A Song in the Night (24 page)

Beth nodded. “It’s a fair way, but Mum and Dad are going to stay down here until I get clearance from the hospital to leave. We can drive up with them. Theirs is an MPV so there’s plenty of room for me to recline if I need to. But I feel okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Rosie couldn’t help noticing how surprisingly calm she looked. Ill and a little wasted maybe, but somehow brighteyed and relaxed. She momentarily imagined being in Beth’s shoes. Twenty-four and on her way out.
I’d be tearing my hair out,
she thought to herself.
Tearing my hair out and in a state of permanent sedation.

Beth’s voice brought her back to reality. “I wish I could take you exploring, Ros. There are some fantastic walks in the area.” Her eyes grew wistful. “I should be able to get out a bit though. Even if it’s just for quarter of an hour. Oh, Ros, I can’t wait to get back up there.”

“I hope it isn’t all going to be too much for you, Mrs M. I haven’t seen you walk more than a few yards in weeks.” Realising the negative tone of her words, Rosie suddenly felt bad.

Beth grinned. “I still have a pair of legs, y’know. That chair hasn’t been soldered onto my backside. You’re just like your brother – a natterer. I’ll be great. Stop worrying.” She gave a small sigh then, as though even the prospect of activity made her feel tired. She sank back against her pillow. “Anyway, if you take your laptop up there, we can work on some diary entries and start making up a folder. That should keep me out of trouble.”

Rosie shook her head. “You must be mad. Can’t you think of anything more cheerful to read? I mean, come on, it’s a bit heavy going.”

For a few moments Beth seemed to consider this. “I suppose it is. But I can’t leave it half-read. Not now. I want to know what happens … I can’t just leave the poor guy in no man’s land.” Whether the pun was intended, Rosie wasn’t sure, but Beth broke into a giggle. “I hope you appreciate the privilege of helping to preserve this historical masterpiece, Rosie. Anybody would think you weren’t enjoying it.” There was something of the old mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

Rosie shrugged. “No, it’s quite interesting. I just don’t want you depressing yourself, that’s all.”

Beth smiled. “I’d like to try and finish it if I can, Ros. Besides, I’m not feeling half so scared as I was the other day. Something happened to me. I’m still trying to work some stuff out, but things seem a bit clearer now.” There was a pause. “I’ll tell you all about it when I’ve got my head round it.”

Rosie hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. She nodded absently. “I’ll look forward to it.”

____________

“You’re going up to
Yorkshire?
” Gavin sounded faintly incredulous. Rosie could detect a twinge of thinly concealed annoyance in his tone. “I thought we had all this arranged, Rosie.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan for Beth to get sick.” Rosie spoke in as calm a voice as she could muster. She wasn’t sure whether to feel guilty or indignant. Gavin wasn’t even trying to be understanding.

“You knew she was sick when you agreed to come,” Gavin persisted irritably.

“I didn’t know it would be her dying wish to spend her last Christmas up in Yorkshire with all her family. What did you expect me to say? Sorry, no can do. I’d rather spend it with a bloke I’ve only known a month and a half.” Rosie was fighting to hide her anger. This guy really needed to get over himself. For a few moments there was an uncomfortable silence.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. You’re right.” Gavin’s tone suddenly softened. “I guess I’d have done the same in your position. Look, I need to go. The boss is giving me the eye. We’ll have to arrange to meet up so I can give you your present. I’ll call you. See you later.”

Yeah, like never.
Rosie clicked off her phone and threw it onto the bed.
I have a present for you too, Gavin – and I’ve got a few good ideas where I’d like to shove it right now.

Some time later when she’d calmed down, she tried to analyse the conversation in her mind. Obviously Gavin was disappointed. He’d been looking forward to the trip; he’d made no secret of that. But surely her own change of plan wasn’t unreasonable in the circumstances. If he cared about her, he ought to understand that.

She looked at herself in the mirror. Her face seemed sallow and sad, her eyes somehow darker than usual.

Can’t say I’m disappointed myself.

She only muttered the words under her breath, but suddenly their veracity echoed loudly in her head. In truth, she’d been dreading going away with Gavin. She really wasn’t ready for anything like that. She’d only agreed for want of a good reason to refuse. Deep down, she’d known that to say no would have been to say goodbye. And somehow, in a shallow, cosmetic way, she’d got used to having Gavin around. Now it was anyone’s guess as to whether he’d want to see her again. She’d just have to wait for a call.

As it turned out, Gavin
did
ring – a couple of days before Rosie was due to travel up to Yorkshire. He apologised for not having been in touch, said that the health club had been extremely busy with last minute bookings, and asked if he could call round later for an hour with her Christmas present. Rosie had agreed. The ‘hour’ was pleasant enough. Gavin’s irritation with her seemed to have evaporated and he was his usual charming self, but Rosie couldn’t shake off the feeling that they’d lost most of the ground that had been gained over the last few weeks.

“We’ll have to get together when you get back,” Gavin said lightly as they exchanged gifts. “Pick up where we left off.”

They kissed before they said goodbye, but Rosie was left with the feeling that the whole thing had been like an unconvincing piece of theatre. A play without passion; an insipid Act I with no promise of a second half.

____________

It was the week before Christmas when they were able to travel up to Yorkshire. Arrangements had been made for Beth’s healthcare, Ciaran had managed to cancel some of his peripatetic engagements, and Rosie had negotiated some extra holidays from the nursery. They had three whole weeks before they must return to London, Beth’s condition permitting. The journey went better than any of them had expected. Beth slept for a lot of the time, only waking up when they were about ten miles outside her home village of Ridderch Standen. When she realised where they were, her face lit up. She gazed out at the passing scenery, her eyes gleaming with relief and quiet excitement. “Thank God,” she muttered under her breath, “we’re almost there. I did it.”

Twenty minutes later, the car turned into the drive at Oak Lodge. As they rolled towards the old stone house, Beth pressed her face to the window, drinking in the familiar sight of the rambling garden in its winter starkness.

Ciaran squeezed her hand. “You happy?” he whispered.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Very, very happy.”

As if on cue, the front door opened and Beth’s brother Ben came out to greet them. “I’ve got a good fire going and the kettle’s just boiled.” He hugged Beth gently. “Come on, little sis. It’s great to have you home.”

So, this is Oak Lodge.
Standing in the spacious hallway with her suitcases, Rosie tried to look around discreetly. It was a welcoming place with a bohemian, slightly dishevelled feel. The fittings and décor were tasteful, and the bits of furniture she could see were quality – possibly antique, Rosie suspected. But it was the little touches that stood out. A fringed scarf draped round a picture; a bunch of dried flowers hung by a ribbon from a banister; a series of children’s paintings displayed on a wall, framed and labelled as though in some mini art gallery. A faint smell of pine seemed to drift in from an adjoining room, accompanied by the distant sound of logs splitting and crackling in the fire. There were photographs, sepia as well as modern, affectionately arranged in a long, wall-mounted cabinet, unusual ornaments which drew the eye and made one think of country craft fairs – and books. Books in a bookcase, books on shelves, even books piled haphazardly on a window sill. And that was only the view from the hallway. Rosie smiled to herself. Well, that explained Beth’s fetish for the things. She unfastened her coat and prepared to await further directions. This was going to be home for the next three weeks.

Ben appeared then and began to pick up her luggage. “Where’s Rosie going, Mum?” he called into the next room.

Cassie bustled past, a pile of bed linen already in her arms. She turned to Rosie. “I’m going to put you in the boys’ old room if that’s alright, love. It looks over the garden and you’ll have plenty of space in there. I’ll just take these sheets up and then we’ll all have a cup of tea before I start making the beds.”

Rosie picked up a couple of small bags and followed Ben and Cassie upstairs. Ben made his way to a room at the far end of the landing. He opened the door and took Rosie’s luggage inside. “This is our old turf,” he grinned. “You might find a few dints in the skirting board, but don’t tell Mum.”

Rosie thanked him for bringing her stuff up.

“No problem. Good to have you with us, Rosie.” He turned and went back downstairs. Rosie looked around. There was nothing to suggest that two boys had ever slept in that room. It was clean and airy and the décor decidedly neutral – no sign of Power Rangers or Spiderman on the walls. Rosie suspected she’d be hard-pressed to find any dints in the skirting board either. She made her way to the window. This would be a nice view to wake up to in the morning.

She had just started to unpack when Ed’s voice sounded up the stairs. “Want a cuppa, Rosie?”

She went down and joined the others huddled round the fire in the living room. Beth looked pale and seemed slightly trembly, but she was smiling as she listened to the gentle conversation of her family. Ciaran was quiet as he sat beside her, his expression serious. Rosie felt a stab of sympathy for him. What was going through his mind? How could he enjoy any of this, knowing it would all be snatched away from him so soon? It made her feel terribly sad.

Some time later, when Cassie got up and said she was going to sort out the bedrooms, Rosie suddenly heard herself offering to help. The sound of her own voice volunteering almost shocked her. Not that she had any objections to helping out; but the moment the words left her lips, she was filled with a sudden, overpowering sense of inadequacy. What on earth would she talk about while they were doing it? What if she made beds in a totally different way to Cassie? What if Cassie thought she was a complete idiot? She pulled herself up with a start. What was wrong with her? They were only making
beds
. What was so hard about that?

Cassie’s voice broke into her turmoil. “That would be lovely, Rosie. Shouldn’t take us long.”

They began in Rosie’s room. Cassie opened up a white sheet and handed two corners to her. As they tossed it into the air and let it fall back to the bed, a light scent of lavender wafted over them.

“It’s lovely to have you all here for Christmas, Rosie.” Cassie smiled as she tucked a corner under the mattress. Rosie nodded as she did the same. She wasn’t sure how to reply. Should she make some sympathetic comment like,
“It’s a shame it’s not in different circumstances”
, or something similar? Deciding against it, she concentrated hard, determined to make the best bed of her life. As they put the last smoothing touches to the job, Cassie thanked her. “You’re very neat, Rosie. You’ve obviously done this before. Your mum must have taught you well.”

Rosie was bitten by the irony. This was the first time she’d ever made a bed with anyone’s mother, let alone her own. She smiled guardedly. A few minutes later as they were making up a bed for Beth and Ciaran in another room, Rosie looked across at Cassie’s hands. They were mother’s hands; strong, hardworking, ribbed with thick, blue veins and sinewy tendons which seemed to flex with every movement of her chores. Yet tender, kind hands, which Rosie sensed instinctively could bring comfort to a total stranger. She felt gently impressed by Cassie. She hadn’t seen one ounce of petulance or irritation in her, no charge of cosmic injustice that
her
daughter should be dying while the daughters of other women were allowed to live. Just a flow of caring goodwill which seemed to fragrance the atmosphere around her.

When the bed was finished, Cassie walked over to the window and gazed out. “Come here, Rosie. I’ll show you our church.”

The room was situated on a back corner of the house and looked out over the surrounding farmland. The ground lay desolate under the winter sky, its dark, frozen ridges, impenetrable and lifeless. The only reminder of more clement days was a scattering of bare, scrubby bushes which bordered the fields. Life had visited there once. In the distance, half-hidden by a clump of tall, stripped trees, was the church. The only part of it clearly visible was its dark spire which seemed to climb into the icy sky. Rosie was suddenly reminded of the church at Applemarket and the peculiar longing which had gripped her there. What a happy day that had been.

Cassie touched her arm lightly. “This was Beth’s bedroom when she lived at home. She always loved looking out of this window when she was a little girl.” She smiled sadly as though remembering. “After she got married we put a double bed in here. We thought it would be handy if anyone came to stay. But we still call it Beth’s room. It’ll always be Beth’s room.”

As she spoke, Rosie heard a slight falter in her voice. A rush of compassion for Cassie overwhelmed her. If only she could do something to ease her pain. Put comforting arms around her maybe; offer empathy and understanding. But as she glanced at this brave woman staring misty-eyed over the fields, Rosie felt a sense of frustration at her own impotence. Her limbs seemed locked with embarrassment, her tongue, tied with inexperience. The moment passed, and in no time at all, Cassie’s face was bright again. But Rosie was left with a gnawing sense of emptiness that did not leave her for the rest of the evening.

“On Thursday morning we’ll be having a little get-together in the church hall, Rosie.” Cassie looked across at her warmly. “Cuppa tea, mince pie, that sort of thing. It’s something we do every year around Christmas. Do you fancy coming along?”