Rosy George's Convention Conundrum

by Polly Young

  “If you’re going to ask about Monica, I think you should know something.”

  “It’s ok. David told me.”

  He tumbled off the sofa and she collapsed into giggles. “What did he say?”

  She filled him in. “So I know why you’re safe from Monica,” she sighed, recovering herself and hugging a cushion to her chest. “I have a feeling she’s got her claws into David’s friend Ian, anyway.”

  “Rosy, I came here for a reason,” he started, pulling himself up from the floor. “What the ...? Ow!” He stopped and extracted an object from beneath his right knee. He held it up quizzically up to her.

  “Oh God!” she panicked. “It’s Daisy’s inhaler!”

  “Rosy ...”

  Her mind was on Daisy. The poor thing would be struggling for breath and there was nothing she could do about it.

  “I’ve drunk too much to drive. Daisy’s in hospital and she’s going to need this. My phone doesn’t work here — the reception’s rubbish — and I’m not connected to a main line yet. Oh God. You’ll have to drive,” she said decisively. “Come on,” she grabbed her coat from the banisters and her keys from the table.

  He stopped her at the doorway. “No.”

  “What? I ... Angus, get off me!” she struggled in vain against his bulk.

  “I’m not driving anywhere with you.” His eyes flashed and she could tell by the thunder in his voice he meant it.

  “What do you mean? I’m fine!”

  “I didn’t come all this way to be treated like an imbecile,” he said shortly. “You treat men abysmally, Rosy George,” he said, and left.

  She stood, reeling in the hallway, staring at the door. After three seconds, she came to her senses and opened it. But she didn’t have to look both ways to know he’d gone.

  For the second time that night, she slumped into the sofa. This was utterly ridiculous. First dumped by her best friend and now by the man she loved. Well, she thought wryly, if a new start was what she was after for the New Year, she was definitely going about it the right way. She checked her watch: ten thirty. Ridiculously early. Maybe she could call home. But there was no reception. No irritating text messages at midnight but no uplifting text messages at midnight either. She sighed, resting both legs on Storm’s back.

  She must have dropped off because the next thing she knew, there was a hammering on her door as though the police were there. Stretching, she stumbled to the door. Opening it, her heart hammered as loudly as her summons.

  Angus held up his phone. Blinking through bleary eyes, she made out the smiling group that was the Baxters, sitting in a tinsel-bedecked waiting room. Daisy was holding her inhaler.

  “You drove to the hospital?” she asked, incredulously.

  He nodded briefly and his smirk surfaced for a second. “After your track record, even if you hadn’t been drinking, I don’t think cars are the best place for you.”

  “How did you know how to find them?”

  “I’ve got Vic’s number,” he said. “She’s been updating me on your progress since you moved.”

  Rosy eyed him like a magpie and he looked gloriously guilty. “I thought you hated me and I know what an awful time you’ve had. I didn’t want to be a pain; I just wanted to know you were alright.”

  If he wasn’t careful, she would cry. She used Storm as a distraction and they left the flat quietly, venturing out into the street where shouts and music could be heard in the distance.

  “Let’s go to the water,” he said.

  She smiled.

  Down by the river, the moon and stars shone like the most expensive London club. They found a bench far from the teenagers. Storm settled obligingly and Angus reached for Rosy’s hand and they sat watching the fireworks pop and whiz above the cathedral. A bike shop, turned into a bar for the evening, pumped out Beatles classics.

  “I’m pretty happy,” Rosy murmured, resting her head on Angus’ shoulder; not trusting herself to think any further than the next second. He squeezed her arm in agreement.

  A small outdoor stall selling drinks next to the canal glowed a few feet away.

  “Shall I grab some champagne?” Angus whispered into Rosy’s hair.

  “Mmm,” she sighed, though she had everything she needed to celebrate with already.

  Angus stroked her head gently as the sparks flew above them. “Actually, do you mind if I don’t?” he said, at last. She shook her head. “Good,” he breathed. “Because I feel pretty happy too. And I wouldn’t want to leave you here alone. You might feel a bit silly.”