‘Really? What, as an anaesthetist?’
‘No, that would be impossible with a family. No, I’m going to retrain as a GP.’
‘Oh! Can you do that?’
‘Of course,’ she said calmly.
‘But how long will it take?’
‘Oh, a few years, but it’ll be worth it. I can work shorter hours and not necessarily every day and I can also work locally. It makes perfect sense.’
I looked at her. Of course it did. Everything Philly ever did always made perfect sense. Philly never really fell on her face did she. Or if she did, she never came up smelling of poo, always of roses. Husband discovers she’s had a torrid affair? Not a problem. She clearly needed the stimulus. Wrecks my best friend’s family life into the bargain? Never mind, it wasn’t her fault, she was frustrated, poor thing. Now me, if I’d done that, I’d be an old dog, an old trollop, but Philly? No, she just needed to go back to work. There was something missing in her life. I smiled bravely. Don’t be a bitch, Rosie.
‘That’s marvellous, Philly.’
‘Isn’t it just?’
‘And Miles doesn’t mind?’
‘Mind what?’
‘You going back to work.’
‘What’s it got to do with Miles?’
‘Well, I just thought …’
‘Oh no, I’m sure he’s delighted.’
Yes, well, he would be, wouldn’t he? Better than shagging, I thought uncharitably. I got up quickly and went to the window to hide my jealous face. Oh God, what was wrong with me? Was I so bitter and twisted that I couldn’t even be happy for my own sister any more?
‘It’s extraordinary how everything’s turned out so well isn’t it?’ she went on behind me. ‘Most of all for you, Rosie. I’m so pleased, you must be so relieved to be off the hook!’
I pressed my forehead on the glass. I didn’t answer but privately I thought, yes, well excuse me, Philly, for not being too ecstatic because actually I didn’t do anything in the first place. I was wrongly accused. I didn’t ‘get off’ any hook because there was no hook to get off. And look at me now. Back home with Mother. No job, no house, no man and still expected to be grateful. And look at Philly. Plays fast and loose, shits on just about everyone in sight, goes home to her forgiving husband, prepares to become a GP and juggle her job and her children magnificently, and in a few months’ time everyone will be saying how marvellous she is and how well she manages everything and up will go the Hallelujah Chorus and sometimes it just made me puke.
I shut my eyes tight and rolled my head on the cold glass. Stop it, Rosie, just … stop it. This is what happens to failures, of course. They become horrible, spiteful people.
When I opened my eyes again, I blinked, then smiled, in spite of myself. For coming up the back lawn, arm in arm, were my parents. That was strange enough in itself, but then something even more peculiar happened. My mother suddenly reached up and kissed my father’s cheek. Dad looked surprised, but then a slow smile spread across his face. I realized I hadn’t seen them kiss since I was quite small. It brought a lump to my throat. I went out to the hall to meet them.
‘Daddy.’ I held out my arms and he slipped away from Mum to hug me.
‘Hello, love.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I gulped. ‘Nice try and all that.’
‘Don’t thank me, darling,’ he whispered as Mum went off to the kitchen, ‘it’s the best rest I’ve had in years. I haven’t been near the sink, chopped any wood, topped and tailed any beans or scrubbed any carrots, and what’s more I’ve pricked out all my dahlias!’
I giggled. ‘Oh good.’
‘More to the point,’ he took my elbow and led me away conspiratorially, ‘my isolation seems to have had a curious effect on your mother.’ He glanced through the door at her as she bustled around putting the kettle on. ‘She’s been acting decidedly frisky, I shall have to get her to lock me in sheds more often!’
I laughed. He turned my shoulders around to face him. ‘And what about you, love? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good. I’m sure it was a fairly futile gesture of mine, but I had this strange notion that by pretending it was me, I might force someone else’s hand. And I had to do something. I couldn’t stand by and let them accuse you when I knew you hadn’t done it.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks, Dad, for that single, supreme vote of confidence, and it wasn’t a futile gesture at all. It galvanized me into going to London to find out what was going on.’
‘Where I gather your friend spilled the beans.’
‘Charlotte, yes, she did.’ I paused for a second, and then decided on balance not to go into the nature of the beans. The big dressing-up box of beans. I wasn’t sure my father could take all that on an empty stomach and several hours of dahlia pricking. Instead I gave his arm another quick squeeze and watched as he ambled off quite happily to the kitchen to be bossed and fussed over by my mother as she made him and Ivo go off and wash their hands before sitting down to a ham sandwich and a glass of milk.
‘Go on, the pair of you,’ she scolded, ‘you’re both filthy. And make sure you get right under those nails, Gordon. Heaven knows what you’ve been doing in that shed!’
As grandfather and grandson disappeared sheepishly into the downstairs cloakroom together, she turned and caught my eye.
‘I know all about that business, you know,’ she said quietly.
‘What business?’
‘About Harry. What Charlotte told you. I caught him once, trying on that pink bedjacket of mine. The one with the ostrich feathers round the neck.’
My mouth fell open. ‘No!’
She nodded. ‘Oh yes I did. And then when he decided to do that aromatherapy course, I asked him if it wasn’t a bit, you know, effeminate. He came clean. Told me all about it.’
‘Harry never did an aromatherapy course!’
‘Oh yes he did, my darling. Up there.’ She rolled her eyes skywards. I gazed at her, stupefied. ‘Now come along, you two,’ she raised her voice as Dad and Ivo reappeared. ‘Come and have your tea. And, Gordon, eat up those crusts, please, you’re getting as fussy as Ivo. There’s nothing like a bit of roughage to get those bowels moving. I happen to know you haven’t been ponky-poos for days.’
I gazed at her in wonder for a moment, then drifted, dazed, back to the drawing room, shaking my head. I sank down in a stupor. ‘Good God,’ I muttered.
‘What?’ Philly looked up over her Harpers. ‘What is it?’
‘She says she knew about Harry!’
‘What about Harry?’
‘You know, the shoulder pads, the pointy sticks … Suzanne Charlton …’
She frowned. ‘Who the hell’s Suzanne Charlton? What pointy sticks?’
Suddenly I realized she didn’t know anything at all about any of that. I wasn’t sure I had the energy to go into it now. Some other time perhaps. I sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said flatly.
Philly frowned at me for a moment. ‘Are you all right, Rosie?’
‘Fine, fine,’ faintly.
‘It’s the shock, darling,’ she said gently, reaching out and patting my hand. ‘You’ll probably feel a bit, well, strange for a while.’
I nodded. She went back to her magazine and I let her go, let her think I was still a bit shell shocked, a bit deranged. I turned my head slowly back towards the kitchen though, to Mum. Suddenly I couldn’t help it.
‘Philly, you don’t think there’s anything in all this mediumistic lark, do you?’ I blurted. ‘Only, Mum seems to be awfully well-informed about Harry’s movements up there.’
‘I doubt very much if he’s Up There at all,’ she said witheringly, flicking over a page. ‘If you ask me, he was hustled straight into the “going down” lift.’
‘He wasn’t all bad, Phil, you know,’ I said quietly. I thought back to what Charlotte had said, about Harry asking Boffy to clear me, to tell the police it was suicide.
She glanced up in surprise. ‘Well, if y
ou say so,’ she said grudgingly, ‘but in answer to your question, no. I don’t think there’s anything at all in Mum’s latest obsession, she’s just rambling as usual, and if she rambles enough, she occasionally strikes lucky, that’s all.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ I said darkly, glancing nervously out to the kitchen again. ‘I’ve always said there’s something very peculiar about our mother. I wouldn’t mind betting she’s got a hot line to –’
‘Shh!’ Philly looked up sharply, cocking her ear.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing.’ She got up. ‘I’ll be back in a mo.’
She hastened out to the kitchen and sure enough was back a moment later. With Mum at her side. They stood over me, the pair of them. Two pairs of shining eyes gleamed down at me.
‘Rosie, buck up! Here – brush your hair!’ Mum began attacking me with a spiky hairbrush.
‘Ow! What – why?’ I ducked, then got up and backed away.
‘And quick, tuck that dreadful baggy shirt in, smarten yourself up a bit, for heaven’s sake! Philly, where’s your lipstick?’
‘Get off will you!’ I said as they tried to tuck me in. ‘What’s happening?’
Suddenly Mum lunged for the air freshener on the windowsill and blasted me with some disgusting lavender squirt as if I was a fly.
‘Oh, yuk. Stop it, Mum!’
‘I just knew I should have washed these chair covers,’ she muttered, abandoning me to smooth down the covers, bustling round the room straightening ornaments, plumping up cushions. ‘They’re dreadfully stained, and if I’d just thought to get some fresh flowers I could have made a nice little arrangement on the piano and –’
The doorbell went. The pair of them froze.
‘He’s here!’ hissed Mummy.
‘Who?’
‘You know!’ She gave me a little push. ‘Go on. Go and answer it!’
I stared at their flushed, excited faces. Their shining eyes. Slowly I turned and went to the door. My heart was racing, pounding away like crazy. He’d come. Yes of course he’d come, why on earth had I thought he wouldn’t?
As I got there, my hand closed on the doorknob and I shut my eyes for a brief, giddy second. Then I swung it back. Giant white lilies, the type that look as if they’ve been grown anywhere except in a garden, were thrust into my hands. The heady scent rocked me backwards. I gasped, then took another step back. Because behind the flowers, looking impossibly handsome and grinning from ear to ear, was Alex.
Chapter Thirty-two
‘Oh!’
‘For you,’ he beamed, thrusting the bouquet into my hands. He was wearing his old blue Guernsey and his extra special tigerish smile, the one that made his green eyes crease up at the corners. They twinkled seductively. ‘I wanted to be the first to congratulate you, Rosie, I just can’t tell you how pleased I am for you.’
‘Try,’ sprang ironically to mind, but I resisted, thinking again how odd all these congratulations were, as if I’d won a prize, or had a baby.
‘You must be absolutely thrilled.’
There he went again, as if it was 9lbs 2oz and very definitely male.
‘I’m relieved,’ I said firmly. ‘I think thrilled would be putting too fine a point on it. We are, after all, talking about the death of my husband here.’ I staged a sombre expression.
‘Of course, of course,’ he said quickly, instantly dropping the twinkles and adopting something a little more suitable. He lowered his eyes decorously and somehow got them stuck on my chest. They wouldn’t budge. He sighed deeply. ‘All the same, Rosie, inappropriate as it may be, I have to say I’m absolutely dying to celebrate with you. I passed a charming little pub as I came along, and I thought why don’t we nip down there and have a quick snifter? You know, catch up on all the news?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘And then?’
He laughed. ‘Oh okay, I’ll come clean. I thought I might whisk you out to dinner too, seeing as how you’re looking absolutely gorgeous and I still find you utterly irresistible. There, how’s that for cards on the table.’
I moved the flowers so they obscured his objects of desire. It was quite clear he was a tit man, in fact I’d suspected as much all along. That night he’d grappled me on the sofa in Joss’s hall, his hands had found their mark pretty damned quickly and one gets to recognize these traits when one is the owner of outsized anatomy.
‘You resisted me fairly easily the other day,’ I said lightly. ‘In fact I seem to remember you hid under a window seat to avoid me.’
He laughed nervously and ran his hand through his russet curls. ‘God yes, I’m sorry about that, I’ve been meaning to apologize actually, it’s just I was so unbelievably busy. I remember now, I had heaps of paperwork that day and I was avoiding all calls, even my dear old mum who rang to wish me a Happy New Year!’ He grinned. ‘It was nothing personal, Rosie, I just got totally snowed under. You know how it is.’
‘Ah, right. I thought perhaps you imagined I was the Pennington Poisoner, on the prowl around the village for her next victim. Sniffing out succulent young men, looking for tasty morsels?’ I gave a quick, teeth-sucking impersonation of Hannibal Lecter.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, of course not!’ He laughed even more nervously and did some more hair-scraping.
‘And I thought perhaps you were wondering if you were next on the list.’
‘No! No, nothing like that, good heavens!’
‘Spot of arsenic in the tea perhaps? Deadly nightshade in the soup? Then, before you know where you are, another one bites the dust.’
‘Ah ha ha! Ridiculous!’
‘Of course it is, I’m so pleased you agree. I just wanted to clear that up. And I’m so sorry I haven’t got time to nip to the pub and have a quick snifter with you but I’ve got to get supper ready. Oh, and the flowers are lovely, by the way, I shall give them to my mother. She was just saying she needed something to brighten up the sitting room. She’ll be thrilled.’ I beamed and plonked a very unromantic kiss on his cheek. ‘Goodbye then, Alex.’ I went to shut the door, but quick as a flash he stuck his head round. Short of decapitating him, I had to pause.
‘Oh, er, well, you’re obviously a bit busy right now but –’
‘Totally snowed under. Up to my eyes and avoiding all calls. You know how it is.’
‘Er, yes, yes I do, but I just wondered – tomorrow night? If you’re not too busy? There’s a new wine bar opened up in Cirencester, they’ve got a reggae night on, sounds rather fun. Thought we might have a bit of a bop, a bite to eat and …’ He ground to a halt. Good God, man, get your eyes off my chest! Somehow he managed to hoist them up, crease into a smile, and ooze out some more charm.
‘Come on, Rosie, what d’you say? Why don’t we let sleeping dogs lie and start again, eh?’ He reached out a finger and stroked my arm, adding a spot of smoulder to the eye contact. ‘What d’you say, hmmmm?’
‘I say, hmmm … no. I say go and play sleeping dogs with someone else. I say, sorry, Alex, but the truth is I find you totally, and utterly, resistible.’
With that I shut the door in his astonished face. Then I turned and walked straight into my mother, who just happened to be polishing the banisters with her hanky. As one does.
‘Where’s he gone?’ she squeaked in alarm.
‘How should I know.’ I pushed the flowers in her direction, glanced nonchalantly at the headlines in the Telegraph on the hall table and walked into the kitchen.
‘But – what did he want?’ She hastened after me, hanky flapping in one hand, flowers in the other.
‘He wanted to take me out.’
‘And?’ she shrieked.
‘Oh, and – whisk me back to his place to fondle my breasts I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Rosie!’ She dropped the hanky.
‘Sorry, Mum, but he’s a bit of a lech. And a doubting Thomas to boot. The first I might have been able to entertain, but the two together,’ I shook my head, ‘uh uh.’
I plucked an appl
e from the fruit bowl, tossed it in the air, caught it and sauntered through the kitchen. My, that had felt good, very, very good. I’d said goodbye. I’d shut the door. I’d said not today, thank you. In fact it had felt terrific. No wonder people did it to me so often.
‘You little fool!’ My mother’s voice carried after me. ‘You’ll never do better than that, he’s a vet, for God’s sake!’
‘Well, look at it this way, Mum,’ I said opening the back door and pulling on my wellingtons, ‘he could have been a doctor. Imagine if I’d passed that up.’ I gave a mock shudder and exited into the garden as she snorted in despair behind me. Then, on an impulse, I stuck my head back round the door again.
‘Hey, Mum?’
‘What?’ she hissed furiously.
‘I’ve never told you this, but once, years ago, you’ll never guess what?’
‘What?’
I glanced about furtively to check no one was listening, cupped my hand round my mouth and whispered, ‘I turned down an orthopaedic surgeon!’
She gazed at me, horrified for a moment, then, ‘Get out!’ she shrieked. ‘Out!’
I grinned and shut the back door behind me. I stood for a moment on the back step taking in deep breaths of the cold, biting air, then set off down the garden, munching my apple as I went. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Philly packing up her car, preparing to leave. The front door flew open and my mother joined her in the drive, ranting, raving, waving her arms demonstratively, rattling her jewellery, despairing of me no doubt. Philly stopped her packing to listen, folded her arms, head on one side, sighing, nodding, sympathizing. I clearly was The End. What would they do with me? This dreadful problem child who just would not lie down with the first man they found. Lots of head shaking, arm folding, shoulder shrugging. I walked on. On and on, down the brick path that snaked through the copse at the end of the lawn, down past the pond where I’d lain on my tummy and gazed at the fish for hours on end as a child, and on to the sanctuary of the potting shed.
I lifted the latch. Two guilty and extremely dirty faces swung round. My father and Ivo sat side by side at the potting bench.
Rosie Meadows Regrets... Page 55