A Song in the Night (66 page)

There was nothing else to add. Rosie knew she’d done the best she could in reporting her suspicions; it was up to Bev now. For several moments no one spoke. Rosie’s heart began to race. She could hear the blood pulsing in her ears as the silence in the room grew louder. Why didn’t someone say something? Her mind went back to the previous day and the near bust-up she’d had with poor Jonathon. Despite herself, she could feel the same defensive anger starting to bubble in her guts again. It was scary. She knew it would only take one wrong word. How was she supposed to stay professional with all this lot kicking off inside her?

It was then that Bev pushed aside the half-eaten pasta salad and leaned forward. Her expression was grave. “I think we have to pass this on to somebody, Rosie. Like right away.”

Rosie nodded, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. She felt the anger dissipate as quickly as it had come, and now waves of relief turned her limbs to jelly. She realised there was a long road ahead for Molly, a road she herself knew only too well. But at least the horrible secret was out now. It was the first step on the journey to breaking free.

“They’ll no doubt want to involve you initially, Rosie,” Bev continued. “You’ve got pretty close to her over the last few weeks.”

“Guess there’s always the possibility I’m wrong,” Rosie ventured. Not for one minute did she believe that to be the case, but it seemed wise to come up with a get-out clause.

Bev dismissed the suggestion out of hand. “I’d rather you be wrong and speak out than be right and keep quiet, Rosie. Put it this way, there’s enough in all this to make
me
worried. What do you say, Helen?”

Helen was saying very little. She looked slightly shell-shocked, and Rosie couldn’t help wondering if she felt bad for having missed it herself. She smiled at her sadly.
Don’t beat yourself up about it, Helen. Some of us have a distinct advantage when it comes to spotting things like this. Can’t believe it took me so long.

Although it was a huge relief to have handed the matter over to Bev, Rosie was exhausted by home time. A combination of shattered emotions and lack of sleep had left her feeling completely spaced out. Jonathon seemed to perceive her condition and didn’t press for information. “I take it everything went well,” was all he said.

“Yeah,” Rosie managed to reply. “Bev’s sorting it out from here.”

When they arrived at Oak Lodge, Jonathon looked at her gently. “Good work, Rosie. Well done for having the courage of your convictions. And thanks for coming to me first to share your concerns. That makes me feel like a friend.” He hesitated for a moment as though he might say more but, seeming to think better of it, he simply smiled. “You look tired. You should get an early night. Sweet dreams for later.”

Rosie felt like crying as she got out of the car.
That makes me feel like a friend …?
If only he knew how much his words tore her up.

Even though she went to bed at just after nine and dropped off almost immediately, her dreams were anything but sweet. If the previous night had been bad, this night was far worse. As soon as sleep hit her, a swathe of memories seemed to surface from the darkest recesses of her subconscious, producing the vilest mix of nightmares she could ever remember. She awoke next morning wishing she’d forced herself to stay up all night. It felt as though she’d done precisely that. She was just thankful it was Saturday.

Some time after lunch she decided to go out for a walk. Her brain needed fresh air and she knew just where she wanted to go. The afternoon sun burned hot as she made her way towards Beth’s grave. On arriving there, she looked down at its new collection of flowers. There was a picture in a plastic wallet from Meg and Tammy.
‘Missing you, Auntie Beth’
, it read in childish handwriting. It was a sentiment Rosie could echo.

I miss you too, Beth. If ever I needed someone to talk to.

But deep down, Rosie knew she could never have told Beth what was going on in her heart right now. She couldn’t tell anyone. For a long while she stood staring down at the flowers, hardly seeing anything.

I hope you’re happy where you are, Beth. Some days I could almost wish I was with you. But somehow I don’t think your God notices me.

She gave a long, heavy sigh. Everything in her felt like crying, but she was too weary to do even that.

Anyway, just wanted to let you know, I’m gonna be moving on soon. I can’t stay here any more. The whole thing’s got too complicated. Put in a good word for me up there. I’m gonna need all the help I can get.

Out of the corner of her eye she became aware of a figure walking through the churchyard towards her. Even without looking up, she instinctively knew it was Jonathon.

“We’ll have to stop meeting like this,” he smiled as he approached her. He looked down at the flowers as if wondering what to say next. “I’ve been doing a bit of reading up,” he began tentatively. “Looks like our boys died in the Third Battle of Ypres – in the build up to the Passchendaele offensive. Guess you’ve heard of Passchendaele?”

Rosie shrugged. “I think so. Vaguely.” But she hardly cared.

Jonathon pointed to a scattering of poppies by the wall at the edge of the churchyard. Their scarlet heads bobbed in the light breeze, nodding on their fragile stems as though in some delicate dance. “In Flanders Fields –” he remarked thoughtfully.

Rosie was only half listening. She frowned. “Sorry?”

“
In Flanders Fields.
It’s a poem by a guy called John McCrae. We had to learn it at school once. Apparently he wrote it after seeing one of his mates blown to bits. I seem to remember our teacher telling us it was written during one of the Ypres battles. Dunno which one. None of it meant much to me back then. Guess I understand things a little better now.”

He paused for a moment, then began softly and slowly:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved, and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Observing her face, he stopped. “D’you want me to go on?”

Rosie closed her eyes and shook her head. She didn’t want to hurt him. But his words felt like salt in a wound. Somehow the poem struck a painful chord. Short months ago she herself had lived, felt dawn, seen sunset glow, loved and been loved …

She’d been just a regular girl, getting on with life in the way regular girls were supposed to. There’d even been a boyfriend in there somewhere. Before all this had happened. She stared down at Beth’s grave again. It seemed to her now that Beth’s illness hadn’t just killed Beth. It felt like it was killing her too. Slowly, everything around her seemed to be dying. Her relationships, her dreams. Her hope. Soon her life would be dead and buried, just like Beth’s, like Jimmy’s, like Sam’s.

“I’ve decided to go back to London as soon as my contract runs out,” she announced as calmly as she could. “It’s been good to have a change, but there’s nothing really keeping me here now. And the thing with Molly, well, it’s left a bit of a taste in my mouth. I need to put it behind me. Start again.”

The look that flashed across Jonathon’s face told her that he hadn’t been expecting the news. He nodded slowly. “I understand.” There was a pause. “But if that’s the case, Rosie, I’m going to make a request. We have some special youth meetings this weekend at church. They’re for our young people but anyone can go. I sometimes help with youth work so I’ll be there.” He hesitated for a moment. “Would you come tonight, Rosie? Please … would you come with me?”

Swallowing back a sigh, Rosie looked across the churchyard. She didn’t want to go, yet somehow she couldn’t find the energy to protest. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled weakly. “Okay. If it means that much to you.”

“It does,” Jonathon said quietly. “I’ll pick you up quarter to seven.”

That evening, as she got ready to go out, Rosie wasn’t quite sure whether to go for a formal or casual look. Even simple decisions seemed hard these days. In the end she went for jeans and a floaty top. After all, she reasoned, it might be church but it
was
a youth event. How many kids went out dressed like office workers?

“You look lovely, Rosie,” Cassie commented when she came downstairs. “Going anywhere nice?”

“Some youth thing with Jonathon,” Rosie mumbled resignedly. “He’s picking me up in five minutes.”

“Oh, bet that’ll be fun. They put some marvellous stuff on for the young people.” Cassie looked wistful. “Wish they’d had things like that when we were that age.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “Go with an open mind, Rosie love. You might really enjoy it.”

Rosie managed a half-hearted smile.
I’ll do my best.

Jonathon arrived punctually and Rosie felt suddenly nervous as she made her way to the car. She couldn’t help wondering what on earth she was letting herself in for. When they arrived at the church, a steady stream of young people was filtering into the building. She walked slowly with Jonathon to join the end of the queue.
Oh well,
she mused grimly,
bit too late to change my mind now.

By the time they got inside, the church was already pretty full. Jonathon began moving down the aisle towards some empty seats near the front. Rosie followed with a degree of trepidation. It was a short journey, but fraught with interruptions. She soon lost count of the number of folk who came over to say hello. And they didn’t leave it there. Rosie was slightly disconcerted at the way everyone went about greeting each other. As well as their exuberance of speech, there seemed to be a great deal of hugging and flinging of arms around one another. The whole thing struck her as being rather bizarre. Physical demonstrativeness never having been her strong point, she was only glad that the enthusiastic welcomers targeted their hugs at Jonathon and had the decency to tone things down to a handshake when introduced to her. Noticing her unease, Jonathon tried to step up his efforts to get to the front. When at last they made it, they found a couple of free seats and sat down.
Great,
thought Rosie, feeling more uncomfortable than ever.
Ringside view. Just what I wanted. Not.

She gave herself a couple of minutes to cool down, then did a quick scan of the building. She couldn’t help but be impressed at the size of the gathering. “Do all these kids come here normally?”

Jonathon looked around. “Most of them. Some of them have brought friends too by the looks of it. We have a good youth group. They’re a brilliant bunch.”

Rosie took another surreptitious glance across the church. Any preconceived notions she may have nursed about churchgoing youngsters were quickly dashed. There was a noticeable absence of anyone that remotely resembled her idea of a religious nutcase. And not a geek in sight. In fact there were some very good-looking faces amongst the crowd, and many of them seemed to shine with a clean, bright joy that Rosie had never seen in kids that age. They even wore trendy clothes. Quite what she’d been expecting she wasn’t sure, but somehow this lot were a pleasant surprise.

Another surprise came as the event got under way. A man stood up to introduce the evening’s guests.

“All the way from the United States of America, will you please welcome …
‘BROKEN BREAD’
!”

The audience went wild as a group of about twenty young people bounced to the front of the church. Immediately, a backing track started to play. Most of the group began singing along with great energy, but a handful of them got straight into a dance routine. The music was upbeat and fast, and Rosie had to concede, at least to herself, that the dancers were good. It felt like a workout just watching them. The first track was followed by a couple of equally energetic hip-hop numbers and then the music faded. A tall, dark-haired boy moved to the front of the group.

“Good evening, everybody!” he cried out in a strong drawl. The kids in the church went crazy again. The boy grinned and waited until the din subsided. “My name’s Tony, and we’re
‘BROKEN BREAD’
from Missouri in the US. We’re currently touring the United Kingdom sharing with young people the wonderful things that God has done, and is doing, in our lives …”

This should be interesting,
thought Rosie. She wasn’t cynical. These days she felt too tired to be cynical. Maybe if she’d gone along to an event like this a few months ago she would have been. Either that or she might have been angry. But tonight she felt quietly prepared to listen. After all, she had little to lose now.

Tony continued to speak for a few moments, recounting highlights of the tour so far and sharing funny anecdotes about the different members of the team. Then he introduced a young man called Danny. Danny looked about seventeen, with olive skin and wiry black hair. He began by singing a song that he’d written himself. He had a strong, Middle Eastern-sounding accent, and Rosie struggled to pick up on some of his phrases. But she could tell from his face that he meant every word that came from his lips. When he’d finished singing, he went on to tell the audience a dramatic story of how God had saved and changed his life. He spoke slowly and carefully, and this time Rosie didn’t miss a thing. It was a moving account of rejection, addiction and despair; a life in ruins, now turned good. Indeed
that
seemed to be the prevailing theme of the whole evening. Interspersed with songs, dances and drama sketches, the audience heard story after story from different members of the group, each one relating their own vivid experience. Their faces shone as they spoke and Rosie could see that, for them at least, it was all very real. Her head began to spin. She found herself thinking about Boxer. Cassie. Beth. Jonathon. Everyone appeared to be saying the same thing. Yet somehow, for her anyway, it all seemed so hopelessly out of reach.

The last person to speak was a young woman called Amy. As she stepped towards the front of the group, Rosie noticed her eyes. They were a limpid blue, far-seeing and full of knowing. Rosie guessed Amy couldn’t be much older than herself – a year or two at the most. But those eyes seemed to belong to someone so much older. Amy sang a song and then spoke for a few minutes on something from the Bible. Her voice was clear and strong and became more animated as her message went on. Yet as she continued to speak, Rosie found her own thoughts beginning to drift. She tried to force herself to concentrate, but it was impossible. The strong threads of despair in her mind suddenly seemed to tighten into a rope. It was okay for all these people. It obviously worked for them. So what was wrong with
her?
Was she so messed up as to be beyond all hope – beyond even God’s reach? It was an awful thought, but somehow it was hard to draw any other conclusion. The more she heard about God, the further she felt from him. Remote, cut off. Destined, it seemed, to always find herself standing on the outside looking in. Something of a lost cause.