Rosie

by Alan Titchmarsh

  He walked away without a backward glance. Alex closed the door behind him, then burst into tears.

  Rosie was sitting up in bed, her lipstick freshly applied, holding out her hand as a manicurist varnished her nails.

  ‘I thought this was a hospital, not a beauty clinic,’ Nick said, as he arrived beside her.

  Rosie looked up at him and beamed. ‘Hello, love! I’m just having my nails done.’

  ‘So I see.’

  ‘They come once a week. Useful, isn’t it?’ She nodded towards the girl in the pink nylon overall who was bent over her right hand. ‘This is Clare. She’s come to get me ready for my trip.’

  ‘Trip?’

  ‘To Henry’s.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He nodded at Clare and smiled.

  Clare, evidently aware that a family heart-to-heart was about to ensue, packed away her varnishes and emery boards then bustled off with a nervous smile.

  Nick sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Don’t do that. They’ll tell you off. You’re not meant to sit on the bed.’

  He moved to a chair, then asked earnestly, ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘Certain. I heard the nurse tell someone off yesterday when they perched on the bed.’

  Nick laughed. ‘No. I mean, are you sure about moving in with Henry?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not moving in with him like that! We’re not – what do they call it? Co-something.’

  ‘Cohabiting.’

  ‘Yes. I’m not doing that.’

  ‘Well, you’ll be under the same roof.’

  ‘Not in the same bed, though.’

  Nick spluttered. ‘I should hope not.’

  Rosie looked at him with a serious expression on her face. ‘Would it be so terrible if we were?’

  ‘Rosie!’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re all the same.’

  ‘Who are?’

  ‘People your age. Always imagining that sex is something for the under-fifties.’

  Nick glanced around apprehensively. ‘Will you keep your voice down?’

  Rosie grinned. ‘You don’t suddenly stop, you know, when you’ve had your children.’

  ‘I don’t want to think about this.’

  ‘No, but I do.’

  He shot her a warning look.

  ‘Only joking,’ she said. And then, rather wistfully, ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  Nick leaned back in his chair. ‘Are you trying to shock me?’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Mmm. Well, it worked.’

  Rosie smoothed down the bedcovers and patted her hair into place. ‘Trouble is, when you’re in here you have too much time to think. If only I hadn’t slipped on that deck I wouldn’t be in this pickle.’

  ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘And I didn’t have much choice about letting you go, did I?’

  ‘No,’ she agreed ruefully.

  ‘Well, thanks for being honest, at least.’

  Rosie leaned back on the pillow and closed her eyes. ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  She opened her eyes. ‘But I’m happier. I’ve got something to look forward to now.’

  Nick paused, more serious now. ‘Look, don’t you think you’d be better off where they can look after you properly?’

  ‘Henry can look after me properly,’ Rosie insisted.

  ‘But he has a gallery to run.’ Nick took her hand.

  Rosie looked indignant. ‘Are you saying I’ll get in the way?’

  ‘All I’m saying is that I don’t think Henry knows what he’s letting himself in for.’

  Rosie squeezed his hand. ‘Shall I tell you something? I know he doesn’t.’

  ‘You’re a wicked old lady!’

  ‘I know. But it’s more fun that way!’ She grinned.

  Nick sighed. ‘How do you do it?’

  ‘Bloody-mindedness, love. Sheer bloody-mindedness. Don’t let them grind you down.’

  Nick laughed, relieved that her old spirit was back.

  ‘I’m going to stay with Henry,’ Rosie continued. ‘I mean, what’s the worst thing that can happen? He’ll find me too much for him and decide after a few days that I’d be better off in a home. He likes the prospect of looking after me, but it will wear off. I’m ready for it, though, so I’ll take the chance.’

  ‘Do you take more chances now?’

  ‘Heavens, yes. Some don’t – I’ve watched them. They get in a rut. Look at Mr and Mrs Stevens next door to us in Cheltenham. Same routine every day. Same piece of fish on a Friday. Bed at the same time every night. It would drive me mad.’

  She saw his face and smiled. ‘I know I’m odd, and your granddad found it wearing – he was happy to do the same things every day, bless him. But I can’t. Too many things I’ve not done, and not much time left to do them. If you can do something every day that you’ve never done before you can remember every day and it’s special.’ Then she said, pointedly, ‘It’s in my blood.’ Then came the expected question: ‘Have you found anything out?’ she asked. ‘About my parents?’

  ‘A tiny bit,’ he said, ‘but nothing very helpful.’

  Rosie pushed herself up in the bed a little. ‘Well?’ She was wide-eyed, like a child expecting a bedtime story.

  Nick explained the difference between marriages with members of sovereign houses, and morganatic marriages, and told Rosie about the true heir to the Russian throne.

  ‘So we’re not in line, then?’ she asked evenly.

  ‘No.’ He paused. ‘But you knew that, didn’t you?’

  Rosie was silent for a moment. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I wanted you to find out for yourself. I wanted you to be curious about your family history.’

  ‘Is there anything else you know that you haven’t told me?’

  ‘That’s all. I still don’t know who my parents were. The Internet couldn’t help me there.’ She smiled guiltily.

  Nick said nothing, just looked at her lying back on her pillow, eyes a clear forget-me-not blue, skin soft and smooth, lips perfectly made up. She was, he had to admit, the eighth wonder of the world.

  ‘And what about you?’ she asked.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘Alex. Is it going well?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Don’t want to rush it? Is that why you’re not seeing more of each other?’

  He nodded, looking preoccupied.

  ‘Mmm. Well, don’t wait too long,’ she said sharply.

  ‘It’s not as simple as that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, she’s still married – separated, but not divorced – and there’s Victoria to think about.’

  ‘Oh, those things will sort themselves out.’ Rosie was dismissive.

  ‘You seem very sure.’

  ‘Stands to reason. If she wants you as much as you want her then the first one needn’t be a problem, and Victoria – well, she’s nobody’s fool, and I think she knows a good man when she sees one.’

  He sighed. ‘Oh, it’s all so complicated. I mean, how fast to take it. Where do we live? What happens—’

  ‘Stop! Why all the questions?’

  ‘They’ve got to be answered.’

  ‘Yes, but not all at once. Take things a day at a time. You know where you’re going but you can’t get there in one big step. Just . . . well . . . you know . . . chill out.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Chill out.’

  Nick laughed.

  Rosie looked concerned. ‘What’s so funny?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘Why?’ She was indignant now.

  ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Some days I worry about you,’ Rosie told him.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘And some days I worry about you. Though for the life of me I can’t imagine why.’

  He sat with her for another hour, and when he left he felt strangely confident. As
though a weight had been lifted from him, as though he could do anything, conquer any situation. He knew it wouldn’t last, but for the moment he would enjoy it.

  The rain that had been threatening all day was now falling, that fine rain that soaks you to the skin. He had already put up the hood on the MG, and drove home with the inefficient wipers doing their best to clear the windscreen.

  He made a dash for the veranda, and as he slipped his key into the lock he heard the telephone. When he answered it, it took him a moment to recognize the voice at the other end of the line.

  And then he identified the caller who was gasping out seemingly disconnected phrases between the sobs: ‘Paul . . . goodbye . . . Victoria . . . school . . . missing.’

  25

  Country Living

  . . . fading to almost white.

  When he could finally make sense of what Alex had said, the seriousness of it sank in. Paul had been to see her. He had asked if he could say goodbye to Victoria. She had refused. Victoria had not come home from school. She thought it likely that he had taken the child with him.

  Nick ran through the other possibilities. Could Victoria have gone home with a friend? Alex had thought of that and contacted them all. She was not with any of them.

  Could Victoria have gone into town on her own? It was unlikely. She always told Alex if she was going to be late home.

  Would Paul really have taken the child? Alex said she didn’t know. She’d rung him but there had been no answer. He had never done anything like this before but, then, they had never been in this situation until now.

  ‘Has she taken anything with her?’ asked Nick, hardly knowing why that should be important but clutching at straws.

  ‘What sort of things?’ asked Alex, her desperation audible.

  ‘I don’t know. Clothes, washbag, that sort of thing.’

  ‘No. Only the clothes she was wearing. And her school bag, with her books and pens and stuff.’

  ‘And she didn’t say anything this morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was she OK?’

  ‘She’s been a bit distant lately, not really concentrating. Her mind’s been elsewhere. She always has her head buried in that Isle of Wight guidebook she made me buy her.’ And then, ‘Oh, God! You don’t think she’s gone to the island, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s possible. She didn’t say anything about coming here?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I think she’s most likely to be with Paul if you want my honest opinion, but I could go and look.’

  ‘But where? Where will you start? I mean I know it’s a small island but it’s not that small. She could be anywhere.’

  ‘Have you told the police?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Well, I think you should.’

  ‘Oh, God!’

  Nick could hear the rising panic in her voice. It was so unlike her. Alex the level-headed one; Alex the sensible mother with the sensible child. He could hardly believe this was happening.

  ‘I’ll go and look in all the obvious places. The places she knew. Sleepyhead Bay and the place where you stayed. Sophie will wait here in case she shows up. Try not to worry.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, but how can I get in touch with you?’ she asked.

  ‘Ring the Anchorage and let Sophie know if anything happens. I’ll give her your number so that she can call you.’

  ‘Right.’

  He knew she was biting back the tears. ‘She’ll be fine, I’m sure of it. I know there’ll be some explanation for it and it will be OK. I’m sure. Paul will probably bring her back soon.’

  ‘Yes.’ She was quieter now, but clearly desolate. ‘I just wish I’d seen it coming.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself – OK? We’ll sort it out.’

  After a few more placatory phrases he put down the phone and went to the yacht club to find Sophie.

  ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Gone missing.’

  ‘Oh, hell! Any clues?’

  ‘Well, her father came round an hour or so before she disappeared, and Alex wouldn’t let him see her.’

  ‘Was that wise?’

  ‘Victoria’s always in a state when he’s been. I think Alex was just trying to keep her on an even keel. Anyway, she thinks he might have taken her, and it does seem likely. The only other thing is that she was welded to an Isle of Wight guidebook. I think she’s fallen for the place.’

  ‘Oh, God, poor Alex.’ Then the organizer in Sophie came to the fore. ‘I’ll get back to the house. You go and look wherever you think she might be. Have you rung the ferry company to see if she was spotted coming over? I’ll do that. Take this.’ She handed him a mobile phone. ‘It’s new. I’ve stuck the number on it so I don’t forget. I’ll ring Alex and give her the number, then she can ring you – or me at the Anchorage – if she hears anything. Now get off and look.’ Sophie strode off up the lane in the direction of the Anchorage.

  ‘Thanks!’ he yelled after her. She waved without turning round. He thanked God that she had come to stay.

  The sun was sinking below the horizon as he walked down the steps to Sleepyhead Bay. The rain had stopped, but the rough wooden planks were wet and slippery, as were the rocks in the cove. He hopped from one to another, looking for a small girl he hoped might be fishing for shrimps, as she had been when he had first met her. He did not want to think of her in any other way. Occasionally the prospect of the worst sight of all insinuated itself into his mind, but he banished it. They would find her alive and well, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  He knocked on the doors of the small cottages, but with no luck. Nobody had seen a small girl on her own. Nobody had noticed anything out of the ordinary.

  He tried the hotel where Alex and Victoria had stayed. They remembered mother and daughter, but had seen neither of them since. They promised to call if she came, and wished him luck in his search. They were sure she would come home. She had seemed such a sensible child.

  On he drove, to places where he knew Alex had taken Victoria, but his enquiries yielded nothing and it was getting dark.

  He drove slowly along the main street of Godshill, looking to left and right. He even asked at the pub, just in case. But as everywhere else he drew a blank.

  At half past eight he rang Sophie in desperation. ‘Have you heard anything?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the ferry?’

  ‘Yes – but they had a school party on board.’

  ‘Don’t they check people on? For safety and all that?’

  ‘Yes, they do. But they said it’s just possible she could have slipped on without them seeing. They were very apologetic.’

  ‘Damn.’ He tried to think straight. ‘Oh, God, Soph, what do I do now?’

  ‘Ring Alex and tell her you’ve no news – bad or good.’

  He did as Sophie suggested, and told Alex exactly where he had been. Could she think of anywhere else he should try?

  She said there had been so many places – St Catherine’s Point, Tennyson Down – most of which he couldn’t visit in the dark.

  ‘What did the police say?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re talking to the Newport station. They say that if Victoria doesn’t turn up in the next couple of hours they’ll launch a full-scale search, here and on the island. I don’t know what to do, Nick – I just don’t know what to do.’ She sounded at her wit’s end.

  ‘Listen . . .’ He tried to sound positive, but it was hard. He hardly knew Victoria, but he liked her. And she’d seemed to like him. And she was Alex’s daughter, which was all that mattered. ‘We’ll find her – you must believe that.’

  ‘I feel such a failure, such a bad mother. Why didn’t I let him see her? Then all this wouldn’t have happened.’

  He felt so desperate that he wasn’t with her. How he hated mobile phones! Why did she have to be at the end of one now instead of right next to him where he could hold her and tell her it would be a
ll right? ‘You’re not a failure. You’re a great mum. Victoria knows that.’

  ‘So why has she gone?’

  He tried to find an answer, but could only find questions. ‘Is there still no sign of Paul?’

  ‘No. They’ve alerted the airports, and the ferry terminals, but I can’t believe he’d run off with her.’

  ‘Have you rung him?’

  ‘Still no reply.’

  ‘I know someone else like that.’ In spite of his undistinguished relationship with his father, Nick wished Derek was here now. Perhaps he would have some cunning means of tracking her down. But his father’s schemes were mostly doomed to failure. What Nick needed now was sound, reasoned advice. ‘Look, I’m not giving up. And you mustn’t – you mustn’t think the worst.’

  ‘But I can’t help it.’

  ‘I know – but it will be fine, I’m sure of it.’ He surprised himself with his confidence. Maybe it was just bloody-mindedness, a refusal to accept things you didn’t want to believe. Perhaps he got it from his grandmother.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re there,’ whispered Alex. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  He pocketed the mobile phone and set off again on his search.

  It was almost completely dark now. Patchy cloud gave way to small expanses of sky, studded with stars, and the moon ducked in and out. Victoria was out there somewhere. But where? Here or on the mainland? On her own or with her father?

  Bugger. Why couldn’t he sort this out? Why couldn’t he think straight? If Paul had taken her with him there was nothing he could do. But if she had wandered off on her own it should be possible to work out where she had gone.

  Where would a child go if she was disturbed by her parents splitting up and looking for some kind of escape?

  She’d look for somewhere comforting. Somewhere that gave her a kind of stability. Somewhere she felt at home.

  It all pointed to the island. He remembered the conversation she had had with Alex the day they met on the beach. ‘I prefer this side,’ she’d said, meaning the south of the island. ‘Why’s that?’ Alex had asked. ‘Because there’s more sea,’ had been Victoria’s response.

  He remembered asking her if she liked the sea, and she said that it was not so much the sea as that it took longer to get home from there. It was the furthest place from home she could think of.