With a start, she sat up in the bed and pictured Kayleigh’s face, remembered her smile, her recent cheeriness, and slowly realisation dawned: it was because she had known. ‘All right, Rosie? How are you? Everything all right with you then?’ Kayleigh had a secret and she liked it. Who else knows? Who else is laughing at me? She rubbed her forehead, hoping this might alleviate the thumping headache that she had nursed throughout the night.
Rosie reached out her shaking hand for the glass of water resting on the windowsill. Her brain jumped when she felt a flash of worry as to whether Phil had enough clean underwear with him and then quickly realised it was no longer her concern. She knew what he had worn and eaten every day for the last twelve years, but now it was nothing to do with her, some other woman would be choosing his supper and eating it with him, and even that small detail was like a knife to her heart.
She trod the landing, hoping for a bit of time alone downstairs, wanting the silence of the morning to ease her into the day ahead. But no sooner had she filled the kettle than she heard the clatter of little feet on the stairs. It was hard to find a smile.
‘Mum?’ Naomi began, the moment she was in sight. ‘I had a very funny dream that you got me two puppies because my fish died and we called them Moby and Jonathan just like the fish and they were so cute and we took them for a run on the beach and they loved it. Can I get two dogs?’ She did this, launched the day as she meant to go on; she never had the need for a period of easing in.
‘I don’t think so.’ Rosie was aware of her cracked voice, her lowered tone.
‘Well, I will let you think about it and when you’ve made up your mind, we can go to the big pet store near B&Q and see if they have books on how to look after your new puppies, so that I don’t do anything wrong with them like I did with Moby and Jonathan when I put them in the mug.’ She smiled.
Rosie opened her mouth to speak but literally didn’t know where to start. Trying to find the right words through the fog of confusion and sadness was too hard.
‘Where’s Daddy?’ Naomi asked as she picked up a little rubber ball and bounced it on the hard, tiled floor, catching and dropping it repeatedly.
‘Mum, where’s Daddy?’ she repeated, in case she hadn’t heard her over the noise of the kettle.
Leona sloped into the kitchen. ‘He’s not in the loo, I just looked.’ She rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
‘He’s at work,’ Rosie managed.
‘I’ve told her we want two baby dogs.’ Naomi updated her sister on events, this seemingly more pressing to her than the fact that Phil wasn’t around.
Rosie was glad of the change of topic, a hiatus before having to disclose the truth.
‘I do want two baby dogs, but I want breakfast as well!’ Leona looked a little distressed, as if it was an either/or choice.
While the girls ate their toast on the sofa, Rosie sat in the kitchen and sipped at her cup of tea. Her mobile rang. It was Mel. She took a deep breath and answered the call.
‘Are you okay?’ her friend asked urgently.
‘I guess you’ve heard.’ She closed her eyes; it was somehow easier to have this conversation without looking at the world around her.
‘Andy spoke to him. Oh God, Rosie, I honestly don’t know what to say.’
She had never heard her friend at a loss for words before. ‘Me either.’
‘I’m coming over.’ There was no time for a response: the phone went dead.
*
Fastening her hair in a knot, she opened the front door to her best friend. Mel rushed forwards and put her arms around her and there they stood, locked together while she cried.
‘It’s okay.’ Mel spoke into Rosie’s thick hair.
The two made their way into the kitchen. As soon as the girls got wind of their visitor, they rushed in, hopping on the spot at this much excitement this early in the morning. Rosie once again filled the kettle as if on autopilot.
‘Well, if it isn’t my two favourite girls!’ Mel beamed.
‘Mel,’ Naomi began, ‘we are going to get two dogs called Moby and Jonathan because we accidentally killed our fish and you and Tyler can help us take them for a walk if you want to?’
‘Oh, we’d love that!’ Mel looked at Rosie, who shook her head.
‘We’re thinking about replacement pets, but it won’t be dogs.’
‘But you said!’ Naomi stamped her bare foot on the floor.
‘Please, Naomi.’ Rosie closed her eyes and leant over the sink.
‘But you did-da!’ she whined.
‘You did, Mum,’ Leona added.
Rosie slunk down until her head rested on her arms. Mel and the girls stood staring as her shoulders shook.
‘I... I’m sorry, Mummy!’ Naomi started crying.
Mel bent down and spoke face to face with the girls. ‘I think Mum’s a bit tired, why don’t you go and sit on the sofa and I’ll make her a cup of tea, okay?’ She hugged them both and wiped Naomi’s tears, then the two girls trudged towards the sitting room.
Mel guided her friend to a chair at the table. Rosie placed her head on her forearms and continued to sob. It was some minutes before she found the energy to talk.
‘I can’t believe it, Mel. I just can’t take it in.’ She sat up and shook her head, ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’
‘Well, what you can’t do is fall apart. You’ve got two little girls who need their mum right now.’ Mel pointed towards the sitting room.
‘They don’t know what’s going on.’ She wiped her face with a tea towel.
‘They don’t need to know the details to know that something’s up. You can feel it in the air, Rosie, and you look terrible.’
‘I can’t cope with you being mean to me right now.’ She felt her bottom lip tremble.
Mel got up and held her again. ‘Oh! I’m not being mean to you. You’re my best friend! But I am trying to help you and you need to be tough now. I know it’s not easy, but you really do.’
Rosie ran her hands over her jeans, realising that not only had she not changed her clothes, she hadn’t showered either. She smelt, she knew she did, and her hair hung in greasy coils either side of her swollen, tear-stained face.
‘Have you eaten anything?’
She shook her head and grimaced. Even the thought of food made her feel sick.
‘Can you just have a piece of toast, just for me? You need to keep healthy, honey,’ Mel said, as if Rosie was six. She rummaged in the bread bin, pulled out two slices of white and shoved them in the toaster. Clearly she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Rosie repeated.
‘It feels terrible right now because it is terrible, but these things happen and you will move on.’
‘I don’t want to move on!’ Her tone was sharper than she intended, but her friend, no matter how well intentioned, clearly had no idea of the extent to which her life had been destroyed.
‘You have no choice.’ Mel’s tone was softer now. She sat at the table and placed her hand on her friend’s arm. ‘I know you loved him—’
‘I love him. Not loved. I love him!’ Rosie corrected, picturing his face again and crying afresh. ‘I saw her again, you know, as I was driving out of town. She looked very fancy, the kind of woman that would make me feel crap about myself even if she wasn’t sleeping with my husband. And all I can think of, having seen her looking so glam, is that I can’t imagine her being with someone like my Phil.’
The two women sat in silence for a second or two, both considering how to proceed.
Rosie scooped her hair to one side and sat up straight. ‘Did you know, Mel?’
Mel cast her eyes downwards and looked at her fingers on the tabletop. ‘I knew bits. He told Andy a few weeks ago apparently and Andy stewed over telling me and then he told me at the beginning of the week that Phil had been playing away.’ She looked up, regretting her casual choice of phrase. ‘I was so torn. I didn’t want to say anything in case it
blew over – least said, soonest mended and all that. I thought saying something might cause more trouble.’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve hated knowing that much about it without you being aware of it. It felt disloyal, horrible.’
‘Because it was, that’s why. You should have told me!’ she snapped.
‘Oh my God, Rosie! How could I? I didn’t know if it was going to blow over, I had no idea of the details and how on earth was I going to sit you down and break that? You have always thought the sun shone out of his arse, I wasn’t going to be the one to shatter that for you. I love you too much for that. It didn’t feel like my business.’
‘So how did you know he’d gone?’ She stared, her tone gentler, her mouth fixed in a pre-crying twist.
‘He called Andy and said he was going to tell you and that he was moving in with that tart!’
The toast pinged and shot upwards in the toaster. Neither made any attempt to fetch it.
‘I don’t know if it’s just a phase. As you said, it might all just blow over.’ Rosie’s tears came again. ‘I just want him back! I want him to come home!’
‘You can’t think like that. You need to get on with your life and what will be will be. You are so much more than that little band of gold on your finger. You are more than your husband’s wife, you are Rosie and you are fabulous. Your marriage doesn’t define you, it’s not all you are!’
Mel spoke with strength and conviction, but frankly it was more than Rosie could cope with. She closed her eyes as if unable to hear any more. ‘That’s all well and good, but the... the trouble is...’ Her voice was small. ‘It was all I ever wanted to be. Just that. Phil’s wife and the girls’ mother. It is enough for me and it’s all I want.’
‘But...’ Mel tried and failed to find the right response.
‘But what, Mel?’
‘Mummy?’ Naomi called from the sitting room. ‘Leona’s cut her foot on the fireplace and there’s blood on the carpet, the curtains and on my pyjamas and on her forehead!’
‘How the hell does she get blood from her foot to her forehead?’ Mel asked, and they both laughed briefly, then raced into the lounge to deal with the latest crisis.
Later that afternoon, with Leona sporting a large bandage on her cut foot, Rosie decided to take them for a quick stroll along the beach. She tried not to look at the families sitting bunched together on towels and blankets or hovering in the entrances of ridiculously extravagant beach tents, tried not to eavesdrop on the parents and kids and couples who tossed Frisbees, batted balls or read out snippets from the newspaper. And she tried not to think of the countless trips she had made down there with Phil since her teens.
She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs, ‘Enjoy it! Enjoy it all, because it can all be gone in minutes. The person you love and trust can have a change of heart and just like that you’re discarded!’ Instead, she plonked herself on the shoreline while the girls chased the waves in and out, squealing with joy when they mistimed their retreat and their feet and ankles got wet.
Leona sat on the wet sand, peeled the crepe bandage from her foot and ran back to her mum, flinging it at her before trotting back to the water. Rosie gathered it and rolled it carefully before popping it in her pocket. She realised she hadn’t told Phil about Leo’s little accident and reached for her phone, before remembering that he wasn’t really at work but had left. He’d gone. She slid the phone back into her pocket, unsure of the rules and trying to comprehend that, after speaking to him day and night since she was a teenager, this too had now stopped, she was not allowed. This thought caused her tears to pool. She pulled her sunglasses down from her head and pushed them up on the bridge of her nose, thankful for the privacy they offered.
Naomi picked up a length of seaweed and proceeded to chase her sister with it. Leona screamed so loudly that the lifeguard stopped and turned his head.
*
Rosie was preparing supper for the girls when her phone buzzed. It was the call she had been waiting for.
‘Hello, Mo.’
‘Oh... oh...’ Her mother-in-law tried to speak through her tears.
‘Don’t cry.’ Rosie smiled weakly to herself; this advice was far easier to give than act upon. The truth was she had barely stopped crying all day. The girls had made her a card with a sad face on the front and big fat blue tears running down the orange cheeks. An arrow pointed to the face with the word Yoo written next to it in green felt tip. She got the message. Now she glanced again at their work of art, which was propped against the window behind the sink.
‘Oh, Rosie!’ Mo’s sobbing made it hard to converse and this in turn set Rosie off again.
She tried to fill the pauses as best she could. ‘I can’t... can’t imagine you not being...’
‘I will always be there for you, Rosie. I have been there since you were a young girl and that won’t change,’ Mo managed.
Rosie gripped the phone with both hands, beyond grateful to hear that the woman she loved was not going to cut her off from the only proper family she had ever really known. ‘I can’t believe it, Mo. I can’t.’
‘I know. Us too. I don’t know what to say.’
Rosie heard the sharp intake of breath and was quietly pleased at her mother-in-law’s displeasure, happy that she would be putting pressure on Phil to end this nonsense and come home. Just thinking of him being elsewhere was torture.
‘Why don’t we come and get the girls tomorrow and bring them back here, give you a chance to get your head straight and they can have a run around?’
‘Thank you. They’d love that.’ She nodded, thinking ahead to a day alone and the peace it would offer.
Rosie found it hard to see her father-in-law the next morning. There was a new awkward tilt to his movements and a faster blink rate that made them both uncomfortable. She knew that this was just the beginning. As he shepherded his beloved granddaughters into his van, she caught a glimpse of the future, saw herself handing over the girls to a family that might be embarrassed, torn by her presence. Despite Mo’s kind words of comfort, and her obvious distress, she knew that Phil leaving had removed the cornerstones from the walls that kept her safe. She felt vulnerable and afraid of the isolation that loomed. Naomi and Leona waved goodbye furiously as Keith pulled out of the road with a friendly beep of reassurance that did little to reassure.
With the house to herself, Rosie sat on the sofa and stared at the detritus that littered the floor, a mat of toys, clothes and the odd wrapper and toast crust. Stooping low, she gathered a stray sock and sat back on the sofa; even this small task took more energy than she had to spare. Her pale leather handbag was on the floor and from the top poked a little white triangle. Of course! Until that point she had all but forgotten about her mum’s letter.
Lying flat on her stomach and with her arm outstretched, she reached across the floor, hooked the bag by its handle and dragged it back towards her. This required far more effort than simply standing and picking it up, but there was nothing logical about her actions or the situation in which she found herself.
Pulling the envelope out of the bag, she laid it flat on her palm and ran her fingers over the loose, gummed strip, thinking that her mum must have held it in her hands, licked the edge. It was overwhelming to be in contact with something that had felt her mum’s touch. Their old address was written on the paper, which had yellowed around the seams. The neat blue biro script had also faded. On the reverse there was a round stain from the bottom of a carelessly placed damp mug. She found it irritating that someone had considered this precious thing a suitable coaster. Typical. Angrily, she pictured her dad.
It was one single A4 sheet that had been folded and folded again, not the beautiful cream vellum or watermarked Basildon Bond that she had pictured. The paper choice itself made her feel sad. She tried to imagine writing a letter of such importance and simply grabbing the nearest pad and tearing a sheet from it. Especially if that letter concerned her five-month-old daughter. She pictured Naomi and little Leona
, at that exact age. The idea of not seeing them made her shudder. She tried to picture herself on the day the letter arrived: tiny, vulnerable, sleeping, trying to smile, looking at her environment, keen for input. She would have lay, unaware, as the postman, hardly a figure of interest, slotted through the letterbox this letter now in her hands.
Unfolding it, she was instantly disappointed by its length. One measly paragraph. Rosie turned it over, but the reverse was blank. She held the sheet up to her face and read the lines that had been hidden from her for over three decades.
Roy,
It’s been five months now and I wanted to say, don’t hate me. I didn’t want any of it, not marriage, not kids, not the routine of laundry and housework, not the small seaside life, none of it. I wanted more than to be known as my husband’s wife. I wanted a life for me. I wanted to be me. I know you thought that a baby might make everything okay, you said as much, but it didn’t. Not even a bit. I knew if I came home with you both, I’d be trapped, possibly forever. It’s best for you both that I went when I did, a chance for everyone to have the life that was meant for them. You included. This is kindest. I don’t love you, Roy. I know this will be hard for you to read now, but eventually it will help bring clarity. A caged animal will eventually fight for freedom and I would never want to fight like that with you.
L
Rosie read and reread the words. Her mum hadn’t even mentioned her by name – there was not a single enquiry as to her welfare, nor any words of love or regret. Not only that, but it was obvious that Rosie had misunderstood the situation all these years. It wasn’t her dad who had been at fault after all, it wasn’t something he’d done or said that had forced Laurel to run off; quite the opposite, in fact. Laurel simply hadn’t loved him, hadn’t wanted him and so had packed her bags and gone. Her dad, hurt and abandoned, had been the one that stayed. And he’d decided to take the blame, presumably to make life easier for her.
In her present state of mind it was almost too much to process.
Replacing the sheet inside the envelope, she thought how much she would have liked to share the letter with Phil. But then she was struck with a cold spike of dread as she realised that the sentiments it contained might be ones with which he wholeheartedly agreed.
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