A Song in the Night (20 page)

“That’s
enough!
” ordered the lieutenant. “It could be any of us next. This is war, lad. And war doesn’t care who your best friend happens to be.” His voice was firm, but Sam could tell that he was finding it hard to rebuke the boy. After a few minutes, satisfied that Wilf was sufficiently calmed, the lieutenant turned on his heel and left them. Sam and Boxer looked at each other, neither of them sure quite what to do next. Wilf was rocking on the ground now, oblivious to everything around him.

Jimmy came over and looked down at the dead boy. He shook his head sadly and gestured towards Wilf. “I pity the first German he comes across after this,” he muttered in a low voice. “He’ll be like a maniac.”

A short while later Sam and Jimmy got the job of sorting out the burial. Boxer read from his Bible and spoke a few words. It was all quite moving. Certainly, reflected Sam, a better send-off than a lot of poor beggars got out here. Wilf was heartbroken, and Sam couldn’t help noticing that Boxer seemed pretty cut up about the whole thing too. What was it the lieutenant had said?
This is war, lad …

Well, that was a few days ago, Em. It’s afternoon now as I write,
and for the moment quieter. The three of us (Boxer, Jimmy and I) have been watching the birds overhead. We’re quite fascinated by them. It’s hard to believe that they’re here at all, what with all the noise and smoke and shrivelled trees. There they are, soaring free, high above no man’s land. I can’t help but envy them. Why do they stay around here, I wonder? There are surely more pleasant skies to roam. I remember at Bethune back in early summer, we even had a nightingale. Every night she would sing as though she were in the middle of some lovely scented garden. Harry and I nicknamed her Rosie (short for ‘rossignol’). A small attempt to introduce some feminine grace into our rather ugly male surroundings.

____________

For a moment Rosie was faintly amused.
Rosie short for
rossignol –
that was a new one on her. Her mind went to Beth. How could she tackle stuff like this in her state? Surely it was enough to push her over the edge. She tried to imagine being in Beth’s position.
If it was me, I’d be going down the pretend-it’s-not-happening route. Celebrity gossip mags, brainless hair and fashion glossies … even sudoku if I got really desperate. Not this hardcore realism stuff. Anything but that.

But then, she thought, wasn’t that just the same as the two boys in Sam’s diary? Pretend it’s not happening. Try and blot it out with a few jars. One of them was dead within a fortnight.

If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, how would you spend tonight?

Rosie smiled gloomily to herself. Panic, big time. Surely that’s what
anyone
would do – unless they were religious like Boxer. And Rosie wasn’t religious.

The fool has said in his heart that there is no God
. She had just typed the words and now they came back to her.
Guess that makes me a fool.

But supposing, just supposing people like Boxer were right. Rosie’s thoughts flicked back to the little church in Applemarket and the conversation she’d had there with Beth. Hadn’t Beth said back then that she still believed in God, even though she’d admitted she’d gotten too busy for him? Had the cancer changed that? Had that flickering faith been snuffed out by the unfairness of everything that had come upon her? It wasn’t something Rosie felt she could ask her. It was all too personal, too intimate.

But somehow, all of a sudden, it mattered.

A couple of hours later as they sat in De Souza’s, Gavin seemed full of sympathy for Beth’s plight. “What will happen now, Rosie? Will she need an operation?”

Rosie shrugged. “Dunno yet. They’ve started another whole load of tests on her to see if it’s spread anywhere else. Apparently they can’t really begin treatment until they find out what stage it’s at – whatever that means.”

Gavin nodded thoughtfully. “The waiting around must be terrible … when it’s your own health that’s at stake. How’s she handling it all?”

“Very well, considering.” Rosie had been impressed at Beth’s resilience. “I’ve seen her a couple of times since she found out. All in all she seems quite strong. Her parents have travelled down today from Yorkshire.”

Gavin straightened in his chair. “Oh? How long will they be staying?”

“I’m not sure,” Rosie began. “I think they’re leaving it flexible. Guess they could stay as long as she needs them to. Her mother doesn’t go out to work, and since her dad retired, he’s been a local artist. I suppose he can choose if and when he wants to paint. I don’t get the impression they’re too tied. Apart from sometimes looking after grandchildren that is.”

Gavin looked decidedly interested in this disclosure. “They might stay down here for Christmas. After all, we’re getting towards the end of November already. It’s not long now. That would be nice for her.
And
your brother.”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” said Rosie, suddenly quiet.

Gavin reached across the table and took her hands gently in his. Rosie felt limp. She almost knew what was coming.

“Have you thought about what I asked you, about coming away with me?”

His hazel eyes looked intently into hers. She wanted to look away; there was something so searching about him tonight. But she found she couldn’t. As Mel had expressed only a few weeks ago in this very place, he really
was
the most beautiful guy she’d ever come across. It was easy to detach herself from that fact when Gavin was acting like an insensitive moron. But when he allowed his humanity to come through – when he was kind and thoughtful, and interested in the things that mattered to her – Rosie was undone. Any woman would be. Her thoughts raced. She’d be out of her mind to say no. How many girls would give their right arm for an offer like he’d made her?

Gavin pressed her fingers to his lips for a moment. “I
have
to go myself, Rosie; I’ve given the guy my word now.” His voice was huskily soft. “But I really would like you to come with me. It would mean a lot …”

Before she knew what was happening, Rosie found herself nodding. “Assuming everything’s okay with Beth, I guess I’ll have to say yes.”

There. The words were out. Too late to go back now.

Gavin looked delighted. “Oh Rosie, that’s fantastic. I’m sure we’ll have a great time.” His eyes were shining as he squeezed her hands. “Don’t look so worried. I’ll take care of you.”

I’m sure you will,
thought Rosie.
Maybe that’s what I’m worried about.

____________

The fingers on the ward clock flicked to eleven thirty-five, but Beth was wide awake. This was to be her last night on Whitstable. Tomorrow she would move to B1 – the cancer wing. It was a scary thought. She’d seen her parents briefly that evening at visiting time. They’d arrived in London just before seven and headed straight for the hospital before going back to Streatham with Ciaran. It had been so good to see them. Her mother had filled up as soon as she’d set eyes on her.

“What’s up?” Beth had done her best to joke. “Do I look that bad?”

Cassie had quickly wiped away the tears and taken her daughter in her arms. “No, darling. I’m just so happy to be down here. It’s been awful not being able to see you.”

Ed had been quiet. He had spent much of the time just looking at Beth, as though struggling to comprehend that his little girl could possibly be as ill as they’d been told.

Beth had squeezed his hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll be okay. They’re looking after me.”

Ed had just smiled, a perplexed look in his eyes. It had made Beth feel sad.

Now as she lay in bed, her mind swirled with images and questions. She’d had an ultrasound the previous day, and a battery of blood tests. There was an additional scan they wanted to do, and some other, unpronounceable procedure. She’d been warned it would take a few days before any results were available. Her heart quickened as she thought about it. This all felt too unreal to be true. Yet she knew it was – and it was happening to her.

In the bed opposite, Velna was snoring.
She
could afford to sleep soundly, thought Beth flatly. She was due to go home within the next couple of days, all patched up, sorted, ready to get back into life. Not that Beth begrudged her that. Velna had been particularly sweet with her since the diagnosis. Quite motherly in fact.

“I’ll come back and see you when I’ve got myself together,” she’d promised brightly. “A few days at home and I should feel up to it.”

Beth had smiled politely, but with a certain degree of scepticism. Velna couldn’t wait to get out. It was hardly likely she’d be coming back to visit once she’d managed to escape. Still, Beth had appreciated the thought.

She sighed and turned over.
Oh God, I’m scared. What are they going to do to me? What are they going to find? Why is it me, God? Why?

Michael Romily took a long, slow mouthful of coffee and looked down at his desk again. The results were worse than even he had feared. Inoperable high-grade adenocarcinoma, extensive lymph node involvement, metastatic disease in pancreas, multiple liver tumours. The girl was on borrowed time. He cast his mind back to the concert. She must have had symptoms back then. How on earth had she managed it? Yet understanding these things as he did, he knew that she would have pushed herself regardless. The human spirit could be very resilient. What a tragedy. He’d not even had a shot at helping her beat it. The thing was practically over before it began. He drummed his fingers on the desk in frustration. If only she’d presented earlier.

He knew Sarah would cry when he told her. This would be one anniversary neither of them would forget in a hurry. He allowed himself the morbid luxury of brooding on it for a few minutes more, then shook himself. He needed to see her. Give her the score, talk about the choice of treatment. He would run things by another senior colleague first – just to make sure. But deep down, he knew. Palliation was the only option now. To the fighter in Michael Romily, palliation was like a white flag.

____________

Beth sat in her chair staring out of the window. She was now in a quiet, four-bedded room in B1, on the top floor of the hospital. The wing looked out over miles and miles of surrounding landscape. As far as the eye could see stretched a jumbled tableau of variation. Smart, grey office buildings, clean-bricked housing developments, a power station which belched steam into the atmosphere and made the pale sky hang heavy with cloud; thin, snaking roads with cars that looked like Dinky toys, an equally toylike train chugging along a barely visible railway track, and in the distance, sprawling somnolently towards the horizon, acres of fallow farmland. Beth hardly saw any of it.

“Beth – your mum to see you.” The voice of the young nurse broke Beth’s reverie. She wheeled slowly round and smiled weakly as her mother came towards her.

“Hello, darling. Your dad gave me your message.” Cassie put her arms gently round her daughter and kissed her cheek. She felt frail enough to break. “I was just having a quick shower when you rang.”

Beth nodded slowly. “You didn’t mind coming, did you?”

Cassie laughed. “Course not, silly girl. That’s why we’re down here. We were coming after lunch anyway. I didn’t realise we
could
visit mornings.”

Beth lowered her head. “Strictly speaking you can’t. But I asked them if I could ring you. Can we go somewhere – the coffee shop or someplace like that? I just need to get away from here for a while.”

Cassie looked at her, concerned. “Come on. Let’s take you for a drink.”

The coffee shop was fairly full when they arrived there. Beth shook her head. “I don’t fancy that. Wonder if there’s anywhere quieter.” Then she remembered. On her trip to the chapel the previous week, she had passed something on the main corridor. At the time it had only momentarily caught her attention, and being in the middle of conversation with Laura, she hadn’t bothered to ask about it. Now as her mother wheeled her towards the same spot, Beth’s eyes scanned the corridor wall. Yes, there it was. She quickly made indication to Cassie and within moments they had stopped by a small sign.
‘The Conservatory’
it read, an arrow directing the visitor to a set of double doors immediately to the sign’s right. Passing through the doors, they made their way along a narrower corridor which suddenly opened up into an annexe. It was in the design of an old-fashioned glasshouse, light and spacious and airy with a high, glass-panelled ceiling. There were plants and climbing vines and a couple of benches in verdigrised wrought iron.

“This is rather lovely,” Cassie smiled as she pushed Beth over to one of the benches. The conservatory looked out over a small garden. It was neatly maintained but colourless in its winter garb. Only the evergreen shrubs showed any sign of life as they shivered out in the late November air. Beth hugged herself and stared down at her feet in their pale blue slippers. She hadn’t worn shoes for weeks.

“Well, what’s all this about then?” Cassie ventured at last, stroking her daughter’s arm gently.

Beth closed her eyes and bit her lip. She didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to hear herself speaking the words. While ever she kept the thing quiet, it was suspended, arrested. So long as she told no one, so long as no one knew, it had to stand still and wait. Wait for her permission to continue. Her hands pressed into the hard mass under her nightie. It was waiting for nobody.

“Mum … I don’t think I’m gonna make it.” Her voice tumbled out, half panicking, half sobbing. It was the voice of a little girl to her mother.

Cassie frowned and looked at her intently. “
Course
you are. Don’t talk like that, sweetheart. Of course you’re going to make it.”

Beth began to shake her head in distress. “You don’t understand, Mum. It’s all too late.”

A look of confusion shadowed Cassie’s face. “What do you mean? What are you saying, Beth?”

Beth dug her fingers into the arms of the wheelchair and tried to pull herself together. “I saw Michael Romily this morning for my results. I didn’t tell you I was seeing him. I didn’t tell any of you.”