A Song in the Night (11 page)

Rosie wasn’t sure what they were dealing with. “She sounds like she needs to be sick. Could you help me get her to a toilet?”

Mama thought for a moment. “
You take one arm and I take the other,
” she instructed. “
We go to the staffroom. Eet will be more comfortable for
’
er.
”

Rosie bent down close to Beth’s ear. “Do you think you can make it to the staffroom if we help you? It’ll be better there – you won’t have an audience.”

Together they gently eased Beth out of her chair and began to manoeuvre her towards a couple of steps situated at the end of the restaurant. As they drew near to them, the young fair-haired waiter suddenly came hurtling out of the kitchen. When he saw Beth being hauled helplessly along, he stopped in his tracks and stared, a look of shock registering on his face. He glanced over at Rosie questioningly. She felt almost sorry for him. Poor kid. He’d probably only been working there two minutes, and here was this strange woman – from one of
his
tables – looking like she was being carried off to die.

“I told her she should have had the Calzone,” Rosie quipped in a low voice as she passed him. He smiled falteringly, almost gratefully.

There was one young woman in the staffroom. As they entered, she was drying her hands ready to go back on duty. Mama signalled to her and began to chatter rapidly in Italian. From the accompanying gestures and the compliant nods of the young woman, Rosie guessed that Mama was giving her the low-down on Beth’s plight. Mama then turned to them and apologised that she needed to go back downstairs for a few minutes, but promised she would get back as soon as possible. She eased Beth over to a bright, floral sofa. Beth slumped gratefully into its cushions.

“
Anna weel look after you!
” Mama called as she swept out of the room.

Rosie sat down beside Beth and took her hand. “How do you feel now?”

Beth seemed slightly out of breath. She squeezed Rosie’s fingers weakly. “
My – stomach – it’s like – a knife.
”

She looked ghastly, and Rosie sensed from the rhythm of her breathing that she was still feeling nauseous. “D’you need to be sick, Beth?”

Beth screwed up her face and nodded. Anna obligingly led the way and within a couple of minutes, Beth was leaning over the toilet, panting. “
Ros – could you – hold my hair?
” Her voice came out in tiny, whispered gasps. Rosie quickly bunched up the unruly pale tresses and held on as tightly as she could. As she did so, a split second memory assailed her.

She must have been about five at the time. Yes, she couldn’t have been any older. They were on holiday and she’d had mussels. Boy, had she been ill. Throwing up all night long, feeling like a limp rag doll. But her mother had been an angel. Sitting patiently holding her hair, cooing soothingly in her soft Irish lilt; it all came back so clearly. That was the only time Rosie could remember her doing that …

Beth’s sudden retching whipped her back to the present. She tightened her grip on the hair and tried to concentrate on the ceiling as the vomit hit the water. Certain things made her squeamish, and sick was one of them. It was an occasional aspect of her childcare work, but one she tried hard to avoid. Beth heaved continually for several minutes, while Rosie stared hard at a health and hygiene poster on the cubicle wall. It was hardly a distraction. Each time Beth vomited, she made an effort to say something encouraging, secretly hoping that she wouldn’t throw up herself. Eventually Beth sank back against her heels, exhausted.

“Think you’ve finished?” Rosie ventured.

“I – I – think so.” Beth’s voice was shaky.

Rosie stood behind her and helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get you back to that sofa.” She helped her to the settee and laid her down with a towel under her face. She put a hand to her friend’s forehead. The skin felt clammy and strange.

Beth stirred. “Ros,” she faltered, as though the effort of talking was all too much, “I – don’t think – we flushed the loo.”

Rosie slipped back to the toilet to rectify the matter. Going into the cubicle again, she noticed that the toilet bowl was full of an insipid looking liquid. In fact, there was very little solid matter in there at all; except for the presence of something that looked almost like coffee granules. A noise behind her made her turn round. Mama Bellini smiled kindly.

“
Ow ees the little lady? She seems more comfortable, no?
”

Rosie shrugged. “I hope so. She’s been pretty off it all day.”

Mama glanced down into the toilet. Stepping out of the cubicle, she stroked her chin thoughtfully. After a few moments she made a suggestion. They should call an ambulance and get Beth properly checked out. Rosie wasn’t sure. It seemed a bit drastic. But as she remembered the ghastly look on Beth’s face half an hour earlier, she found herself being persuaded by the idea.

As Mama phoned the emergency services, Rosie watched her gloomily. She knew she had to call Ciaran. It went onto voicemail after a few rings. He was probably right in the middle of something. She decided to try again rather than leave a message. This time, he picked up.

“Sorry Ros, didn’t get to it in time. What’s up?”

She tried to play the situation down, but the sight of Beth hunched into a ball on the settee and the intermittent sound of her whimpering softly, didn’t make it easy. On the other end, Ciaran sounded frantic. As he promised to get there as soon as he could, Rosie promised to keep him posted with any developments. Miserably, she flipped her phone shut and sighed. She’d heard the panic in his voice; he’d probably try and sprout wings. What a day this had been.

The ambulance arrived quite quickly, parking round the back of the restaurant where there was an outer door which connected directly to the staff quarters. Two paramedics – a tall rake of a man and a young, dark-haired woman – came into the staffroom and gently examined Beth. They asked several questions and Rosie told them all she knew.

“We need to get her seen by a doctor.” The female paramedic spoke kindly. She seemed to exude an air of calm authority far beyond her years. Rosie found herself wondering if the woman could be much older than herself.

It was obvious Beth couldn’t walk very far and a trolley was brought in. She briefly opened her eyes as they wheeled her out, but Rosie could see that she was utterly exhausted. She squeezed Beth’s hand and smiled as reassuringly as she could. “See you up there. Ciaran won’t be long.”

Within a couple of minutes the ambulance was gone. The sun was still shining and the afternoon still young. Everything looked just as it had a couple of hours ago. Rosie shivered. So why did everything feel different all of a sudden?

____________

Ciaran gave an agitated sigh. They’d been here three hours at least now. Why didn’t someone come and tell them what was going on? Rosie glanced at him sympathetically but said nothing. She’d slipped out of the hospital about an hour earlier to ring Gavin. He was supposed to be picking her up at seven thirty.

“Really sorry, I don’t think I’m gonna be able to make it tonight. My sister-in-law’s been taken into hospital. We’re up there now. My brother’s pretty shaken – I really need to stay with him.”

“Oh right. That’s a shame. I’d booked us in to a film at nine.”

Rosie had tried to think fast. “It’s possible we might be out by that time. I could always ring you if I am …”

Gavin had dissuaded her. “No, don’t stress yourself. I can still go myself. I’ll see if I can get one of my mates to come along. It’s not a problem.”

Well, thanks for your understanding.
“Er right, okay then. See you when I see you.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you a ring. Hope everything goes alright. Bye Rosie.”

It had been a strangely cold phone call. Just when things between them had seemed to be looking up. She’d tried to bury her disquiet as she’d walked back into the hospital. Her brother didn’t need any more hassle.

Ciaran shook his head disconsolately. “I
hate
that smell,” he grumbled to no one in particular. He began to wring his hands, then became conscious of it and stopped. He let out another sigh. This was not a side of her brother Rosie was used to.

“I knew there was something up, Ros.”

There was such a pathos in his voice that Rosie put a hand on his shoulder. For a few moments neither of them spoke. At length, Ciaran shook himself with a slight, embarrassed laugh. “D’you remember when we first came over from Ireland, Ros?”

Rosie frowned. “Vaguely. I was only a little kid.”

Ciaran gazed down the corridor. “I hated England at first, y’know. Seemed so ugly. And everybody talked so weird.”

Rosie laughed. “We talk just like them now.”

“That was one of the first survival lessons we learnt.” Ciaran looked thoughtful. “Do you remember Mum’s cousin – the one we came to live with?”

Rosie screwed up her face. “Not very well. Was she called Bridie or something?”

Ciaran nodded.

“Didn’t she move pretty sharpish after we arrived? Where did she go?”

Ciaran sat back in his chair. “She moved to Saudi. Nursing. Mum once told me about it when I asked her if she’d gone because of us. Apparently it paid better than the NHS. After she left, Mum carried on renting the house for a couple o’ years.”

Rosie grimaced. “Yeah, until she shacked up with Mickey you mean …” She hadn’t intended to sound harsh, but even she had heard the bitterness in her own voice. That name almost stuck in her throat.

Ciaran looked surprised. “You remember
that
bit then?”

How could she forget? The dank winter day they’d moved in; the coldness of the house with its foul-smelling rooms. Oh yes. She remembered it well. She tried to make light of it. “Like it was yesterday.”

Ciaran smiled and then went quiet as though deep in thought. After a while he turned to her, his eyes troubled. “You didn’t mind that I got married, did you, Ros?” He paused as though he wanted to get his words just right. “I mean, I know I’d promised to find you somewhere to come to once you were old enough to leave home. You didn’t mind sharing it with Beth –
did
you?”

“What goes on in that mind o’ yours, Kitch?” Rosie stared at him quizzically. What on earth had prompted him to ask a question like that? But looking at him, she could see that he was entirely serious. She thought hard for several moments. It was something she’d never even asked herself. She pictured herself as a sixteen-year old again, arriving in London for the first time. Moving in with her brother and his young wife. Feeling cared for,
really
cared for … for the first time in a very, very long while. The memory of those days was warm and clear. The period she’d spent in their Streatham home had truly been the happiest of her life.

“Beth’s the best thing that ever happened to you, Kitch. I’m gonna hate myself for saying something as naff as this – but you two were made for each other.” She rubbed the back of his hand and forced a grin. “Anyway don’t forget, I got a new sister out of this deal.”

A grateful smile crept over Ciaran’s face. “Thanks, Ros. I needed to hear that today.”

A doctor suddenly appeared on the corridor and began to make his way towards them. Ciaran jumped to his feet, his jaw stiffening.

“Mr Maconochie …? I’m Doctor Stafford.” The doctor extended a hand and Ciaran shook it nervously.

“This is Rosie, my sister. How’s my wife?”

Dr Stafford invited them to sit down again. “We need to keep her in to run some tests. There are several possible causes of the problem, but it’s impossible to diagnose accurately without further investigation. She’s actually very weak. She informs me that she hasn’t been eating well for the last couple of months. I’m pretty sure she’s anaemic. We’ve done some blood tests and we need to wait for the results from those. We’re going to put her on a drip for the time being – build her up a bit.”

Ciaran glanced at Rosie then shook his head. “I could kick myself. I should have tackled her about the eating business earlier. Made her get help.”

Dr Stafford smiled sympathetically. “You’ll be able to go up and see her in a few minutes. She’s been taken to Ward 7a; Whitstable Ward.”

Whitstable Ward …?
Rosie was faintly amused by the coincidence. She hoped the irony would not be lost on Beth. Okay, so maybe her sense of humour
had
been a bit lacking today. Rosie smiled to herself.
Wait till she wakes up tomorrow, she’ll find it hilarious. A couple of free nights at a Whitstable health farm.

Ciaran’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “
Blood?
Are you sure?” His face had paled.

Dr Stafford nodded. “Yes. She was sick as soon as she arrived here. And there
was
a fair amount of blood present.”

Rosie’s heart quickened as she tried to work out what was going on.

“Beth obviously didn’t realise what it was,” Dr Stafford continued. “It’s altered blood, you see. Looks more like coffee grounds.” He looked at them kindly, his expression warm and reassuring. “There are a number of conditions which can cause haematemesis. Our priority is to stabilise her and identify the root of the problem as quickly as possible. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands. We’ll look after her.” He proceeded to give a few more details of the various procedures Beth would undergo next. Rosie and Ciaran exchanged glances. No wonder Beth hadn’t been herself – she was vomiting blood. How long had
that
been going on?

____________

The next morning was a drag. The impending inspection had put Rosie’s supervisor in the worst of moods, and it seemed that neither Rosie nor her colleague, Ellie, could do anything right. After biting her tongue for what felt like the millionth time since arriving at work, Rosie looked at her watch irritably. Only another half an hour, then home sweet home. She hadn’t been in the mood for working. Her mind had been on Beth most of the time. She’d tried ringing the hospital in her break but they hadn’t been very forthcoming.
“Spent a comfortable night
,
”
was all they would say. It had been on the tip of Rosie’s tongue to ask what brand of pillows they used, but she’d resisted the temptation. Being facetious would get her nowhere. Perhaps Ciaran had managed to glean more information. Half past twelve crawled slowly round and she left at last. It felt like the longest shift she’d ever done.