A Song in the Night (17 page)

He swallowed hard. This was always the bit he hated.

“When you were first admitted and I palpated your abdomen, Beth, I suspected a mass. The endoscopic examination confirmed a growth in the stomach. As you know, we took a tissue sample and … .” He paused. “I’m sorry to say the news is not as we’d hoped, Beth. I’m afraid the biopsy shows that you have cancer.”

There was a slight gasp, and then, silence. For several moments no one made a sound, then Ciaran’s voice came out in a low, stuttering whisper. “No. No, it
can’t
be –”

He glanced across at Beth as though somehow, one word from her would alter everything. Beth was staring straight ahead, her features impassive, her expression inscrutable. Ciaran turned to Dr Stafford. “Couldn’t there be some mistake? I mean, she’s only just been taken ill.”

Alec Stafford shook his head. “Very often with stomach cancer there are no visible symptoms until the disease has been present for some time.” He spoke gently, a wash of sympathy flowing over him for the young man who sat now with a look of pained incredulity on his face. He turned to Beth. Her face was giving nothing away as she stared towards the window. Alec knew he needed to take this carefully. “I’m sorry, Beth. It’s always a shock.” He paused. Beth’s blue eyes seemed to him like the ocean before a storm. Still, unknown deeps, hiding a maelstrom of thoughts and questions he could only guess at. He’d seen this before. He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, both hands supporting his chin. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me? Anything at all? Take your time.”

For a while, there was not even a flicker of response. At last, Beth lowered her gaze to meet his. “Am I going to die, Dr Stafford?”

It was a clinical question. Simple and straight and devoid of emotion. Out of the corner of his eye, Alec saw the young husband drop his head. He straightened in his chair.

“I don’t want you to look at cancer as a death sentence, Beth. Many, many people recover and go on to lead full lives – many say fuller for having gone through the experience. Hard to believe, I know, when you’ve just received news like this. But it’s worth holding on to.” He paused for a moment. The histology report had not been encouraging. They were dealing with a high-grade and the thing hadn’t even been staged yet. It was impossible to give an accurate prognosis, but Alec had been in this business long enough to know they needed to get things moving. “The biopsy suggests that the tumour is quite aggressive, Beth. We really need to find out if it has spread from the primary site before we can offer you treatment options. I’m referring you on to our Senior Oncologist, Michael Romily. I’ve spoken to him already and he’s happy to meet with you tomorrow if you would like to do that.”

Beth glanced at Ciaran. He gave a slight, anxious nod as a man grasping for a lifeline. She smiled weakly. “Yes. Yes, I
would
like that.”

Alec was pleased. “I sense you’re a strong lady, Beth. And that’s good. That’s half of it. We must try to look at this as a skirmish along the way – by no means the end of the story.”

Attempting to impart hope to someone who’d just received such a body blow was not the easiest thing in the world, thought Alec as he measured his voice and carefully chose his words. But it was part of the job and a part he took very seriously. He looked at her warmly. “Michael really is an expert in this area of medicine. One of the best in the country. If I were in your position, I’d ask for him personally.”

But you’re not me, are you?
Beth tried to look grateful.
You’re you and I’m me. And apparently, I’m the one with cancer.

In the time that followed, Ciaran put forward several questions and Alec did his best to answer them. Beth said little. Only the preoccupied expression in her eyes gave any indication as to what she might be thinking. When eventually the interview came to an end, Alec Stafford shook hands with the young couple. It was time to pass the patient on and he was almost sorry. They thanked him for all his care over the past fortnight, and he wished them all the best for the future. Ciaran paused in the doorway. “You must find your job real hard at times.”

Alec frowned slightly. “Yes. Yes, it can be.”

Ciaran hesitated for a moment. “You just gave me the worst news of my life. But I doubt it could have been done better … thank you.” His voice trailed off and with a brief smile, he took the handles of Beth’s wheelchair and set off down the corridor. Alec Stafford shook his head sadly as he closed the door of his office. Sometimes his job felt like the hardest in the world.

____________

There was a knock at the front door. It was a rapid, agitated knock which made Rosie jump. “Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she muttered under her breath as she went to answer it. Mel had probably forgotten her key. It was Ciaran.

“Hey – come in, Kitch. I wasn’t expecting you to call. I thought you were going to ring later.”

He followed her into the kitchen.

“Have you eaten?” Rosie made them both coffee and started to rummage in one of the cupboards.

Ciaran shook his head. “I’m okay, Ros. I’m not bothered about anything.” He ran his hand distractedly through his hair. “Could we talk in your room?”

Something in his tone unnerved Rosie. “Sure. Course we can.”

They went into her room and she closed the door. Ciaran flung himself into the armchair and sat, head thrown back, staring upwards at the ceiling. Rosie said nothing. Suddenly she felt scared. Outside in the night, the muffled sound of an emergency siren echoed in a distant street. At last, Ciaran leaned forward and picked up his coffee.

“It’s cancer,” he said simply.

Rosie bit her lip. A tingle of horror crawled through her being as the word injected itself clinically into her mind. Images of Beth began to loom in her head. A chaotic jumble like a speededup video.
Ward 7a – Mama’s staffroom – Nelson’s Column – the concert …

A splash of scalding coffee stung her fingers, bringing her back to reality. She put the mug on the table and tried to get her thoughts together. “Where? Where
is
it? I mean, how
bad?
” It was all coming out wrong. But then, how could anything sound right?

“Stomach.” Ciaran’s voice was flat. “They dunno if it’s spread anywhere else yet. She has to see the specialist tomorrow. More tests by the sounds of it. They’ll go from there.”

“How’s she taken it?” Rosie tried to imagine Beth. Bright, fun-loving Beth. Irrepressible, inquisitive Beth. If anyone could beat this thing, it was her.

Ciaran shuffled in his seat. “Y’know, it’s funny, Ros.” He paused, a frown shadowing his face. “She didn’t seem exactly surprised. It was like she already knew. She was real quiet for the first couple of hours, like she was trying to get her head round it. But she didn’t get upset or anything. It unnerved me a bit. I kept expecting her to cry or –” He swallowed hard. “But there was nothing like that. By the time I left she was talking positive. Said it was like her setting out to master the
‘Rach 3’
on piano. Not something she’d ever thought of trying before, but she’d sure give it her best shot. I think she was doing it for me as much as anything. She must have known how sick I felt.”

They fell into silence again. It was a heavy, hopeless silence that Rosie felt desperate to break, but wasn’t sure how to. In the end it was Ciaran who spoke. “I feel responsible. I knew something wasn’t right, Ros. We had a do about it a few weeks ago, but she threw me off scent. Said she’d been working too hard.” He shook his head and swore. “If only I’d made her get checked out then.” He sat back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling again.

“You can’t blame yourself, Kitch. If it’s any consolation, I never noticed anything. I thought she might be a bit run down, but nothing like this ever entered my head. How were any of us to know any different?” Rosie tried to sound sincere, but inwardly she was mad at herself for not having spotted any of the signs.

Ciaran sighed heavily. “You can tell now though, can’t you? She looks pitiful, poor little thing.” He swore again. There was heartbroken anger in his voice and Rosie felt her own throat tightening. Outside, the familiar drone of night-time traffic hummed through the airwaves like some meditation soundtrack. Rosie stared at the window with its drawn back curtains. How dare the world just carry on as though nothing had happened? It was almost obscene.

“D’you know what gets to me most, Ros?” Ciaran looked at her bitterly. “Leaving her. That’s what really gets to me. Leaving her there on her own. No one to talk to if she gets upset in the night. If it hits her – if it suddenly hits her – no one to comfort her. It cuts me up.” His voice trailed away and he buried his face in his hands.

Rosie felt a sense of helplessness. “I’m sure they must be geared up for that kind of thing. Trained counsellors, special nurses …”

Ciaran straightened. “Not in the middle o’ the night. Besides, she hasn’t been moved to the
cancer
section yet.” He spat the word like a curse. “She’s on the bog standard aches and pains ward. No special nothing there, Ros.” The same anger. He buried his face again and Rosie went quiet. She walked over to the window and gently pulled the curtains shut. It was an act of respect. An attempt to hide the tears of a shattered man, to shut out the unseeing, uncaring world and tell it to mind its own lousy business. This was no time for onlookers.

It was some time before Ciaran sat up. He looked shaken and gave a slight, embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, Ros. Haven’t felt like that since I came to London, when I left you behind.”

Rosie frowned. “How d’you mean?”

Ciaran gazed down at the floor. “Y’know, when I left you there in Leicester. It nigh on killed me doing that. I very nearly came back.”

Rosie stared at him. His eyes glistened moist and the dark lashes were still damp. It was the first time she’d seen her brother cry in a long, long while. “Why didn’t you?”

Ciaran shook his head. “Your letters for one thing. Full o’ London this and London that. You’d set your heart on it. I just wanted to make it all come true for you. You were only a kid.”

Rosie bit the inside of her cheek.
How ironic.
Back then, she’d have been quite happy to move to a shed in the next village, let alone London. Anywhere to get away from home. But she hadn’t wanted to mess things up for Ciaran, not after he got the scholarship for music college. And London had sounded an enticing place to escape to. Even if she had had to wait five years to join him.

Ciaran gave a wistful smile. “You were a sad little thing back then, Ros.”

“Weren’t
you?
” Rosie scowled as an unexpected surge of agitation swept over her. “I mean, come on. It was hell on earth living with those two sometimes.”

“I guess I just channelled my energy into getting us out. Seeing if we could make something of our lives.” Ciaran gazed into the middle distance as though he could see it all taking place again. “And we did it, Ros, didn’t we? We got out in the end … even if I did cry myself to sleep over you for weeks.”

Rosie was moved. “I never knew that.”

He shrugged sadly. “I never told you.”

____________

Ward 7a was quiet, but then it
was
1.30 in the morning. Beth couldn’t sleep. She lay on her back, arms by her sides, sandwiched between the stiff, white sheets. Low voices from the nursing station drifted down the corridor. The occasional burst of light laughter. A buzzer sounded. Efficient footsteps off to investigate. At least she wasn’t the only one awake. She breathed out slowly.

The thought came to her again. It had been hovering all night. She laid a trembling hand on her stomach. There was an alien inside her; something sinister, something that didn’t belong. To think she’d imagined she was pregnant. For weeks she’d been trying to get used to the idea of having another human being living inside. But instead –
this.
This entity. Greedy, unwanted, feeding insolently off her. Trying to starve her. She shuddered. Under her hand, her abdomen felt hard. A wave of claustrophobia swept over her and, for a moment, a strange, desperate urge to disembowel herself with her own hands. How long had it been squatting there with its foul, mutant tentacles? How long had it been hiding?

You can try to run away but you can never get away from yourself. You’re stuck inside, Beth, stuck inside … there’s no escape …

Footsteps down the corridor broke the moment of terror. Beth moved her hand sharply. This thing was messing with her head. She tried to rationalise. After all, she’d been half expecting it, hadn’t she? Alec Stafford had hinted at the possibility a couple of days ago. Not that she’d mentioned anything to Ciaran then. It was the first time she’d kept anything from him. Her mind flicked to the pregnancy test. Well, perhaps not
quite
the first time. A sudden sense of guilt gripped her. What had been happening? She’d never believed in having secrets from each other, yet there seemed to have been so many recently.

Dear, beautiful Ciaran. Her mind pictured the strong face, the dark, grave eyes, the unruly hair. And the tears. Not that he’d let them fall. But she’d seen them all the same that afternoon; somewhere behind the encouraging words and fighting talk, she’d seen them. Surely ignorance was bliss, even if it had only lasted a short while for him.

Dear God, please look after him. I love him so much, please don’t let this hurt him.

It was a spontaneous moment. Her eyes filled up and she closed them, forcing the warm tears to spill down her cheeks and into her hair. She hadn’t prayed in such a long time. For a few minutes she lay in the stillness. No thunderbolt of chastisement. No sense of divine indignation. Just a quietness at first, and after a few moments, a sweet, gentle peace which seemed to enfold her like warm liquid. The words of an old song came back to her, a song that she hadn’t sung since her childhood.

What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear.

What a privilege to carry everything to God in prayer.

O what peace we often forfeit, o what needless pain we bear,

All because we do not carry everything to God in prayer.