Dear Rosie Hughes

by Melanie Hudson

  About Aggie. I should have told you before, but she came to see me not long after you both left for university. She had come home for the weekend and wanted to talk to me privately about Simon and I can tell you that the reason she distanced herself from your friendship was because she found out that you’d paid Simon to take her on that first date – he told her himself as means of ‘putting her off’. Simon may be my son, but he’s an inconsiderate so-and-so sometimes. She was devastated and felt like a fool who had been played and, in a way, she was. Also, you did drop her completely when you started seeing that boy from Huddersfield, which meant she didn’t have her home to go to anymore – her home, after all, was our house. And on the rare occasion she did come round during that summer, Simon had moved onto that other girl, so it must have been really hurtful for Aggie. I’m not blaming you, my love, I’m just pointing out that it was a difficult time and perhaps if Aggie was guilty of anything, it was being too trusting, rather than too needy.

  Lots of love. Stay safe.

  Mum x

  Bluey

  From: Rosie

  To: Josh

  Date: 23 February

  Josh

  You’re right. I’m a bit lost right now, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry. I’m far from perfect. Your mum can have the lamp. When you go to the house you’ll find the lamp in my box of special things.

  Rosie

  Printed Letter

  From: Nathan Browne’s Secretary, Brown’s Culinary Almanac

  To: Mr Shepherd, The Café at Road’s End, Appledart

  Date: 20 February

  Dear Mr Shepherd

  We are writing to inform you that we are considering including The Café at Road’s End in Browne’s Café Guide 2004 edition. Due to the unique positioning of your café, Nathan has decided to visit personally as he intends to holiday on Skye afterward. You will understand an element of surprise is necessary to provide an accurate review and so the exact date of the visit will not be given, but I can tell you that it will be at some point before 15 April. . If all goes well, The Café at Road’s End will find a place in our 2004 guide. If not, take consolation in the fact that competition is fierce and it is a great accolade to be considered.

  Kind regards,

  Rebecca Geary

  Bluey

  From: Rosie

  To: Aggie

  Date: 24 February

  Hi, Aggie

  Do you mind if we quickly talk about Simon? I want to say something and then it’s said and hopefully I will be forgiven. I got a letter from Mum yesterday and she said that Simon told you that I’d paid him to go out with you. This absolutely is NOT true. There is no way I would ever do that. I now understand why you were so upset. Good God, Aggie, why did you never say anything? In fact, don’t answer that question, it will take me down a road I don’t want to go down. Just please believe me when I say that I’m absolutely not guilty of this. Simon was, and I’m afraid still is, a child.

  It’s now four hours later. I had to stop writing because someone approached me and asked me for a quiet chat and so today was not awesome after all – there’s always something. I can’t believe it, but I was taken to one side by a chap who told me to try to be a little bit more masculine. He actually told me not to smile so much, or to be jolly when giving my brief. He said I’m coming across as a little bit too girlie. I wanted to slap his stupid face. Surely it doesn’t follow that the deeper your voice and the more aggressive your stance while talking, the greater your ability to do your job. I can’t stand all that wide-legged, masculine posturing shit. But then, bizarrely, he stroked my arm twice while he continued talking. What the fuck? I feel like shit. Have I been sexually harassed or was he just being nice? Am I too jolly in public? If so, I’m a bigger actor than any of them - if only they knew how suicidal I’ve felt these last couple of years. Dad told me, no matter what, keep smiling. That’s all I’m trying to do for Christ’s sake.

  Oh, and the Secretary of State for Defence pitched up today. Gethyn and I watched to see if he was fed the same food in the mess tent as the rest of us (we lived in hope) but he got posh sandwiches and a proper cup of tea. I would kill for a proper cup of tea.

  Love, Rosie

  P.S. How’s the bucket list going? You’ll be pleased to know I’m working on my flick-flack (I’m getting some dodgy glances) but my reckoning you are yet to: climb a mountain, see a sunset, sleep under the stars, send a message in a bottle and ride a horse on the beach (but it seems to me you’re in the perfect place to nail that lot in a day – job done!).

  ‘E’ Bluey

  From: Aggie

  To: Rosie

  Date: 27 February

  Dear, Rosie

  Re the bucket list; yes, you’re right. I probably could bang out quite a few by teatime. Is that a good thing? Perhaps we should have been more adventurous in our dreams?

  Re Simon, I know you didn’t mean any harm, but unfortunately, he was a very convincing suitor (actor) and I fell head over heels in love with him. Little did I know it was all a game. One day I was the apple of his eye and the next, shit under his shoe. I tried to cling on initially because his sudden change in behaviour was bizarre and made no sense. I suppose I got clingy in the naïve hope he would change his mind, so (now I realise) to get rid of me and stop me going to your house he said he’d only knocked about with me because you paid him to. I felt like I’d been used, especially as I lost my virginity to him, which is such a big bloody deal. It was like you’d all had a joke at my expense and the worst thing was, like I said, I had genuinely fallen in love with him, which is why – although I know it was years later - I didn’t come to the wedding. Also, we were very young, and if I’m honest, I didn’t cope well with you having a boyfriend and I was crazy jealous. True, you dumped me that summer (and I bet you can’t even remember the name of the lad you went out with!) but I would have done exactly the same thing if I had met someone first.

  There is something else, too, and if I told you, you would understand why I kept away, but please don’t ask because I won’t say, and it’s not because I don’t treasure your friendship, but some things should remain hidden to protect the innocent, even between best friends.

  But more importantly, yes, you have been harassed! If it happens again tell him he’s making you feel uncomfortable and if that doesn’t work, shoot him! Failing murder, I think it’s time for you to channel your inner Boudica – the ultimate Briton (and I’m being perfectly serious). You’ve always scoffed at my worship of her, but it really grips my shit that she isn’t revered properly in our country. She lost everything to the damn Romans when her husband died – she was flogged, and her daughters were raped. But did she cave in? No, she bloody well did not. Her own people were happy to follow a woman into battle and she almost won, too. Then rather than allow herself to be taken into slavery, she killed herself. Obviously this is a massively abridged version of her story – but what a story! And it’s all true, too. So, I say again. Channel your inner Boudica. Don’t subjugate men – work with them, lead them if necessary - but never ever be subservient!

  Also, I’ll send some classic ‘empowering’ books out to you from Casey’s bookshelf – you can start on that list. I know they aren’t my books to give away, but she won’t mind - good books should gather momentum, not dust. I’ve just thumbed through the shelves and pulled a few down; there’s Emma (always good for a spot of self-assessment), The Enchanted April (a masterclass in character), The Railway Children (resilience in the face of catastrophe), Anne of Green Gables (anyone who can spell chrysanthemum is a hero in my book), but unfortunately, there’s no Vagina Monologues. If you only read one book, though, read Women Who Run with The Wolves (I just knew Casey would have it). She also has a thing for Jackie Collins, thank God. Do you want The Stud, The Bitch or The Sinners? I’ll pop in The Stud (you’re very welcome!).

  My news is mixed. On the plus side, I plucked up the courage to do the thing I’m afraid of the m
ost. I wrote to Mum and said, ‘goodbye’ (admittedly it was in the hope of getting any kind of reaction) – but no reply. Then, last night, I looked to literature for my own guidance, and pulled Alice Through the Looking Glass from Casey’s bookshelf for my bedtime reading. In it, Time says to Alice, ‘Everyone parts with everything eventually, my dear’ and I realised that I have to let Mum ‘be’ not let her go and accept that some relationships are simply impossible to break/forget/blow up.

  Gethyn has done me a favour too (but DO NOT tell him this). He said the white knight character doesn’t exist: he’s right and so are you. What the hell am I doing exerting all this mental energy on finding a man? I’ve spent so long writing romantic stories, I’ve started to obsess on expecting the same story for my own life. I’ll admit that I can’t help being a romantic person, but I’m going to direct my efforts on something tangible. I’m going to build this business up so bloody well, Casey and Shep will be quids-in by the time they get home, and I know exactly how to do it. Here’s how:

  Over the past few years I have done a million and one-night classes: I’m a masseuse (Swedish), I’ve conquered Spanish (usted me puede decir el camino a la estacion de tren, por favor?). I can tango like an Argentine hooker and can even paint a passable water colour inside an hour. I can knit (the nativity scene was my shining moment, although baby Jesus looked a bit ropey). I can make crumbly soap, can decoupage my arse off and make flowers in felt. Admittedly, I went to each night class with the purpose of meeting a man but the problem was, all the other women also went along with the singular purpose of meeting a man, which was a win-win situation for the one relatively attractive male who pitched up. BUT! It’s time to put all this talent to some use, and I’ve decided to start some ‘themed’ café sessions, including ‘piano request night’ – I’ll let you know how it goes.

  But, oh my God, big big news! Nathan Browne (as in, the Nathan Browne from Browne’s Good Food Guides) is coming to the café at some point over the next month. This is a big deal. If our little café gets a page in Browne’s guide, Casey and Shep will be completely sorted. And what’s even more amazing is that Nathan Browne himself is coming – yes, Nathan Browne, here, at this café, eating my cupcakes! We’ve been told to expect him ‘at some point’ before 15 April which means I’ll have to sharpen up my act because Nathan expects originality. Anya does the savoury stuff at the moment, but I think her menu is a little bit too original, if you know what I mean (unless he doesn’t mind getting stoned). I’m soooo excited.

  Love, Aggie

  P.S. I haven’t had a reply from Gethyn this week and I’m concerned I may have crossed a line. Is he cross with me?

  P.P.S. Eh? The Bee Gees? I thought you said he was thirty-seven, not fifty-seven!

  Bluey

  From: Rosie

  To: Agatha

  Date: 27 February

  Hi, Aggie

  Just in case you ever need to know, I can tell you that it’s really quite difficult for an eight stone woman to run onto a rotors-running helicopter in the desert while carrying a backpack – not much more to say on that subject, but on the plus side, it’s quite exciting, really.

  Army HQ is a funny old beast to watch. So hierarchical. It’s becoming clear that, for the army officers around me, this time is crucial in terms of their career prospects. The posturing in front of the Chief of Staff is fascinating. The Brigades do this too, on the telebrief – you can hear it in their delivery. But do they want to impress the General or are they trying to prove that their particular field of specialisation has a necessary role in modern warfare? The Paras are desperate for a defining purpose here. The only people who don’t seem to peacock about are the Royal Marines - I don’t suppose they need to. Come the dreaded day, I’m sure all this posturing will fade. I’ve changed my mind about my gender status. I’m very grateful to be a woman – what a blessed relief to live in this world and not have to prove myself as a man.

  Love, Rosie

  Bluey

  From: Rosie

  To: Aggie

  Date: 27 February

  Hi, Aggie

  Yes, Gethyn is a little quiet lately. We’ve not danced to the Bee Gees for a while. He’s finding great difficulty in being here. But anyway, whatever you put in your letter to him, I wouldn’t worry. He’s a strapping Welsh bloke, so I can’t imagine you could have upset him too much.

  By the way, thanks a million for the MP3 player. It was really good of you to find the time to buy it and download all the music – even though you must have been busy packing to go away. The music selection is fab and I’m loving the flash back to your mother’s record player collection. It was always ABBA, David Cassidy, Joni Mitchell or the Carpenters, depending on what mood she was in, wasn’t it?

  Oh, speaking of mothers, can you get a Mother’s Day card for me next month, please? I know this is really insensitive of me bearing in mind the situation with your mum. Maybe you could send one to your own mum, too? I know, I know. She’s still a cow-bag, but sometimes, isn’t it just easier to keep playing the game?

  And finally, why don’t you ask Isabella Gambini to design a menu for the café?

  Love, Rosie

  P.S. Quick question, just throwing it out there; do you think I’d be nuts if I asked Josh to give our marriage another go? This could be my, ‘do one thing you are afraid of’ from the bucket list.

  ‘E’ Bluey

  From: Mr Hughes

  To: Rosie

  Date: 27 February

  Dear, Babe

  Sand bags? Why do you need sandbags if you’re working in a bunker in Kuwait?

  Well, today is the first day it’s felt like spring might be on its way. There was something in the way the birds were singing and the way the sunlight caught on the kitchen window that gave me the definite feeling that we’ve turned the corner. Mammy say’s it’s a good day for metal detecting (in other words, she wants me out of the house). There’s one particular field just past Holmfirth that’s been laid to pasture for years. The farmer has ploughed it so I’m off to speak to him this afternoon and see if he’s happy for me to go on before he sows it. Oh, I know I’ve been looking for the elusive pot of gold for years, but this time I really do get a definite feeling that there’s something big to be found in this one.

  Mammy thinks I’m daft, obviously, but she won’t be thinking I’m such a crackpot when I dig up a Roman hoard and we’re gallivanting off in our new caravan!

  With regards to the school, the council will vote in May, but it’s not looking promising. I’ve been doing all I can to push to keep the old girl open, but I’ve a feeling that those holding the purse strings at the town hall are simply going through to motions. One group of mothers have turned to vigilante tactics and are threatening to picket the school bus, but another set of mums agree that the school is too small and under-funded and are happy to pack their kids onto the bus at eight o clock in the morning and forget about them until tea-time. Whatever they believe, once the school is gone, it’s gone and most of us reckon the village will lose its soul if it goes. Time will tell, I suppose.

  Love ya babe,

  MumnDad x

  Bluey

  From: Rosie

  To: Mrs Hughes (via the Post Office)

  Date: 27 February

  Hi, Mum

  Thanks for your advice about Josh and letting go of Angelica. And thanks for being honest about your illness. Yes, I gave Simon so he could take Aggie out for a drink, not to take her out on a date. I did it because she was lonely, and I felt guilty because I wasn’t hanging around with her so much anymore. It was wrong, but I hope you believe that it was done with the right intentions. I didn’t think either of them would take it any further. I just thought it would be nice for Aggie to have someone take her out for a drink or to the pictures – I never expected him to come-on to her. I’ve written to Aggie to apologise, though I have bent the truth a bit to save her feelings.

  Anyway, guess what. The other day, I cut off my
hair and had a long chat with a doctor friend of mine. What I realised during that chat is that I’ve always felt that I live in my dead sister’s shadow. Dad won’t let me open up to you, but it’s hit me since I’ve been away that I’ve been buttoned up within your grief as well as my own. But because we never talk about Anna, I felt you never let your heart open to me in the way you would have opened up to her. There are times when I have resented my dead sister, because I thought you held a part of you back, for her. I thought I could see it in your eyes. I told Dad all this years ago, but he said I was being daft and not to bother you with it. I also told him I’ve never liked my name because I didn’t think it was entirely mine. I thought you only called me Rosanna so that Anna would live on – in me. If Anna hadn’t died I would have been called something else entirely, or maybe I wouldn’t even be here.

  But since reading your letter I realise that I’ve created all this trauma within my own mind. Why do we do this to ourselves? Punish ourselves with fearful stories? Why didn’t I just talk to you? Dad was right, the whole thing was daft. When I accepted my posting to Iraq, I didn’t care if I lived or died. But with the war almost on me and the scuds about to fly, I realise that, if I’m going to fight for this life, I have to have let Angelica die, so that I might live. Why, why, why have I clung on to all this for so long?

  Please forgive me for blaming you for my own shortcomings, Mum, and when I get home, let’s find a way to allow our eyes to dance when we’re together – and always.