“Yes, unfortunately I do.” I stare into the pattern of froth at the bottom of my coffee cup. “But believe me, it does get better over time and everyone finds a way to reconcile in their own way. As long as you don’t end up bitter, it will all work out in the end. How long ago was it…” I across as I ask her the question to find that her eyes are closed and the glass of wine in her hand is tipping over towards me.
I slide it from her grip and she rouses slightly before putting both hands under her head and settling into a deeper sleep.
Oh well, I guess that conversation is over, at least it didn’t end with her throwing me out. Although falling asleep on me isn’t a great sign either.
I sit for a while settling into the comfiness of the sofa while I chew over whether to leave her here or carry her upstairs. I think she will sleep better in her own bed and would like to see where she lays her head at night. I’m going to draw the line at undressing her, although I would very much like to do that too.
I scoop her up in my arms and take her up the stairs. There’s only one door open in the hallway and it is at the front of the house. I guess that’s her bedroom by the scent that she is wearing now getting stronger as I move towards it.
The curtains are still open and I can see the outline of the bed over at the far wall. Concentrating hard on making out the foot of the bed, I don’t see the pile of shoes on the carpet until I’m already walking over them. My knees buckle and I stumble towards the bed. I grip tightly onto her and in the remaining two steps manage to regain my composure. She wriggles in my arms but doesn’t fully wake and I manage to lay her onto the bed in one piece.
“Charles?” she murmurs. I guess that must be that prick that did this to her.
“No, it’s Kane. Goodnight gorgeous.”
“Night Kane.”
I look at her jeans and decide it’s really not appropriate to take them off and pull the duvet over her instead, but I can’t resist a kiss on the forehead. Just a slight brush of my lips, but it’s enough for me to know that I want more.
I sidestep the pile of shoes and tiptoe down the stairs, locking the door with the keys discarded on the hall table, before posting them back through the letter box.
Knowing she is safe asleep inside, I leave.
Chapter Fifteen
Rosa
I wake up with a headache, which is surprising because I didn’t think I had drunk that much last night. I lay there for a while recounting the night’s events, starting with Kane driving me home. He was lovely, so gentlemanly coming after me like that and then taking me home. I remember making him a coffee, having a glass of wine, listening to music and chatting. Yes, that was all very nice.
Then I remember the gossip in the bar. Charles and Crimson having a baby. It must have been them they were talking about. How many other Crimson’s are there out there that work for an architect’s practice and have gotten engaged to someone with a double-barreled name? Yes, I’d forgotten about that bit too - got engaged. He’s not even divorced for Christ’s sake.
I can’t believe it. I was supposed to be the one having a baby with him. Not her. No wonder he wants to move back in the house. Well he can whistle.
There is a knife stuck in my heart and he has put it there.
Has he no feelings for me?
None?
I lay there for a while longer until I register the emotion I’m feeling isn’t sadness, even though they were the words I used in my head to describe it. I’m not actually sure what emotion I am feeling, as I don’t really feel that angry either. Disappointed maybe?
I’d rather go back to what happened later last night; the conversation I had with Kane and how I got up here to my bed.
I look under the covers. All I’m wearing is my cami-top and knickers, my jeans are screwed up at the side of me.
I do vaguely remember waking up in the middle of the night and pushing them off my legs, but I don’t remember getting into bed with them on. Then I run my hand up to my head and trace my fingertips onto my forehead. I do remember a kiss, a soft, warm kiss and the smell of Charles’ aftershave. The aftershave that he never wore.
It’s Saturday today, a day I need to do stuff. I’m not sure what yet, but it feels like that sort of day. It’s early and that is a good start to the weekend.
I wrap my robe around me as it’s still quite chilly for the beginning of June, as always is the case up here in Yorkshire. I think I was a bit premature in adjusting the timer on the central heating last week and slip my feet into my cosy fleece slippers. I venture downstairs and spot the keys on the doormat. I go to pick them up, and to check the door is locked. Must have been Kane.
As I walk passed the living room door, I notice my phone is still on the sound system and I go to retrieve it. There’s my half full wine glass and a drained mug of coffee on the side table. I pause for a while and think of Kane inside my house, and it doesn’t feel wrong.
I take the phone through to the kitchen, where I empty and rinse out the dregs of the ground coffee filter and switch it on to make more. Then text Lizzie and Ruth my apologies and feign an excuse about a sudden onset of sickness. I’m not about to unload on them, the revelation they made about Charles and his new love, Crimson. His new fiancée. I don’t know them that well and I don’t want to make it awkward at work.
I look out onto the garden. Kane said he would be here again this next week and I think I’m quite looking forward to that. Then I remember it is probably during the day when I’m at work. Hmm, that’s not good. I wonder if I should find out when, and take the day off work? No, that would be weird.
The delicious smell of the coffee wafts up my nose. Mmm, I think I’ll have two cups and then hit today like I own it.
I shower and comb my hair through. I’m going to let it dry naturally because I don’t want to waste any time preening today, I’ve got stuff to do.
I pull on some sweat pants and matching top and go downstairs and into the garage. Up in the eaves there are some flattened out cardboard boxes. I poke at them with a broom handle and three fall down; the rest hanging there with menace. I poke again and they all come down, sending a plume of dust from the garage floor up into the air. I run out the door and let the dust settle before retrieving as many of the boxes as I can carry. I leave half of them in the back entrance hall and take the rest upstairs.
I pop my phone onto the sound system connector and hover over the playlist. Royal Blood. Yeah, we were listening to that last night. I could do with some of that again. I turn the volume up because I want to listen to the lyrics and sing along, there’s no way any words of doubt or regret are going to creep their way into my head today. No, I’m going to exorcise every last one with some full blast sounds.
I wrestle with the cardboard for a while until I work out how to fold the flaps in on themselves to make a sturdy box. That done I go to the first of Charles’ drawers and unceremoniously empty the contents into the box, then the next, and the next until all of his underwear and ties and other accessories that I didn’t take the scissors to, are in the box. Then I make up the next one and go into the bathroom and do the same with his cosmetics. Jeez, the guy has nearly as many as me and it’s a joke how many products he had bought to vainly cover his bald patch. Cxxx.
Cufflinks, garters, man drawer, the lot goes in.
I lug the boxes downstairs and go through the CD’s and DVD’s. His old family photos and school reports, even drawings from when he was three. None of them were being saved for an album for our children and grandchildren. They all go in the box. I nearly cave in when I come across our wedding photos but just calmly put the box back in the cupboard along with the framed photos that are dotted around the house. I’m not about to wipe away all of my memories, just his.
Coats and shoes in the cupboard under the stairs. Model airplanes from his grandfather. Cookery books from his mother - she never did rate my cookery skills.
I think about how she hasn’t been in touch since our split a
nd how callous that is of her after having been in her extended family for so long. Oh well, her loss.
I realise the music has stopped and that’s why I’m starting to think again and run back upstairs and scroll through the playlists. Pink. Yeah, I could go with some Pink to get me through these last few boxes. Charles hates this type of music. It doesn’t fit in with his image. At all.
Well fuck you Charles Cockbeen-Held.
I turn the volume up even more, the chandelier in the entrance hall adding some rousing percussion.
Finished.
I ram all the boxes into my car and set off for the marina in the next town. There’s no way I’m having him come here to collect them all and I’m not having them hanging around either.
I dump them in a haphazard pile at the apartment block doorway and send off a text.
Your life’s downstairs. Enjoy!
As I wait for the security arm to lift on the car park exit barrier I catch sight of him in the rear-view mirror. He’s in his PJ’s, standing over the boxes, scratching his head.
Awesome.
I pull off, beeping my horn and waving my arm at him out of the window.
Cxxx.
I’m starving, I’ve not had any breakfast and could eat anything right now. McDonalds. I’ve not had one since, well probably since I was a student. I pull into the drive-thru and am instantly lost at the overwhelming array of specialty burgers, breakfast options, which now it’s after eleven aren’t actually a choice, and fancy ice-creams and shakes on the menu.
“What can I get you?” A voice squawks out of the speaker at me.
“Burger.”
“Which one?”
“Surprise me.”
“Okay, how about the Texan special?”
“Yep, sounds good.” Whatever that is.
“Do you want that as a meal?”
“Yes.” Not really knowing what I was agreeing to.
“What drink would you like with that?”
“Coffee.” Then scrunch my nose up; bet it’s disgusting from here.
“Wanna go large?”
“Why not.”
I drive around and pick up my order.
I decide to pull over down a country lane on the way home to eat my meal and steel myself for my next tasks.
The coffee is rather good, the burger is really not to my taste but I eat most of it anyway
~~~~~
It already feels better as I open the door to the house, knowing that there are no traces of Charles around makes me feel good.
I change into jeans and a t-shirt, wand on some mascara and pin my hair up into a bun. It has dried rather wavy which I think is quite flattering around my face and leave a few strands down to soften the frame.
A spritz of my favourite scent, a couple of bracelets and a pair of dangly earrings. Then I pause, I’ve never taken my wedding ring off, it seemed wrong, until now. So far, I’d justified to myself that it balanced the ring on the opposite hand, my mother’s old wedding band, but that is plain silly. This token of a sham marriage needs to go. It slides off easy enough and I don’t give it a second thought as I fling it in the top drawer amongst the sterling silver and paste gems of my costume jewellery box.
I take a deep breath, which of my next three things should I do first? I look at my watch and decide to go to the high street before the estate agent closes.
I get back in the car, quite excited with the way I’m feeling about today.
There is a look of apparent dismay when I step across the threshold at the estate agents. They were obviously hopeful of an early close, and I can’t blame them, working on a Saturday can’t be particularly enjoyable.
“Can I help you?” asks the girl, whose desk plate, tells me is Joanne.
“Yes. I’m Ms Lawtey or until very recently Mrs Cockburn-Holt.”
The other girl looks around from the rearrangement she was engaged in of the photos in the office window. I’d not seen either of them before. Charles had made all the arrangements.
“I wonder if you can give me the feedback you’ve had from viewers so far and your professional opinion on what we need to do to get this house sold.”
“Okay.” She composes herself and with renewed enthusiasm pulls up the records pertaining to our house on her computer.
“The first viewers, Mr and Mrs Jennings, they really liked it but said it was out of their price range.”
I shake my head. Why even bother looking if it is advertised out of your price range?
“The next couple were Mr and Mrs Coots and they liked it but thought it was overpriced.”
“We haven’t been able to get hold of any of the others yet.”
I shake my head again.
“The ones last week did say if they liked it they would put in an offer, when their house sells.”
“And is that likely to be anytime soon?”
“Not sure. They’ve got it listed with a different agent.”
“Okay, well two sets of viewers have suggested price is an issue. Did you ask either of them at what price they would be interested?”
Joanne shakes her head, eyes open wide, like she knows that is what she should have done.
I continue. “Hmm in that case, could you do that and get back to me? I want you to sell this house and you have until the end of the month to do so. Please pass on these instructions to Mr Cockburn-Holt and keep me informed.”
“Yes of course. No problem.”
She stands to see me out of the door.
It’s about time I took charge of what’s going on in my life.
Next stop is Mr Moseley. I have an idea to sell Dad’s car, gift half of it to Poppy so she can follow her blogging dream with Sky, buy a little run around for me and put the rest in trust. Dad’s care is covered with the pension and insurance he receives, so he won’t be left short. But mostly the car isn’t practical and, when the house sells, I may not have anywhere safe to keep it.
The Power of Attorney I have must surely cover for this eventuality.
The route out of town takes me passed Mr Crane’s house and I’m slightly disappointed that Kane’s Land Rover isn’t outside, but glad too, as that might have distracted me from seeing Mr Moseley, and that was a priority.
I did however pull over at the next suitable place to text Kane and thank him for looking after me last night. I should have done it earlier and am regretful that I didn’t already. Then I remember I don’t actually have his number. Damn.
Carrying on to Mr Moseley’s, I spend an enjoyable hour chatting with him and his wife about Mum and Dad and the car meets we would all go to. Stories of breakdowns and near misses. Updates on their children who are a few years older than Poppy and I.
Mr Moseley agrees that it would be good to sell the car to someone who would enjoy it. He is pleased that I have finally salvaged it from storage but can see how it isn’t practical and more of a Sunday car. He agrees to facilitate the sale and promises to spread the word in the appropriate car circles, warning that I should be prepared as he is confident it will be snapped up in no time.
I type out an email to the solicitor on my phone while sat in the car outside Mr Moseley’s house. I should have got confirmation on the Power of Attorney before I got him on the case, but it is chicken and egg.
Kane’s car is now parked up outside Mr Cranes’s cottage when I approach it for the second time that day. My heart skips a beat and I slow down to work out my opening line.
Before I’ve worked out what to say, I’m already rapping on the fox’s head.
Kane opens the door, holding onto Belle’s collar, but this time he looks different, or maybe I look differently at him. Instead of annoying and irritating, I assess him as caring and interesting. He is still as handsome as ever but instead of focusing on his broad shoulders and thick neck I look at his eyes and the dimple in his left cheek.
“Hey.” He greets me warmly, his eyes sparkling.
“Hey.” The fizz in my stomach is overwhelmi
ng and I am sure all the blood from my body has rushed there because I felt light headed and giddy.
“Come on in.” He stands aside and Belle trots off to the kitchen, as if to lead the way.
“Thank you.” I duck under the door frame.
“How you feeling?”
“I’m fine thank you and I just wanted to say how grateful I am to you for looking after me last night. I made a complete fool of myself. I’m sorry.”
He laughs.
I feel slightly nervous, panicky even, that there might be something that I didn’t remember about last night, that he did.
“I didn’t do anything embarrassing, did I?”
“No, not at all Rosa. Brew?”
“Yes please.”
“Are you going to have some cake this time?” Pointing to a rather delicious looking Victoria sponge. My favourite.
“Yes please, that would be lovely.”
I perch on a chair, checking that Belle’s tail isn’t anywhere close and watch him fill up the kettle.
He has his work trousers on and they are rather close fitting; his backside does look as if a coin would bounce off it quite nicely.
He turns and catches me checking him out.
“Everything okay?”
“Erh, yes. I was just thinking about last night.”
He leans back on the Aga and crosses his arms in front of him, his fists behind his biceps, accentuating their form. He doesn’t say anymore, just cocks his head to the side waiting for me to continue.
“I was wondering if we could maybe go out. If I could buy you dinner or something as a thank you.”
He stares at me and I wonder if he is going to laugh as his grin goes beyond the normal shape of a smile. I don’t know what I’ll do if he laughs in my face; tells me that it’s the last thing on earth he would want to do, when I have done nothing so far to endear him to me.
Then, I see the answer in his eyes and I relax as a slight tip of the chin leads to a nod.
“Yes, I would like that very much, but it would have to be tonight, unless you can wait until next month. I’m unexpectedly going back to Oxford tomorrow afternoon and won’t be able to return until I’ve finished my research.”
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