A Song in the Night (50 page)

She had no idea how long the piece went on. Suddenly her whole consciousness was fixed on the trembling form of her brother beside her. He could no longer hide his distress. He made little sound, but hugging himself, rocked gently backwards and forwards in his seat. Swallowing her own tears, Rosie put an arm around his shoulders and prayed for the ordeal to end. After a few minutes the pallbearers walked quietly towards the coffin. Tim gave a little nod to the front row and they stood to their feet for Beth’s final procession. Rosie quickly slipped her arm through Ciaran’s. As they began to make their way slowly down the aisle, she hardly saw the faces of the congregation. The melancholy of the music had hurt her at a depth she could barely identify. It seemed to speak of something beautiful, now gone; something deeply loved, now lost forever.

The fresh air hit her like a slap as they stepped outside. She breathed deeply, still trying to steady Ciaran who was now sobbing without restraint. It was only a few yards from the church to the freshly dug plot. As they made their way there, Rosie’s mind went back to the day she’d met Jonathon in this very place. Up until now this churchyard had carried pleasant memories for her. Surely after today she would never be able to think of it in the same way again.

She held onto Ciaran for most of the committal; except at the end, when Josh’s young daughter, Meg, handed out white roses from a box to all those standing around the graveside. Rosie took one and clutched it for a few moments. So. It was all over. Beth was gone, and this was goodbye. She tossed the bloom miserably onto the coffin below, then moved aside to let others come nearer. It was only then that she looked up and saw just how many people had come to say their farewells. There was the crowd of family members she’d seen at the house earlier, there was Emmett Mallory and a number of familiar faces from the orchestra, and there were countless others that Rosie had never before set eyes on. As Tim concluded the burial, everyone stood around in respectful silence. After a few minutes, the crowd started to drift off towards the church hall.

Ciaran stood looking down into the grave, his face contorted in an expression of helpless grief. Cassie gently touched Rosie’s arm. “Look – over there, Rosie love.” She gestured towards two figures standing some way off. “You go. We’ll stay with your brother.”

At first, Rosie did not comprehend her meaning. She squinted her eyes against the afternoon sunlight and tried to focus. No. It couldn’t be …

Slowly she began to walk across the graveyard to where the couple was standing. As she approached them, she could make them out quite clearly. The woman was middle-aged and thin, her raven hair tinted with silver. She was dressed in black and her make-up had smudged under her eyes. The man at her side looked much older than her, though Rosie knew he was not. He was balding and overweight, and seemed to stand at a strange angle as though in some kind of discomfort. The sight of him turned Rosie’s stomach.

“Hello, Rosie.” The woman tentatively reached out her arms.

Rosie hesitated for a moment. “Hello, Mum.”

Rosie allowed her mother to embrace her. She could not, however, bring herself to even look at the man standing with her.
How dare he come here? How dare he show his face on a day like this?
For a moment, she wanted to be angry at her mother for bringing him. But as she struggled to contain the maelstrom of emotion that was kicking off inside her, Rosie finally understood something. The very fact that her mother had brought Mickey here today only served to confirm what Rosie had suspected all along. Her mother had never known, never guessed, never had so much as the slightest inkling as to what had been going on.

“We’re not going to stay for the tea, Rosie.” Her mother’s face seemed to her so sad and empty. “Mick’s gout’s real bad at the moment and it’s a long way home for him. We just wanted to come and pay our respects.” The sound of her soft Irish lilt made Rosie feel like crying. Somehow it seemed to throw up every memory of her life that she wanted to forget.

“Aren’t you going to talk to Ciaran before you go?” Rosie urged.
Surely she hasn’t made the journey all this way to go home without saying a word to him?

Her mother shook her head. “No, Rosie. Poor lad’s too cut up to talk today. Some other time, eh?”

“Yeah, I guess.”
Like never, more like.
Rosie stiffened. She couldn’t break down now – not in front of
him.

Her mother kissed her cheek sorrowfully. “Bye then, Rosie. See you again sometime, love.”

Rosie watched as they turned and began to walk away. Mickey was hobbling painfully and for a brief moment, despite herself, she felt something akin to pity for him. His strength was broken at last, but strangely, she could not find it in her heart to gloat. As she observed the wretched pathos of his appearance, it seemed to her that he was reaping a miserable harvest. She continued watching until they turned out of the gate and disappeared from view. So that was it. Her mother’s token gesture of sympathy. Biting her lip, Rosie turned towards the church hall.

A few moments later, she found herself sitting on a table with some of Beth’s relatives. There was an exchange of empathetic smiles, a few kind but meaningless words, and then Rosie stared down at the floor. She had no desire for any conversation now. She’d always known today was going to be an ordeal. Indeed, the image of Beth being lowered into the ground had sickened her to the core. That in itself was enough to send her spiralling into depression. But nothing could have prepared her for the shock of seeing Mickey again. As she pictured his face, a vice-like pain gripped her stomach. She could almost smell him in the atmosphere around her.

A soft touch on her shoulder jolted her from her ruminations. It was Jonathon. He was helping serve the tables with tea and coffee.

“Hi, Rosie.” He bent down towards her ear and spoke in a low voice. “I thought you were incredibly brave in there. How you feeling now?”

“I’m okay,” she lied, trying to force a smile. But seeing the concern in those blue eyes, she knew she hadn’t fooled him. Hastily she looked down at the floor again.
Jonathon, I can’t tell you the half of it. Just when I was thinking things couldn’t get any worse …

Inside she felt utterly fragmented. All things considered, today had probably been the worst day of her entire life.

In the days that followed, Rosie felt as though she was trapped in a dream. The mood in the house was strange; a mixture of collective anticlimax coupled with a feeling of numb unreality. Beth’s loss seemed to permeate the very fabric of the building. The light, airy rooms with their lofty ceilings and sense of space seemed somehow smaller and more confined. The clock sounded dull and tired as though chiming the hours was suddenly too much effort. And the fire barely sang in the hearth. Rosie saw little of Ciaran. He came down for meals but hardly touched his food, only taking his place at the table for the briefest time before disappearing again. On one occasion, she noticed him leave the house through the back door shortly after dinner. He was dressed up warmly as though going off for a walk. Rosie suspected he was on his way to the churchyard. For all she knew, that was probably where he spent most of his time at the moment. But she was reluctant to ask him outright. One day during the week, Ed took him over to Tom Bennett’s to pick up logs and fresh eggs. They made a subdued pair as they set off. And, it seemed, even Tom Bennett’s company did not induce them to stay and chat. They were back within the hour, their faces sober and unrefreshed.

Rosie understood. Since the funeral, she herself had been finding conversation increasingly difficult. She made small talk with Cassie and tried to help her out with the cooking and cleaning. But she was always relieved when she found herself alone again. Deep down, she was afraid to engage with anyone at the moment. Since her encounter with Mickey, her mind felt raw. Losing Beth had been horrible enough –
but seeing Mickey too …?
A huge emotional scab had been knocked off and the wound was fresh as ever. All it would take was the wrong word at the wrong time, and Rosie knew it. It made her feel terribly vulnerable.

Jonathon called twice during the next few days. On both occasions he was only able to stay about an hour – a particularly heavy workload, he explained with genuine disappointment. Rosie was secretly glad. Not that she didn’t enjoy his company. She was fast coming to the realisation that she enjoyed being with Jonathon more than she did most other people. But she also realised that Jonathon had an unnerving way of seeing right inside her, and just now that was the last thing she wanted.

“You’re quiet,” he observed on the Thursday evening.

Rosie knew he was eyeing her with concern. She shrugged and tried to smile, but Jonathon wasn’t taken in by it.

“You don’t want to go back on Saturday, do you?” He spoke so gently that Rosie wanted to burst into tears. He was right; she didn’t want to. It was bad enough trying to deal with everything while she was here, in the safety of Oak Lodge. But the thought of being all alone in Streatham again … that was a prospect that hardly bore thinking about.

“No, don’t suppose I do.” She made the admission simply. There seemed no point in pretending.

Jonathon nodded slowly. There was little he could say, but somehow she sensed that he knew how much she was hurting. The rest of their conversation was subdued and soon it was time for him to leave.

“Wish I could stay longer, Rosie. I really do.” There seemed to be a reluctance in his voice, as though he wanted to say more. For a moment they stood looking at each other awkwardly. Then Jonathon shook his head with a sigh. “Come here, you.”

He took a step forward and opened his arms towards her. Before she had time to think, Rosie found herself in his embrace. But it was unlike any embrace she’d had from a man before. It was full of warmth, yet without that blistering heat that always seemed to taint these things; full of love, yet completely pure. It was a brother’s embrace, yet somehow more. And it left Rosie speechless.

“You make sure you e-mail,” he said kindly but firmly. “Don’t go quiet on me again, or I might just find out where you live and come down and sort you out.”

Rosie mumbled something in reply, but inside, her mind was teeming. Why did she feel as limp as an invertebrate all of a sudden? And why was her heart thudding so uncontrollably? Jonathon’s cheek was pressed against hers and she could smell the scent of his skin. For a split second, her mind went back to Gavin and his overpowering designer aftershave. How different was Jonathon; lighter somehow, fresher. And so much less threatening.

After what seemed like an age, Jonathon pulled away and held her at arms’ length. Gripping her shoulders gently, he fixed her with his blue gaze. “I’m going to be praying hard for you, Rosie …” He stopped for a moment, looking for her reaction. “Dunno if you’re happy with that, but I’ll be praying anyway.”

Rosie lowered her eyes. “You’re welcome to pray if you want,” she muttered in a small, resigned voice. “Guess I’m gonna need all the help I can get.”

If she had looked up in that moment, she would have seen a flash of pure joy cross Jonathon’s face. But Rosie was far too busy trying to calm the tsunami that was raging in her head.

____________

It was Friday afternoon and Rosie was in the middle of packing for her return home. Her heart had never been less in a thing than it was today. There was a knock at her bedroom door. It was Cassie.

“Just came to see how you were getting on, love.”

Rosie swallowed a sigh as she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I’m more or less done. Just a few last minute bits to go in tomorrow morning.”

“What time do you leave?”

“My train’s at 12.05. Should get my connection at Northallerton about 1.15.”

Cassie nodded. “We’re going to miss having you around, Rosie.”

Rosie knew she meant it. Cassie wasn’t the kind of woman to play around with worthless words. Yet somehow, her very sincerity cut Rosie to the quick.

“Looking forward to getting back?” Cassie asked gently.

For a moment Rosie was tempted to lie.
Oh yeah, really am. Never more so.
She decided to go for the honest approach. “Not really.”

Cassie gazed out of the window. “I can’t help feeling it might be some time before your brother’s able to face going back down to London. I think he needs to feel close to Beth at the moment. He visits her grave several times a day. Part of his grieving process, I guess.” She hugged her arms across her chest as though remembering her own grief. “He hasn’t said anything to me, Rosie, but I’m thinking he’ll want to stay here for a while yet.”

Rosie winced. Cassie’s words hardly came as a revelation, yet hearing them spoken out loud did not make comforting listening. For an awful moment she thought she might burst into tears. Steeling her jaw, she pretended to check for something in her case, but soon realised there was a limit as to how long she could continue the charade. Seeing Cassie still staring out of the window, Rosie slumped back against the headboard and the room fell into silence.

It was several minutes before Cassie turned to her. “Are you happy in London, Rosie?”

Rosie was slightly taken aback. Something in Cassie’s tone told her that the older woman knew perfectly well that she wasn’t. She shook her head, unable to meet Cassie’s gaze.

“I didn’t think so. Is there anything keeping you there, love? I mean, your job – or friends perhaps?”

Rosie’s lips tightened to a thin line.
Job? Friends? As if.
She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could manage. “Guess I’m there because that’s where Ciaran and Beth were. Ciaran always said I could come and join him in London when I was old enough to leave home. That’s how I ended up in Streatham.” She shifted awkwardly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always liked it down there. We’ve had some good times. But things are different now – with Beth gone and everything.” Wanting to be sensitive to Cassie, she tried to smile. “The job’s served me well. I’ve got some useful qualifications out of it … and it pays the bills. As for friends, I don’t get a lot of time for them. After a day with the kids, bed’s my best friend.” It was a feeble attempt at light-heartedness. Rosie was loathe to mention the fact that Ciaran and Beth had always been her closest friends; that she’d never felt the need or inclination to search for friendship anywhere else.
There. That’s my life summed up in a few, uninspiring sentences.
Suddenly it all sounded more pointless than ever.