Now alone, I ponder the future. I don’t want to need Mitchell anymore. Especially when he feels he has to go elsewhere to carry on with someone else. Whoever she is, she’s just swooped in and taken him away. What can I do? Besides, it’s not like I’m here for the long haul, is it?
It breaks my heart to think of Mitchell stepping aside so easily. But he can’t have cared for me that much, can he, if he’s already consoling himself with someone else? All I want to do is get up and run as far as I can. But I still have something to do.
I wipe the gushing tears away as, for one last time, I take in all of the familiar objects lying around – Mitchell’s collection of Band Of Brothers, his Steve Miller Band CDs, his Scandi-noir books, and photos of his little Lola, the daughter I never even got a chance to meet.
Congratulations, Rosie, you beat your own record of falling in love and losing the bloke. I’ll miss him so much – this place, my new friends, this kitchenette – I’ll even miss the stash of Kit Kats and the bloody basket of stale Bakewell tarts. It all speaks of him, and the wonderful man that I thought he was. I’d thought that, were I to search the world far and wide, I would never, ever find anyone like him. How wrong I was.
And now it’s over. I drag our trolleys off the bed, giving Mitchell’s suite one last, longing glance. Just being surrounded by his stuff, reassured by the solidity of his presence, is like leaving the warmth of your own home. I miss him already. And I miss that special connection that we were slowly building and that is now gone forever.
And now Mark’s arrival has only made it more complicated. He acts like we’re still together, which would have pushed Mitchell away even further if he hadn’t already metaphorically moved to the North Pole.
I only have one person to thank for this mess, so I call her.
‘Hello, my darling! Merry Christmas!’ she chimes.
I’m furious with her. I want to yell at her, but at the sound of her voice, I collapse. ‘Oh, Mum, what did you do…?’
‘Rosie…?’
‘Why did you tell him I was here?’
‘Oh, sweetheart, I thought that was what you wanted. I thought you were still in love with him…’
‘Love?’ I cry. ‘He almost destroyed me, Mum! How could you even think…?’
‘Listen to me, Rosie. You know I never stick my nose into your business. But this time, I must. Mark… is sorry. Can’t you forgive him?’
‘Forgive him? No, Mum. He’s… he’s hurt me too much. You know that.’
‘Oh, my darling girl, this is not about you anymore. You have a son to think of. Just think of what it would mean for Danny. He’d have a father, Rosie. And a beautiful house, a great life. He could go to great schools, go on unforgettable trips. Doesn’t he deserve all that? Doesn’t Mark owe him, and you?’
‘I see you and Mark have had a long chat.’
She sighs. ‘Sweetie, believe me, I understand your resentment. But you have to make this sacrifice for Danny. Why do you think your dad and I are still together?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You think with your father it was all laughter and love?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that putting up with Mark is a small price to pay for your son’s future.’
‘You think?’
‘Just follow my advice, darling. Let him back into your life.’
‘Mum, I can’t. I’m in love with someone else, and he was in love with me.’
Silence. ‘Oh? Who is he?’
I groan. ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t stand a chance with him anymore.’
‘Rosie, perhaps if you just—’
‘I have to go, Mum,’ I groan. ‘Tell Dad Merry Christmas from me. I’m sorry we couldn’t spend it with you.’ And then, before the tears come, I hang up.
I’d hoped to spend the rest of Christmas with Danny and Mitchell, and have the best Christmas ever. But now, without Mitchell, I realise it truly is the worst.
*
It is the evening of Christmas Day, and on the outside I’m all happily exchanging gifts and good wishes, strolling around the village to see some familiar faces and to wish them well. But on the inside I’m falling apart. Danny is as happy as Larry because they all love him and he basks in the warmth around him. I truly don’t know how I am going to be able to take him back to London.
We pop into Alex’s village bakery/teashop called The Little Kettering Kettle, or just The Kettle, for short, for a rest and a snack. Apparently they are always open on Christmas day for what they call the Kettle Christmas. I’m not surprised to see Laura there, and I’m even less surprised to see Alex’s arm around her neck.
‘Rosie! Danny!’ she calls as we step over the threshold. ‘Come, sit!’
‘Hi,’ I make an effort to chirp as we take off our coats and scarves and sit on a bench by the largest window. ‘So this is where the baking miracles happen!’
‘Hey, Danny!’ Alex chimes, ruffling his hair.
He used to hate it when people touched his hair, but now it seems he likes the affection. ‘Fancy a hot chocolate with a nice slice of pie?’
Danny turns to me. ‘Can I, Mum?’
‘Of course, love. Make it two, please. But I’ll have a coffee instead. Extra strong.’
Laura takes a look at me. ‘Danny, why don’t you go with Alex and choose something super-nice? Maybe you can even take him into the bakery out back and show him how they do their baking.’
Danny obediently slides off the bench and follows Alex through the throng of cheerful patrons throwing hot teas and fancy Christmas desserts down their throats.
‘So,’ Laura says, studying me. ‘You feeling better? You certainly caught us off guard. I didn’t know you were still with Danny’s dad.’
‘I’m not,’ I assure her. ‘I hadn’t seen him in quite a while.’
‘You don’t look very happy to see him.’
‘I’m not, in fact.’ Nor do I want to talk about my fiasco/mini-relationship with Mitchell. ‘Tell me about you and Alex. Are you finally an item?’
Laura rolls her eyes. ‘I guess so. He’s a really great bloke underneath all that arrogance. Who knew?’
Yeah. They are full of surprises, aren’t they? ‘I’m happy for you, Laura.’
Our coffees and dessert arrive and with a thanks to Mel, the waitress at The Kettle, I wrap my hands around my mug and breathe in the deep, rich aroma, mixed with the scented wafts of the cinnamon apple pie that tickle my nose. Everything could be perfect, if Mitchell was mine. But right now, I’d even settle for him not avoiding me.
‘And you? What’s the deal with you and Mitchell?’
Danny is coming back with Alex, so I eye Laura who understands the topic is verboten. I’d like to tell her, of course, and to let her reassure me that it was all a misunderstanding, and that he’ll forgive me. But I can’t. I’m still, until Susan sends me an official email with the details of my termination, a Johnson employee, which entails discretion.
It’s the one thing keeping me here, when all I want to do is pack my bags and move to the other side of the county, as far away from Mitchell as possible. Because it doesn’t take rocket science to know that I’ve hurt him badly by betraying his confidence. He’d offered me a position in his inn, and in his heart. The former, I wasn’t free to accept, and the latter, is no longer viable.
If he doesn’t show his face anymore, then it truly is the end. I only hope that Danny won’t be too disappointed. He is absolutely in awe of Mitchell. So am I, of course, but now I finally understand that it’s not happening.
The only thing to do now is complete my task here, invent something or other that Danny will actually believe, smart little darling that he is, and move into Mark’s room. But will that destabilise my son? Should I instead try my luck once again at another inn, assuming that I can find a room somewhere else? Or, I could send him back to my parents while I work out my last week here. That would get Danny out of it, but me? How am I going to be able to still look Mitchell in the eye, if he ever returns?
*
Guess what? Mitchell has returned, indeed, but that’s only half of it. He’s brought back the gorgeous redhead Mark had mentioned. He hasn’t even tried to talk to me, or to look for me. In fact, he avoids Reception altogether.
The redhead is a younger woman – at least ten years younger. She looks like Catwoman in her tight leggings and boots, and only an oversized cardigan saves her from looking too provocative. Her eye make-up is heavy, but her lips are a natural, delicate colour which goes very well with her wild red hair. She looks, I have to admit, super amazing, with her Demelza image fitting perfectly with his Poldark swagger. I instinctively look down at my own tatty jeans. Some girls have got it. I don’t.
I know it’s the needy Rosie that I keep well locked up inside me, but how could I have mistaken those kisses, all that tenderness and our sense of closeness for anything much deeper? I thought that experience had taught me that men are men, and that whilst most women play their love moments over and over in their minds for weeks on end while floating on cloud nine, men just roll over and forget about it, ready to move on to their next prey.
And… she’s managed to pull him in the blink of an eye. The minute I blink (well, faint, actually) he’s off with someone else – someone, albeit, who hasn’t been busy snooping behind his back like I have. Someone who is able to start a new, fresh relationship without any secrets. Someone who hasn’t betrayed him before the relationship even begins. I know, it’s not my fault – I didn’t set out to deceive him from the start. It’s Susan the Sacker’s fault. But this is where we’re at now. Mitchell has moved on without even so much as a glance behind him.
That evening, Danny, Mark and I have dinner together in one of the local restaurants in the village. Everyone around us is cheerful and festive, except for us. I can imagine what the Last Supper was like. Because it’s excruciating.
‘My, this looks delicious, thank you. Careful, Danny, it’s hot,’ I warn him as the waitress comes to our table with our roast Christmas turkey and all the trimmings.
Mark’s doing his best to convince me to stay and to entertain Danny at the same time, who accepts his attention readily enough, although I can tell that they lack the chemistry Danny has with Mitchell. Who, incidentally, has just walked in through the door with Demelza on his arm.
He looks stunning in a pair of trousers that are not made of denim and what is actually a fitted sweater that makes him look ten years younger. If I hadn’t slept with him, I would have never guessed what perfect musculature lies underneath his usually baggy sweaters.
It’s obvious that she has had an influence on him and his choice of clothes. And in the space of a few hours, to boot. She, on the other hands, looks like a Vogue model meets medieval maiden in a long ruby velvet dress that accentuates all her perfect curves, her long red tresses billowing as she walks breezily to their table on the other side of the restaurant.
I watch them surreptitiously all throughout dinner as Mark is teaching Danny some magic tricks. She keeps laughing and beaming at Mitchell, feeding him pieces of her own food. God, it’s so disgusting, the way she’s clinging to him, that I want to look away. But for the life of me, I can’t. It’s like in those tragic car wrecks. You see it unfolding before your very eyes and as horrible as it is, you just can’t look away.
I’m so angry with Mitchell for rubbing my nose in his new flirt. Who even does that? What are we, twelve years old? And besides, where has he been hiding her all this time? Evidently, as Laura had told me in the beginning, a whole posse of girls had their eyes on him, waiting for the right moment to swoop. And swoop they did.
And as I’m surreptitiously watching, what does he do? He reaches out and pulls her to him! Next he’ll be snogging her right here, in front of the guests.
I want to get up, go over there and ask him if this is the way he’s trying to save his business, all the while I’m risking my very job to save his ass? What the hell is the matter with him? Really. My thoughts must have reached him, because he suddenly turns his head in my direction and our eyes meet. If I expected him to look away, I was wrong. He takes in the false little family portrait at my table and of course makes his own assumptions. Mummy and Daddy are back together. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s already found a diversion too.
She looks so into him, and he into her, that I just realise that all this time he’s been lying to me. Because there’s no way these two have just got together – not with the way he’s looking at her. I can tell you right now that he’s never ever looked at me like that. Serves me right. What did I expect from a Christmas flirt?
I look over at Mark, who keeps glancing at me, and I realise that he isn’t going to go away without a proper conversation. If he’s going to be living in the same country as us, let alone the same city, we might as well, at least, have a civilised rapport, if only for Danny’s sake. For my part, I doubt Mark will ever change.
‘I saw the way you were throwing daggers at the redhead,’ Mark says as Danny does the rounds of the tables, delighting the villagers, his friends, with his magic tricks.
There is a distinct air of defiance in his voice. It’s like he knows my feelings for Mitchell and he’s challenging me to say something. Silly, silly man. You really don’t know me at all, if you think I’m going to make a scene in front of everyone, my own son included.
Mark crosses his arms. ‘Were you and that Irish bloke sleeping together?’
I start. ‘I’m sorry, how is my life any of your business?’
‘Does Danny know? And what about your job?’
‘Mark, I hardly think you have any right to grill me about my private life after all these years when I don’t even know where you’ve been.’
‘I told you I’ve been in the States…’
‘That’s not what I meant. You left me. So don’t even think of coming back here and dictating orders to me or Danny. You are a stranger to us, Mark. And you have no rights over us.’
‘So you really are – sorry, were – sleeping with him. And now he’s sleeping with her. Interesting.’
I’m clawing myself back from ugly memories that still burn like fresh scars on my skin. It nearly killed me the first time, but did it make me stronger? At this point, I don’t think so, because I feel like I’m circling the drain all over again, grabbing at the rim of my own self-control. Control. I need to take control as much as I can again before Mark takes over in his usual style, and then I’ll be nothing but a speck of dust in his personal ray of light.
*
The next day, I take Danny out for a breath of fresh air and away from Mark for a minute. Only we don’t go into Little Kettering, but head in the opposite direction for the South West Coast towards the cliffs of Predannack. It is beautiful, and I take a deep breath before we continue. We go past a private farm, where the National Trust area begins, and climb over a stile and onto a very narrow path. Narrow and winding, dipping down and up, down and up, only to emerge on the verge of impervious cliffs, and when Danny skips off to explore, my heart nearly stops.
I want to shout after him to be careful, but I know it’s just my motherly instinct. Of course he’s not going to go flying off the cliff and crash down on the rocks below. The last thing I need to do is transmit a sense of insecurity to my son. He must grow up confident, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stem his curiosity and love of exploring.
Ten minutes later, we reach Predannack, and I spread a throw across the grass that is incredibly dry for such a cold day. Up here, the waves look frozen in time, barely moving. Although it’s a sunny day, the cold is biting my cheeks. I wrap Danny’s scarf closer around him. ‘Are you not cold, my darling?’ I ask him, and he shakes his head, his cheeks red with excitement.
I pull out our food supplies – homemade (well, inn-made) Cornish pasties, cheddar cheese, cream crackers, grapes, pears, a small carton of milk for Danny, a huge thermos of coffee for me, to go with the entire packet of chocolate biscuits I’ve accidentally dropped into the hamper.
When we’re good and full, Danny puts his arms around my neck. ‘Mum, can we go all the way to Soapy Cove? Mitchell says it’s awesome!’
Mitchell, Mitchell, Mitchell. He’s everywhere, even up here, with us. Is there no escaping him? All the same, I don’t want us to leave Cornwall now. Danny loves it here, and so do I. It’s all I ever wanted, for my son to be happy, grow up in a healthy, serene atmosphere. But at the moment, I have no choice but to go home.
*
Later, Danny is watching TV while I’m packing away things that we won’t be needing during our last few days in Cornwall. It’s heartbreaking to have to go, but at the moment, I don’t have the means to make this move down here happen, let alone a job, and when everyone else finds out who I really am, they’ll all want nothing to do with me.
As long as we’re still in Cornwall, it’s like I’m with Mitchell. Even if I moved to the other side of the county, there will always be a moment – a festival like Falmouth Week, a regatta, an evening of fireworks, when I’d bump into him again. And I wouldn’t be able to stand it. How can you bear to find happiness, and then let it go? No, going back to London in the New Year is the best decision after all.
My mission is coming to an end, and if anything, we need to get back to see what my job scenario is. But I know that moving here is only a dream, and that once we get back to the Big Smoke and once again into the groove of things, reality will kick in, forcing me to see that a move here is impractical, what with no job to fall back on, let alone a house, and… let alone Mitchell who is gone forever.
Keeping my back to Danny, I let the tears fall. I’ll wipe them away before turning around and facing my little boy, but just now, albeit for a few seconds, I need to let them flow. I need to grieve over the loss of the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.
‘Are you really happy about going back?’ Danny insists as I stifle a sob, swiping at my cheeks. ‘Because you don’t look it, Mum…’
I wipe my eyes and turn to him with an Oscar-winning smile. Or, at least, I should win one. Pretending to be happy when inside you’re slowly dying is the hardest thing on earth. ‘Of course I am, darling. I’m very happy to be going home.’
Perhaps it’s for the best. If it’s true that it is better to have loved and have lost than never to have loved at all. By now I’ve just about hummed all of Adele’s sadder, deeper, gut-wrenching repertoire. Boy, does she know all about heartache. There isn’t one line, one note she’s written that I haven’t felt straight through the heart.
Mitchell. Why did you leave me? Why didn’t you stay long enough to hear me out? If only I could tell you how I feel about you, and explain what’s really going on here.
‘What do you think, Rosie? Rosie?’
I’m aware of Mark standing on the threshold all of a sudden, talking to me, and Danny’s eyes on my face. How long has he been here? I didn’t see him come in, nor did I hear anything he’s said. And now they’re both looking at me, waiting for an answer. How long have I been ‘out’?
What do I think? About what? If I agree, I may be agreeing to him moving back in with us. If I don’t…? God, I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.
‘Uhm… I’m not sure,’ I say, scratching my head, scanning Danny’s face. By the look of it, I can tell it’s really important to him.
‘Please, Mum, can we stay longer than just a few more days?’
‘Darling, I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work in the new year.’
He lowers his head sadly.
‘Oh, my darling, don’t look so sad. Why don’t you go and tell Mitchell we’ll be leaving in a few days and thank him for everything?’ Perhaps he’ll come back with some news regarding Mitchell’s whereabouts.
‘Mitchell’s not here,’ Danny informs me. ‘He’s moved in with Penny.’
Penny. Her name is Penny, and I had to find out from my own son.
If there is still any doubt that Mitchell is over me, all I have to do is watch them at dinner again the next night. God, we are not dining at the hotel only to get away from having to see them together again, but it almost as if they’re following us. You’ve replaced me, Mitchell. I get it. Enough.
And tonight, he looks, needless to say, absolutely dashing in a charcoal grey suit, a white shirt and no tie, his unruly hair pulled back in a stub of a ponytail, as he chats and laughs, occasionally scratching his beard, his dark eyes twinkling with sexiness. He truly has stunning features. But mostly, I miss him, his laughter, his kindness, his very heart. If he’s seen me among the gazillion diners present, he’s doing a fine job of avoiding me.
Mark makes a point of sitting next to Danny and keeping him entertained all evening with his usual bag of magic tricks. Yes, I remember how very good he was at them. Especially his disappearing act. I can’t wait to get dinner over with and cry under the privacy of my duvet.
After dinner, we go back to Mark’s suite where he drops a bomb on me.
‘You want to timeshare my child?’ I gasp.
‘Our child, Rosie. You’ve been clear enough about your feelings for me, so I’m going to respect your wishes. And try to win you back in earnest. But in the meantime, I could spend, I don’t know, every other weekend with him?’
So that’s how he’s planned to worm his way back into our lives. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Oh, come on, Rosie! Budge an inch, will you? Maybe I can have him for a couple of weeks in the summer and you could have him at Christmas and I could have him for his birthday, or vice-versa?’
I bristle. ‘Christmas Eve was his birthday, Mark.’
He lowers his gaze. ‘Oh.’
‘You didn’t even know that. You never even cared to find out when his birthday was, if not even to dedicate one fleeting thought to him once a year.’
‘Look, Rosie, I really am sorry, but for how long must I grovel, when instead we could be planning his future together?’
‘His future…?’
‘Just think of all the things I could give him – a lovely home with his very own garden. He could practise all the sports he wanted to, go on all the expensive school trips. He wouldn’t have to miss out on anything. He’d have financial security – a father figure. Just think about what he’s missing out on, Rosie.’
As if I hadn’t – for years on end. ‘I’m sorry, Mark, but there’s just no way I’m going to let you waltz back into his life, knowing you’re going to leave when he least expects it.’
He lowers his head. ‘Well, you’re right to be mad at me, Rosie…’ He steps forward and takes my hands. ‘But this time I’m not going anywhere, I promise you. It’s taken me a while, but I’ve… finally seen the light about you, Danny and me. I want to be able to play football with my son and all the things a proper father does. And I want to win you back, too. Let me in, Rosie, and I promise you won’t be disappointed.’
‘Mark…’ is all I can say. His timing absolutely sucks. Years ago, I’d have given my right arm to hear that, but now? Now, for Danny’s sake, it seems like my only option.
He kisses my hands. ‘I’ve been a real idiot, Rosie. I treated you like a burden, because I didn’t understand what a blessing a family could be. My own family was a disaster. I just assumed all families were like that. But now, I realise how much I’ve missed out on. Can the both of you ever forgive me? Because I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you do.’
Despite myself, and all he’s put us through, tears come into my eyes. Because of all he’s put us through. I know that I don’t owe him anything. But I don’t want my feelings to come between them. Not anymore. And he’s right about one thing. I owe my son at least some good memories of his father.
‘Give this little family a chance, Rosie.’
Mitchell, my dream of love, is gone. So are my dreams of moving to Cornwall and opening my pottery shop. There is no way I can support us without a job. And maybe it is right that Danny should enjoy his father, at my expense. I am the parent, so I’m the one who should be making the sacrifices, not my Danny.
*
‘Rosie Anderson,’ Susan booms through my mobile, sounding like my mother when I used her extension cord (and broke it) to build a swing on the fire escape at the age of six. But for once, I’m shocked to hear, The Sacker is happy. Evidently she did have a good time in Spain.
‘I’ve got great news for you. I don’t know how the hell you did it, but you’re up for the position of manager.’
Which is not great news. Actually, it’s bloody fantastic, because it means she won’t be my line manager anymore. This also means no more aggravation, more money, a better flat. Mark could come and see his son without me feeling beholden to him for anything. And on my terms. I’ve never depended on anyone, and prefer it to remain like that.
‘Thank you, Susan.’ I am literally howling with joy on the inside, albeit a bit thrown by the fortunate turn of events. Only a few days ago she was looking to fire me, and now? I finally got the promotion I’ve been chasing for six years? Why now, when she has never been so negative about my work? What’s brought this about?
‘Your new position will become effective January 5th and you will be given one week to move into your new office.’ I.e. hers. I wonder where she’s going then? Hopefully away from Human Resources to found a whole new department, like Human Terrifiers or something.
‘Oh, I won’t need that long. It’s just a couple of boxes across the corridor.’
Silence. Which makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end.
‘Your new office at the Old Bell Inn, Rosie…’
Huh? Is she kidding me?
‘But… but what about Mitchell Fitzpatrick?’ I stammer. She can’t fire him without any proof! I should be the one to get the boot, not him.
‘I’ll get back to you later in an email with all the details. Don’t do anything with Fitzpatrick until you receive my complete instructions.’
As if I’m about to prance off and tell Mitchell he’s fired and that I’m taking his place.
‘Susan—’
‘Congratulations, Rosie. I’m just as surprised as you, believe me,’ she says. Trust Susan to be so kind.
‘No, Susan, I can’t.’
‘Can’t do what?’
‘Take Mitchell’s place.’
‘Why the hell not? It’s not like you have a life in London.’
Gee, thanks for that, I want to say, but think better of it. She still is my boss, after all.
‘I know I don’t have to explain to you that in this company, either you move up or you move out.’
This is ridiculous. I can’t do it, no matter what Susan says. Of course, I’d love to move to Cornwall, but not at the cost of Mitchell’s job. It’ll be at least a year before his cottages are ready, and I just can’t do that to him, even if he won’t talk to me anymore.
Besides, what the hell am I hoping for, Mitchell to magically and suddenly decide that he really wants me and not the redhead? Fat chance. Mitchell’s gone from my life; he’s slipped through it like a flash of lightning that has damaged everything in its path without even knowing.
If I ever was seriously considering moving to Cornwall and accepting Mitchell’s job offer, it’s all gone down the drain now: a new life in Cornwall with Mitchell and a better job. The prospect lasted but a few days, nothing more. Now all I’ve got is a weight in my heart, a brand-new ex-boyfriend who hates me, and an ex-boyfriend who’s promising to erase all the pain he’s caused us.
There’s only one thing left for me to do.
*
So I go back to Mark’s suite where he is sitting sleepily in an armchair.
‘I’m willing to let you see more of Danny. For his sake.’
His eyes widen. ‘You are? Oh, Rosie, I’m so happy, thank you!’ He gets up and races to the dresser and, as I watch in horror, goes down on one knee, a ring in his hand. ‘Will you marry me, Rosie?’