The Inbetween Days

by Eva Woods

  “Rosie, this is James from next door.” The other man wore a pink polo shirt, collar up, and chinos. Definitely not Rosie’s type, not in a million years, but she shook hands gamely. Clearly, this was a setup. She was remembering now. After the drinks in the pub at Christmas, the first time she’d seen Luke in over five years, and the shock of realizing he was engaged, she’d been surprised to receive a message from the fiancée inviting her over for dinner. Perhaps it was that classic move, befriending the ex (though Rosie was not that, of course), neutralizing the threat. And she’d gone because, clearly, the chance to be around Luke was worth the heartache of seeing him with someone else.

  “So, then, Rosie,” said James, as Luke handed him a bottle of beer. “How d’you know Luke and Ella?”

  Ella! That was her name! Of course. Rosie watched as Luke and her past self fumbled over the answer to this question—how did they know each other? What were they to each other now? “Erm, you know, we met traveling years ago.”

  “Thought you met Ella traveling, mate?”

  “We did. Later on the same trip.” Ella came over, holding a plate in each hand. “Shall we sit down?”

  Rosie gaped at her. There was no mistaking the fullness under the floaty top. Her mind did the math...so they’d been engaged at Christmas, and that was two months ago...

  There was no denying it. Ella was pregnant.

  * * *

  “Hope you all like Thai food.” Ella was an effortless hostess as well as being glamorous. She’d not even broken a sweat serving up the pad thai with assorted side dishes. Taking her seat at the top of the trendy glass table, she put her hand over Luke’s. “It’s our favorite. When we were out there we ate it all the time, didn’t we, honeybunch?”

  Honeybunch. Rosie could see herself beside Luke, opposite James, a rictus smile on her face. Of course, she remembered now. Luke had eventually fetched up in Asia after they parted, which was where he’d met Ella. That could have been Rosie, going round Thailand with him, eating spicy food that burned her mouth, riding on elephants (there were many photos on the wall, framed in a selection of shabby-chic frames no doubt sourced from vintage shops. Ella seemed the kind of woman who would source things rather than buy them). If only Rosie had been braver. If only she’d told him how she felt, took that risk, opened up. But she hadn’t. And here they were.

  “Pad thai,” said Darryl, who’d been hovering, silent. “That’s got peanuts in, hasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. And I’m allergic.” She watched her past self, remembering now how she’d weighed up her mild childhood peanut allergy against the social faux pas of not eating Ella’s dinner. Don’t do it, you idiot, she urged herself, but it was no use. Past Rosie took a small bite, forcing it down her throat. It had been delicious, of course. Everything was done so well. There were little glass bowls of lime and coriander to sprinkle, matched Thai beers—Rosie had brought a cheapish red wine, which she noticed Ella spirit away to the back of a dark cupboard—water in antique crystal jugs, some middle-of-the-road unthreatening music in the background. Mumford and Sons, she thought.

  The other two couples—she had no idea what their names were, could not recall anything about them—seemed liked faceless blurs. She remembered there was some vague chat about politics, the new coalition government, but Rosie had paid no heed, focusing instead on trying not to spill things down herself. Luke tried to get her and James chatting. “So, Rosie’s an actress.”

  “Oh yeah?” James was attacking his pad thai. “Been in anything I’d have seen?”

  Rosie hated that question. How was she to know what people had seen? “Um, mostly stage.”

  “I never go to the theatre. Waste of money, isn’t it. Your average theatre ticket, right, what is it? Twenty quid?”

  “More, usually.” Rosie had set down her fork and was surreptitiously fanning her lips.

  “Right, and I can stream films at home for free. Just need to know the right site.”

  “You’re talking about pirating?”

  James winked. “Well, who’s it hurting, eh?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, just everyone who wrote and directed and acted in and made it? It’s people like you taking money out of the industry.”

  James was frowning. “Easy, love. You should get a real job if you’re worried about cash. Teaching, law, something like that. Everyone knows acting’s not a proper job.”

  Rosie scowled at him. “I don’t think it’s fair that only posh kids can afford to do jobs in the arts. What about passion, and joy and creating something meaningful? That shouldn’t just be for rich people.” There was a short silence round the table, and to cover her embarrassment, Rosie took another bite of her treacherous dinner. “Mmm, it’s lovely.”

  “James is an estate agent,” Luke said, struggling on.

  “Foxton’s. Got my own car and everything, it’s a sweet deal.”

  “We’re looking to buy, actually,” said Ella. Oh, how that we had stung at Rosie, a worse burn than the chili in the food. “Moving out of London, even. The prices are getting so crazy.”

  “Oh yeah? Where?” There followed a long discussion about house prices, which Rosie could not join in on. She seemed to be in some discomfort, drinking a large glass of water, swallowing with difficulty. Only Luke noticed.

  “You okay?” he said, with concern, under the general hubbub.

  Rosie was struggling to breathe now. “Oh yeah, sorry, it’s just...”

  “Shit! You’re allergic to peanuts! Oh my God, Rosie, I’m so sorry. What can we do?”

  “I...need a shot...” She didn’t carry an EpiPen, though she’d been advised to. No room for them in the stupid tiny handbags that were fashionable at the time. She just avoided peanuts and that seemed to work. Until now, when she’d voluntarily eaten a whole plate of them.

  Luke was already leaping up from the table, grabbing his wallet and keys. “I’ll take you to hospital. Come on, it’s only a few minutes away.”

  She was waving him away with one hand, while clutching her throat with the other. “Oh no, no, you’re having...party...urgh...”

  “No arguments. Come on. I’ll call a taxi.” He bundled her out the door, and the last thing Rosie saw was Ella’s expression, as her fiancé left her dinner party with another woman. Albeit, one who was red in the face and whose tongue had swollen to three times normal size.

  Then Darryl’s ghostly hand on her elbow, and the scene was dissolving, the light changing, and there were Rosie and Luke in a hospital cubicle, her with a breathing mask over her face, feeling very silly, while he sat beside her in the plastic chair. Around them the chaos of the ER on a Saturday night, drunks shouting and singing, machines bleeping. Same hospital she was in now, in fact, immobile in the bed six years on from this memory.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Luke again. “I remembered there was something, but then you used to love baklava, and that has nuts in...”

  “Different nuts,” she breathed, into her mask. “Did you know...a peanut...’snot actually a nut?”

  “I did not know that. Always an education, being with you.”

  Rosie took the mask off, and fluffed out her hair. She was feeling better after the shot they’d given her, and she’d be able to go home soon. “I’m really sorry I ruined your dinner party. What an idiot, eh?”

  “God, no, don’t be, I was glad to get out of there. I can’t believe she invited James. James! The guy would drive over his granny if it meant he got a parking spot for his stupid Foxtonsmobile.” She remembered that about Luke, his streak of social justice. Everyone had that in their twenties, of course, but his seemed to be surviving better than most. “And the rest of them, Ella’s workmates, this will sound horrible, but any time they come around I end up drinking too much just to stop myself slipping into a boredom coma.”

  “How come you didn’t invite any of your friends?”

>   “Oh, mine are all a bit scattered. Traveling or working overseas still. Like I always wanted to be. It’s not exactly fighting the good fight, sitting at home writing articles.” She remembered now that Luke was a journalist, an expert on international development. Was he not happy, being back in the UK, about to be a dad?

  Past Rosie waited. “But a wedding, that’s exciting, huh. And a baby! Big steps.”

  Luke looked at the floor. “Very big. It was all sort of...thrust upon us. You know, El wanted to live here and she’ll be kicked out soon if we don’t get married, so...”

  Of course. Ella was Australian, they’d had to get married for the visa. If it hadn’t been for the baby, Rosie might have felt some hope. But as it was, he was going to have a child, and that was that. She wouldn’t have tried to steal away someone’s husband, someone’s dad, would she—not after what Carole had done to her own family? And yet there was that memory, her and Luke in the hotel together, four years from now.

  “Luke?” said Past Rosie, shyly. “Now that we’re both back, and we’re in touch...it would be great to hang out again. You know, as friends.” There was no need to say that “as friends,” because they’d never actually been anything more, but Luke didn’t question it. The small cubicle felt crowded, memories pushing them apart, unsaid words weighing heavy.

  He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “Of course. As friends.” And he took her hand, and squeezed it, in a way that was just about acceptable for one friend to another when the friend was in a hospital bed and a gown that gaped at the back.

  “Come on,” said Darryl. “Time to move on.”

  “But can’t I just...”

  “Nope. Sorry mate. Lots to see. Lots to remember. Let’s go.”

  Daisy

  It was quite easy to track people down in the age of Facebook. People were harder to lose. Memories were almost impossible to forget when they popped up on your timeline, bright as the day you made them. Daisy had decided—she could not sit and wait a second longer, even if it meant leaving Rosie’s bedside, even if people would judge her for it. She had to try and find out what had happened to her sister, and if that meant talking to everyone on Rosie’s list, then she would do it. Maybe someone, one of these names on the list, would know the secret to why Rosie walked under the bus, and if she found that out, then there was the slimmest chance she could wake her sister up. It wasn’t much, but she had to take it. And time was slipping away.

  * * *

  Ingrid St. Cloud, Rosie’s university friend, posh and blonde but nice all the same. They’d stopped being friends some time back—why? Ingrid, who was a lawyer in a big international firm, was based near London Bridge, and Daisy easily talked her way in via her own legal credentials. When she told Ingrid why she was there, the other woman emitted a little scream, surprising Daisy. “Omigod! Not Rosie!”

  “I’m sorry. The doctors are hopeful but... I thought you might like to know.”

  “God, of course, of course. How utterly dreadful. You poor thing. Can I do anything?” She was already picking up her phone, the picture of efficiency in her black designer suit, red nails and lips, glossy blond hair. “You need food sent over? Accommodation?”

  “No, no, Ingrid, thank you, it’s just—did Rosie get in touch with you at all? In the last few days?”

  Ingrid pursed her red lips. “You know, now that I think about it, she did send me an email the other day. Haven’t got round to replying yet, things are totally frantic, you know...”

  “Yeah. What did she say?”

  “Well, it was rather strange. She said she was sorry we’d fallen out and it was all her fault! That was years back, and anyway, it was my fault really, considering I married Jack.”

  “Jack? You mean...”

  “Yes, darling, I married Rosie’s ex. Not very girl code, I know, but...he’s the one for me.” Ingrid tapped a framed photo on her desk, her and a preppy-looking guy on the ski slopes, two small children in bright ski suits hugging their legs. “I was terribly sorry Rosie and I lost touch. I always thought she blamed me for it. Oh God! You don’t think this has happened because...?”

  “No, no, I’m sure it’s nothing to do with that.” Not that she knew. Daisy stood up. She didn’t have much time. “I have to run now, but...if Rosie comes through all this, will you get back in touch with her, please? I think...I think she would like that.”

  And she left, leaving Ingrid’s glossy mouth hanging open in surprise.

  * * *

  Next stop was Rosie’s boss at the coffee shop, which Daisy was surprised to find empty. “Serge,” he introduced himself, with a firm handshake that made Daisy wince. “You’re her sister?”

  “Yes, I just wanted to let you know she was ill, in case... She’s not working here anymore?”

  “No, she quit a month back. Shit, that’s terrible about her accident. I’m sorry.”

  “And she sent you a message, two days ago?”

  “Yeah, just saying sorry for quitting, leaving me in the lurch. But it’s all fine really.”

  Daisy looked round. The counters were empty, the tables and chairs neatly stacked, the till lying open. “You’re closing down?”

  “Yeah. Well, it was all because of Rosie, in a way. She gave me this big speech about how coffee wasn’t her passion, and she had to do what she loved. I was pissed off at the time, but then I got to thinking...it’s not my passion either. I mean, it’s just coffee. Hot brown water. So I’m going to focus full-time on my music. Put this place on the market.”

  “Well, that’s...that’s great.” Daisy’s mind was whirring. Follow your passion. That didn’t sound like Rosie had been planning to kill herself. But on the other hand, why would she quit her job when she had nothing else to do?

  “Don’t suppose you know anyone wants to buy a café business, do you?”

  “Erm...you know, I might. Let me take your number?”

  * * *

  Daisy ran on, place to place, person to person. Gary’s mate Dave, the one Rosie had snogged at the engagement party, worked at a comic store in Covent Garden, and yes, he told her, standing behind the counter in a Flash T-shirt, he’d also had a message from Rosie saying sorry for her behavior. “I didn’t reply though,” he said, blushing. “My girlfriend didn’t want me to.”

  “You have a girlfriend now?” Daisy gaped at him. “Erm, sorry. I just meant...”

  “We met at Comic Con. I guess it was because of Rosie, really. I never thought a girl would look at me, but then she did and she’s so beautiful, you know. It made me think, maybe I did have something to offer, and then I met Sarah at the Marvel booth, and I just went for it. I hope Rosie will be okay. She didn’t seem very happy that day.”

  “No. I know she didn’t. In her message, did she say anything else, any clues about what she was thinking?”

  Dave looked baffled. “Just that she was sorry and she’d post me back the Star Wars T-shirt I left at her place. It’s limited edition, you see.”

  “Okay. Well, sorry, Dave, I have to run. Congratulations, and all that.” As Daisy stepped out onto the busy street, she wondered would she ever see Dave again, if she and Gary were over. But there was no time to think about that now.

  * * *

  Rosie’s flat. Might there be some clues there, something she’d missed? But when Daisy climbed the stairs, she saw the door was already open, and inside were Caz and Leo, on their knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. “Oh!”

  “Daisy!” Caz stood up, wiping her hands on her dungarees. She had a silk scarf over her hair, and looked like a woman in an advert. “I hope you don’t mind. We just had to do something. I was going mad at home, pacing about waiting for news. We thought we’d leave the place nice for her coming home, if she...” Caz tailed off. If she came home at all. Because it wasn’t guaranteed, of course. Nothing was.

  “I asked my dad to have it
redecorated,” Leo chipped in. “Lick of paint, few repairs, new bits of furniture, that kind of thing.”

  Daisy was stunned. “That was kind of you.”

  “Least I can do, mate.” He looked embarrassed, pulling on his beanie hat so it almost covered his face. “Rosie’s been a good friend to me. Brings me falafel when I’m coming down, reminds me to shower and that...and I kept trying to shag her. Er, sorry, I mean...make love to her. She deserves better than that.”

  “That’s okay,” said Daisy, quickly.

  “Nah, it’s not okay. It’s disrespectful, like. It’s harassment.”

  “Well it’s good that you...”

  “She is hot though. Sorry.”

  “Why don’t you make Daisy some tea, Leo?” said Caz pointedly, rolling her eyes at Daisy.

  “That’s okay, I have to rush. But...thank you for doing this, both of you. I don’t suppose you found anything while you were tidying—a note, or a letter or...” Daisy didn’t really know what she was looking for. A sign. A clue. A clear description of who Luke was and how to find him. But they were both shaking their heads. Nothing.

  A knock at the open door announced a man carrying a toolbox, with paint-stained combats and a pencil behind his ear. “Hiya, I’m James. Painter and decorator?”

  Leo pumped his hand enthusiastically. “Wicked, thanks for coming so quickly, mate.”

  Daisy moved to the door. “I’ll tell Rosie what you’re doing. I’m sure she’d...she’ll be pleased.”

  “Rosie?” said the decorator, looking thoughtful. “I met a girl called Rosie once, at a dinner party. She sent me off with a right flea in my ear about doing what you loved, being creative and all that. Next day I was in such a state I messed up at work, sold someone the wrong house, got fired. But I’m much happier now. Got my own business, freedom, work with my hands...”