A Song in the Night (63 page)

Boxer shrugged resignedly. “Let’s face it, pal. Neither of us know if we’ll come out of this next fight alive. But whether we do or whether we don’t, God’s desire for us is that we get home safely. Doesn’t matter if you end up living to be a hundred, or you get shot in the next twenty-four hours; he wants you in his family, Sam. If you trust Jesus to settle the score between you and God, you’ll become one of his children. Your destiny will be changed. Heaven will be waiting for you. Think of it – with God forever, and all the believers who’ve ever gone on before. Don’t you want that, pal? All of this gone, forgotten. Just love, joy, beauty and peace, like the Garden of Eden all over again. And a new body … not a scrap of shrapnel in sight. You’d even get to see Jimmy again. All you have to do is accept his offer, Sam. Turn from your own ways – admit your need of him. But he won’t force you. The choice is entirely yours.”

Sam hung his head. Boxer made it all sound so real. If only
he
could have the same assurance. But looking around, it was desperately hard to believe in any place where joy, beauty and peace abounded. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Something Boxer had created in his imagination to stop him going completely mad. Whatever it was, it was powerful. Boxer had been a source of strength to Sam from the day they’d met.

“I – I suppose it’s normal for a chap to be scared to die …?” Sam spoke falteringly, afraid of looking a coward or a fool, but unable to keep the question within his heart any longer. His earlier cynicism had all but melted in the heat of the terrors now threatening him.

“Course it is, Sam.” Boxer looked at him kindly. “But it does help if you know where you’re going. Look how gently Jimmy passed on – and smiling too. Oh yes. That makes all the difference …”

I said no more after that, Em. My heart has become so heavy, I can scarcely bear to hope any more. Thinking of all that Boxer has said, I begin to wonder if perhaps it’s too late for me. The fight is soon and I cannot clear my head to think properly. I feel I’ve lost my chance with you, and with God too, if indeed he’s there at all. I don’t want to die. I’ve tried so hard to stay alive. I wish some Field Marshal really would swap me places, for a while at least. Just to give me a little more time to think. My doubts and fears seem so many now. Oh that God would give me a sign. That he would break into this dark hell and let me know he is truly there.

____________

Rosie sat up straight in her chair. It was the last entry. It had been even more difficult to read than usual. The pages were blotched and dirty as though they’d been impregnated with liquid filth and allowed to dry. Probably exactly what had happened. Her eyes went over the closing sentence once again. Reading it made her feel terribly depressed. It seemed so desolate, so desperate – and now so final. Though she had done so before, she flicked through the remaining pages of the notebook just to make sure there was nothing she’d missed. All blank. As blank and empty as the silence in the heavens. Sam had cried out. She had cried out. But there had been no answer. It seemed there would never be an answer for people like them.

Jonathon was eager to talk when he picked her up the next morning. “I was pretty gutted when I read your e-mail last night. What a horrible note to go out on.” He looked genuinely sad about it.

Rosie shrugged as dismissively as she could. “Well, let’s hope he went out quick and clean. That’s what he wanted after all.”

Jonathon frowned slightly. “Well yeah – I guess. It’s just not how I hoped it would end, that’s all.”

“Not all stories have happy endings.” Rosie’s jaw tightened. “If you think they do, you’ve been watching too many films.” She turned her head to look out of the window and never saw the flash of hurt that passed across Jonathon’s face.

For the rest of the journey he didn’t bring the subject up again. It was obvious to him that Rosie didn’t want to discuss it any further, but Jonathon was soon deep in thought. From the sudden curtailment of the diary it seemed reasonable to assume that Sam had suffered the same fate as Boxer. Most likely his name would feature on some war memorial somewhere, carved in marble or stone for future generations to look upon. But that wasn’t the thing that troubled Jonathon. Sam had come so close. Had he ever taken that final step, made the choice that Boxer had described? Jonathon hoped with all his heart that he had. How tragic to have come so close and missed it right at the last minute. He sighed quietly. It was something he would never know – not in this life anyway.

____________

It was Thursday dinnertime. So far, Molly had been having a difficult day. Rosie decided it might be best for them to stay indoors for the whole break. She went over to one of the classroom cupboards and pulled out a piece of work. “I liked your picture, Molly.”

Molly sniffed, unconvinced.

“No, I did. Really. I wondered if you wanted to tell me about it.” She placed the picture on the table and Molly stared down at it, her expression inscrutable.

“I guess this is you,” Rosie ventured, pointing to the stick girl. There was the slightest flicker of acknowledgement. Rosie felt encouraged to continue. “And
this –
this must be your mum, because it’s so like her. I recognised her straightaway.”

Molly blinked, her features softening a little.

“Now, this man here …” Rosie pointed to the figure in the bright turquoise outfit. “I don’t think I’ve met him. Who is he?”

For a moment or two Molly stared hard at the paper. Then her gaze moved to the window. A tiny sound escaped her lips, but Rosie was unable to make out the words. “What was that, Molly? I didn’t quite catch it.”

Molly repeated the sound only marginally louder. “My daddy.”

“Ah right. So that’s Daddy, is it?” Rosie was just debating whether to stay with Dad or move on to the figure at the edge of the picture when Molly’s eyes suddenly welled with tears. Momentarily, Rosie wondered if she’d done the right thing bringing the picture out of the cupboard.

As the tears spilled over and began to run down her cheeks, the little girl bent forward on her chair. “I don’t feel well,” she whimpered quietly.

Rosie put an arm around her small shoulders. She was sure it was an emotional reaction but decided to go along with it. “What’s wrong, Molly?”

The girl was beginning to sob softly. “My tummy hurts.”

Rosie nodded knowingly. She’d come across this countless times at the nursery. Kids who struggled to settle always seemed to be plagued by the same complaint. She suggested a trip to the toilet. Molly complied, sniffing all the way.

“I’ll stay outside in the corridor,” Rosie smiled encouragingly as she propelled the little girl towards a cubicle. “You give me a shout if you need to.”

It was a good ten minutes before Molly reappeared. She looked pale, and barely better than she had before she’d gone in. Rosie felt sorry for her. The poor kid was obviously taking things hard.

During the rest of the afternoon the situation hardly improved. At home time Rosie waited with Molly on the school steps. Mrs Guest was slightly late and looked flustered as she hurried towards the entrance.

“I’m so sorry. The traffic was shocking.” She ran an agitated hand through her bleached hair.

Rosie tried to put her at ease. “That’s okay. Molly and I were having a little chat anyway.” She looked down at the girl, wishing she would at least attempt to look pleased to see her mother. But there wasn’t even the merest flicker of a smile on Molly’s face. Rosie decided to go for a different tack. “She hasn’t felt very well today.”

Mrs Guest frowned. “Oh sweetie, what’s the matter?” She moved towards her daughter with obvious concern. Molly looked as though she might cry again.

“She was complaining of tummy ache earlier.”

Mrs Guest sighed guiltily. “Hope it’s not the takeaway we had last night. Honestly, I’ve only been in this job a couple of months and they’ve upped my hours already. I’m not getting chance to cook, clean or anything. We’re living on rubbish at the moment.”

Rosie shook her head. “No, I’m sure it’s not that.” She hesitated for a moment. “She’s been a bit upset with herself today, that’s all.” Seeing a fresh wave of guilt flood Mrs Guest’s face, she found herself wondering if divorce was worth all the hassle.

The following morning Molly arrived at school extra early. Her mother wanted to speak to Rosie. Mrs Guest seemed as flustered as ever, and the speed of her words suggested she really needed to be elsewhere. “I still don’t think she’s well, Miss Maconochie. I offered to let her stay home with Colin – he’s my partner. He hasn’t managed to find a regular job yet, so he’s at home a lot of the time. But anyway she didn’t want to, so I didn’t push her.” She bent towards Rosie and lowered her voice. “She hasn’t taken to him yet. She’s still missing her dad, bless her. She’s very quiet with Col. Not naughty, just quiet. It’s a difficult situation.” She looked stressed out and Rosie couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

“Don’t worry, Mrs Guest. I’ll keep a close eye on her. Thanks for filling me in. By the way, call me Rosie.”

Mrs Guest smiled gratefully. She started to walk away, but suddenly turned back. “Molly likes you a lot, Rosie. I can tell by the way she talks about you at home. Thank you for taking time to help her.”

For Rosie, it was things like that that made the job worthwhile.

____________

As the days went by, Rosie felt a growing bond between herself and Molly. It was a relationship based not so much on verbal communication as on intuitive understanding. As the days turned into weeks, Rosie became expert at reading Molly’s mood within minutes of her arrival at school. There were good days and there were bad days. On good days, Rosie was able to leave the child to work at a table with her classmates while she moved around to offer her help elsewhere. On bad days, she had all on to get Molly to do any work at all. During one particularly frustrating morning, Rosie found herself remembering the drawing competition. She hit upon an idea. If she could get Molly to draw a picture of how she was feeling, maybe it would open up an alternative way for them to communicate. On this particular occasion, all the child managed to produce was an angry scribble, but it broke the impasse. After that, Rosie resorted to the technique several times. On those days when words seemed to be getting her nowhere, she found that encouraging Molly to draw her feelings on paper was the key to breaking down the little girl’s resistance. Sometimes they drew together just for fun. As the days became warmer, they began to take paper and pencils out onto the school field and sketch away during dinner breaks. Rosie noticed a measure of natural talent in Molly’s work; an eye for detail and the beginnings of her own distinctive style. She was sure that, with encouragement, it could be nurtured and developed.

It wasn’t long before they began to be joined by other children, and soon Miss Maconochie’s ‘Art Group’ became an established feature of dinnertime breaks. Strangely, Molly didn’t seem to mind the intrusion. It was almost as if she enjoyed being able to participate in a group on her own terms. Observing her, Rosie felt a growing sense of satisfaction that her efforts with the child were at last starting to bear fruit.

At least one area of my life is paying off,
Rosie tried to reassure herself. Over the last couple of weeks, she’d managed to compartmentalise her head a little. One part of her still ached for Jonathon. That was the part that she kept firmly in check; the part that caused her to rattle off meaningless small talk on their journeys to and from school. To his credit, Jonathon had quickly learned to respect her distance and hadn’t tried to force anything deeper from her.

Her favourite part at the moment, however, was the part she played at school. Rosie the professional. Competent, innovative, reliable. And now Molly’s friend. Seeing the child’s growing trust in her made her life seem suddenly worthwhile. She tried not to think about the looming summer holidays and the end of her contract. She would do her best while she had the opportunity. Make hay while the sun shone. Anyway, Molly’s confidence must be growing a little. Surely there would come a day soon when she’d be able to stand on her own two feet.

One afternoon towards the end of May, one of the receptionists came into class with a message for Helen. Helen passed it on to Rosie. “Molly’s mother’s just rung in. She has to stay over at work. Her partner Colin will be picking Molly up from school.”

Rosie frowned. “How will we know it’s him? I’ve no idea what he looks like.”

Helen waved dismissively. “Don’t worry. I met him once when Molly first started here. I’ll take her out onto the front at home time if you like.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” Rosie asserted, “so I’ll know him in future.”

Colin was nothing like Molly’s depiction of him. If Rosie had expected some swarthy, sinister character, she was to be disappointed. Colin was slim and mousy-haired, his pale grey eyes bearing no resemblance to the black dots Rosie had anticipated. As Helen made the cursory introductions, he gave Rosie a brief smile. It was a strange smile and, for a moment, Rosie couldn’t help feeling that they’d met before. She dismissed the notion and turned her attention to Molly. She was slightly disconcerted to realise that the girl had managed to slip up the steps behind them and was standing rigid in the entrance doorway. Rosie went towards her. “Come on, Molly. Colin’s here because your mum has to work today.”

The look in the child’s eyes hurt her terribly. It was obvious the poor kid couldn’t stand the usurper. Rosie felt like a traitor. Helen wasn’t so emotionally attached. She took Molly’s hand and led her gently but firmly back down the steps, handing her over to Colin with a sympathetic smile. Rosie saw the little girl stiffen slightly. But the thing that got to her most was the glance Molly shot her as Colin led her out of the playground. In that moment, Rosie felt like the biggest let-down in the world.

____________

“Ever thought of going into teaching?” Jonathon asked out of the blue as they were on their way home from school one day. It was a warm June afternoon and Rosie had been daydreaming as she stared out of the window.