Rosie

by Alan Titchmarsh

  ‘Oh, it’s no trouble. No trouble at all.’

  ‘This place is beginning to seem like a seaside hotel.’

  They were sitting round the small table at the Anchorage – Alex and Victoria, Nick and Sophie.

  ‘Not for long. I’m off next week,’ said Sophie.

  ‘It wasn’t a hint,’ said Nick, ‘just an observation. It’s quite fun, really.’

  Alex had been waiting for Nick and Victoria on their return from the hospital. Nick had left them to talk while he and Sophie had gone food shopping in Cowes, the better to cope with the sudden influx of guests.

  When they returned, they found them curled up together on the sofa, Victoria lying against Alex, who was stroking her hair and whispering to her. They got up when Nick and Sophie came in, and then they had all set about preparing lunch. Nothing more had been said about Victoria’s adventure. Until now.

  ‘I’m sorry for all this,’ said Alex, ‘but I think we’ve cleared it up now.’

  Nick noticed that they had both been crying, and yet there was a calmness about them.

  Alex stood up, clearly wanting to change the subject. ‘How’s Rosie?’ she asked.

  ‘She comes out of hospital in a couple of days.’ He told them about the plan for her to stay with Henry.

  ‘Well, bugger me! Oops! Sorry!’ said Sophie, evidently remembering that Victoria was with them.

  ‘Henry? A physiotherapist?’ asked Alex.

  ‘I’ve tried to tell him that he’ll have bitten off more than he can chew,’ Nick said, ‘but he’s insistent. As soon as the consultant gives the nod, Rosie’s going back to chez Henry for rest and recuperation.’

  ‘He’s mad!’ opined Sophie. ‘She’ll drive him bonkers.’

  ‘No, she won’t,’ Victoria chipped in. ‘She has lots of good stories.’

  ‘Well, I just hope he’s appreciative,’ said Sophie.

  Alex asked softly, ‘Is this wise?’

  ‘Probably not,’ said Nick. ‘But if you can stand in the way of those two when they’ve set their minds on something, you’re a lot braver than I am.’

  ‘You talk about them as if they were a couple.’

  ‘Well, they seem to be, in a funny sort of way. Rosie’s old enough to be his mother but they’ve taken a shine to each other.’

  Victoria, who was eating ice-cream, said, ‘I don’t think age matters.’

  ‘Victoria!’ exclaimed her mother.

  ‘It’s whether or not people are suited that matters, not how old they are.’

  Without thinking, Sophie said, ‘And you’re an expert on this, are you?’

  Victoria nodded. ‘A bit. Mummy and Daddy were the same age and they didn’t get on. But Nick is much older than Mummy and they do.’

  ‘Excuse me!’ protested Nick. ‘I’m only–’

  ‘Ahem.’ Alex coughed.

  ‘–slightly older,’ he murmured.

  ‘So, what happens now?’ asked Sophie, and began to clear away the plates.

  ‘I think we’ll head home,’ said Alex, looking at her watch. ‘I’d like to get Victoria back to school this afternoon.’ She ruffled her hair.

  ‘Can’t we stay here?’ asked Victoria, turning her attention fully to her mother and putting down her spoon.

  ‘No, sweetheart. We ought to get back to normal.’

  ‘But you can come back soon,’ offered Nick.

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Alex. ‘We’ll see.’

  Through the open bedroom door Nick and Sophie held their nightly conversation.

  ‘Are you as knackered as I am?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’m more knackered. Stop talking and go to sleep.’

  ‘Victoria’s wonderfully old-fashioned, isn’t she?’ she said thoughtfully.

  ‘Comes of reading too much Jane Austen.’

  Sophie heard a rustle of bedclothes and then he was standing in the open doorway. ‘Do you think she’s just old-fashioned or a bit scary?’ He looked worried.

  She sat up in bed. ‘She’s not scary, just scared.’

  ‘Scared of her mum getting it wrong again?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nick sat on the edge of the bed. ‘With me?’

  ‘Oh, no. Quite the reverse. I think she’s worried her mum will let you go.’

  Nick looked stunned. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. And Victoria’s pretty astute, too. She’s got a great mum in Alex but it’s not enough. She needs a dad, too. Look at me, I should know. Never had one . . . for more than five minutes anyway.’

  Nick looked bewildered. ‘You didn’t say anything . . .’

  ‘Of course I didn’t. I wasn’t going to admit it. But it was grim. Oh, there were other girls at school who were worse off than I was – mums and dads at each other’s throats all the time, mums covered in bruises, dads falling down drunk in the gutter, but it doesn’t have to be extreme to be bloody. It can be as subtle as you like. The thing is, you know it’s not right. For me Mum was always so right and proper and beautifully turned out, and Dad was just . . . never there.’

  ‘But you . . .’

  ‘Oh, I always jollied myself along. No point in getting depressed about it. But I got out as soon as I could. That’s what makes me keep on travelling. Stupid, really. One day I’ll have to stop and face up to it.’

  ‘Face up to what?’

  ‘Life. Relationships.’

  Nick ruffled her short-cropped hair. ‘Do I have to worry about you?’

  ‘No more than usual. I’m just buggered if I’ll take on a heap of shit. Someone like you, that’s what I want. Someone pleasant and malleable who’ll be good to me.’

  Nick pushed her shoulder so she fell back against the pillow. ‘Pleasant and malleable? Is that how you see me?’

  ‘It was meant as a compliment,’ she said seriously.

  ‘I’ll take it as one.’ He laughed. Then he became serious. ‘It’s a big step, isn’t it?’

  She sat up again and looked him in the eye. ‘Oh, yes. Just make up your mind whether you’re ready to become a dad as well as a lover.’

  ‘You think it’s that serious?’

  ‘I know it is. And so do you. That kid is not the sort to watch her mum having loads of boyfriends. She wants to believe that all relationships turn out well in the end, like in her Jane Austen novels – that’s why she’s hooked on them. They’re her escape into a world she’d like to live in. She has to believe it can happen. What she needs more than anything is stability. I know you’re not a social worker, and you’ve got to get something out of it yourself, and it’s all happened so suddenly, but if you’re not serious about Alex – and about Victoria – then get out of this thing right now. Or I’ll never forgive you. And I’m your sister.’

  28

  Mermaid

  The rewards from the flowers, however, give ample compensation for scratches received while pruning . . .

  Sisters! Doncha love ’em? thought Nick. Just when you think you’ve got enough on your plate, what with intimate relationships, grannies, fathers and other local difficulties, they can’t resist slinging in their own two-pennyworth and giving the whole lot a stir.

  Then he wondered if he could get out of going to the hospital to see Rosie, go off on his own for a few hours. But his conscience got the better of him: he picked up his keys from the table and closed the door quietly behind him. Having delivered her keynote speech, Sophie was still asleep.

  For a moment he stood on the veranda, leaned on the rail, and breathed in the fresh morning air. The sea was unusually calm, like a polished pewter plate, and a pair of seagulls wheeled over the cliff edge, splitting the morning air with their shrill call. ‘Kee-kee!’ Or was it ‘tee-hee’? he wondered.

  A fortnight ago his life had been simple and straightforward. Undemanding. Now he had an old lady to look after, a woman he was in love with and a child he could love but for whom he was already expected to assume responsibility. His own mother had all but
washed her hands of him, his father was on the loose, wreaking goodness knows what kind of havoc with the family inheritance, and his sister was breathing down his neck. No wonder he felt beleaguered.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the postman. ‘You look as if you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence.’

  Nick came to with a start. ‘Mmm? Sorry?’

  ‘It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Morning!’

  ‘Getting a bit complicated, is it?’ The postman gestured towards the house.

  ‘You could say that, yes.’

  ‘And there’s me thinking you had the perfect life.’

  Nick looked surprised. ‘What?’

  ‘Well . . . wonderful bachelor pad, nice job – painting – no ties. Not like me.’ He shuffled the letters in his hand, muttering as he did so. ‘Five kids, no money, a missus with expensive tastes and a credit card in meltdown.’ He grinned. ‘Fun having responsibilities, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nick.

  ‘Anyway, I’m glad I caught you. I’ve got a special for you. Can you sign?’

  He offered Nick the small padded envelope, and indicated on the card in his hand where Nick was to make his mark.

  ‘Cheer up!’ he shouted, as he walked back down the path. ‘Worse things happen at sea!’

  ‘Yes,’ muttered Nick. ‘But, then, I am at sea.’ He looked down at the package. It was addressed in his father’s handwriting.

  He pulled in the car on a small, rough track that looked out over the bay. He did not want to open the packet in the house. Sophie might appear and be curious, and he had no idea what he would find.

  He ripped off the sellotape, prised apart the staples and slid out the contents. A small white linen bag landed in his hand. It was tied at the top. He loosened the knot, opened the mouth of the bag and tipped out the contents. The feeling that he had first experienced on discovering the contents of the packet his father had left for him to hand over to the two heavies returned. He felt slightly sick. In his palm were four large diamonds. From memory they were not the ones he had handed over, but they were of a similar size and clarity. They dazzled him in the clear light of morning. He dreaded to think what they were worth.

  He tipped them back into the bag and drew the string tight. Then he fished inside the envelope and pulled out a folded sheet of hotel writing-paper, headed ‘Pobedonostsev Hotel, Dzhunkovsky Square, Moscow’. There was no date.

  Dear Nick,

  Sorry I had to ask you to do that bit of business for me, but it all seems to have turned out OK. As I said, there was no need for you to worry, but thanks all the same. I appreciate it.

  I’d have done the job myself but I had rather pressing business here, and sometimes things are safest done at arm’s length. I’m sorry about the two heavies who turned up. They were just sent to collect the packet – I hope they didn’t put the wind up you too much. Not very tactful sometimes. Occasionally they have to be tough, and I’m not sure their boss was convinced I would come up with the goods. Alright now though.

  The enclosed were given to me by Rosie to take care of. Well, their friends were. I’m sending them back now in the safest way I know. I think it would be a good idea if you put them in the bank.

  Have fun and don’t worry, old lad. It’s all quite above board.

  Yours ever,

  Dad

  He turned the paper over. The reverse side was blank. There was no indication of when his father would return, or anything else for that matter. The note was, in his father’s usual style, short and sweet. And what did he mean by ‘well, their friends were’? If these were not Rosie’s diamonds, had he substituted fakes? Or were they similar to but different from those she had given him? Oh, God! He would get them valued as soon as possible, but for now he had to put them somewhere safe.

  Nick folded the note and slipped it back into the padded envelope with the linen bag. Then he drove straight to the bank and deposited the contents with the diamond Rosie had given him.

  He felt unreal when he came out. He found himself looking right and left to see if he was being watched. He presumed the diamonds were not stolen. No. He didn’t even want to go there. His father had never fallen foul of the law, so why should he start now?

  But supposing he had just never been found out? No. His dad was sharp, but not dishonest. ‘Opportunist’ was the word. But what did he mean when he said, ‘their friends were’? Whose friends? He shook his head. He had never understood his father’s way of working, so what chance was there of him starting now?

  By the time he arrived at the hospital his head was swimming, but Rosie was on cracking form.

  ‘I think I’ve sorted them out.’

  ‘Sorted who out?’

  ‘The nurses here. One of them has boyfriend trouble, and the other one’s husband has just run off.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘In a bit of a state, both of them.’

  ‘So you sorted them out.’ There was irony in his tone.

  ‘Are you going to be unpleasant?’ Rosie asked, her brow furrowed.

  Nick felt suitably chastened. ‘Sorry. It’s been a bit of a morning, that’s all.’

  She was sitting up in bed, fresh as a daisy, her hair neatly coiffed, her lipstick freshly applied and her cheeks rouged. She looked like a duchess about to receive visitors at a morning audience. How appropriate, he thought, and smiled.

  ‘Victoria’s all right now?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, thank God.’

  ‘And Alex?’

  ‘As far as I know.’ He looked distracted.

  ‘Oh. That sounds ominous.’ He didn’t reply, so she took his hand. ‘Sorry. I expect everybody’s putting their oar in, aren’t they?’ she said gently. ‘I suppose Sophie gave you the female point of view?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘She’s good at that.’ Rosie chuckled. ‘Headstrong we used to call it. It sounds old-fashioned now, what with all this feminism stuff.’

  ‘Are you not a feminist, then?’

  ‘Oh, yes. A different kind, though. Wily.’

  Nick grinned. ‘You? Wily?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘Well, I look at all these women moaning on about men. Using a sledgehammer to crack a nut. You don’t have to do that. You can get where you want to go much more quickly if you gentle them along – flatter them, flutter your eyelashes, instead of all this bra-burning business.’

  ‘But wasn’t that liberating?’

  ‘Only for breasts. Damned uncomfortable for everything else.’ She was warming to her subject now, eyes glowing. It was good to see her back on form, bright as a button, trying to shock.

  ‘Look at that Germaine What’s-her-name? Where’s all that bra-burning got her? She still hasn’t got a man.’

  ‘Er . . . maybe she doesn’t want one.’

  ‘Well, she’s gone the right way about not getting one, hasn’t she? All this business about men not being the superior sex. Good heavens! We know that and they know that, so why keep banging on about it?’

  Nick laughed. ‘Go for ’em, Rosie!’

  ‘And another thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Breast enlargements.’

  Nick choked. ‘What?’

  ‘Why do they make them so big?’

  ‘Keep your voice down!’

  ‘Is there no control over the size of them? Most women would be happy with a thirty-six B, but they end up with a thirty-six double F. What sort of man is going to want to go out with a woman with a pair of footballs fastened to her chest?’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘I mean, she only has to turn round sharpish and she’ll knock you over. Heaven knows what the weight of them will do to her back.’

  ‘Ssh!’

  ‘Oh, I’m telling you, in a few years’ time the papers will be full of it – “New Survey: Large Breasts Lead to Back Trouble. Fifty-six per cent of housewives with big boobs h
ave trouble bending over. Or standing up again.”’

  She paused. Nick was squeezing in the sides of his mouth to stifle the laughter. ‘Stop, stop!’ he said.

  ‘And then there’ll be the lawsuits. Silicone companies sued for being overgenerous with implants.’

  Nick waved an arm in the hope of flagging her down.

  Rosie lay back on her pillow. ‘Better now?’

  He nodded. ‘Much better.’ And then, with feeling, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, love. And you just keep your end up. In a manner of speaking.’

  ‘Rosie!’

  ‘Oh, I know. It’s a difficult time, and lots of people’s emotions are involved, but don’t underestimate your own. It’s hard deciding how serious you are in a relationship when there are complications. Just remember that there are three people involved. You’re one of them, and your feelings are as important as anybody else’s. The danger is that you’ll put everyone else before yourself. That’s not always a good thing. It just makes you embittered.’

  ‘Are you speaking from experience?’

  Rosie was silent for a moment. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘So what do I do now? Wait and see how they are?’

  ‘Oh, I just wanted you to know that I understand the problem. It’ll all come good in the end. You’re a good man, and she’ll see that.’

  ‘Victoria asked me if I was a good man.’

  Rosie shook her head. ‘Funny child. Astute.’

  ‘And scared? Sophie thinks she’s scared.’

  ‘Oh, yes. But all children of that age are. They just have different ways of dealing with it. Some lash out. Others turn bad. Those like Victoria go into their imagination. Who’s to sit in judgement?’

  ‘So how do you solve the problem, apart from just giving it time?’

  ‘If I knew that, love, I’d be sitting in the House of Lords.’ She smiled.

  ‘Now, there’s a thought. You’d look good in ermine.’

  Rosie looked at him hard. ‘And I might have been, mightn’t I, if things had turned out differently?’

  He watched her expression change. There was something of that earlier wistfulness about her now, the look he’d seen when he’d picked her up from the police station.

  She leaned back on the pillow and turned her head towards him. Suddenly she was looking tired. It was as if the energy she had needed to jolly him out of his woes had sapped her strength. ‘We will find out, won’t we? About my mother?’ she asked.