‘A Greek boyfriend who was arrested by the police,’ added Dad with a warning tone in his voice.
Sally could be quite a gossip. Gemma must have said something to her mum, who in turn had passed it on. How many others knew?
‘Not exactly,’ said Rosie quickly, getting up to refill Dad’s mug of tea. ‘It was all a bit of a misunderstanding.’
Her dad made a clucking noise of disapproval in the back of his throat. ‘I must say, you do pick ’em. First a coffee-coloured bloke who leaves you up the duff, and then some Greek fella with a criminal record …’
Enough was enough. ‘That’s not fair, Dad. Winston may not have been around when Jack was growing up – just as you weren’t – but he is shouldering his responsibilities now.’
Dad winced. ‘I’d do the same if the lad let me.’
Had she heard correctly? ‘Can you blame him for not coming down? You were very rude to him.’
‘I know, I know. Don’t go on.’
‘You were the one who brought it up. As for Greco … my Greek friend … he’s entirely innocent and he doesn’t have a record. He’s gone back to Siphalonia now, which is where I’m returning after Christmas.’
Her tougher stance seemed to be working. Now Dad was looking like a child who knew he’d stepped out of line. ‘Have you got to go back to Greece, love?’
This was so hard! An unkind dad was much easier to leave than one who was giving her this I need you stuff. ‘Sorry, but I must,’ she replied more softly. ‘It’s my job. But Jack and I will stay for Christmas and we’ll have lunch together.’
Even as she said it, she wondered whether Jack would agree.
‘The lad will come too?’
Rosie nodded uncertainly. If necessary, she’d make him – as far as you could make a nearly-sixteen-year-old boy do anything. ‘Now let me get on and make you this cuppa. Got any more tea bags, by the way?’
He sniffed. ‘If you were here more often, you’d know where I keep them. Under the stairs. And be careful you don’t knock over your mother’s china.’
Only Dad would keep tea bags under the stairs instead of in the kitchen cupboard! Still, at least it had an interior light. Rosie fought her way through all the rubbish to get to the box marked ‘TEA/COFFEE’ sitting on top of a cardboard box stuffed with packets of (out-of-date) biscuits.
He needed looking after. It was all very well the nurse from the surgery coming in every now and then, but it wasn’t enough. She’d have to arrange some regular help, maybe talk to Sally to see if she knew someone. Ouch!
Rosie tripped over another cardboard box that was in the way. It fell over on its side, spilling out paperwork. Exasperated, Rosie began to shovel it all back in. There were gas bills going back years. Old Christmas cards too and … and envelopes. Addressed to her. Opened envelopes with postmarks that went back to the summer before Jack had been born.
Her heart racing, Rosie sat down on the rubbish around her and pulled a letter out. It was dated a month after she’d left for Europe and it had a foreign stamp that she didn’t recognise.
Dear Rosemary,
I still haven’t heard back from you. Does that mean you have forgotten me already? I hope not. I think of you every day. I cannot get you out of my mind. In my sleep, I stroke your hair and kiss you. If this sounds like twaddle, please ignore this letter so I can get on with my life, leaving you to get on with yours. But if you feel half of what I do, then write back, dearest Rosemary. Somehow we’ll find a way to meet up.
Love Charlie
Stunned, Rosie stumbled out of the under-stairs cupboard and into Dad’s lounge. ‘About time,’ he mumbled, barely looking up from his paper. ‘My mouth’s parched. How long does it take to make a cup of char?’
Trembling furiously, she held out the letter in front of him. ‘Why didn’t you give me this, Dad? Why have you kept this and the other letters from Winston for all these years?’
Dad gave the bundle a cursory glance. ‘Can’t remember. It was so long ago. You did remember to put in three sugars, didn’t you? The nurse says I need to keep my strength up. Got any more of that cake that Sally made, have you?’
What an appalling old man! They might be related, but she’d had enough. ‘I’ve been wrong about you.’ Rosie grabbed her coat, tucking the letters carefully into the pockets. ‘You let me think that Winston left me in the lurch. But instead, he was waiting for me. Jack could have had a father to bring him up.’
Dad’s hands began to slowly tear a strip from his newspaper. He used to do that during their teenage arguments, she remembered. ‘You weren’t here,’ he said slowly. ‘You just went. I didn’t know where to send them.’
‘Gemma knew! She told you where I ended up. And I wrote after Jack was born. Remember? You could have sent them then.’
He was tearing up another page now. ‘I thought it was too late. ’Sides, I didn’t like the sound of him. I didn’t realise he was a decent enough bloke until I met him …’
Wait! ‘You met him? When?’
Dad was tearing up a third page now, scrunching it into a ball. ‘He came down here a while ago. After I’d been rude to the lad. Told me I should have known better. Nice bloke, he was.’ His milky eyes met hers regretfully. ‘You didn’t tell me he was that bloke on telly that did exercises. I told him I liked him better than that whippersnapper they’ve got in his place.’
Rosie held out a hand to steady herself. Dad was unbelievable. If he wasn’t old and ill, she’d tell him what she really thought of him. But now he had her over a barrel. She had to be nice to him because his time was running out.
‘I’m going back to Sally’s now,’ she said, forcing herself to sound civil. ‘And I’m going to spend the afternoon reading all these letters that I should have been given years ago.’
His face was on hers, watching. Saying nothing. ‘I’ll be back tonight with your dinner,’ she added, ‘and I don’t want to say anything else about this, ever again. In return, I’m going to bring Jack and Winston down here for Christmas lunch – if they will come – and you are going to be on your best behaviour to both of them. Got it?’
He nodded, relief washing through his eyes. ‘All right.’ As she went through the door, she thought she heard him say something. It sounded like ‘Thank you’.
How could he? Rosie asked herself, shaking her head as she walked down Dad’s little path towards the gate. She would never have hidden anything from Jack. In fact … whoops! she almost collided with a small, dark-haired woman in a blue uniform carrying a small case. ‘Sorry.’
The woman beamed at her. ‘You must be Derek’s daughter. He’s been talking non-stop about you since you arrived. You live in Greece, don’t you? He’s very proud of you, you know. And his grandson.’
Were they talking about the same person? ‘Actually, I’m glad I’ve seen you,’ said Rosie, glancing at the net curtains, which now looked less grubby since she’d washed them. ‘I wanted to speak to Dad’s doctor but he wouldn’t let me.’ Lowering her voice, in case he was listening at the window, she added, ‘Isn’t there anything they can do for Dad?’
The nurse gave a sympathetic grimace. ‘I know catheters aren’t very pleasant, but a lot of people put up with them. There are worse things—’
‘It’s not that,’ broke in Rosie. ‘It’s the heart trouble. And the cancer of the liver.’
The nurse frowned. ‘I don’t know anything about that.’ Putting down her case, she drew out a folder. ‘I’m not really meant to say – patient confidentiality and all that – but as you’re his daughter, I think it’s all right. No, there’s nothing here.’
This didn’t make sense. ‘Not cancer of the prostate either?’
‘No.’
‘And the catheter …?’
The nurse gave another smile. ‘It’s not always easy for old people to get to the loo in time. Especially when they live on their own. If you ask me, dear, that’s what he’s really got wrong with him.’ She patted Rosie on the arm. ‘Lo
neliness. When did you say you were going back to Greece, then?’
‘Your dad kept the letters for all those years?’ exclaimed Gemma when she rang that night. ‘Have you told Winston yet?’
‘No. I’m still not sure that I will.’ Rosie was lying on the bed in the spare room that used to be Gemma’s. It didn’t seem like sixteen years since they had both been sitting on it, playing teenage records and talking about boyfriends. Downstairs, Sally was cooking supper. She was too old to be living in bedsit land. But what else could she do at the moment?
‘And you can’t go too hard on your dad because he’s ill, like Mum said. She wrote to you, didn’t she?’
Rosie had already discussed this with Sally after coming in. ‘That’s because Dad told her. She thinks it was to get me back. He’s lonely.’
‘Poor man.’ Gemma was always able to see the other side. ‘Poor you, too.’
Rosie swung her legs over the bed and went towards the window overlooking the harbour where she and Winston had spent their last evening together. ‘It’s Jack I feel sorry for.’
‘Don’t,’ said Gemma decisively. ‘He’s had a great childhood and he’s grown up to be a very well-balanced boy. By the way, you’ve heard the gossip about Winston and Melissa, have you? She’s gone back to her first husband.’
So it was definite. Rosie had thought that they might have made up. Now she felt a little thrill that this wasn’t the case.
‘I heard Marvyn’s a real heel,’ continued Gemma excitedly. ‘No one likes him, although I shouldn’t say that. Mind you, someone told me that he decided to get her back because he was jealous when she married Winston. And she agreed because she felt the children needed to be with their real father. Reading between the lines, I don’t think your Winston was as understanding as he could have been when it came to the children.’
Immediately, Rosie felt defensive. ‘He’s not my Winston and actually he’s very good with children. We’re all meeting up in London this weekend to go round some museums.’
‘Ah. That’s lovely. Actually, I was thinking. Got anything planned for Christmas? Mum and Dad are coming up and we wondered if you’d like to join them. Bring your dad, if you like – and maybe Winston.’
It would be better than just the four of them. A noisy family crowd with Gemma’s lot might hide any nasty comments from her father. ‘I don’t know if Dad’s up to the journey,’ Rosie began. ‘He might not have heart trouble or cancer but he’s quite frail.’
‘My parents can give you a lift. Dad’s just bought a huge people carrier. Says it’s for his new hobby (did I tell you he’s into fossils now?) but Mum says it’s for the grandchildren. Go on, Rosie. Think about it. It would be so nice to spend Christmas with you just before you go home.’
They had a great day. Rosie was right. The sheer numbers round the festive table – goodness knows how they all squeezed in – made it difficult for Dad to be his usual sarky self. Instead, he managed to pull a cracker and make some reasonable conversation with Winston, about what it was like to be on telly. He also spoke to his grandson, who was on his right. (‘Tell me what they teach you at your new school, lad. Bit different from Greece, I’ll wager.’)
‘Jack’s going back to his old school next week,’ said Rosie, giving her son a warm it’s all right smile. ‘But he’ll write, won’t you, Jack?’
Her son nodded uncertainly before shooting Winston a glance. Rosie felt a tremor of unease. Jack was going to miss his father. ‘You’ll have to visit us, all of you!’ She looked around the table, taking care to include Winston. Since Greco had left, they’d had some lovely outings together, taking in the London sights. Often they’d been mistaken for a family. If it wasn’t for the fact that she and Jack spent the nights in the spare room, she might think they were one.
‘Visit you?’ repeated her father. ‘Reckon my travelling days are over. ’Sides, my days are numbered, aren’t they?’
Rosie had decided not to tell her dad what the nurse had told her. It would make him feel stupid; she knew that. Better to play along with it until the time was right. ‘Then we’ll come back next year to see you,’ she added. ‘When the holiday season is over for us.’
‘Mum, he’s kicking me!’ protested one of Gemma’s small boys.
‘No, I’m not! It’s him!’
The toddler started to cry just as the doorbell went. ‘It’s Shirley,’ said Gemma, leaping up. ‘She used to help me with the boys when they were really small, and between you and me, she’s been having a bit of a tough time, so I suggested she came round for a piece of Christmas cake after lunch. She was a bit worried about spending too much time with her own family. Funny that it was her daughter, Emma, who went to your villa, Rosie. Small world, isn’t it? You must know her too, Winston.’
‘The blonde bride,’ he muttered, sending Rosie a conspiratorial look. She gave him a sympathetic smile. It couldn’t be easy for him here, amidst so many unfamiliar faces.
‘Hello everyone!’ Shirley, wearing a rather short red skirt, beamed at them all. She looked flushed and stank of whisky. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, but I was having a nap after my own dinner. I’ve got to say, it’s a relief to be away from my lot. It’s a nightmare with my daughter and her husband at the moment.’
Winston found himself unable to warm to this woman. He leaped up. ‘Please, take my seat. I was about to make my excuses anyway. I need to visit my … to visit someone anyway.’
Melissa? Who else could it be? Rosie felt irrationally disappointed that he hadn’t told her. ‘Thank you so much for a delicious lunch.’ He kissed Gemma on both cheeks, which made her friend flush. ‘You must bring the boys up to London sometime.’
Jack cut in. ‘It’s really cool, and Dad’s got this great place, right next to a skate park.’
Dad! It gave her a pang to hear him use the word. Winston was looking at her now. ‘May I have a quick word?’
Blushing, she hurried out into the hall, closing the door behind them just as she heard Dad say, ‘So where do you live then, Shirley?’
‘Look.’ Winston was taking both her hands and looking straight down at her. Every bone in her body was on fire. She felt weak, just as she had done as a teenager.
‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘I’ve got something to tell you too.’ She couldn’t hold it back. She hadn’t been planning on telling him, not wishing to make him feel awkward, but now, after a couple of glasses of wine and the intimacy of sharing Christmas lunch with her son, she couldn’t hold it back. ‘Dad kept your letters.’
He frowned. ‘What letters?’
‘The ones you sent me after you left. He didn’t give them to me, but I found them. You were telling me the truth, Winston. You did write to me. I’m so sorry I doubted you.’
His eyes misted. ‘I’m glad you finally know the truth.’
Rosie gulped. He was nearly crying. This meant as much to him as it did to her. They were standing so close now that they were almost sharing the same breath. ‘Do you ever,’ he said quietly, ‘wonder what might have happened if we’d each received the other’s letters?’
She nodded, unable to speak.
Then he put both his hands on her shoulders, making her body pulse. ‘It’s not too late, Rosie. There’s still something between us. I can feel it. Don’t go back to Greece. We could start again – here – with our son.’ His words tumbled out, not allowing her to cut in. ‘Please, Rosie. Think about it. That’s all I ask.’
‘Wait,’ she said urgently. ‘What was the thing you were going to tell me?’
He gave her a warm, melting look. ‘We’ve already said it. I love you, Rosie. I loved you before and now I love you again.’
He moved even closer. There was a surge of warmth as their lips met briefly, throwing her back to that very first time at the youth club disco.
And then he was gone, striding down the path towards his sleek car, leaving her dazed and confused. Her mobile vibrated.
Greco.
TRUE POST-HONEYMOON STORY
‘Six months after our honeymoon my mother-in-law still calls me by my predecessor’s name.’
Karen, just about married
Chapter Thirty-Nine
WINSTON
Christmas had never been a big deal for Winston. At school and university he had often stayed with a friend’s family (his grandmother had declared the holiday ‘too short’ for him to come back to the West Indies). Later, in the Royal Marines, he had always volunteered to remain on duty; frankly it was a relief to forget that he didn’t have a family like everyone else. Until he’d met Nick, of course.
‘When we’re home,’ she used to say fondly, nuzzling his neck, ‘we’ll have to visit my mum and sister, but after that, we could have time on our own.’
Time that they’d never had.
But now life was looking up – even though he hadn’t, to be honest, meant to say that he loved Rosie. The words had just come out of his mouth and then it had been too late to take them back. Truth be told, he was feeling confused. Was his declared love for Rosie part of a misguided, nostalgic desire to find a part of his life that had been good? Or was Rosie really the one?
Maybe. Still, he had meant it when he’d said that it would be nice to be a proper family like Gemma and Joe’s. He’d enjoyed lunch at their place. Those two really loved each other, even though it was crazy with all those kids.
It had been great, too, really great, to spend some time with his son. His son! Those words still gave him a thrill. Indeed, he found himself using them with pride to complete strangers. ‘I’m buying this for my boy,’ he’d enthused to the bored shop assistant when he’d purchased an expensive, garish sweatshirt as part of Jack’s Christmas present, hoping it was the kind of thing that sixteen-year-olds wore.
After the Honeymoon Page 37