A Song in the Night (49 page)

Rosie nodded. Her mind was spinning. It was hard to deny; Jonathon Kirkbride was one of the warmest, kindest people she’d ever come across. For all his funny ideas, he seemed a genuinely sound guy. A far cry from the Gavins of this world, she thought bitterly.

Lying in bed two hours later, she tried to focus her thoughts. It wasn’t easy. Somehow, alone in her room tonight, a strange horror seemed to be closing in on her. Outside, a wind had sprung up and it rattled the windows and made the trees creak eerily. Rosie pulled the duvet right up to her face. Even with the bedside lamp still on, her imagination was working overtime. Images of Beth crowded her mind. Every noise made her jumpy; she shivered, but not from cold. Several times, just as she was on the point of falling asleep, some spectral vision seemed to pass before her dozing eyes, jerking her back to wakefulness. She could almost picture Beth standing behind the closed bedroom door, dressed in her velvet gown, her dead, unseeing eyes staring right through her.

As the night went on Rosie became exhausted. One o’clock, two o’clock … there seemed no release from the torment. She found herself frantically longing for morning to come. A solitary tear fell onto her pillow.

When you have him, you have everything you’ll ever need.

In that moment, Jonathon’s words seemed to swirl like ticker-tape around the frightening pictures in her mind. A sudden gust of wind blew against the window with force, howling like a banshee as it continued on its way. Rosie felt sick with fear. Gripping the duvet, she closed her eyes.

Jesus, I don’t even know if you’re really there –

The words came out in a low, desperate voice.

But Jonathon says you’re everything I’ll ever need.

She paused a moment, the storm in her head trying to drown out her tentative supplication.

What I need now is sleep –
a great sob cluttered her throat –
before I go completely out of my mind …

The last thing she remembered was whispering thank you.

____________

The time of the funeral had arrived. Oak Lodge was crammed with people, many of whom were family members Rosie had never seen before. Their conversations were low and hushed. Even the children were subdued. As Cassie busied herself making pots of tea, Rosie went up to Ciaran’s room and knocked softly on the door. His voice was barely audible as he summoned her to enter. He was sitting on the bed trying to fasten his tie.

“You okay, Kitch?” Even as she spoke, Rosie’s heart turned over at the sight of him. His face was gaunt and lined. Sitting there, so crushed and desolate, he seemed much older than his years, and yet he looked as helpless as a small boy. She knelt down on the floor to help him. His eyes filled with fresh tears which fell and bounced onto his suit trousers.
‘My Princess …’
was all he could mutter. Fighting to contain her own emotion, Rosie bit her lip hard.

The cars arrived at 1.45. A silence fell over everyone as the hearse came into view. An arrangement in white flowers ran along the side of the coffin. It read quite simply:
‘BETHY’.
Rosie was standing on the path next to Ciaran. She heard him stifle a sob, and fearing that he might lose it altogether, she slipped her arm gently around his waist. Trembling, he reached for her other hand and gripped it tightly. Moments later, they made their way to one of the black limousines waiting in the road. The time had come for Beth to make her final journey from the home she’d loved so much.

Even going at a slow, dignified speed, the journey to the church took less than five minutes. Without releasing her grip on Ciaran’s hand, Rosie looked out of the window as they travelled. It was a beautiful spring day. Even in the car she could feel the warmth of the sun’s rays concentrated through the glass. Several villagers stopped and respectfully bowed their heads as the procession passed by. When they arrived at the church, Rosie turned to Ciaran. His face was set in a stare, as though he were trying to summon up all his courage for this last, most difficult act of love towards Beth. As they stepped out of the car, Tim the vicar was waiting to greet them. Rosie hardly noticed any of the other people standing outside the church; her whole concentration was on her brother. She willed him to hold himself together. If he broke down now, she was pretty sure she would too.

Cassie leaned over and whispered in her ear. “You go in first with Ciaran, Rosie. We’ll follow on behind you.”

Rosie was slightly surprised. She thought fleetingly of her battle to get compassionate leave at work. What was it the supervisor had said – sisters-in-law were not considered close family? Her going in first hardly seemed correct etiquette.

As if knowing her thoughts, Cassie squeezed her shoulder gently. “Beth looked on you as a sister, Rosie. And besides, your brother needs you today.”

Slipping her arm through Ciaran’s, Rosie smiled gratefully.

As the pallbearers made their way to the door, Tim took his position behind the coffin. Suddenly, the floaty, mellifluous strains of
‘The Lark Ascending’
could be heard coming from inside the church. Rosie fixed her eyes straight forward as they walked into the building. She could almost feel Ciaran’s legs going from under him. Somehow they managed to get to the front row and sit down; Cassie and Ed to Rosie’s right, and after that, Beth’s brothers and their families filtering in behind. Rosie stared at the wooden box in front of her. It didn’t compute. The familiar music seemed to taunt her mind as she found herself recalling the night of the concert at the Laureate Hall. What had gone wrong? How on earth could something so triumphant have turned into something so tragic? As she listened to the poignant melody, her thoughts wandered to the many happy times she’d shared with Beth. It choked her to think that there would never be any more. But if
she
felt that way, she couldn’t imagine how Ciaran must be feeling right now.

After several minutes, the music faded out and Tim took his place at the front of the church. When he had welcomed everyone and extended his deepest sympathies to the family, he prayed for a few moments and then invited the congregation to sing a hymn. It was one with which Rosie was vaguely familiar –
‘Amazing Grace’.
She mouthed the words on the order of service sheet, but all the time she was conscious of Ciaran. He seemed to be staring straight ahead, the sheet clutched in his hand quite redundant. When the hymn was over, Tim asked everyone to sit down. Rosie noticed he was holding an envelope.

“Over the last few weeks,” Tim began, his eyes looking across the congregation, “I had several conversations with Beth. On one particular afternoon, after having spent a most pleasant hour or so chatting together, she gave me something which she requested I read out at her funeral. And so, with your permission, I would like in these next few moments to bring you all –” He looked down and read from the envelope. “
A Final Word From Beth.
”

There was an air of expectancy as Tim tore the envelope open.

My Precious Family and Friends,

Well, if you’re listening to this, it can only mean one thing; the time has come for us to say our goodbyes. I have not looked forward to this moment if I’m honest. My life has been blessed with so many beautiful people, it’s hard to think of our being separated from each other. And yet I guess that’s the way things have to be, at least for now. I thank God for every one of you. Each of you has helped mould my journey into what it has been. And what a brilliant time I’ve had! My life may have been short, but it has certainly been an adventure, made all the more so by my encounters with you fantastic folk. What stars you are!

Perhaps if you’d asked me a few months ago what had been the highlight of my life, I would have said it was the night I played solo violin with the Avanti Sinfonia – when we performed Vaughan Williams’ ‘Lark Ascending’ at the Laureate Hall in central London. For me, it was the fulfilment of a childhood dream; something I had longed for and worked very hard to see. I had hoped that night would mark the real take-off of my musical career. Alas, that was not to be the case. Unbeknown to me, things were about to take an unexpected turn. Within a month of the concert I was to discover I had cancer.

What fear that word can strike into the heart. What devastation it can bring upon a life. I would be lying if I told you that I received the news calmly. No, not at all. I must be honest and confess that at first, I came close to sinking. Trying to make sense of my life, trying to make sense of my impending death – none of it made any sense at all. The situation seemed quite hopeless.

And yet talking to you today, I can tell you that I did find hope. In the midst of everything that came upon me following the night of my ‘greatest triumph’ back in October, I began to experience something more precious than I could ever have dreamed of. In the fear and heartbreak of my illness and diagnosis, I suddenly found myself crying out to the God of my childhood. He’d been so real to me once, back in the simplicity of my younger days. Jesus, the friend of little children, the Good Shepherd searching for his lost sheep, the loving Father watching and waiting for his prodigal son. I’d known all the stories back then, and a whole heap of songs too. Yet somewhere along the way I’d become an adult – self-sufficient, proud and successful. It had been so easy to persuade myself I’d outgrown my need of him. Somehow, along with all my teddies, dolls and dressing up clothes, I’d left God far behind. Beth was a big girl now, carving out her own path in the world.

But there are times on our earthly journey when we find ourselves facing situations that are far beyond even the strongest, most unshakeable amongst us. When we sense, as if for the first time, our own fragility and transience. When we’re hit by the shocking realisation that we are not, and never were, masters of our own destiny. How terrifying it was to find myself in that dark hour. In all my life I’d never been in such an awful place. Yet as my shattered world began to fall apart, it was to God that I turned, albeit a little nervously at first. How would he respond after all my years of silence? Would he turn his back on me as I had turned my back on him? My prayer was not sophisticated or rehearsed; it was simply the broken sob of a hurting child. Imagine my joy and relief to discover that he had been waiting for me all along. No sooner had the pitiful cry left my lips than he reached down and scooped me into his loving arms. At my most wretched, I sensed his forgiveness and grace – at my most terrified, I felt his peace. And what an incredible peace it was! How could I have lived so long without his presence?

I have to admit something to you. One morning recently, I confided to him that I was afraid to die. Not so much of death itself, you understand, but rather the act of dying. Not exactly something one can practise for, is it? That very night I had a dream. In it, the Lord came to me and sat on the end of my bed. I remember the look of tremendous love in those eyes. “Don’t be afraid, Beth,” he said. “When the time comes, I’ll send my angels to carry you home to me.” The next morning, the fear had completely gone. Now, as you listen to this letter, I will have seen those very angels face to face. But even more precious than that, I will be looking into his.

And so for now, lovely people, I will say goodbye. As I leave this world, be sure to know I carry you all in my heart. Whatever you do, don’t be unhappy for me. Jesus said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die.’

Dear precious ones, I BELIEVE! In the words of the song – ‘I’m gonna live forever!’

Love You and God Bless – Beth xxx

A profound hush had fallen over the church. Ciaran’s arm was touching against Rosie’s and she could sense that his whole body was trembling. His grief seemed almost tangible now. Rosie hardly heard any of the short message that Tim delivered following his reading of the letter. Her mind was stinging with memories;
the old church at Applemarket, the evening on Whitstable pier, Beth’s dream of the fog –
it all fitted in. Yet listening to Beth’s final thoughts had been almost too painful to bear, and Rosie had a sudden, terrible urge to run out of the place before she completely lost control. She forced her brain to think of mundane things; shopping at Sainsbury’s, cleaning the nursery toilets, grilling nachos on a Saturday night … anything that might pull her mind away from the awful reality of what was happening and stem the surge of grief that was about to engulf her. It was with some relief that she realised Tim had finished talking. Now it was time for the final hymn. She steeled herself to hold on. Surely they had to be nearing the end now. The singing was strong and, Rosie sensed, almost triumphant. When it was over, Tim asked the congregation to remain standing for the final prayers. There was a simplicity in the way he prayed; a gentle, sincere empathy. Rosie was sure she could hear his voice breaking slightly as he spoke.

“Could I ask you all to take your seats for a moment?” Tim requested. “Before we carry Beth’s body to its final resting place, I would like us all to spend a few private moments remembering her life and thanking God for our precious memories of her.”

As the congregation sat down, strains of music began to drift through the still church. It was music Rosie had never heard before; music of such melancholic dignity that she felt it could almost have been composed for the occasion itself. She reached for the order of service leaflet and stared down at the photograph of Beth on the front. It was the same photo that had appeared on the programme the night of the concert. Rosie felt a stab of pain. Trying to distract herself, she opened the leaflet and fixed her gaze on the words swimming in front of her.

As her eyes fell upon the title of the piece that was playing, her heart quickened. Ciaran’s words came sharply back to her – the day he’d picked the music for the funeral.

“… Because that’s what she meant to me.”