A Song in the Night (33 page)

Rosie made them all a cup of tea while Ciaran checked the answering machine. There were various messages from friends and well-wishers, mainly people from the orchestra. Even Emmett Mallory had called to pass on his love and to ask if he could pay them a visit once they got back to London.

“Don’t think so, Emmett mate,” Ciaran said into the air. He was pale, and Rosie couldn’t help noticing that his face had a drawn, emaciated look. He seemed unable to sit still, busying himself with whatever he could – ferrying suitcases upstairs, skimming through post, making several trips to check on Beth. Rosie wanted to grab him and throw him into a chair, but somehow, she couldn’t be sure how he would react. Suddenly she felt there was a part of her brother she didn’t know.

When it got to ten o’clock, Rosie stood up to leave.

“You off, love?” Cassie came over to help her on with her coat, a faint whisper of her scent trailing in the atmosphere around her. In the last few weeks it was a smell Rosie had come to cherish.

“I don’t want to leave it too late. Mel will keep me up half the night talking anyway. If I go now, I might just get to bed by midnight.”

“Oh I see.” Cassie’s eyes twinkled with understanding. “Bit of a chatterbox, is she?”

Rosie smiled. “Well, let’s just say we have a lot of catching up to do.” She kissed Cassie and Ciaran, said goodnight to Ed and went over to the door. “Give me a ring if there are any developments with Beth. I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“Sure we can’t give you a lift home?” Cassie offered.

Rosie shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine. It’s only a couple of streets away and I could use a walk. I’ll leave my suitcases here till morning. I’ve got everything I need.”

____________

By the following morning, Beth’s condition had deteriorated further. Ignoring her protests, Ciaran called for a doctor. The young locum who attended was not about to take any chances, and insisted that Beth be admitted to hospital immediately. Beth was beside herself. It was a very distraught Ciaran who rang to put Rosie in the picture.

“I’m just about to run her up there now, Ros. She’s real upset with me, but what am I supposed to do? She looks absolutely shocking.”

“Is Cassie there?” Rosie knew that if there was anybody who could calm Beth down, it was Cassie.

“Yeah, she’s with her now. Look – if you want to come up to the hospital later, Ros, feel free. I’ll be up there all day anyway. I feel like asking them to find me a bed.”

Rosie’s heart was heavy as she put the phone down. She felt desperately sorry for Beth. After her best Christmas ever, here she was, going straight back into hospital. As Rosie launched into the washing up, a wave of helpless anger engulfed her. Beyond the kitchen window, the sky was a sheet of pale, dismal grey. Not a bird in sight; not even so much as the outline of a cloud. Streatham had never looked more ugly to her. She tried not to think about Yorkshire as she banged and clattered her way through her chores. That would be like rubbing salt into a wound. But it was hard to ignore the sudden sense of darkness that was swirling around in her head.

When she’d finished cleaning up, she decided to check her e-mails. There were five messages – three spam, one from the nursery, and one, surprisingly, from Jonathon.

Hi Rosie –

Hope the journey went well and Beth managed okay. How’s London? Not too crazy, I trust. I bet we seem like a load of country bumpkins now you’re back down there. Still, I meant what I said. I think you should visit us once in a while – to recharge your batteries and all that. Looking forward to the next instalment of the diary!

Luv

Jonathon.

Rosie stared at the screen for some time. It was like a message from another world. A warmer, gentler world that suddenly seemed so far away. Everything in her longed to be back there. Only a few weeks ago, she hadn’t even known such a place existed; London had been the sole arena of her life and she’d been quite happy with that. Yet now, having returned, London seemed strange to her. Empty somehow. Even having Ed and Cassie down here didn’t make things feel right. They were out of place. Everything was out of place. She recalled Ciaran’s face from the evening before. Never had she seen him so fraught, so unhappy. Life was falling apart for all of them and there was no way of stopping it.

____________

Zillebeke November 4th 1916

Well, Em – here we are in the thick of things again. Got here a couple of days ago and relieved 10th Northumberland Fusiliers. Our time in Poperinghe was quite marvellous. I, for one, look forward to going back there. It’s hard to believe one could find such a place as Talbot House in the middle of all this chaos. I could have cheerfully stayed there. Still, I suppose we have to get back to the real world. We don’t fight well when our minds are elsewhere.

Anyway, I received great news today. Harry is home in Scarborough. His leg was amputated just below the hip, and by the sounds of things, he’s had a pretty rough time recovering these last few months. But he assures me that he’s fit and well now and has even found a little job as a cobbler’s assistant. He joked about it in his letter. ‘At least I’ll be able to custom-make me own shoes. No point me payin’ out for a pair when I’ve only got one foot, is there?’ He thanked me for saving his life and asked me to pass on his regards to the fellow who helped me. I told Boxer and he was greatly encouraged. I must confess, Em, I really didn’t think Harry would make it. He was in such an awful way when we left him. As you can imagine, his letter bucked me up no end. It seems a lifetime ago since it all happened, and yet here I am, still plodding on. Looking back, it’s a miracle any of us have survived this long.

Zillebeke November 6th 1916

This evening, Em, we’re near Clonmel Copse and the temperature is beginning to drop quite steeply. There have been a couple of casualties from our company since we got back here – a young officer and his batman. Both killed outright, so they wouldn’t have suffered. Still, it’s a shame, and a stark reminder of our precarious hold on life. For the last hour the Twinnies have been playing ‘shoot the rat’. Not the most pleasant game in the world, but it passes the time, and there’s the consolation of knowing there’s one less rat to crawl over your face when you’re trying to grab a bit of sleep. We hate the things. As big as cats some of them – better fed than any living creature on the whole front. That’s the most troubling aspect of it, Em. We all know they feed off the dead. I’ve been told they go for the eyes and the liver first. After that, I don’t suppose they’re fussy. They can strip a body clean in no time. It’s a hideous notion to think that any one of us could be their next meal. That’s why we enjoy taking a pop at them. Not that we’re supposed to waste ammo on the wretched beasts. And the stench of them when they start to rot is quite unbearable. When you’re stuck in a trench with a decaying rat carcass just beyond the parapet, it’s enough to turn your stomach. Those creatures are twice dead – dead inside and out. I reckon that of all the things we’re forced to put up with here, I loathe the rats the most. Though everything else is miserable, uncomfortable, even painful sometimes, I suppose one can expect that in war. But rats are an insult, Em. Just a greedy, bloated reminder that even in death we have no dignity here. I think of the few hours we spent in Toc H and find myself wondering which is the reality. That, or this. I’m sure I don’t know anything anymore.

____________

Rosie filed the two entries, then went into e-mail.

Hi Jonathon.

Lousy journey to be honest. Beth’s back in hospital – chest infection I think. Let you know more details when I find out. London’s not feeling my favourite place at the moment. You country bumpkins don’t know you’re born(!) Here are some more bits for you. They pretty much sum up how I’m feeling at the moment.

Rosie.

She attached the latest entries, pressed send, and groaned. Not the most uplifting e-mail she’d ever come up with. She printed off the last two diary segments and inserted them in their folder. Did she honestly want to give any more of these to Beth? Some of them were so horrendously depressing. Come to think of it, Beth hadn’t asked for any recently. Perhaps she’d come to her senses and decided it was all too much for her. In any other circumstances, Rosie would gladly have put the whole diary thing to bed, at least for a while; taken Beth on one side, made out the writing was becoming illegible, even pretended there were pages missing or something. Yet suddenly, here on the scene was Jonathon, brimming with enthusiasm, hinting for the next instalment like a kid hinting for a new toy. And even though she was finding Sam’s journal tough going at the moment, Rosie knew deep down that her e-mails to Jonathon were her only link with anything that resembled sanity. Her only escape from the gloom that was gathering all around her.

“Come on, princess, have a drink.” Ciaran gently pushed Beth’s hair back from her face as he tried to urge her to swallow some fluid. Beth closed her eyes and turned her head away from him, her countenance the very picture of dejection. It was Wednesday, three days after her impromptu readmission to hospital. She’d been put on a strong course of antibiotic treatment, but though her physical condition was beginning to improve slightly, her general state was not encouraging. She’d hardly spoken a word in the last three days. Every so often she would turn onto her side, tears streaming unchecked into her hair; it was the only indication of what was going on inside her. For Ciaran, the situation was becoming intolerable.

Later on that evening, he managed to get a few minutes with Michael Romily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her all of a sudden. Is she supposed to be like this? I mean, has she taken a turn for the worse or what? The more I watch her, the more I’m convinced she’s going downhill fast. Is this what we’re to expect from now on?”

Michael Romily frowned. “To be honest, Ciaran, at the moment we’ve only picked up evidence of a chest infection. I had suspected we might find some secondary hot spots in the lungs, but there was no sign of anything like that. And the infection
is
beginning to respond to the treatment we’re giving her.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure that the thing we’re dealing with here is depression. It’s quite common in patients with terminal illness. We need to get her some counselling if she’ll agree to it. It’s important; her psychological health can have a significant bearing on the progress of her cancer. The more positive she remains, the more chance she’ll have of delaying the inevitable outcome of the disease.” He looked at the young husband gently. “Put bluntly, Ciaran, the fighters usually last longer.”

Ciaran scowled. “I don’t know that I could fight in her situation. I should think it’s difficult to remain positive, knowing what’s coming.”

“I should imagine it is.” Michael felt for the young man. He could hear the bitterness in his voice and it saddened him. “We must give her every chance. I’ll talk to her about counselling in the morning. I think that has to be the next step.”

Ciaran nodded, a look of helpless resignation registering on his face. Michael put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re here to support you both as much as we can.”

____________

On Wednesday night, Rosie popped round to see Ciaran. She hadn’t visited Beth since Monday; she found Beth’s present state difficult to cope with.

“Come in, love.” Cassie hugged her warmly as she stepped into the hallway. “Ciaran’s not in, I’m afraid. As soon as we all got back from the hospital, he went off for a walk on his own. Said he needed to clear his mind.”

“Beth no better?”

Cassie shook her head. “Not really. She did talk a little bit tonight, but then she just seems to go quiet. Within no time she’s filling up again. It’s quite upsetting to watch.”

Which is precisely the reason,
thought Rosie,
that I haven’t been to visit her these last two days.
“Has she said anything to you about what’s up?”

Cassie shrugged her shoulders. “She just keeps saying that she doesn’t want to
be
there. That’s all I’ve managed to get out of her.” There was a sadness in her eyes that Rosie hadn’t seen before. “Your brother’s finding it hard. He almost broke down on our way home.”

Rosie’s throat tightened. She felt again a surge of that same helpless anger that had been dogging her ever since they’d returned to London. “I’d better be getting back then.” Her voice faltered as she spoke, and suddenly she knew she had to get out.

“Why don’t you stay and have a cuppa with us, love?” Cassie urged gently.

Rosie shook her head as a wave of anxiety began to grip her. Whatever this thing was, she didn’t like it. “No, I’d better not. I only called to say hello anyway. It’s getting late. Soon be my bedtime.”

Cassie nodded. “Well, if you’re sure –”

“Yeah, I’m fine … .” As if to try and convince her, Rosie leaned forward and patted Cassie’s shoulders hastily. It was an awkward gesture; a gauche attempt at a hug. But suddenly, the urge to leave was almost overpowering. As she stepped out into the night and heard the door shut behind her with a clunk, Rosie began to shake. A sound escaped her lips; somewhere between a gasp and a sob. What was happening to her? As she thought about Ciaran, her eyes burned with tears. What had happened to their London dream? It was fast turning into a nightmare.

The last thing she was expecting as she arrived back at the house was visitors. As she wearily shut the front door, she heard Mel’s voice squeaking from the kitchen.

“Yoo-hoo! Is that you, Rosie?”

Rosie scowled. Who did she
think
it was – Kylie Minogue? Honestly, Mel could be so dim at times. Rosie heard the sound of footsteps scurrying towards the passageway, then Mel appeared looking slightly pink. “We have someone to see us, Rosie!” She spoke deliberately loudly, winking in a much exaggerated way.

“Who is it?” Rosie hissed under her breath. Mel bent towards her and whispered that Gavin had called round with Dan on the off chance of seeing her. Rosie’s heart sank. She’d been too preoccupied to notice any give-away cars out in the street. This day was going from bad to worse.