice. “The thought that this is the last time we’ll see her on this earth. But in reality, Beth’s with the Lord now. She doesn’t need this old body any longer. He’s going to give her a new one.”

  Rosie could tell they weren’t cheap words. Tears were streaming down Cassie’s face as she spoke. But Rosie knew Cassie believed every syllable of what she was saying. She stared down at Beth. It all seemed so unreal, so horribly unreal. How could someone so alive as Beth lie there, so still, so dead? She willed herself to wake up from the nightmare. Surely it must be a nightmare?

  But as she listened to the silence, broken only by the faint sound of birdsong coming from the sunlit afternoon outside, Rosie knew that death was in this place. No matter how long she gazed down at her, Beth lay there unmoving, her face like cold alabaster.

  After what seemed like an age, Cassie put a hand on Rosie’s arm. “Ready to go, love?”

  Rosie nodded. She gave a last glance at the lifeless form, unable to bring herself to touch the marble hands. “Bye Beth … gonna miss you.”

  As they stepped outside into the sunshine, she couldn’t hold back the tears.

  When they arrived back at Oak Lodge, Rosie was slightly shocked to see Jonathon’s car on the drive outside.

  “Looks like we have a visitor,” Cassie remarked thoughtfully as she switched off the engine. “Perhaps I’ll ask him if he wants to stay for dinner.”

  Rosie wasn’t sure how she felt about that idea. Seeing Beth had already disturbed her; she didn’t know if she could cope with Jonathon going all other-worldly on her. But she said nothing to Cassie. She didn’t feel it was her place.

  Jonathon’s greeting was low-key and Rosie felt grateful for it. It stemmed any awkwardness there could have been between them. Cassie fixed a quick meal and by six thirty they were all sitting round to eat. The conversation was subdued and Rosie noticed that Ciaran hardly made any impression on his food. As soon as dinner was over he excused himself and went up to his room. Rosie offered to wash up. She was slightly disconcerted when Jonathon followed her into the kitchen and armed himself with a tea towel.

  “Thought you could use a little help.” He smiled disarmingly but his eyes seemed to search her face. “How you coping anyway?”

  Rosie shrugged as she filled the bowl with water. Somehow Jonathon always managed to draw her out of herself. She gave a light, embarrassed laugh. “You know I went to see Beth earlier? Well, I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t spooked me a bit.” Plunging some dishes into the water, she started to wash up. “Stupid I know, but it’s the first time I’ve actually seen anyone – well – dead.”

  Jonathon nodded slowly. “I noticed your hands were shaking when we were at dinner.”

  “You did?” Rosie was shocked. She’d tried hard to conceal her nervousness, but it seemed that nothing escaped Jonathon’s attention.

  “Don’t worry about it, Rosie. You’ve been having things rough recently. You’re allowed to shake as much as you want. Here –” He pointed to his shoulder. “For you to cry on.”

  Rosie smiled sheepishly. This was a g
uy who obviously wasn’t one to take the huff easily.

  “So …” Jonathon didn’t look at her as he carefully dried a large, ceramic serving dish. “Had any more moments of personal revelation since we last had contact?” His tone was sincere, without the slightest hint of mockery.

  Rosie swallowed hard. Should she tell him how she’d been feeling recently, or would that just make him go all weird on her again? Her mind flicked back to the image of Beth lying in the chapel of rest. It made her shudder. She decided to risk it. Treading carefully of course, but she’d risk it all the same. After all, there weren’t exactly crowds of folk queuing up to play agony aunt to her at the moment. Tentatively, she began to tell him of the loneliness she’d felt since Beth and Ciaran had moved up to Yorkshire, and of the sense of isolation that London seemed to inflict upon her these days. She even found herself mentioning her breakup with Gavin. Not, she insisted, that it had ever been a particularly meaningful relationship. But at the moment, every negative turn of events was bound to add to her unhappiness – wasn’t it?

  Jonathon listened quietly as he dried up, only interjecting from time to time in order to ask a question or clarify a point. For the most part Rosie did the talking, unburdening herself with a measure of conscious restraint and more than a smattering of black humour. When she had described her miseries as much as her pride would allow, she stopped washing up and stared at the window.

  “As if all that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve just been to see my best friend laid out in a funeral parlour. Feels like I’m part of some awful horror movie.” She forced a laugh. “Now it’s dark, I’m wondering if I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight. Best keep a light on, I guess …”

  Jonathon looked at her sympathetically. For a few moments he didn’t speak. Then he leaned back against one of the cupboards. “Rosie – look at me a minute.”

  Rosie was slightly taken aback. His blue eyes seemed to pierce right to her very core.

  “I know I probably upset you with my last e-mail, when I asked you if anyone had ever talked to you about Jesus.”

  Rosie hung her head awkwardly. She’d been hoping this wouldn’t come up.

  “Hey, don’t worry.” Jonathon gave a wry smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve been electronically blanked.” His expression became serious. “Rosie, speaking as your shoulder to cry on, I can’t offer you anything else. In the end, Jesus is all I’ve got.”

  Rosie’s face creased into a frown. What on earth was he talking about? Yet as his eyes searched her own, she could see in them a compassion that she found hard to counter.

  “I say he’s all I’ve got – but believe me, Rosie, when you have him, you have everything you’ll ever need. I think perhaps you ought to hear that right now.”

  Unable to say anything in reply, Rosie looked away. Jonathon moved over to the radiator and hung the tea towel there to dry. “Hope you don’t think I’m trying to come on heavy here, Rosie, but I’ve been worried about you. I know you’re really going through it at the moment, but I also know that Jesus specialises in desperate situations.” He smiled gently. “I’m going to get off home in a minute, but I’d really like to tell you more some time. Have a think about it, eh? Whatever you decide, let’s stay friends. Okay?”

  Rosie nodded. Her mind was spinning. It was hard to deny; Jonathon Kirkbride was one of the warmest, kindest people she’d ever come across. For all his funny ideas, he seemed a genuinely sound guy. A far cry from the Gavins of this world, she thought bitterly.

  Lying in bed two hours later, she tried to focus her thoughts. It wasn’t easy. Somehow, alone in her room tonight, a strange horror seemed to be closing in on her. Outside, a wind had sprung up and it rattled the windows and made the trees creak eerily. Rosie pulled the duvet right up to her face. Even with the bedside lamp still on, her imagination was working overtime. Images of Beth crowded her mind. Every noise made her jumpy; she shivered, but not from cold. Several times, just as she was on the point of falling asleep, some spectral vision seemed to pass before her dozing eyes, jerking her back to wakefulness. She could almost picture Beth standing behind the closed bedroom door, dressed in her velvet gown, her dead, unseeing eyes staring right through her.

  As the night went on Rosie became exhausted. One o’clock, two o’clock … there seemed no release from the torment. She found herself frantically longing for morning to come. A solitary tear fell onto her pillow.

  When you have him, you have everything you’ll ever need.

  In that moment, Jonathon’s words seemed to swirl like ticker-tape around the frightening pictures in her mind. A sudden gust of wind blew against the window with force, howling like a banshee as it continued on its way. Rosie felt sick with fear. Gripping the duvet, she closed her eyes.

  Jesus, I don’t even know if you’re really there –

  The words came out in a low, desperate voice.

  But Jonathon says you’re everything I’ll ever need.

  She paused a moment, the storm in her head trying to drown out her tentative supplication.

  What I need now is sleep – a great sob cluttered her throat – before I go completely out of my mind …

  The last thing she remembered was whispering thank you.

  ____________

  The time of the funeral had arrived. Oak Lodge was crammed with people, many of whom were family members Rosie had never seen before. Their conversations were low and hushed. Even the children were subdued. As Cassie busied herself making pots of tea, Rosie went up to Ciaran’s room and knocked softly on the door. His voice was barely audible as he summoned her to enter. He was sitting on the bed trying to fasten his tie.

  “You okay, Kitch?” Even as she spoke, Rosie’s heart turned over at the sight of him. His face was gaunt and lined. Sitting there, so crushed and desolate, he seemed much older than his years, and yet he looked as helpless as a small boy. She knelt down on the floor to help him. His eyes filled with fresh tears which fell and bounced onto his suit trousers. ‘My Princess …’ was all he could mutter. Fighting to contain her own emotion, Rosie bit her lip hard.

  The cars arrived at 1.45. A silence fell over everyone as the hearse came into view. An arrangement in white flowers ran along the side of the coffin. It read quite simply: ‘BETHY’. Rosie was standing on the path next to Ciaran. She heard him stifle a sob, and fearing that he might lose it altogether, she slipped her arm gently around his waist. Trembling, he reached for her other hand and gripped it tightly. Moments later, they made their way to one of the black limousines waiting in the road. The time had come for Beth to make her final journey from the home she’d loved so much.

  Even going at a slow, dignified speed, the journey to the church took less than five minutes. Without releasing her grip on Ciaran’s hand, Rosie looked out of the window as they travelled. It was a beautiful spring day. Even in the car she could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays concentrated through the glass. Several villagers stopped and respectfully bowed their heads as the procession passed by. When they arrived at the church, Rosie turned to Ciaran. His face was set in a stare, as though he were trying to summon up all his courage for this last, most difficult act of love towards Beth. As they stepped out of the car, Tim the vicar was waiting to greet them. Rosie hardly noticed any of the other people standing outside the church; her whole concentration was on her brother. She willed him to hold himself together. If he broke down now, she was pretty sure she would too.

  Cassie leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You go in first with Ciaran, Rosie. We’ll follow on behind you.”

  Rosie was slightly surprised. She thought fleetingly of her battle to get compassionate leave at work. What was it the supervisor had said – sisters-in-law were not considered close family? Her going in first hardly seemed correct etiquette.

  As if knowing her thoughts, Cassie squeezed her shoulder gently. “Beth looked on you as a sister, Rosie. And besides, your brother needs you today.”

  Slipping her arm through Ciaran�
�s, Rosie smiled gratefully.

  As the pallbearers made their way to the door, Tim took his position behind the coffin. Suddenly, the floaty, mellifluous strains of ‘The Lark Ascending’ could be heard coming from inside the church. Rosie fixed her eyes straight forward as they walked into the building. She could almost feel Ciaran’s legs going from under him. Somehow they managed to get to the front row and sit down; Cassie and Ed to Rosie’s right, and after that, Beth’s brothers and their families filtering in behind. Rosie stared at the wooden box in front of her. It didn’t compute. The familiar music seemed to taunt her mind as she found herself recalling the night of the concert at the Laureate Hall. What had gone wrong? How on earth could something so triumphant have turned into something so tragic? As she listened to the poignant melody, her thoughts wandered to the many happy times she’d shared with Beth. It choked her to think that there would never be any more. But if she felt that way, she couldn’t imagine how Ciaran must be feeling right now.

  After several minutes, the music faded out and Tim took his place at the front of the church. When he had welcomed everyone and extended his deepest sympathies to the family, he prayed for a few moments and then invited the congregation to sing a hymn. It was one with which Rosie was vaguely familiar – ‘Amazing Grace’. She mouthed the words on the order of service sheet, but all the time she was conscious of Ciaran. He seemed to be staring straight ahead, the sheet clutched in his hand quite redundant. When the hymn was over, Tim asked everyone to sit down. Rosie noticed he was holding an envelope.