A Song in the Night Read online

  People were starting to move now, and the whole auditorium buzzed with the hum of a thousand conversations. It felt like the well-fed aftermath of a good concert; the bustle of a multitude of coats being pulled on, bags being picked up, and feet shuffling distractedly towards exits as though their owners were reluctant to leave. But up in the balcony, certain occupants of two particular rows were sitting tight. Chattering excitedly among themselves, they seemed oblivious to the movement all around them. Beth’s family had turned out in force. They had made the two hundred and fifty mile journey down from North Yorkshire; her parents, Ed and Cassie Simmons, and her two brothers, Ben and Josh, along with their wives and children.

  Though Rosie was sitting amongst them, she felt decidedly separate from them. Their closeness, their humour, the combination of their eccentricities and empathies intrigued her. The banter between them all seemed to flow with the ease and rhythm of the ocean on a summer’s day. She’d been around Beth’s lot before, but tonight, for the first time, it hit her. That brother of hers had gone and got himself a real family. How on earth had he managed that? The irony almost made her smile; yet, for a moment, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

  A small voice cut into her thoughts. “What was that last song called, Rosie?” Nine-year-old Meg crinkled her face. Meg was the eldest daughter of Beth’s brother, Josh.

  Rosie leafed through the programme. “I’m pretty sure it was – hang on a sec while I check … .” She flicked the pages until she came to Beth’s photo. The face was young and relaxed, and the large eyes shone mischievously. She skimmed the writing.

  ‘Beth Maconochie has been with the Avanti Sinfonia since 2002, and tonight she will be giving her first performance as violin soloist with the orchestra.’

  Rosie jumped another page. “Here it is. Yes, that’s what I thought. That piece was called ‘The Lark Ascending’ – written by a man called Ralph Vaughan Williams. I seem to think it’s your Auntie Beth’s favourite. Did you like it?”

  Meg nodded, a dreamy expression on her face. Her younger sister, seven-year-old Tammy, sighed in admiration. It seemed she was equally smitten.

  “Are we off then?” Ed Simmons’ voice boomed cheerily in the atmosphere of the almost empty gallery. They wended their way out of the auditorium and onto the first floor landing of the concert hall. The broad corridor was still brimming with people making their way towards the staircase which led down to the foyer, and the warm air hung heavy with the intriguing mix of scents and perfumes that emanated from the well-dressed crowd. Large, ornate chandeliers illuminated the whole scene, sparkles of light glinting from a million drops of shimmering pink glass. Tammy slipped her small hand into her sister’s. Rosie was amused to see Meg’s arm jerk as the younger child made slight, springing steps on the plush, rose-coloured carpet. It was obvious the evening had been a real treat for the young girls. Rosie found herself wondering what it must be like for them being in the capital at night, going to a classical concert in an opulent hall. A lot different from Yorkshire, she was sure. She remembered the strangeness she herself had felt when she’d first moved to London. She’d thought back then she would never get used to it. Yet here she was, almost a native. You could get used to anything given time.

  Outside in the cool October night air, the group met up with Beth and Ciaran. Hugs, kisses, and congratulations overflowed as they waited for taxis to take them to the train station. The area was full of Friday night revellers; theatres and concert halls spilled out their colourful crowds who quickly mingled with ambling restaurant diners and nocturnal tourists until the streets were a sway of good-natured merrymaking. Meg and Tammy observed it all with eyes large and bright. Once inside their taxi, they pressed their small faces against the windows and watched the lights of London flash by. Tom, Ben’s teenage son, chattered amiably to the driver who nodded and mumbled as he negotiated his way towards their destination. When they arrived at Victoria, they all piled onto a train and spent the short journey making plans for their next few days together. Beth’s family were treating themselves to a break in a hotel. “Not every day you come down to London,” Ed had said. “We’ll splash out a bit. See ’ow the other ’alf live.”

  As they all prepared to separate for the night, Cassie took Beth in her arms and hugged her. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. You were absolutely wonderful.”

  Beth’s face glowed. But before she had chance to reply, Josh came up behind them and, linking his arm through his sister’s, began to spin her round on the spot. Ben struck up a tune and, together with Ed and Tom, began to clap as though at some impromptu roadside ceilidh. The children jumped up and down on the pavement with delight, and Beth punched the air jubilantly as the spinning gathered pace. Rosie exchanged glances with Ciaran. He was watching the scene, his eyes filled with quiet pride. “They’re all as mad as each other,” he whispered to her. But Rosie knew he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  “Whoa! You’ll have to stop …” Beth panted breathlessly after a couple of minutes. She was still laughing, but her voice came out in small gasps.

  Josh steadied her. “You okay, sis? Getting too old for this kinda thing?”

  Beth bent forward with her hands on her knees as she tried to catch her breath. She tilted her face up at him and grinned. “Some of us have been working very hard tonight – just in case you didn’t notice.”

  Josh rubbed her shoulder affectionately. “We’ll let you off then. Looks like you need to get your feet up.”

  It was late by the time Ciaran and Beth finally flopped onto the sofa of their Streatham home.

  “Don’t you wish we could do concerts in jeans?” Ciaran loosened his collar and sighed. There was always a slight hint of Irish in his voice when he was tired.

  “Or combats?” Beth ventured. “Only I guess they wouldn’t look quite so glam.”

  Ciaran took her small hands in his and tenderly kissed the tips of her fingers. “You were so beautiful tonight, Bethy. You played like an angel. At one bit I wanted to stand on my seat and shout – Listen up, you lot! That girl’s mine. My bride! Isn’t she just gorgeous …?”

  Beth shook her head and grinned. “I’m very glad you resisted the temptation. Your Rosie would’ve thrown something at you.” She looked down at her hands for a few moments, her expression becoming serious. “D’you think I did it justice? I mean, was it as good as you thought it would be?” Suddenly, away from all the applause and adulation, she knew she needed to hear it from him. What he thought meant more than all the compliments in the world.

  Ciaran took her gently by the shoulders. Pulling her round to face him, he looked deep into her eyes. “Bethy, you were awesome. Absolutely out of this world. I have never been so proud in all my life as I was tonight. Really.” He kissed her then for a long time until she knew. She was his treasure.

  Some time after midnight, he got up to make a hot drink.

  “Bring me a couple of paracetamol with mine,” Beth called out.

  “You got a headache?” Ciaran’s voice could just be heard through the clinking of cups and the buzz of the kettle.

  “Nah, not really.” Beth flexed her arms and hands. “Just need to loosen up a bit. They might help me sleep.” She tried not to think about the sickness, but it was there again, lingering somewhere in the pit of her stomach. She placed a hand against her belly. Was it her imagination or was it not quite so flat as it used to be? Her heart quickened as her stomach lurched again. What kind of timing would that be? Just when things are taking off for me …

  A flash of guilt seized her. She shouldn’t be thinking this way. Her mind went back to the morning she’d sat with her mother in a doctor’s surgery, just a few weeks before her wedding to Ciaran. Her periods had always been few and far between; one year she’d only had three. Dr Meluish had warned her gently that she might struggle to conceive. She’d cried that day, all her girlhood maternal aspirations cluttering her throat in great sobs. Now, as she remembered, she felt bad. She insti
nctively hugged herself and leaned forward on the sofa. There was no doubt about it; she’d definitely thickened up in the old waistband department. She hadn’t said anything to Ciaran yet. No point in getting him in a lather – or getting his hopes up. Distractedly, she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. She couldn’t imagine quite how he’d take it. They’d always hoped it would happen in the future, but it certainly wasn’t something they’d reckoned on right now. Now of all times.

  The thought of it scared her. She pulled herself up with a start. She was probably being premature. Perhaps it was all the junk food she’d been living on these last few weeks. Yes, that could account for it. Junk food and stress; a lethal combination for any girl. It was a desperate straw to cling to, but by the time Ciaran came in with the drinks, Beth had managed to push the subject neatly into a corner of her mind. This was her big night after all. She should be savouring the moment, not speculating as to whether her career might be about to take an unexpected nosedive. She forced a smile as Ciaran set the tray down.

  I’ll keep an eye on things. He doesn’t need to know anything yet.

  Rosie was feeling exhausted. She’d been into work extra early that morning and now it was catching up on her. After briefing her housemate, Mel, about the concert, she went off to her room. She had to be up early again tomorrow, sightseeing with Beth’s family. Beth’s family – what a bunch. She yawned. Without warning, a picture floated across her mind. A picture of a man and a woman, a young lad and a little girl, sitting on a seaside promenade, posing for a photo. The breeze was pulling at their hair and their faces were wide with smiles …

  For a moment, the memory held her motionless. A sudden knot gripped her stomach. The old pain, the one she thought had gone away. She shook herself and ran some water into the sink. Splashing her face, she blanked the picture from her head. That’s the trouble with burning the candle at both ends, she chided herself. Time you were asleep, girl.

  Going over to the window, she opened the curtains slightly so that she could see the moon from her bed. A shaft of pale light fell across the covers and, as she lay in the stillness, Rosie’s mind went back to the image of Beth on the concert stage. As her eyes grew heavy, the lark sung its haunting, silvery melody and serenaded her to sleep.

  ____________

  The next few days were spent showing Beth’s northern relatives the sights. It had been Beth’s suggestion that Rosie try and get a few days off work to join them. They visited all the usual spots and, to Rosie’s amusement, acted like complete tourists much of the time. She noticed that Ed and Beth’s brother, Ben, kept making hasty pencil sketches of various scenes.

  “Nobody’s told them about the invention of the camera,” Beth joked in a low voice. Rosie laughed, but secretly she admired the snatched drawings; there was something immediate and personal about them. Ed noticed her interest.

  “Do you do any drawing yourself, Rosie?” They had stopped by the Jewel Tower and Ed was doing a quick outline of the Houses of Parliament.

  Rosie shrugged. “I like doodling. Never done anything impressive. Well, only once perhaps.”

  “Oh, and what was that?” Ed squinted as he flicked his pencil across the page.

  Rosie was dismissive. “Just something I did at secondary school.”

  Something from another time, another place, she thought wistfully. Something so far removed from her present life, it was tempting to wonder if it had ever really happened at all. She tried to focus her attention on Ed’s sketchpad. But her eyes saw something altogether different.

  An early summer morning in County Wicklow. Sitting on a hillside still damp with dew, gazing down into a steamy, golden valley. Ciaran pointing out insects to her and quietening her to listen to the sound of a blackbird.

  The world had seemed brand new back then. To her childhood eyes, that valley had been the beginning and end of it. Many years later, after moving to England, she’d made a sketch of the memory. She’d turned it into a painting and shown it to the art teacher at school. To her embarrassment, it had been put on display for the rest of the year. Mr Retford had said she showed real talent, even talked about further education. At that time, her only ambition in life had been the thought of escaping to London. Now, as she watched Ed’s deft pencil movements, she couldn’t help wondering if she’d missed something along the way.

  On the Thursday, Beth’s family had to go back to Yorkshire. There were tearful scenes at the station as everyone exchanged hugs and promises to see each other soon. ‘Don’t leave it too long!’ and ‘Come up before Christmas!’ they yelled as they piled onto the train.

  Just before she boarded, Cassie took Rosie’s arm and spoke into her ear. “That means you too, Rosie. You’re very welcome to come and stay with us anytime you’d like to. You remember that.”

  “Thanks –” Rosie faltered, “I will.” She felt oddly moved by the gesture. Though they didn’t see each other often, Cassie always treated her with a maternal care which Rosie found strangely unfamiliar.

  As the train began to pull away, tears streamed down Beth’s face. As it snaked into the distance and the waving arms of her family grew smaller, she stood like a lost child, staring up the line. Ciaran slipped his arm around her. “Come on, princess,” he whispered, kissing her hair. They all walked slowly up the platform towards the exit.

  Beth dabbed her face with a tissue. “I never get used to the goodbyes,” she said between sniffs, “no matter how many times we do it.”

  ____________

  The following Saturday morning, Rosie went round to catch up with Beth. Ciaran was just on his way out. “See you, sis. Gotta go – late for a lesson.” He ruffled her hair and dashed off.

  “Gets no better for keeping, does he?” Rosie grinned as she took off her jacket.

  Beth was looking through a magazine. “Honestly! Have you seen this?” She thrust the page in front of Rosie’s face. They read the article together. It was a glowing piece. The columnist had reviewed Beth’s violin performance in lush, poetic tones and ended with the enigmatic question, ‘What next from the angelic Beth Maconochie?’

  “Who writes this rubbish?” snorted Beth, but Rosie could tell she was pleased. She went to make them both a coffee, leaving Beth still mulling over the review.

  “So … what does somebody with your new iconic status do next?” Rosie placed the drinks on the table as she shot Beth a teasing half-smile.

  “Very funny. I carry on doing my job. What else?”

  Rosie took a slow mouthful of coffee. “Must be great doing a job you really love.”

  Beth shrugged. “Well, it’s hard work and it doesn’t pay that well; so yeah, I guess I must love it. But anyway, what about you? I thought you were happy working at the nursery.”

  Rosie was quiet for a moment. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m not unhappy. But sometimes you wonder, don’t you?”

  “Wonder what?”

  Rosie shook her head with a slight laugh. “Oh, I dunno. Sometimes you ask yourself, if I could do anything in the whole wide world, what would it be? Somehow I don’t think I’d be working at the nursery, that’s all.”

  “So what would you do?”

  Rosie paused as she pondered the question. “To be honest, I’ve absolutely no idea.”

  Beth grinned. “I feel some real angst coming off you all of a sudden, Ros. Trying to find ourself are we …?”

  Rosie felt a flush of embarrassment. She’d been too open. Straightening up, she forced another laugh. “Go on then, Mrs Maconochie. What would you do?”

  “Oh, that’s simple.” Beth threw her head back with easy confidence. “I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to start working on my own compositions. It’s a thing I’ve fancied doing for a while. I reckon it’s a good way forward for me now that I’ve broken into solo. You watch, Ros. I’m gonna write something that’ll take the world by storm. Tour all over performing it. Make enough money to come back home and write some more – and so on. I’ve been planning it a
ll out this morning.”

  “That article’s gone to your head, hasn’t it?” Rosie smirked.

  “Absolutely!” Beth beamed. “Well, at least I can dream, can’t I?”

  ____________

  It was Tuesday evening. Rosie and her housemate, Mel, were in the middle of London, making their way, as quickly as Mel’s stilettos would allow, towards a wine bar. Rosie glanced at her watch.

  “You nervous?” Mel smiled tentatively.

  “Nah –” Rosie lied. “Do I need to be?”

  Mel shook her head. “No, Dan says he’s a really nice guy. He’s just been going through a bit of a hard time recently.”

  Rosie turned on her. “You never told me that bit. What’s he looking for – a shrink? Oh boy, why did I ever let you talk me into this?”

  Mel patted her arm consolingly. “Don’t be daft, it’ll be fine. It’s only for a few hours. If you don’t hit it off you don’t have to see each other again. I just thought it might be a nice idea. You’ve been single for a while after all.”

  “Being single isn’t a disease, Mel.” Rosie’s voice was gloomy. “Anyway, have you ever met this – this – what’s his name again?”

  Mel thought for a moment. “His name’s Gavin. And no, I haven’t met him.”

  Rosie rolled her eyes with a look of mock menace. “I’m warning you, sunshine. If he’s got a face like a bear’s backside, or I get the remotest hint that he’s having therapy, I’m outta there.”