Dearest Rose

by Rowan Coleman

  ‘I suppose so,’ she said to Jenny, who was pouring her yet another cup of tea.

  ‘So are you going up there to confront him? I could give you a lift, if you like? I don’t mind, if you need some moral support. Or immoral, I’m easy either way.’

  Maddie lifted her head from her book. ‘Going up where?’ she asked. ‘Where are we, again?’

  It occurred to Rose that since they’d left in a blaze of confusion, Maddie hadn’t even really looked out of the window. She’d cried herself to sleep on the journey up and it had been dark when they finally arrived. She had absolutely no idea how far she was from home, which was probably a good thing as it would only frighten her. Maddie was not a child who liked to be far from the things she knew.

  ‘We are in Millthwaite,’ Rose told her. ‘For a little summer break.’

  ‘And then … what then?’ Maddie asked her uncertainly, her need to know what was happening in her life clearly compromised by her desperation not to think about what had happened last night. Rose thought of John’s last words to her the morning that he kissed her goodbye as she sat on the bottom stair, that he would see her soon – the first lie of some many – and now she had to tell Maddie another one.

  ‘And then everything will be fine again,’ she said, even though there was no home any more, and there was no going back. How was she ever going to explain that to Maddie?

  ‘I’m free after I’ve done the hoovering,’ Jenny offered again eagerly.

  ‘No, thanks, Jenny,’ Rose said firmly. ‘I didn’t come here to find him. I’m not sure I want to find him at all.’

  ‘Find who?’ Maddie asked.

  ‘A man I used to know who lives near by,’ Rose said.

  ‘Your daddy,’ Maddie stated. She had clearly been listening to everything. ‘Your daddy lives near here but you don’t want to see him because he is mean.’

  Maddie had an uncanny knack for sensing that something was up in a way that belied her years. As if, even at the age of seven, she was well aware that the world was short of happy endings.

  ‘Not at the moment,’ Rose said, telling her as much of the truth as she was able to.

  Just at that moment Rose’s phone went off, shrilling noisily in her pocket. Without even looking at it Rose rejected the call and then turned it off.

  ‘But you will,’ Jenny insisted. ‘Because it’s fate, isn’t it? You come all this way, in the middle of the night, for no apparent reason, and find your father, who you’ve not seen for years! That’s fate, that is. That’s God telling you something.’

  ‘Fate.’ Rose repeated the word slowly. ‘Fate makes it sound like you have no choice about what happens to you, but I don’t think that’s true. I think if I left everything up to fate then I wouldn’t be here. It was going against fate that brought me here.’

  Jenny regarded her for a moment as she chewed her final corner of toast.

  ‘But you will go up there eventually, won’t you? Give the old buzzard a heart attack!’

  ‘I’d like to look at your doll’s house.’ Much to Rose’s relief, Maddie interrupted Jenny mid-interrogation. ‘I like small things.’

  ‘Do you, dear?’ Jenny said. ‘It’s not for playing with, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why not?’ Maddie asked her.

  ‘Well, it’s old and precious. It might get broken.’

  ‘So it’s never been played with, ever?’ Maddie asked her insistently.

  ‘Well, yes, when I was a girl, and my Haleigh used to love it. But not now. It’s an antique, you know.’

  Maddie sighed and spent a long moment examining the ceiling. And then she turned to Jenny and fixed her with her own peculiarly unnerving stare.

  ‘What is the point of a doll’s house if it can’t be played with?’

  Rose scowled at herself in the almost full-length mirror that was glued to the back of the wardrobe door in the tiny room. Since Jenny had received the news that Rose was John Jacobs’ abandoned daughter, her attitude had transformed from one of resentful hostess to most eager helper. The first thing Jenny had done when Rose told her she wanted to go to the pub and find out more about the art dealer was to insist that she find her fresh clothes to wear.

  ‘These will do for another day,’ Rose had said, looking down at her crumpled skirt and worn, creased blouse.

  ‘No,’ Jenny said. ‘I’m not having my guests going out into the town looking like a pair of tramps. What will people think of me? There’s a wardrobe full of clothes that Haleigh’s left behind, which will do you just fine, and as for madam here, I’m sure I can rustle her something up from the stuff my grandchildren leave here when they come for visits. Although they are all boys. But you don’t mind a few boys’ things, do you, madam?’

  ‘Yes, actually, I do. I don’t like boys,’ Maddie told her, not that Jenny heard her as she bustled off, already intent on her mission.

  As a result, Rose, who after more than a decade of marriage to a GP, had become accustomed to wearing nice skirts, sensible tops, always dresses and never trousers, found herself sporting a pair of hipster jeans with a rip at the knee, jeans that would have exposed the lower half of her stomach if she had not managed to find a longish black T-shirt to cover it, one with a slash neck that sloped off one shoulder. Rose wasn’t old – she was only thirty-one – and she knew plenty of women of around her age who dressed like Haleigh obviously did and didn’t give it a second thought. And she knew some – for example her friend Shona – who dressed like a fifteen-year-old with questionable morals.

  Rose had always been conservative though, at least since she stopped being simply Rose and started being a wife, not long after her eighteenth birthday. Richard was always very insistent that she should take care not to attract the wrong sort of attention, telling her that as his wife she had a certain standing in the community, that there would be certain expectations. And Rose, whose teenage years had been chaotic and confusing, had been not only happy, but grateful to comply. Marrying Richard had been like stepping out of the glaring heat into a deep cool pool of calm. Rose didn’t even own a pair of jeans, let alone hipster ones, and it came as quite a shock to her to find that unless she was completely delusional – which, considering where she was and why, was entirely possible – nineteen-year-old Haleigh’s clothes rather suited her.

  Sweeping her long, smooth curtain of hair over one shoulder, Rose turned round to find Maddie on the bed regarding her, clearly not entirely satisfied with the boy’s jeans that she had been given, but somewhat mollified by a very tiny, pink Las Vegas T-shirt that Rose had found in the pile of Haleigh’s clothes. On Haleigh the skimpy article surely had to reveal more than was appropriate, but on Maddie it came to just above her knees and had just enough glitter on it to make the boy’s jeans bearable. As soon as she had her bearings she’d find the nearest town and buy them some more clothes, other than the few bits of underwear she’d managed to scoop up under her arm as they left, but for now these hand-me-downs would have to do.

  ‘What do you think?’ Rose asked her, smiling, smoothing the T-shirt down over her slender hips. Maddie looked thoughtful.

  ‘Daddy wouldn’t like it,’ she said.

  ‘No, I know.’ Rose turned back to the mirror, pulling at the neck until both of her shoulders were covered, if only briefly. ‘But Daddy’s not here.’

  ‘Mummy?’ Rose met her daughter’s eyes in the reflection. ‘Does Daddy still like me?’

  Biting her lip, Rose swirled to engulf Maddie in a hug that the child instinctively resisted, her body tensing, just as it always did when anyone touched her.

  ‘Of course he likes you. He loves you, darling,’ Rose told her, kissing Maddie’s screwed-up face. ‘You’re the apple of his eye, you know that.’

  ‘I don’t think I do,’ Maddie said. ‘Why would anyone want an apple in their eye? It would hurt.’

  ‘What I mean is, whatever has happened between Daddy and me, it’s not to do with you. It’s not because of you. Daddy loves you.’
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  Maddie turned her face from Rose, her lips pressed together in a thin pale line. It was clear that she found it hard to reconcile what she’d witnessed, what had happened, with Rose’s version of events, and Rose had no idea how to fix that, only that she was certain she didn’t want Maddie to blame herself.

  ‘He didn’t act like it, did he, though?’ Maddie said. ‘Before … when … and when we got in the car and came here. He was very, very angry.’

  ‘I know,’ Rose said, stroking Maddie’s heavy fringe back from her face. ‘But that wasn’t because of you, it was me. It was because of something I had done.’

  ‘What did you do?’ Maddie asked her.

  ‘It’s not important,’ Rose said. ‘All that is important is that you remember that Daddy loves you.’

  ‘Do we … will we have to go back? If we don’t go back Daddy will be cross again,’ Maddie persisted.

  Rose considered another lie, but only for a moment. ‘I don’t want to see Daddy for a while.’

  ‘What shall we do instead?’ Maddie asked, her voice serrated with anxiety. ‘I want to see him. This Saturday we are supposed to go swimming at two forty-five. And on Sunday we have lunch at one o’clock. Chicken and potatoes, and I always have the breast with no skin. The last time I saw Daddy he was angry. What if he’s still angry?’

  ‘I know, darling, I know,’ Rose said, watching Maddie’s taut expression. ‘Well, you and I can go swimming somewhere near here, I’m sure. And we’ll go to a pub for lunch. They are bound to have chicken. I’ll take the skin off for you.’

  ‘But that isn’t what we do!’ Maddie protested anxiously. ‘We go swimming at home and you cook chicken. You know how I like it, without the gravy touching.’

  ‘Maddie, listen,’ Rose said gently, crouching down next to her frightened daughter, keeping her hands carefully folded to her own body so as not to panic her further. ‘Just for now things will be a little bit different. But it will be OK, you’ll see. I’ll protect you. I know it’s hard, I know you don’t like things to be different. But trust me, I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.’

  ‘That’s what Daddy said,’ Maddie muttered. ‘He lied.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’ Jenny appeared at the door without any warning, and beckoned to Maddie. Rose wondered irritatedly how long she had been standing outside. ‘You are right, madam, what is the point of a doll’s house that no one plays with? My great-grandfather made it, you know, in his spare time for his daughters. I used to play and play with it when I was a girl, but other than Haleigh my lot never showed any interest, so I had my Brian make me a display case for it so that I didn’t have to dust it every day. Would you like to play with it this morning, while Mummy is out and about? I can open it up just for you.’

  ‘Thank you but –’ Rose was about to explain to Jenny that Maddie did not like to be left with strangers, but her daughter cut across her.

  ‘Yes, thank you, I would,’ she said, the model of good manners.

  ‘Are you sure, sweetheart?’ Rose asked her a little warily, aware of just how unsettled Maddie could become in unfamiliar surroundings.

  ‘Yes,’ Maddie said confidently. ‘I really like miniature things, don’t I, Mummy? And I would like to do something that isn’t thinking about home.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Rose asked Jenny. ‘I mean, babysitting’s outside your remit, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Jenny said, making it clear how very kind she was being, before her expression softened a little. ‘But, well, I haven’t seen my grandsons for getting on for a year. Haleigh’s on the other side of the world, and can’t even be bothered to email. And I don’t know what is going on with you two, but I don’t like to see a child look as lost as that one. It’ll be nice for me to spend a bit of time with a little ’un. And when you get back, you can tell me all about how it went, and when you are going to see your dad and what you are going to say to him.’

  Rose smiled. She found Jenny’s motivation of sheer nosiness much easier to accept than her sudden gesture of kindness, although she had to concede Jenny was being kind, and she obviously did worry about Maddie, caught in the middle of some drama she could only guess at.

  ‘I will be fine, Mummy, with the miniature things,’ Maddie assured her. ‘I don’t want to go. I’m not sure I will like it.’

  ‘Well, OK,’ Rose said, wondering if she would ever understand her daughter. ‘I will just be down the road. If you need me you can call me …’ Rose thought of her mobile phone, which lay dormant in her pocket. She really had no desire to switch it back on, to see the numbers of calls from Richard that she had missed, listen to his messages or read his texts. He would be angry with her, that much was a given, and everything that had happened to drive her out of the door, that would be her fault, he’d be adamant about that. The trouble was, Rose thought, there was a good chance he might be right.

  ‘Love,’ Jenny said, brushing her concerns away, ‘the pub’s five minutes down the road. If I need you I’ll phone Ted and he can give you a shout.’

  ‘Ted?’ Rose had visions of some ancient local who was permanently situated in the corner of the bar, slowly sipping a pint of real ale, and stuffing his pipe.

  ‘My middle one. He’s a live-in barman over there – not a proper job, but he likes it. Keeps him in beer money while he works on being a rock star. One day he’ll grow up and realise life isn’t about having fun, although God knows his father never has.’

  ‘Ted,’ Rose smiled. ‘I’ll look out for him.’

  ‘Oh, you won’t have to,’ Jenny said, pursing her lips and looking Rose up and down in her new get-up. ‘He’ll find you like a shot.’

  * * *

  The Bull was quiet when Rose pushed her way in through the door. A traditional pub with flagstone flooring, ancient-looking furnishing and walls still stained with nicotine, it was almost empty at midday except for a couple of hikers and an old lady sitting in the corner sipping beer from a bottle. Just as Jenny had told her, another reproduction of John Jacobs’ painting of Millthwaite hung over the impressive stone mantelpiece that surrounded a cold grate, and a young man, possibly Ted, was leaning over the bar, examining a magazine.

  ‘Ted?’ Rose approached the bar, smiling uncertainly.

  Ted looked up, grinning wickedly. ‘Rose! I’ve been waiting for you all my life.’

  ‘How did you …?’

  ‘Mum texted me that you were on your way,’ he told her warmly. ‘I’m to try and listen in on your conversation and find out what you want with Albie. Don’t worry, I don’t care what you’re doing here, unless you are planning to ask me out for a drink, in which case the answer is yes, day after tomorrow is my night off, although I am gigging, but you can come and be my groupie.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Rose spluttered, uncertain if he was teasing her or not.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ted said, smiling ruefully. ‘I was trying to be funny. I do play in a band, though, that much is true. And there’s a live music night on. If you’ve got nothing on you should come down and check me out. Once a girl’s seen me sing, she’s powerless to resist my charms.’

  Rose blinked at him.

  ‘Trying to be funny again?’ Ted said. ‘And failing again.’

  Ted was indeed quite charming to look at. Brimming with confidence, he had Jenny’s coppery brown hair, which he wore with a long fringe that flopped into his brown eyes, and a swagger that he shouldered as confidently as his pristine white shirt, which was unbuttoned down to at least the middle of his chest.

  ‘Well, as I am very far from being a girl, I think I’ll turn down your invite, as friendly as it was,’ Rose said, unable to hide her amusement. ‘And you are quite funny, although probably not in the way that you intended.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Ted grinned, holding his hands over his heart. ‘OK, I can take rejection. For now. But for the record, you look like a girl to me, Rose. So, you want to see Albie, right?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Rose said, her h
eart rate picking up as she looked around her. Unconsciously her fingers closed around the phone in her jeans pocket. Richard might be trying to phone her now; he might be trying to find out where she’d gone, if she’d told anyone. He’d be so angry, so frustrated that she wasn’t within his reach, so furious that he’d lost control of the situation, and of her. And, oddly, it gave Rose a sense of real discomfort knowing that she was somewhere in the world where Richard could not reach her. He’d been there every day of her life since she was eighteen years old. And yet now here she was, standing in this pub, hundreds of miles away from her husband, hoping to make contact with the only man she had ever met in her life, albeit fleetingly, who’d made her feel … so much.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Rose,’ Albie, who was an athletic-looking man in his late middle age, and not at all what Rose expected from a village landlord, extended his hand across the bar.

  ‘Did Jenny text you too?’ Rose smiled, taking his hand.

  ‘She’s not been this excited since Mrs Harkness’s au pair got knocked up by Mr Harkness,’ Albie told her with a wry smile. ‘Poor old Jenny, she lives for news in a place where almost nothing ever happens.’

  ‘Except to you,’ Rose said. ‘An art dealer walks in off the street and gives you ten thousand pounds?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t give it to me. He got my painting in return, which was worth a lot more than ten grand.’

  ‘Were you upset,’ Rose asked him, ‘when you heard how much he sold it for?’

  Albie shook his head, ‘Frasier – that’s the dealer – called me up when it sold. Gave me another five, a finder’s fee. He offered, I never asked for it. And I thought, well, you can’t say fairer than that, can you?’

  Rose’s heart leapt at the sound of Frasier’s name so casually dropped into the conversation. She felt both excited and terrified that so soon after arriving here she was already within touching distance of he who quite literally had become the man of her dreams, both waking and sleeping. Catching her breath, she smiled, relieved that the Frasier this man had met was as decent as the Frasier she recalled from all those years ago.