A Song in the Night (16 page)

Difficult to breathe through and uncomfortable though it was, Sam knew immediately that the respirator was intact. He looked round to see Jimmy securing his mask. Good, he’d managed okay too. Now it was just a matter of waiting for orders. Either the Germans would attempt a trench raid, or they’d released the gas cylinder just to remind the Tommies that they were still there. A rather unpleasant way of relieving their afternoon boredom.

A muffled order came down the line; help was needed further up. Sam felt a prod from behind. It was Boxer. Kitted up in respirator, it was impossible for him to speak, but Boxer pointed along the line towards a section where the wind had carried the gas to its thickest concentration. Sam nodded. Within no time at all, a small group of men was wending its way clumsily through the front line trench. When they arrived at the worst affected area, they could see that the trench was in chaos. Most men had managed to pull on protective masks, one or two had even urinated on rags and were holding them to their faces, but others were in the throes of agony. Sam saw to his horror that Tommy Shipham, Ernie Tennant, and Tim Pocklington were among the victims. Tommy Shipham was lying in the bottom of the trench, his streaming eyes livid with terror, his body jerking with pain. “
Help me – Sam
–
help …
” he gurgled, his lungs seeming to corrode with every breath. Sam felt sickeningly helpless as he looked down. A yellow liquid was beginning to ooze from Tommy’s mouth, and his hands were clenched into desperate, trembling fists. Sam knew he’d had it. Kneeling down by the injured soldier, he placed his hand on the writhing chest, trying hard not to recoil at the sight of the tortured convulsions. It was almost a relief when, after a few minutes, Tommy’s body gave a final spasm and Sam realised it was all over.

“
Biddy! Biddy!
” Sam heard a mournful cry and then a violent fit of coughing. He spun round to see Tim Pocklington rubbing desperately at his eyes. “I’m blinded – God help me – I’m blinded –
Biddy!
”

Everyone in the platoon knew that Biddy was Pocket’s beloved sweetheart. Boxer put an arm around the injured man’s shoulder and began to guide him up the trench. A steady stream of walking wounded and goggled helpers was now making its way towards the aid post. Sam and Jimmy took hold of Ernie and began to help him along too. Coughing and choking, the distressed man pressed repeatedly at his eyes, as though by doing so he might make himself see again. He became more and more heavy as the three of them proceeded awkwardly through the trench. Sam was afraid the older man might collapse. He felt sadder than he could ever remember …

It was a terrible thing to watch, Em. Somehow, I’m struggling to understand how human beings can come up with such devilish inventions. There is nothing glorious about being gassed, and there’s nothing heroic about gassing somebody. It seems to me a poor way of fighting a war. Nothing can prepare you for this, Emily. To see one’s fellow men suffer as terribly as we did today and be so helpless in the face of it – that can turn a soul to despair.

____________

Beth put the letter down and lay back against the pillow. Well, this wasn’t exactly bedtime reading, was it? She closed her eyes. The idea of being gassed made her feel claustrophobic. She could remember once being held under the water by a vindictive schoolmate during a class swimming lesson. She’d honestly thought she was going to die. Her lungs had burned for air and she’d very nearly given in and inhaled. How long she’d been under, she had no idea. Probably not very long at all. But it had been long enough. Time had seemed to stand still. She was sure it was the closest to death she’d ever come. Perhaps that was how it felt to be gassed. Gasping for air that wasn’t there. Panicking as your whole life flashed before you like some jerky home video. The thought made her shudder. It was like something out of a horror movie. No wonder Boxer philosophised like he did. These guys must have walked through hell every day. It was a wonder any of them managed to stay sane.

A sudden noise made her open her eyes. Dr Stafford had walked onto the ward and was coming towards her bed. “Hello, Beth. All alone?”

Quickly trying to recover herself, Beth sat up. “Yeah, for now at least. They’re all in the TV room.”

Dr Stafford smiled gently and sat down on the chair beside her. “I’m going off duty in quarter of an hour, Beth, but I just wanted to let you know that we’re hoping to get some results through in a couple of days.”

Beth nodded. “Glad to hear it. Any idea what we’re expecting?”

Dr Stafford sat forward, his voice soft and low. “Well, Beth, there are one or two possibilities. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

____________

Dan took a long, slow drink from his bottle of mineral water. “Ah, that’s good. Just what I need after a pasting like that.” He had just completed a gruelling gym session with Gavin, and now the two of them were chilling out in the upstairs café.

“Good workout tonight.” Gavin pulled off his sweatbands and tossed them into his bag. Dan noticed the expression of satisfaction on his face. He’d seen it all evening.

“You’re looking pleased with yourself.”

“Am I?” Gavin seemed momentarily taken aback. “What makes you say that?”

“I dunno.” Dan eyed him curiously. “But you’ve got that look that says
I know something that you don’t
.”

For a few moments Gavin was thoughtful. Then he grinned. “Okay, Danny boy. You’ve got me sussed.” He tapped his nose conspiratorially. “I popped the question the other day.”

Dan’s face furrowed into a frown. “You did
what?
”

“I popped the question. I asked Rosie if she’d like to go away with me for Christmas.”

Dan looked slightly confused. “
That
was the question?”

“Yeah.” Gavin was still grinning. “I’m still waiting for her to get back to me on it.”

Dan shook his head with a wry smile. “You had me going there, mate. Thought you’d gone and got yourself hitched.”

“What kinda guy do you take me for?” Gavin laughed. “No – it’s just that Rosie hasn’t got much in the way of family by the sounds of things. Thought I might sweep her off her feet. Give her a Christmas to remember.”

“You don’t waste time, Gav, I’ll give you that.”

Gavin smiled quizzically. “How d’you mean?”

“Y’know, getting all cosy with Rosie. You’ve only known her – what is it – a month? Do I take it you’re over Kate then?”

Gavin lowered his eyes. Dan immediately felt bad. “Sorry, mate. That came out all wrong …”

“It’s okay.” Gavin wasn’t smiling any more. He took a slow, deliberate swig of water and sighed heavily. “You know, Dan, you don’t get over a girl like Kate in a hurry. I’m still finding it hard to believe we’re through.” He ran his hand slowly across the surface of the table. “I found out she was back in town last week so I asked if we could meet up for old times’ sake. Saw her twice. I guess I’m still hoping there might be a chance.”

“So what’s with Rosie?” Dan spoke quietly. “How serious is
that?
”

Gavin’s face lightened. “She’s a great girl. Not the type I’d normally go for – but quite a looker. And a bit fiery. I like that in a woman.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t sit around waiting to see if Kate will change her mind, can I? I have to get on with life. And Rosie suits me fine at the moment.”

Dan exhaled slowly. “Gav … don’t hurt her, will you?”

“Hurt her? I don’t follow.”

“She’s Mel’s friend, remember.” Dan’s face was serious. “And you seem to be moving in pretty fast to say you’re still carrying something for Kate. I’d hate to see Rosie get hurt.”

Gavin shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about Rosie, mate. She’s a tough nut that one. That’s one girl that can give as good as she gets.” He took another swig of water and grinned. “It’s me you should be worrying about, if anybody.”

____________

It had been a long day for Dr Michael Romily. He felt tense as he stretched out on the soft leather sofa of his spacious walk-through lounge. Reaching for the remote, he flicked on a CD. A track from Vivaldi’s
‘Four Seasons’
immediately filled the room with measured baroque poise. He loosened his tie and rubbed his neck slowly as the music melted over him.
Ah, if only all of life could be so impeccably scored.

Sarah came into the room and sat on the arm of the settee. Michael’s wife of twenty-seven years, she understood his silences just as well as his conversation.

“Tiring day, darling?” She stroked his hair gently. Michael looked up at her and reached for her hand. Words weren’t necessary right now. They could talk later, when he’d relaxed a bit.

“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” Sarah stood to her feet. He kissed her hand and she swept with quiet elegance into the kitchen. Michael closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in the music. How appropriate; the track playing was
‘Winter’.
Michael recalled the squally, wet evening that had met him as he’d stepped out into the hospital car park just over an hour ago. November already. Time seemed to have flown this year, and what a year it had been …

He remonstrated with himself. He mustn’t start thinking about work. He must relax and let his mind clear. Focusing on the music, he began to hum along. Vivaldi was good for the sanity, Michael reasoned; there was something vital and enduring about his work. His eyes were drawn to the new Heather Emmerson painting hanging on the far wall by the bookcase. They’d spotted it at an exhibition for up and coming young artists at the beginning of October. Michael had loved it on sight. A delicate seashore watercolour, it was simple, yet powerfully evocative. A painting he could lose himself in. At the time, Sarah had not seemed to share his enthusiasm. A couple of weeks later, the reason had emerged. Recognising the opportunity to surprise him with a perfect gift, she had kept her own delight in check and feigned indifference. A fortnight after the exhibition, on the occasion of their twenty-seventh wedding anniversary, Sarah had presented him with a beautiful hand decorated cake – and the painting. Michael smiled as he remembered. Sarah understood him so well. She shared his love of music, she understood his love of art. In fact, during the course of their years together, they had grown to appreciate much of life as an art form – sometimes beautiful and gracious, sometimes garish and shocking. But art nevertheless; a constantly evolving, widening, mutating creative entity that swept every soul alive along with it. Michael hadn’t worked out the philosophical premise behind it, but he managed to see art in most things these days. Even in his own job. Maybe it kept him from going crazy. Maybe Leonardo da Vinci had had the same approach, cutting up cadavers for the sheer thrill of seeing how everything was put together. Michael looked across at the Emmerson painting again, and then down at his own strong, slender hands. Art was sometimes little more than a gentle means of escape. But in some cases, one man’s art might be another man’s salvation.

It was a couple of days later and Rosie had invited Ciaran round for supper. He’d been to visit Beth and now, at quarter to nine, they were tucking into lasagne and focaccia.

“This is good, Ros.” He was eating as though he hadn’t seen food for a week. “We’ll get ya married off yet. Anyone who makes a mean lasagne like this deserves to be wed, I reckon.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Rosie gave him a withering look, but the grin he tried to return somehow made her feel sad. There was a strange vulnerability about him these days. He seemed incomplete without Beth. She hit him playfully. “Be quiet or I’ll tell you what I put in it.”

Ciaran tore off a piece of bread. It was a slow, preoccupied gesture, and the sudden pensive look that passed across his face didn’t go unnoticed by Rosie. “Well, Ros – we should get somewhere tomorrow. Dr Stafford wants to see Beth about the test results.” He looked down at the table and started to doodle with the end of his fork. “It’s a week since they put that camera thing down. I can’t understand why everything takes so long.”

“Suppose they have to be absolutely sure they know what they’re dealing with,” Rosie offered. “She certainly looks a lot better than she did a fortnight ago. They must have been doing something right. Are we still assuming it’s an ulcer?”

Ciaran shrugged. “Well, that’s what
I’m
thinking. Seems to match up as far as I can see – that or some kind of inflammation. Beth hasn’t talked about it much this last couple o’ days. She’s probably fed up of waiting and guesswork. Anyway, tomorrow we’ll know where we are and they should be able to start her on some proper treatment. I’m going in about two thirty. She wanted me to be there.”

Rosie dug out a comedy DVD and they watched it for an hour or so. Ciaran seemed vaguely entertained but Rosie could tell his mind was elsewhere. At last, he looked at his watch and stood up. “I’d best be going, Ros, or neither of us’ll get up in the morning. Thanks for supper.”

Rosie gave him a brief hug. “You’re welcome. By the way, I won’t be able to get in to see Beth tomorrow. We’ve got a parents’ open evening and I’m working straight through. Give me a ring when you get home – let me know how things went.”

“Yeah, I will.” Ciaran gave her a kiss on the cheek and, with a wave, disappeared into the night.

____________

Alec Stafford looked at his watch. Two twenty-seven. They’d be here at any time. He went over to the window and closed it against the draught. Seconds later, there was a knock on his door.

“Beth Maconochie to see you, Doctor.”

Alec smiled and welcomed Beth and Ciaran into his office. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured warmly and watched as the young couple sat down. The husband looked expectant, the young woman, quietly prepared. Inwardly Alec sighed. Time for his professional head.

“Well, Beth – we have the results back from your tests so I’m going to talk you through them.” He cleared his throat and straightened the pile of papers on his desk. He knew he was stalling. Some parts of the job never grew any easier.

“Right. Well, the barium meal that you were given last Monday indicated some blockage in the upper gastro-intestinal tract. Obviously this made it necessary to investigate further, which is why we did the gastroscopy on the Wednesday.”