The next day is the day of the Mother of Hangovers. I don’t remember what or how much I’ve drunk, but I do remember Mitchell seeing me in that state. And, oh Christ, did I actually say what I think I said? Did I tell him I love him? What the hell is wrong with me? It’s not love. It’s lust. Loneliness. And imagining myself with him is not helping dispel the enchantment. I want him more than ever now, just as I am about to lose it all.
So I lie low and hide out in the back office, hoping he won’t venture out of what I consider to be neutral territory, i.e. the front desk, the lobby, or the restaurant. Actually, I’m hoping he’ll stay away from the joint altogether. He must think I’m an absolute wreck. I only hope he can forget last night.
‘Mornin’, Rosie,’ he greets me, leaning forward with his forearms on the counter, a huge grin on his face.
Oh God. Not only have I dreamed of him all night, I can’t stop thinking about him. I actually conjure up these scenarios where we’re cooking together, or walking hand in hand through a field, or… waking up together. Go figure. Me and my impossible dreams. He is way too good for me and I feel like a letch. The nicer he is, the more he pisses me off.
‘Morning,’ I almost snap back, my heart riddled with guilt, so I am really trying to stay concentrated on the day’s work, all the while being acutely aware of the tendons and muscles in his forearms. They’re huge. And his hands are always fiddling with something. Today it’s my pen. When I can stand it no longer, I reach out and pluck it from between his fingers.
‘I need that,’ I say when he squints down at me curiously, the weight of his gaze unbearable. He’s so close he can probably see my every single pore, dammit. And what kills me is that, when I shoot him a quick glance, his expression is halfway between teasing and beseeching. How does he manage to master that look, half puppy, half sex-god?
It’s that simple. I can’t control myself, so I turn away from him and the possibilities in his eyes and try to concentrate on getting some work done. That’s why I’m here, that’s what I’m going to do.
‘Busy?’ he asks.
‘Focused,’ I correct him.
‘Thank God we have you, then.’ He grins. ‘Have you given my proposal any thought?’ Mitchell asks and I want to scream at his poor choice of words. Proposal. Not that I expected a proposal from a bloke I’ve just met, of course.
Forget that he’s kind, dependable, that Danny loves him to pieces and that he is a solid role model for him. Forget that whenever he walks into the room, my heart starts drumming some mad beat, that I can’t think clearly and that I just want to throw myself into his arms.
‘Rosie?’ Mitchell’s voice shakes me out of my dreams. ‘Have you decided what to do?’
I shrug, my eyes on the carpet. Oh, to be able to look him in the eye. If he mentions what I said last night I swear I’ll kill him.
He moves in closer, his eyes searching mine. ‘What… are you leaning towards?’
Jumping onto your lap, I want to answer, but I simply cough. ‘I’m… still thinking.’
‘Well, you do that then, but don’t take forever,’ he says as he grabs his keys off the counter and, with a wink in my direction, turns and strides out of the lobby.
What the hell’s happened to me, practically overnight? First, being much too busy trying to survive, I didn’t even look at men – not even by mistake. And now? I’ve become a sex maniac. A sex maniac with a conscience, to boot.
And then I hear Laura chuckling as she comes in.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Don’t worry, Rosie, you’re not the only one who’s gaga over him.’
Busted.
‘Gaga over whom?’ I say, trying to ignore the heat flooding my face as I continue to pretend to be busy.
Laura rolls her eyes and giggles. ‘For the boss, of course! I heard some of the hen girls are angling at… well, you know. Bets are on who’s going to land him first. My money’s on you.’
Hen girls angling for a go at Mitchell? What did I expect? Already the girl from the hen party tried to approach him. And that other one from the other night at the town hall after the movie, Abby. Everywhere I look there are women ogling him. I haven’t got a cat’s chance in hell.
‘Me? Are you nuts? I’m not here for a turn, Laura.’
‘Don’t be fooled by the attitude, Rosie. Mitchell’s a lovely chap.’
‘He can be,’ I reluctantly agree. ‘If a bit cocky.’
Laura shrugs. ‘I told you, that’s his armour.’
‘You think?’
‘I know for a fact. He’s always so self-deprecating, but in a charming way.’
I think about it. Not that I need to. He’s taking up so much of my thoughts these days. When he doesn’t piss me off royally.
Laura beams. ‘It’s so endearing, how one minute he’ll look at you with those eyes and then transform to Mr Sex On A Stick on the turn of a dime.’
I shrug, not knowing what to say, because damn, I couldn’t have said it better.
Laura bursts out into a laugh. ‘Oh, come on, Rosie! You think I haven’t noticed how you gawp at him?’
‘I do not!’
‘Yes, you do! And then you do that funny thing of putting on that face, like you’ve just sucked on a lemon, as soon as he looks your way… Exactly, that face there! You don’t fool anyone.’
Oh, God, can she really tell? What am I going to do? I haven’t come here to make a fool out of myself.
‘Does Mitchell know about all these women shamelessly lusting after him?’ I ask.
‘No, I told you, the guy’s clueless.’
‘And yet, he flirts.’
‘Only with you.’
I make a face. ‘He does not.’
‘Oh, so then what was that just now?’ Laura asks, nodding to the spot on the counter where Mitchell had been leaning only a moment ago.
I shrug. ‘How am I supposed to know? He’s your boss.’
‘If you play your cards right, he could be yours, too. He needs to hire someone. God knows he needs proper staff.’
That’s a fact. Everything’s so in tatters, it’s a wonder the place manages to stay open at all. Luckily, the restaurant, the strongest point, is doing very well thanks to the locals and Russell’s talent.
‘What do you say, Rosie? Will you apply for a job here?’
‘Why don’t you? You’ve already started looking into proper training, haven’t you? You’d be perfect.’
She makes a face. ‘Me? I’d love to, but I’m nowhere near as good as you.’
‘But, Laura, that’s only because I’ve been doing it for years on end. You’re an absolute natural. I can’t think of how good you’d be if you took a course. Just think about it.’
‘And you?’ Laura asks. ‘Will you settle here, in Little Kettering?’
I’ve been thinking about nothing else. Leaving London. To live in Cornwall. Sending Danny to the local primary school. Renting a pretty little cottage by the sea. That sounds like heaven. But not here. Not in Little Kettering, seeing Mitchell every day, and spending even more sleepless nights thinking of him, at least up until he susses me out. No thank you. I’d need a shrink by the end of the week.
‘I don’t know, Laura. Let’s get you on your way, first – what do you think?’
At that, her smile brightens. ‘If you think I can do it.’
‘Hell, yes,’ I answer, squeezing her arm.
*
After lunch, with the pretext that I’m looking pale and need some fresh air, Mitchell drags me outside to the huge field north of the inn where he and Danny are making a snowman with last night’s freak snowstorm. A snowman. Mitchell, the official Grinch who hates Christmas, has taken it upon himself to play with my son. Whereas Danny’s own dad has buggered off, presumably disappeared off the face of the earth. I sniff, pretending my eyes are stung by the cold. How can I not be touched by this? It’s much more than we’ve ever had. Immensely more than we ever expected from a stranger whose life I was sent to destroy.
Although everything around us is covered in white, the sky is a clear blue and the sun is shining once again. There is no trace of pollution, nor litter, nor tyre-marked snowbanks. The grit doesn’t settle on the crisp top layer of snow, turning everything to a faded grey like in the city where black and white means mostly black. Here, it’s all quiet, pure and clean.
So, like one of Danny’s playmates (I don’t think I’ll ever outgrow my inner child), I hunker down next to them and start packing the snow around the base to stabilise the legless, round-tummied character slowly taking shape. Mitchell and Danny are mirror images of red-cheeked, happy concentration, exhaling the cold air that seems to act like laughing gas on us. I must be losing it. Last night I was desperate, and now I have no idea how I feel. All I want to do is forget. And laugh, like I haven’t done in years. And out here, in the cold, with Mitchell and Danny, there’s no time for thinking. Just… being.
It’s been a long time since Danny and I have had this kind of quality time, out in the open. I sit back on my haunches and take in the scenery. Above us, the trees are bare, glistening happily in the crystal-like snow bathed in the feeble sunlight. God, I wish these fairy-tale moments could last forever. Expand until they take a proper place in time and our memories, and not just fleeting flashes that are gone before I can frame them like little pictures in my heart. Which I can’t. But I can at least take photos of this memorable, wonderful moment in our lives. One that, I just know, Danny will remember forever.
Just looking at him, rolling and patting snow with his little hands in the shadow of such a great man like Mitchell Fitzpatrick, makes me wish I could retrieve and flesh out these pictures and bring them to life on a crappy day at work and say to Danny, Remember when we were in Cornwall? You were about to turn eight, and it snowed? And we were happy. I wish that I could offer my little man more than just the Remember Whens.
I know Danny is easily content with the simple life I can barely afford him, but how long can it last? How long can I pretend a meagre meal of bubble and squeak is a cowboy’s banquet? How long can I pretend that the two of us are perfectly fine on our own, and that he doesn’t need a male role model if he is to grow up happy? And how do I tackle those male problems when he starts to grow into puberty?
Because he won’t be eight forever, and will eventually see through me. I am the single mother who was dumped by his father, housing him in a two-bed flat in a noisy, violent city. How long can I keep pretending it’s Shangri-La? And how long before he sees our life for what it is? And once he’s understood what a loser I am, it’ll be the end. He’ll lose his respect for me. Maybe even grow to pity me, if not resent me.
And sitting back, watching Danny basking in Mitchell’s approval, makes me all the more aware of what is lacking in my little boy’s life. What Danny really needs is a family. A man to look up to and emulate. Someone to turn to for the answers Mummy doesn’t have. If only I could’ve predicted the future back then. I’d have tried to make Mark happier, tried to not make him want to leave me. I never understood why I wasn’t good enough for him, and why I suffered so much when he left, because all the time I knew he wasn’t happy with me. I suffered, too, knowing I wasn’t enough.
But I’d still have gone through all of it, just to see Danny crouching before his snowman here today, his baby blue eyes filled with wonder at the touch of snow, and with joy from a single smile from Mitchell.
And then, when the afternoon can’t get any better, Mitchell gets the bright idea of tobogganing. All he has is a couple of sheets of plastic, but they’re more than enough. I watch and clap my hands as, Mitchell in front, they push off the top of the tiny hillocks, arms in the air, laughing and shouting, Mitchell louder than Danny, all the way down. I watch them as they trudge back uphill over and over, Danny’s cheeks bright red, his short little legs working double time to keep up with Mitchell’s stride, which is very appealing by the way.
Oops, there I go again. One minute I’m all teary-eyed proud of my little gent, and the next, I’m lusting after a man I’ve just met. I need to snap out of these morbid Emily Dickinson moments.
‘You wimps,’ I suddenly shout, hiking up what Mitchell has dubbed Horror Hill and which they’ve been avoiding all afternoon. ‘Let me show you how it’s done!’
‘Rosie!’ Mitchell calls, and I can hear the alarm in his voice. ‘You can’t be serious – not there! It’s dangerous! Come back!’
‘Ha!’ I laugh. Dangerous. I’ve survived way worse.
‘Rosie, no! There is solid rock under that hill! You’ll get yourself killed! Stop!’
I spread my plastic sheet out and deposit my derrière on it, my legs neatly tucked under me, pushing off gingerly, hankering for the old, familiar feel of speed and freedom. As if, flying down the side of a hill, I can catch my childhood memories, when I was happy, and had a head full of dreams waiting to come true. Wait, did he just say… solid rock?
‘Rosie!’ he cries, but I’ve picked up speed now, my sheet of plastic encountering no friction whatsoever, and I realise I’m flying towards my death, because the second my body hits the rock, I’ll be a dead body.
‘Mum! Look at me!’ Danny calls from the top of a tiny hill Mitchell has deemed safe for him to slide down on his own. With a wave, he pushes himself off, and we’re both going down in opposite directions, soon to meet somewhere in the middle. Only he’s already at his destination, while I’m still flying, gaining momentum and altitude as I go. And soon, I will be landing with a crash, and I’m only glad that Danny is too distracted to realise what’s happening.
For a terribly long moment, I’m suspended in the air, with brain freeze, the cold air and my screams burning my throat raw, as flashes of not my own childhood, but Danny’s first years flit through my brain. But I’m not even terrified. It’s like I’m watching this on TV, as a spectator, and that my body, my life, isn’t even mine. And I realise what terrifies me. Forget about my death – I’m not capable of controlling my life.
And I think of Danny, and my parents having to drive all the way down with the horrible news of their daughter’s self-inflicted passing, and Danny having to move to the Midlands with his grandparents because, lo and behold, his mum has once again messed up.
And then I land with a painful thud, flat on my back. Mitchell scrambles over to me and I watch them both, like in a dream, my head turned, because it’s the only part I can manage to move.
‘Rosie, are you all right?’ Mitchell stops at a skid, immediately all over me (his timing stinks), while Danny is approaching, dragging his sheet of plastic behind him.
‘Did you see that, Mum?’ he cries.
‘That was fantastic, darling,’ I chime despite myself, because I know that not only is my body numb from the cold, but that I’m in big trouble.
I look at them, unable to move, and not even sure that I haven’t broken my back.
‘Can you move your feet?’ Mitchell asks.
Check.
‘Hands?’
Check. And then I burst out laughing. The feeling of elation, of freedom, is one that I haven’t felt in a long time. For some wacky reason, I’ve never been happier in my life.
Mitchell’s not sure whether I’m crying, or laughing from shock. His hands are running all over my body (not in front of the baby, dear), checking for broken bones. Now, with eleven layers of clothing separating my skin from his, he decides to frisk me?
‘Jesus Christ, Rosie, you scared the crap outta me!’ he finally cries, his hands on my arms as he’s hanging over me, while Danny starts to pull on my neck.
‘Can you get up?’ Mitchell wants to know.
Can I? Probably. Do I want to, with this gorgeous, kind and sexy man looming over me, giving me his undivided attention? Nuh-uh. But I can’t stay here forever, with my ass stuck to the ice, can I?
Doubt clouds Danny’s adorable little face. ‘Mum, are you okay?’
‘Yooh…’ I laugh. ‘Let’s do that again!’
‘Not on your life, sister,’ Mitchell exclaims, unsure whether I’m serious or not. ‘I almost died of fear.’
‘I’m fine.’ I didn’t hit my head or anything. Or did I? I can’t remember. If only. It would be great to hit my head and forget a lot of things, and just live our lives from this moment on, forgetting about my little secret, his past, mine and everything else standing between us and a possible relationship.
Mitchell, now convinced I’m okay but just a tad bonkers, starts to chuckle, and soon, we’re all rolling around in the snow, high on laughter. Maybe I should be reckless a little more often. It’s great fun.
‘Let’s make angels!’ Danny cries and darts off for a new, smooth patch of snow.
Mitchell turns to me and touches my cheek. ‘I already have one.’
Angel. He called me his angel. Maybe he means his guardian angel, seeing that I’m trying to help him out? Yes, that’s got to be it. Because I don’t know that he would see me as his angel in the sense that I’d like it to be. Because I would. I would like there to be more between us. And it’s the first time in eight years that I’ve actually thought of a bloke at all in that way.
But it’s not just attraction towards Mitchell. I think almost any woman would be attracted to him. I think it’s more of an affinity. Completely blotched by the reason I’m here, of course, but nonetheless an affinity of sorts.
In any case, apart from the time I spend with Danny, it’s the best day I’ve ever had. Even compared, especially compared, actually, to my dates with Mark. Mitchell has managed to make me feel welcome, special and… and… understood. Mitchell acts as if he actually cares. Now I know I don’t want to make the same mistake I did with Mark ages ago, but they are not the same man, and I am not the same person anymore.