Resisting Mr Rochester

by Sharon Booth

  Well, I was sixteen. How was I supposed to know she was spot on?

  Our Lady of Lourdes Church was in the market town of Coppering, a few miles from Newarth. Catholic churches were few and far between on the Yorkshire Moors. I'd never been in a Catholic church before, and it was certainly different to the laid-back, let's-all-be-friends-play-the-guitar-and-hug-each-other atmosphere of the Anglican church. Not that I had much experience of those, either. Mum didn't believe in God, but celebrated Christmas and Easter 'just in case', while Dad was convinced that we were all computer simulations, and since he'd never found any support for his theory in the Bible, he pretty much dismissed the whole thing as a fairy tale. And Seth, he avoided the church at all costs—more to annoy his father, I suspected, than because of any real aversion to the religion.

  I didn't think any of us really had a clue what was happening during the service. Dad yawned, and Mum nudged him. I wasn't surprised he yawned. He looked exhausted. In fact, when I'd set eyes on him for the first time in ages, earlier that day, I'd been shocked at the sight of him.

  "What's wrong with Dad?" I'd demanded, the moment I could get Mum away from him.

  She'd seemed flustered. "In what way?"

  "In what way? How do you think? He looks shocking. He's lost so much weight, and he looks like he's aged ten years. What's happened to him? Is he ill?"

  "It's retirement," she said briskly. "He's had a rough time adjusting. Felt a bit useless. Lost his appetite and couldn't sleep, but he's picking up now."

  "You mean he's depressed?"

  "Well, maybe a bit. At least, he was, but he's on the road to recovery now. Honestly, Cara, don't worry."

  "But I can't help it," I'd said, horrified. "You should have told me. Why didn't you tell me?"

  She said nothing, and I reddened, realising I hadn't exactly made any enquiries. Dad's decision to take early retirement had astonished me, frankly, given his strong work ethic. I hadn't even realised they could afford for him to retire, but Tamsin told me the company was in trouble, and they were asking for people to take voluntary redundancy. Dad had been one of the people who offered, and he had no intention of looking for another job. It had all sounded quite unlike him to me, but Tamsin didn't seem to see anything strange in his decision.

  Looking at him then, I realised I should have rang him. I should have checked to see how his new life of leisure was suiting him. Clearly, it wasn't suiting him, at all. He looked like an old man.

  Mum tutted, then put her arm around me. "If you'd seen him a month, or two, ago, you'd have had every right to be worried, but he's improving in leaps and bounds now. I swear to you, Cara, he's fine. Got his appetite back, too. Don't worry."

  Watching him sitting there, one hand stifling another yawn, I thought I was quite glad that I hadn't seen him a couple of months before. If he'd looked worse than that I'd have been terrified.

  I cast a glance at Redmond, only to find him texting on his phone, which I thought rather rude. I was surprised his wife, Susan, hadn't taken it off him. She liked to do things the proper way. Although, she was clearly too intent on following the proceedings, pretending to be actually interested in what was happening and, more importantly, that she understood it, to notice.

  I glanced over my shoulder at my sister, and Tamsin gave me a weird fake smile, as if someone had just pulled a string and forced her mouth into position. She looked even thinner than usual. Not surprising, considering how many exercise classes she attended. Beside her, her husband, Brad, glanced at his watch and looked irritated. I was amazed he'd taken time off work to attend. He was a workaholic, as Tamsin had informed us many times, with a note of pride in her voice, as if being obsessed with a job was a good thing. I had to admit, though, I'd quite like Seth to become obsessed with a job for a while—any job would do. He seriously believed that he was a professional poet, even though the only piece of writing he'd ever been paid for was a letter he'd written to a television magazine, bemoaning the fact that Torchwood had gone 'All American'. He'd earned a whole twenty quid for that. I could have had a break from cooking and ordered a takeaway for once, if he hadn't immediately spent it on dope and a giant bar of chocolate to celebrate his staggering literary success.

  Years ago, when we'd first got together, he'd had several poems published in an online magazine, which had caused us both a great deal of excitement and unfounded optimism. He hadn't received payment for them, but we'd been sure it was just the start. I'd been so wrong about that, and it seemed that Seth's failure to build on that promising beginning caused me more sadness and frustration than it did him.

  As the church service ended, we all filed dutifully into the churchyard and stood solemnly as Great Granny Reed was laid to rest. Susan dabbed a tear from her eye with a proper lace hanky, not a manky old tissue from her pocket, which is what I'd have had to use if I'd been crying. I wasn't crying at all, though. I felt frozen, and it wasn't all down to the cold February air, even though that was bitter enough to strip the top layer of skin from all our faces—except for Tamsin's, who was so well insulated with such a thick layer of foundation and powder, it no doubt offered more protection than a balaclava.

  "Right." Dad hooked an arm over Mum's shoulder and beamed at us all, once the priest had finally left us after politely turning down Mum's offer that he come back to Newarth with us and join us for a drink and a bit of something to eat. "The Cock and Bull it is."

  Brad grimaced. "Really?" He glanced at his watch again, then turned appealingly to Tamsin. "Is that strictly necessary?"

  "We've laid on ever such a nice spread," Mum reassured him. "Besides, it will be nice to have all my family around me for once. We never get together these days. I'm so glad you could all make it."

  There was no mention of Seth. They'd never included him in anything, something for which I'd blamed them for years, until it had occurred to me that maybe he was as much at fault, if not more so. He'd despised them from the first, and had worked quite steadily and thoroughly to isolate me from them.

  I had to own up to the fact that I'd allowed that to happen, though. I'd been young, and madly in love. As long as I had Seth, I hadn't needed anyone else. My family didn't understand him.

  Where they saw a lazy, unemployed layabout with no respect and no future, I saw a wild, gifted romantic, with the soul of a poet and bags of potential. We were Cathy and Heathcliff, destined to be together, no matter who opposed us. We were twin souls. Children of the moors, who belonged to each other for all eternity.

  I blamed Kate Bush. It was her glorious song, Wuthering Heights, that'd introduced me to the novel when I was at an impressionable age, which in turn convinced me that, to be happy, I simply had to find a rugged man, who didn't play by the rules of society, and who loved me, in spite of my disapproving family. Seth had fitted the bill perfectly, and when I discovered his father was a vicar, I was beside myself with joy. A vicar was the same thing as a parson, wasn't it? Seth's father was a parson, just like Emily Brontë's father! It'd appealed to my ridiculously romantic nature and overactive imagination. To me, it was a sign that we were destined to be together.

  How I would've loved to be able to go back in time, meet that teenage version of myself, and shake some common sense into her.

  Newarth was a pretty village, perched on the edge of the North Yorkshire Moors. It had one main street, built on a gently sloping cobbled hill, a long row of interesting, independent shops, and a pub, The Cock and Bull. Apart from that, there wasn't a great deal to say about it, but I loved it, as I loved the moors beyond.

  I'd desperately wanted to move back there after I left home to be with Seth, but he wasn't keen. My Heathcliff, apparently, wasn't enamoured of the moors, preferring instead the concrete comforts of city life. I wasn't sure how he managed to persuade me that we'd be better off living in a high rise flat on that gloomy estate, but then again, I couldn't figure out how he persuaded me to leave home at all.

  He was nineteen when we met—gorgeous, and comp
letely different to the boys in school, with shoulder-length brown hair, and an intensity in his expression that turned my knees to water.

  I was sixteen, naive, and way too innocent.

  I'd met him one fateful Saturday afternoon in the book shop, as he perused a slim volume of Romantic poetry, while I was browsing the shelves for a replacement copy of Agnes Grey, since my own copy had fallen to pieces. I didn't know modern men read poetry. Dad tended to stick to the sports pages of the newspapers, while Redmond seemed to have no time for anything other than reference books. As for the boys at school, they thought poetry was for girls. Their reading material tended to be mostly photographic and elicited lots of jeers and nudges and cries of phwoar in the school playground. I'd never met a man who read poetry for pleasure before. It was the turning point of my life. And I took the wrong turning.

  "You've done her proud, love." Dad patted Mum's shoulder, then grabbed a plate and began to pile it up with sandwiches, sausage rolls and vol-au-vents, totally ignoring the salad, as usual.

  Clearly, Mum was right. There was nothing wrong with his appetite. I felt a huge relief as he bit into a sausage roll and beamed with pleasure.

  Predictably, Tamsin filled her own plate with nothing but lettuce leaves, tomatoes, cucumber, and the teeniest piece of chicken. Redmond and Susan looked dismayed by the spread, and I heard mutterings about the lack of couscous, olives, or hummus, while across the room, Brad lurked in a corner, his mobile phone glued to his ear.

  After waiting for a crowd of Granny's friends from church to fill their plates, I grabbed a couple of cheese sandwiches and a piece of pork pie and headed over to a corner of the pub. Sliding into a seat, I wondered if I could risk sneaking out soon to take a walk. It would be a crime to come all the way up to Newarth and not walk. The moors were practically in touching distance. I wasn't bothered about the weather. The sad fact was, this might be my last visit back to my home town, and I wanted to make the most of it.

  I looked up, startled, as Tamsin dropped down beside me.

  "Hello, stranger." She peered at my plate, probably mentally totting up the calories, and frowned. "Been ages since I saw you. Have you forgotten me?"

  "You can talk," I said. "You know where I live."

  She shuddered. "Yes, I do."

  Charming.

  My phone beeped and I tapped on the message. It was from Seth.

  What time will you be home tomorrow? You do realise we've run out of coffee? What am I supposed to do now?

  I put my phone back in my bag, hardly able to suppress a sigh.

  "Was that lover boy?" Tamsin prodded a tomato with her fork and eyed it suspiciously, as if it was really a calorie-laden chocolate truffle posing as something healthy. "How come he's not here?"

  I was about to defend him, as I always did, telling her that he was far too busy to attend, but some spark of boldness flared up, taking even me by surprise, and I heard myself saying, "Because he's a selfish, lazy git who couldn't care less that I've just lost my great-gran. That's why."

  Tamsin almost choked. "Hell, Cara! What's got into you? Don't tell me Heathcliff has finally lost his charm?"

  My face heated until it was probably redder than her tomato. She didn't have to remind me of my passionate teenage pleas with her to understand how much he meant to me—that he was my very own gypsy boy, and I was his very own Cathy. I'd rather hoped she'd forgotten that. Clearly, she hadn't. Embarrassed, I picked up my pork pie and bit into it with some defiance.

  "Ugh. You really shouldn't eat that stuff," she informed me. "I'm so careful about things like that. I eat ultra-healthy these days, and I've really built up my fitness, too."

  "I know," I said. "I'm friends with you on Facebook, remember? Though I find it hard to believe that anyone's as permanently cheerful as you are."

  "I can't think what you mean," she said. "Why would I lie about it?"

  I supposed she had a point, and anyway, why wouldn't she be cheerful? Her house was fabulous, judging by the photos she'd sent me when they moved in, and the ones she sometimes posted online. I'd never actually seen it for myself, but then I'd never been invited. Her husband, although far too serious for my liking, was decent enough, and certainly earned enough money to support the family. Tamsin didn't have to do anything as tiresome as work for a living. She was, as she constantly pointed out, a full-time mother to two little blonde girls who were as perfect as she was.

  Alice and Robyn were ten and eight, and even though they were my nieces, I'd only met them a few times. I realised I didn't feel any real connection to them, at all, which was sad.

  Feeling a sudden lump in my throat, I put the pork pie down. What was happening to me? Why were all these weird feelings of guilt, and sadness, and anger—anger! Me!—unexpectedly appearing?

  Was it, I wondered, because of that birthday? Turning thirty had undeniably depressed me, and it had also started a panic inside me. I'd done nothing with my life. I'd not even got started. I was nowhere. A nobody.

  At an ominous prickling in my eyes, I blinked furiously. I didn't do crying. I hadn't cried for at least three years. I remembered the last time quite clearly. I'd sobbed for hours, but afterwards, I'd dried my eyes and vowed no more. Nothing would ever touch me like that again, and I'd stuck to that. So why was I suddenly feeling such an awful churning of emotions? And, more importantly, what was I supposed to do with them?

  Redmond and Susan appeared. "Do you know about the will?" They sat down beside us, forcing Tamsin and I to move even closer together, which was a rather unnerving experience.

  Tamsin's face took on an eager expression. "Ooh, no! Has she left us anything?"

  Susan tutted. "Really, Tamsin. Don't be so mercenary."

  "Well, you brought it up," Tamsin said. "Don't tell me you haven't thought the same. Everyone knows she had a bit of money put by. We're her only relatives, aren't we? We must be in line for something."

  "Not as much as you might suppose, I'd guess," Redmond informed her, in his usual pompous tone. "Most of her savings were dwindled away on that dratted nursing home. It cost a fortune to keep her there. There'd have been a lot more in her account, if she'd managed to stay in her own house."

  "How inconsiderate of her," I said.

  Mum and Dad came over. "There you all are. Have you had enough to eat? There's loads left, even though your granny's friends seem to have fairly substantial appetites. Tamsin, please tell me you've eaten something," Mum said, eyeing my sister's thin frame with concern.

  Tamsin changed the subject. "Redmond says Granny left hardly anything in her will."

  "Bloody hell, Redmond," Dad said, "let the poor old stick go cold before you start worrying about that."

  Mum nudged Susan up and sat next to her, so Dad did the same to Redmond, which meant Tamsin and I were practically stapled together. "They may as well know," Mum said. "The fact is, there's hardly anything left of any value. The nursing home fees were extortionate, in my opinion, but there you go. It's the way of the world."

  "But you'll be selling her house?" Tamsin said. "That must be worth something?"

  Mum and Dad exchanged puzzled glances. "Selling it? Of course not. It was rented. Didn't you know?"

  It hadn't even occurred to me, and judging by the horrified expressions on my siblings' faces, it hadn't occurred to them, either. I almost laughed. So much for their expectations.

  "She left me three thousand pounds," Mum admitted. "Of course, I'll give you all a little something."

  "How little?" Redmond asked.

  "I'll send you all a cheque for five hundred pounds," Mum promised. "I need the rest. Your dad's redundancy money paid off the mortgage, and the car finance, and all our other debts, but it hasn't left us anything to enjoy, so we're going to make the most of this little windfall. Me and your dad are going abroad. Your Auntie Sylvia's been asking us to stay with her in her house in Spain for ages, but we've never had the money to spend, really, and we didn't want to go over there and sponge off her, did w
e? We haven't had a holiday in ever such a long time, and we're making the most of it. It will do your dad the world of good. And then, when we get back, we're having a new carpet in the lounge."

  "Well, I can't say you don't need it," Tamsin said. "The carpet, I mean. That tatty old thing you have now is so embarrassing."

  "And you deserve a holiday," I told them, thinking anything that put a bit of meat on Dad's bones and some colour in his face was fine by me. Anyway, I had five hundred pounds! I felt quite rich.

  "Great," Redmond said. "And I lost a day's work for this."

  "Oh, Redmond," Susan said mournfully. "We had such plans."

  "You had such plans!" exclaimed Tamsin. "We were hoping to visit Disneyworld in Florida this year. The girls need to go. They're practically the only ones in their class who haven't been. They're socially deprived."

  "Bloody hell," I muttered.

  "Of course," Tamsin continued hastily, "we can still go. I mean, obviously, we can afford it. But it would have been a nice cushion. Extra spending money."

  "What a drag," I said. "Isn't five hundred pounds a big enough cushion?"

  "You've clearly never been to Florida," Tamsin said.

  She wasn't wrong there. I'd never even been to London.

  "The nice thing is, though," Mum continued, "she named every single one of us in her will. She's left us all a little something to remember her by. Something personal."

  "Really? Like what?" Redmond sounded suspicious, as if he couldn't imagine Granny Reed having anything that he'd want, which was probably true.

  Mum looked a bit nervous. "Well, for a start, she's left you her books."

  "Books!" Redmond pulled a face. "Why would I want her books? Cara's the bookworm," he added scornfully, nodding in my direction. "Are you sure she didn't leave them to her?"

  "No, most definitely not. She knew Cara's taste in books was more for the, er, romantic. As you know, Granny didn't hold much with romance, or any sort of fiction, for that matter. She knew how much you loved to learn, so she's left you her collection of reference books."