As if reading her mind, Daniel broke his lips away from hers and whispered: 'It's going to be hard to let you go tonight. I wish you could stay.'
Jolted by his words, Rosie pulled away from him abruptly.
I knew it – he only wants sex! she thought, chastising herself for being such an easy target.
'I don't sleep with men on the first date, if that's what this is,' she snapped, dizzy with conflicting emotions.
'Hey, you know that's not what I meant,' Daniel replied, diffusing Rosie's huff with a knowing grin. 'If that's what you think, I'll have no choice but to take you on dozens of dates to prove you wrong.'
And with that, Daniel pulled Rosie into his embrace again, where she melted into his deliciousness until the sound of Stephen tooting the car horn brought her back to terra firma.
CHAPTER 20
Rosie was a mushy mess. Lying in bed, she mentally revisited last night's goodbye kiss with Daniel until it got too much and she either buried her head in her pillow out of shyness or hugged it to her chest as if it might extricate some of her emotional overload. Something was different about last night with Daniel. It had been easy. Rosie remembered her first dates with Jeff – in fact the first few months – when all they did was try to one-up each other with tart bon mots and caustic comments. Of course, the sex had been electric, but every moment they weren't on top of each other they were at each other.
With Daniel, everything came easy. The conversation, the eye contact, the hand holding . . . It was like it was the most natural thing on earth for them to be sitting there together, two virtual strangers until that day, feeling as though they had known each other for ever. Again, she grabbed the pillow and squeezed it until she thought its feathers might take flight, this time allowing her fears to take centre stage again: this won't work; we're too different; he will see my faults soon enough; he probably has lots of women he flirts with like that; he's still getting over his ex; he doesn't have time for a relationship; I don't have time for a relationship; he' ll leave me for someone thinner/prettier/younger . . .
Still, he didn't seem like the fickle type, she allowed herself, the pendulum swinging back to the light side. And he seemed wounded by the collapse of his marriage and the fact that infidelity was to blame. No, he certainly didn't seem a pantsman type . . . But the one thing Rosie couldn't talk herself out of, no matter how high or low she swung, was that she really, really liked Mr Snag Dad Daniel Jones. Lots.
Even Leon noticed how dreamy his ditzy mum was this morning as he opened a pack of potato chips, not just before breakfast but also in her bed – normally two huge no-nos – without an argument. What's more, Rosie put her hand in and helped herself to some greasy, salty crispness despite declaring only minutes earlier that today was the day she started her healthy diet in earnest.
'Mummy, what are we doing today?' Leon asked. In the mood his mother was in, the answer could be almost anything.
'Today, my beautiful boy, we can do whatever you want.'
'Anything?'
'What the hell – sure, anything!'
Rosie realised she had almost sung that last sentence, she was that jolly. Childlike, she dived on her boy and rumbled him with cuddles. Leon laughed hysterically, spraying bits of wet chip all over her, but Rosie didn't care. She was happy, dammit, and about time. She wasn't going to deny Leon a moment of her at her best.
'If we can do anything today, does that mean we can get a puppy like the one Elroy has?'
Leon had been nagging his mother about getting a puppy for months now, to the point where Rosie was ready to throttle him. But after he had played with Elroy's cute baby labrador the night before, she should have known the topic would be up for discussion again. She had already acquiesced and allowed him a cat, a mangy minx from a stray's litter that was going to be destroyed if new owners couldn't be found. The scruffy tabby had since cost Rosie some $3000 in vet bills, as it was suffering from what the vet described as stress-induced skin rashes that resulted in it chewing its tail almost off. Rosie had wanted to murder the vet on the spot – how dare the cat be stressed now that it was safe and saved! If anyone should have been chewing their tail off, Rosie thought, it was her. But no, the cat got a therapist and calming drugs . . .
'Honey, I don't know about a dog. Cats and dogs don't get on very well and Turtle' – the cat's name and, yes, Leon named her – 'won't be happy and might hurt her tail again. But we can go to the park and see all the dogs there. And maybe the ducks, too!' Rosie was aware that ducks and the park were no longer the great bribe they had once been with her boy, who now preferred crappy animated action cartoons and skate parks to their genteel outings among the rose gardens in Centennial Park.
Hell! Rose gardens! We're due at Keith's!
Rosie couldn't believe she had forgotten her promise to Elaine Norman that she would visit this morning and mentally chastised herself for getting so silly over a man so soon. Then there was the problem of how to tell Leon.
'Leon, quick sticks, little man! Get ready. We have to make a special visit to Mummy's boss, but it won't take long, I promise!'
Leon's expression changed from happy to hellraiser. 'But you said it was my day, Mummy!'
Rosie could sense a tantrum was about to be unleashed.
'It is your day, sweetpea, but first Mummy has to visit her boss, because he's sick and you know how nice it is when you're sick and Aunty Lou comes to visit you.'
This stumped Leon momentarily.
'Does he have a sick tummy?'
'No, honey, he has a sick heart.'
'Does that hurt?'
'Yes, it hurts a lot.'
Leon was quiet for a moment as he processed this information.
'Okay then, Mummy, we can go. You might need to kiss his heart and make it better.'
Rosie looked at her boy and felt fit to burst.
What have I done to deserve this child? I swear he is an angel.
Rosie turned their favourite CD up loud in the car, knowing Leon loved nothing more than singing the rocking chorus to 'Try It Again' with his mum. As they swung through the huge iron gates that led to the Normans' grand family home, Rosie was thrilled to remember that not only were the gardens exquisite, but so too was the bird life. Peacocks strutting glamorous plumage dotted the pristine lawns, causing Leon to struggle out of his seatbelt and stand to get a better look.
'Mummy, those birdies are beautiful,' he cried, stating the obvious. 'Can I have one? Please!'
'Baby, Turtle would eat one of those birdies for breakfast if they came to live at our house,' Rosie laughed. 'That's why they live here in Mummy's boss's house. But aren't we lucky to be able to visit them?'
By the time the car reached the main entrance, Elaine Norman was waiting on the sandstone steps to greet them. As usual, Rosie noted the woman looked immaculate; from her poker-straight grey bob to her crisp white linen shirt, white jeans and terracotta loafers, she was a vision of understated elegance.
'Rose, I can't thank you enough,' Elaine said warmly as they approached. 'Goodness, your eye!'
'I kicked Mummy but I didn't mean to. It was an accident,' a small voice piped from below.
'And you must be Leon. How nice to finally meet you!'
Rosie looked at her boy and realised that, as usual, Leon's people filter had processed the strange woman in front of him and liked what it saw.
'Hello,' he relied chirpily. 'I like your birdies. Mum says I can't have one because Turtle will eat it for breakfast instead of her tail.'
'Oh,' Elaine replied, clearly amused. 'Well, I have some cupcakes inside that you might want to eat in case you get hungry and try to eat your tail!'
'But I don't have a tail, silly!' Leon said, grabbing his new friend's offered hand merrily and accompanying her inside.
Although Rosie had only had a quick squiz through the windows when she took an open-house garden tour years before despite being repeatedly told not to by her guide, she was taken aback by the old circular sandsto
ne foyer with its sweeping dual staircase that led to the east and west wings. Rosie craned to check out the art that hung high where the two staircases met.
'Oh, Elaine, your home is beautiful,' Rosie gushed. 'And that painting above the staircases. It's incredible.'
'Oh no, it's not, Rose,' Elaine replied humbly. 'It's one of mine and I can tell you, if Keith didn't insist on displaying it, I would have put it in the bin years ago.'
'You paint too?' Rosie asked, wondering just where the elegant woman's talents ended.
'I'm happy to take you on a tour, Rose,' she offered, 'but if you don't mind, I know Keith is most anxious to see you.'
'Of course, and excuse me,' Rosie said, remembering her manners. 'It's just that I'm nuts about old architecture.'
'It would be my absolute pleasure, Rose. There is no need to apologise. I realise I am very lucky indeed to be a short part of its history.'
The two women were interrupted by a high-pitched squeal as Leon spotted the two West Highland terriers that had been, until that moment, blissfully asleep in a ray of warm sun that splintered through French doors and into the lounge room.
'Well, that's him occupied,' Rosie said. 'The kid is puppy mad at the moment. He desperately wants his own but I just don't think I could take on another commitment right now.'
'I can guess what you mean,' Elaine replied softly. 'From what I understand, the network is more stressful than ever – and that's saying something.'
'It certainly has turned out to be more than I ever envisaged,' Rosie replied. 'And without Keith there, well, it's just . . .'
'Unbearable, I'm sure,' Elaine interjected, her face contorting into an empathetic grimace. 'Rose, I wasn't sure whether I would tell you this or not today but you should know. Keith is a lot worse than you may think.'
'I know his heart is—' Rosie was stopped by Elaine squeezing her hand tightly, her pale-blue eyes welling with tears.
'Rose, it's not just his heart. The doctors have found cancer. It's operable, but they're not sure yet if it has spread or not.'
Rosie couldn't stop her own tears and felt giddy and faint.
'Goodness, I shouldn't have done this to you,' Elaine said. 'Please, come and sit down. I'll get you a cup of tea.'
Rosie grabbed Elaine's hand, forcing her to stay. 'Just tell me, does he know?'
'Well, put it this way, I haven't said anything. But there's very little that gets past my husband, I'm afraid. But he certainly isn't ready to roll over yet.'
* * *
Despite assuring Elaine she was okay, Rosie still felt sick when she entered the couple's master bedroom. Expecting to see Keith propped up against pillows in bed, she was taken aback to see it empty.
Elaine, sensing Rosie's concern, touched her lightly on the shoulder and whispered: 'He's out there, on the verandah. Would you like me to come with you, Rose? I don't want you to feel awkward.'
'No, Elaine, I'll be fine. And please, don't worry about having told me. You were right, I would prefer to know. But I can't say I'm happy about things, though, as I'm sure you understand.'
'Of course, Rose, this is hard for all of us.'
Rosie saw tears well in those sage eyes again, and absorbed Elaine's pain into her own.
'You'll find him quite chipper,' the elegant woman continued, composed once more. 'Like I said, he's not rolling over easily.'
Rosie thanked Elaine by clasping her hand knowingly, then took a deep breath, put on her best smile and barged onto the terrace.
'Hello there, Big Fella,' she said as she spotted Keith from behind, looking out over the railings to the impressive gardens below.
Upon hearing her voice, he turned sharply to face Rosie, who had to hold back a shocked scream at his appearance. The big bear of a man had shrunk, and his skin now hung limply off his bones in saggy folds. Those eyes that could incite terror with a sideways glance were watery and pale. His hands, with their massive digits, seemed cumbersome, like an adult's baseball glove on an unwilling child. Rosie beamed the biggest smile she could muster, genuinely surprised at how delighted she was to see him. Yet she felt like her heart was being expunged of oxygen at the same time; a waterlogged ball bled of its bounce.
'Get the fuck over here, sweetheart.'
Rosie swallowed a lump in her throat as she heard the Big Man's voice bellow from within that frail body.
He's still in there, somewhere!
'Don't expect me to sit on your knee,' she answered sassily. 'I don't care how sick you are!'
With that, Rosie ran to Keith and threw her arms around him, nuzzling her face into his chest in an attempt to conceal her tears.
'Jesus, you bloody sheilas,' he said, squeezing her hard. 'You cry at anything. Sooks, the lot of you.'
The two held their embrace in silence, each second that passed saying more than words ever could. When she eventually felt strong enough, Rosie extracted herself from Keith's grasp. Keeping his gaze, she fetched a lacy wrought-iron garden chair up beside him and sat, taking his hand in her own.
'I miss you. You scared the shit out of me, you old bastard,' she began.
'Raaaark . . . It was your stinky fanny that did it. Never did get my breath again.'
Still a reprehensible old prick. Bless.
'Yeah, well not everyone gets to go out in such style. Could you imagine if Nash and Johnno had walked in and seen us?'
'Raaaark. Old Charlie Chuckles' – Keith's favourite moniker for Nash – 'would have had a fucking coronary himself. Don't think that poor bastard has seen pink bits since Mummy in the shower.'
The two laughed until it became uncomfortable.
'So, what's happening?' Keith finally asked.
'Oh, not much,' Rosie answered, her voice so high and airy it almost seemed to chortle, I'm lying outright.
'Bull fucking shit . . .'
'Keith, I don't really know anything. I'm shut out, you know that.'
'Yeah, I know. No one's telling me nothing either but I hear things.'
'Things?' Rosie wasn't going to hand over stress-inducing news easily.
'Yeah, fucking things. Meetings on the weekend. Promos. Talent decisions. Secret lists of who stays and who goes . . .'
Rosie watched as Keith's neck turned a familiar shade of plum. This time, though, he reminded her more of a limp goose carcass than the bull of the boardroom.
'Keith,' Rosie said, pointing to the French doors ajar behind them, 'you have a beautiful woman in there who loves you. This crap doesn't matter. I know you find that hard to believe, but it just doesn't. It's TV. Old news from a tired medium. Let it go. It's not what's going to make you happy in . . .' Rosie stopped herself from saying 'the end', but Keith knew exactly what she meant.
'Sweetie, I thank you for what you're saying but the last thing you need to worry about is whether I appreciate that woman in there. I do, believe me. There's not a day I haven't woken up and looked at her beside me and thought I was the luckiest bastard alive. It's a shame, you know. We never could have kids for some reason. I always worried I'd pickled my sauce somehow but we never really talked about it. Been too bloody painful for both of us, I guess.'
The Boys' Club Page 17