A Song in the Night (14 page)

It was almost an hour later when Rosie awoke to the sound of her mobile ringing. She was momentarily disorientated. She hadn’t even realised she’d dropped off. She hurriedly tried to collect herself before answering it.

“Hi Rosie. How you doing?” Gavin’s voice was as smooth and composed as ever.

“I’m fine. And you?” Rosie’s response was decidedly more clipped.
So he thinks he can just ring up, turn on the charm and expect me to come running, does he?
She was picturing Gavin’s self-assured smile as she spoke. It made her feel irritated.

To his credit, Gavin picked up the iciness in her tone and tried to assuage it. “Sorry I haven’t been in touch till now. A couple of things came up. You know how it is –”

Rosie wanted to scream at him down the phone, ‘
No, I don’t!
’ But she kept her annoyance in check. “I was rather thinking you might at least have rung to see how Beth was, seeing as that was the last thing we talked about the other day.”

There was a pause at the other end, then the sound of shuffling. “I don’t actually
know
Beth, Rosie,” Gavin said at last, sounding genuinely confused.

Rosie wasn’t about to let him get away with that one. “You know
me
, you know that she’s
my
sister-in-law, and you know that I broke off our date to be with her in the hospital. I would have thought that might have been enough reason to ring.”

The second the words were out, she wished she hadn’t been so open; that she hadn’t let him know how much his failure to make contact had niggled her. But there it was, the whole unadorned truth lingering accusingly on the airwaves, waiting for him to concoct some reply. It wasn’t long before he did.

“I’m sorry, Rosie. Hands up – you’re quite right. I should have shown more concern.” An almost nervous laugh. “I think it’s a man thing. Can you forgive me …?
Please?
”

Rosie was still guarded, but she didn’t want to sound petulant. She mumbled something in the affirmative, unsure where to take the conversation next. Thankfully, Gavin came to her rescue.

“Tell you what – how’s about I take you out Saturday to make it up to you?” His voice was deliberately contrite. “By the way, how
is
Beth?”

Rosie couldn’t help smiling to herself. There was nothing quite so satisfying as listening to a guy like Gavin trying to crawl his way back into favour. She gave him the few brief details on Beth that she had, then agreed to let him take her out. When she came off the phone a couple of minutes later, her mind was throbbing. Any triumph she might have felt was offset by a strange sense of embarrassment which taunted her brain like a pointing finger. Why had she let him see that she cared anyway? She should have been cool about it. After all, Gavin was just a guy. And let’s face it, the world was full of those.

____________

Le Bizet (Flanders) August 22nd 1916

We’re all having a bit of a rest at the moment, which is nice. We’ve been deloused; that’s a rest in itself, though we know it won’t be long before we’re chatty again. I can’t say how many times I’ve run a candle over the seams of my clothes, Em. It’s a kind of miserable vengeance, I suppose, hearing those confounded little eggs fizzling in the flame …

Sam sighed with satisfaction. For the moment – lice-free, in clean clothes, and with access to something that resembled a real bed – he felt like a king. He’d never properly appreciated such basic living conditions in peacetime. Now he saw them as luxuries, and made a mental note never to take them for granted again.

Life had seemed something like normal since they’d arrived at the rest billets two days previously. Getting a good wash was one factor. Football was another. They’d managed to get a couple of lively matches with some of the boys from ‘D’ Company. Sam couldn’t help grinning as he remembered the day before. They’d been well into a game, when suddenly one of the lads from ‘D’ Company had gone down with a great howl. Sam had recognised him straightaway; Big Malc, a real joker if ever there was one.

‘
What’s up, you got a Blighty, Malc?’
his team-mates had started on at him, assuming he was acting the goat.
‘Get up, yer great lummock – they’ll be sendin’ us back to the line before we get this game finished.’

Sam and his pals had roared with laughter as they’d listened to the banter going on between the opposite team and their resident comedian. After a couple of minutes, however, it had become clear that the injury was no joke. The ill-fated Malc had, in fact, twisted his ankle rather badly. It had quickly begun to swell and, by the time help had arrived, was approaching the size of the football itself. The poor chap had been mortified. Not the most heroic thing to happen to a soldier. His mates had ribbed him mercilessly as he’d been carted off, threatening to get him court martialled for self-inflicted injury. Sam doubted Malc would live this down in a hurry.

At times like this, one could almost forget there was a war on. They were all just lads mucking in together. Since Harry’s departure, Sam had found himself palling around with Boxer much of the time. They had some interesting chats. Sam couldn’t always go along with everything Boxer said, but all in all, he found him a sincere and decent fellow.

“What would you like to do when we get out of this?” Sam leaned back on his elbow and gazed across the camp. They were enjoying a quiet quarter of an hour between dinner and drill.

Boxer looked up from the letter he was writing. “I want to be a minister – like my brother.”

“Your brother’s a minister? I didn’t know that.” Sam frowned. “Does that mean he hasn’t joined up then?”

Boxer grinned. “Oh, he’s out here alright. He’s a padre in a different sector. He was wounded at one bit, early last year. He went out under fire to rescue an officer who’d been shot. He managed to get him back to the trench, but not before he took a shrapnel hit himself. Nearly lost an eye. He was sent home of course. But it wasn’t long before he talked them into letting him back out here.”

Sam was intrigued. “He
wanted
to come back? Is the fellow mad?”

Boxer laughed. “No. He just loves his work. He says there’s no other like it. That’s why I want to follow in his footsteps. Meanwhile, I keep my eyes open for the little things I can do now. The good book talks about us being faithful in small things.”

Sam shook his head, smiling. “Sorry mate, you’ve really lost me.”

Boxer leaned forward, his eyes suddenly bright with purpose. “Well, it’s like this, Sam. You know that new chap who’s just been put in our unit? Most of his platoon was wiped out recently at Albert. Jimmy his name is –”

Sam pictured the lad. Very quiet, hardly said a word, went about with a windy expression on his face most of the time, which, Sam had to concede, was probably not surprising if he’d seen most of his mates blown to pieces around him. He nodded. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.”

“Well,” Boxer continued, “I had quite a talk with him the other day. Turns out he has no living relative in the whole world. Can you imagine that, Sam? Back home he works for a baker. That’s the nearest thing he has to family. When he joined up, he palled up with a young Scottish lad called Eddie. I think he was probably the first real friend Jimmy had ever had. A few weeks ago at Albert, he saw Eddie ripped clean in two by a chunk of shell. It’s really affected him, Sam. He could hardly bring himself to talk about it all. He was almost in tears.” Boxer paused, a look of concern lining his face. “I’m a bit worried about him, Sam. Fancy having no one in the world to care if you live or die. I wonder how he can fight. The whole thing must be an absolute nonsense to him. I’ve decided to keep a close eye on him – try and make sure he doesn’t lose his nerve. I wouldn’t want him to go absent. There’s not much mercy for chaps that run away. How’s about you help me, Sam? We could watch out for him together …”

I’ve agreed with Boxer to look out for Jimmy. It seems the least we can do. I can’t think what it must be like to be so alone, Em. No wonder he looks unhappy all the time. We have to make sure he doesn’t get cold feet. Some fellows have already been shot for desertion. I’d hate to see that in our platoon.

____________

Rosie sat back from her computer. It was almost midnight and she had work tomorrow. She needed to get some sleep. A few minutes later she lay in bed, her eyes closed, her mind drifting …

In a creaky, dimly lit classroom, Mr Lowry was about to tell another of his stories. Outside, the winter sky was darkening, and the stripped elms in the school grounds shuddered in the biting wind. Last period was always a difficult time to stay awake. He told them the tale of Matthew Peakefleet, a pit lad from a small village in the North of England. Barely sixteen when an underground explosion killed eight men, including his dad. Matthew had been on the other shift.

‘Couldn’t bring himself to go back down after that.’
Mr Lowry always knew how to pause for effect.

Decided to enlist in Kitchener’s New Army, even though he was under age. Anything had to be better than working in the mine. The experience might broaden his horizons for the future, and after all, everyone knew the war wouldn’t last long. Twelve months later, reality had set in for Pte. Peakefleet, the slaughter at the battle of Loos the last straw. He was a broken lad. Ran away. Couldn’t stand any more of it. Captured and court martialled for desertion. His plea of defence – ‘
My mind is shattered, I cannot carry on’
– ignored. He’d found no mercy. Shot at dawn the following day, three months after his seventeenth birthday.

Lying in the stillness, Rosie remembered. Even as a fifteen-year-old the story had sickened her. Especially as a fifteen-year-old. She’d known back then what it was to be trapped, to dream of nothing but escape, to live with her head in the future.

She thought then about Jimmy, completely alone in the world, fighting for King and country when he hadn’t a soul to call his own. It wasn’t hard to imagine life without parents. She didn’t find that hard at all. But life without anyone?
Without Ciaran and Beth?
She couldn’t do that. She yawned and pulled the duvet round her face. No, that didn’t bear thinking about. Everybody needed someone.

Saturday arrived. At twelve thirty sharp, Rosie heard Gavin’s car draw up outside the house. Taking a last, fleeting look in the mirror, she opened the front door and stepped outside. In the brief time it took her to lock up, Gavin got out of his car and slipped round to the passenger side to wait for her. When Rosie turned round, she was surprised to see him standing there, and even more surprised to see what he was holding in his hands.

“For you.” A boyish awkwardness seemed to tinge his words as he held out a huge bouquet of flowers towards her. Rosie was slightly taken aback, but tried to hide it as she reached out and took the flowers from him. Exotic-looking lilies mingled with tight-furled rose blossoms and bold gerbera blooms to create a riot of fiery colour, the whole spray being delicately tempered with stems of gypsophila and soft, feathery fern.

“Do you like them?” Gavin asked expectantly, as if any woman in her right mind could say no. Far from trying to decide whether or not she liked them, Rosie was busy trying to work out just why Gavin had brought them. This was no ordinary bunch of flowers; it must have cost him an arm and a leg. Gavin seemed to perceive her dilemma. “To say sorry.” He smiled disarmingly. “For last week. I should have made contact – you were right to be upset.”

Rosie felt herself colouring and pretended to look down at the flowers. “That’s okay. Guess I’ve been a bit stressed with everything going on.” She hesitated. “D’you mind if I take them in and put them in some water?”

“Not at all. I’ll wait out here for you.”

Rosie found a large ceramic vase and ran some water into it. As she trimmed the bases of the flower stems, she tried to harness her thoughts.
This guy could charm his way out of a straitjacket.
One by one, she thrust the blooms haphazardly into the vase. She could arrange them properly later. A smile crept over her face as she imagined Mel’s reaction when she saw them. Her eyes would probably pop out on stalks.
‘Oh Rosie,’
she would say,
‘it must be love! I’d better start saving up for a hat.’
It would be a shame to disillusion her, Rosie decided. She didn’t have to know that Gavin was just trying to make up for being such an insensitive creep. When all the flowers were in the water, Rosie carried the vase into the lounge and set it on the coffee table.
Prepare to be impressed, Melanie,
she thought as she locked the front door for the second time.

“It seems funny seeing you in daylight,” Gavin commented later as they were eating dessert after a lunch of panini and salad.

Rosie frowned. “Why – did you expect me to look different? Did you think I morphed at nightfall or something?”

It was Gavin’s turn to be puzzled.

“You know,” Rosie continued, “like Fiona on ‘
Shrek
’ … only the other way round. Did you think I turned into an ogre at daybreak and morphed back at sunset?”

Gavin’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Haven’t seen ‘
Shrek
’, I’m afraid, so I haven’t had the privilege of meeting your friend Fiona. And the only time the word
ogre
occurred to me was when you got upset with me the other day. But if I remember rightly, that was well after sunset.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Rosie tried to suppress a smile.

Gavin sat back and looked at her admiringly. “I’m sitting here thinking how you look just as good in natural light, Rosie.” He surveyed her with an air of satisfaction. “Some girls don’t, you know. They look great when the lights are low, like when you’re out clubbing. Then you meet up with them in Starbucks a couple of days later and you wonder if it’s the same girl. It can be a bit embarrassing. You find yourself wondering how you can make your exit as painlessly as possible.” For a moment he grinned. Then his voice softened. “But you – you’re the real thing.”

Rosie smiled, not knowing quite how she was supposed to respond.

“I guess all that sounds awful, Rosie.” Gavin seemed suddenly awkward. “But hasn’t anything like that ever happened to you? You know, you get off with someone, meet up next day, and come away convinced you need specs? What I’m trying to say is …
you’re
no disappointment.”