Rosie woke up feeling dreadful. Her skull was full of cotton wool, her throat itched and her head was thumping. She staggered along to the bathroom, stared at the white face in the mirror and groaned.
As she was coming out she met her mother.
‘You look dreadful, darling.’
‘I think I’ve got ’flu. It’s going around at school.’
‘You’d better stay home. Go back to bed and I’ll bring you up a cup of tea.’
‘Thanks.’
When her mother brought the tea, she said, ‘I’ll ring school and let them know.’
Rosie meant to ring Mandy but dozed off and by the time she woke up, she knew her friend would be in class.
She slept through the lunch break, so missed contacting Mandy then as well. She was annoyed with herself but seemed unable to do much else but doze.
Well, if there was a letter from her real father, it would still be waiting for her when she got better.
Peggy couldn’t seem to pull herself together after Cheryl’s visit. And Hartley was being very cool and distant with her, treating her as if she’d let him down. He didn’t need to say a word, just looked at her, and she knew what he was thinking.
Then there was an incident at the supermarket. So humiliating. She did the shopping, then offered her card at the checkout.
It was refused and she had to leave all her shopping there till Hartley came home from work and could come with her and use his own credit card.
‘My foolish wife,’ he’d told them, ‘forgot to check the shopping account. I’ll top it up tomorrow and this won’t happen again.’
‘Why did you say that?’ she asked as they went back to the car.
‘What?’
‘About it being my fault. It wasn’t. It was yours.’ And she was quite sure he’d done it on purpose to punish her. ‘I don’t see why you can’t allow me a little leeway with the shopping money.’
‘I’m the one who earns the money and I’ll be the one who’ll decide how it’s spent.’
The look he gave her made her bite back any further protests, but she felt angry all evening. He seemed to control every little details of her life and gave her no breathing space… as well as no respect.
Suddenly she remembered the Women’s Wellness Centre. The woman who’d shown her round had said there were counsellors there. Did you have to pay for them? If so, Hartley would be bound to find out because he kept a firm hand on her outgoings and would only let her have a debit card attached to a special housekeeping account.
Would it do her any good to see someone? Would they help her to accept her daily life with him?
No. She didn’t need help. She was managing all right.
She was so lost in thought the following evening that she forgot to start cooking the dinner and it wasn’t ready on time.
Hartley looked pointedly at the clock as she served the meal half an hour late.
She lost the last vestiges of her appetite and turned to leave the room.
He was up and barring the way before she realized what he was doing. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To watch TV. I’ve told you before I don’t enjoy my food when you’re so… critical.’
‘I didn’t say a word.’
‘You don’t have to. It’s the way you look. Nothing ever satisfies you.’
‘Sit down. You can at least keep me company.’
She hesitated, trying to pluck up the courage to say she didn’t feel like being shouted at, but couldn’t find the courage to be so honest. ‘I may be sickening for something. I think I’ll go to bed.’
‘I hope you haven’t got the ’flu that’s going around. Make up the sofa bed in my models room before you go to bed and I’ll sleep there. I don’t want to catch anything. I’ve got some important meetings coming up in the next few days. Where’s my magazine? I might as well read if I’m going to be on my own.’
‘In its usual place.’ She escaped, her heart fluttering, her whole body tense. He went into the living room for the magazine she’d laid next to his armchair, taking it back to read while he ate. From the top of the stairs she heard the rustle of a page being turned, the sounds of his knife and fork, and tears filled her eyes.
It hadn’t occurred to him to worry about her not feeling well, let alone cosset her a little. He didn’t really care for her, just found it convenient to have a wife to serve his needs. But what could she do about that? She wouldn’t even have enough money to run away on.
Run away! Oh, she often wished she could just vanish, dreamed of finding a little flat for herself and living quietly and frugally. As if.
Her thoughts churning round and round, she took his pyjamas and dressing gown into the models room, struggled with the sofa bed, put his toiletries in the guest bathroom and went back into the bedroom they usually shared. It was heaven to shower slowly in the en suite and slip between the sheets on her own. On an afterthought she screwed up some tissues and dropped them on the bedside table to make it look as if she’d been blowing her nose.
When she heard him come up, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She heard him open the bedroom door and stand there, so she lay very still.
With a mutter of annoyance he went away, closing the door with a thump. She heard him using the other bathroom, banging about in the room next door and finally getting into bed.
Only then did she relax and try to settle down for the night.
But it was no good. Sleep eluded her and she lay awake, seeing the illuminated numbers on the clock radio in the darkness, watching them flick through the minutes as she followed her own dark thoughts.
She didn’t wake till just after nine and lay there for a few moments, feeling totally disoriented. The house was so still that Hartley must have gone to work. Well, he never let anything make him late for the office, did he?
She stumbled downstairs, feeling heavy-headed as if hung over, to find chaos instead of the usual order. When she peered into the dining room, she saw that Hartley had opened a bottle of red wine with his meal the previous night. He must have drunk most of it because he’d knocked the bottle over, making a small puddle on the white tablecloth. It hadn’t occurred to him to put the cloth to soak.
In the kitchen was the debris of his breakfast. You’d think a grown man could put the milk back into the fridge and his dirty crockery into the dishwasher. But he was useless in the house.
Automatically she cleared the dining room first, taking the tablecloth into the utility room and running the stain under the tap. She then used vinegar and bicarbonate of soda to remove the mark. As the cloth grew white under her ministrations, anger welled up and boiled over – anger at him but most of all at herself for being such a doormat.
She stood there motionless and then, before she could change her mind, she grabbed her handbag and keys, got into the car and drove to the Women’s Wellness Centre. Not allowing herself even a second’s hesitation, she parked the car any old how and marched inside, walking up to the counter. ‘I need to see a counsellor.’
Only then did she burst into great strangling sobs.
Brad got off the plane in England feeling exhausted. He was too tall to fit comfortably into those tiny seats, so hadn’t been able to sleep, only doze for an hour or so during the twenty-hour journey from Australia. He wished he’d been able to afford to travel business class but this trip was going to cost enough without splashing out on luxuries like that.
He stared enviously at those sitting further forward who could afford it. They looked so much more comfortable, not to mention having a lounge to sit in during the two-hour wait in the airport at Dubai.
In Manchester Airport he yawned several times as he went to collect his luggage and go through customs. Afterwards he stood surrounded by family reunions, watching the joy on strangers’ faces as they met loved ones. He was surprised at how much he wished he had someone to meet him.
Finding his way to the car hire firm, he took possession of the keys to his temporary vehicle and tried to take in the directions for finding it in the vast airport car parks.
What he really wanted was to lie down and sleep – under a table, in some secluded corner, anywhere. He’d know another time to book into a hotel near the airport but he hadn’t made a long journey like this before and had assumed he’d sleep on the way. For now, he had no choice but to pick up the car and drive it away.
He found a café in the airport and ordered a black coffee, shuddering at the greasy food on display. Hopefully the caffeine would keep him awake while he drove to Blackpool.
‘M61,’ he muttered as he settled into the car and studied the map again. ‘Then M55.’
It was easy to find his way to the motorways because there were big signs painted on the roads at crucial points as well as signs on poles. Roundabouts kept the flow of traffic going. The West Australian road engineers could learn a few things about road design, he decided as he moved easily into a new line of traffic. Back in Perth it was all stop-start at traffic lights.
Even with a hold-up for road works, he was in Blackpool in just under two hours.
He got lost in the town centre, however, and a few cars hooted their displeasure at his slow, hesitant driving. People seemed to drive more quickly here than in Australia, nipping with ease through the narrow gaps between the parked cars that littered the streets like discarded toys.
There were so many hotels on the seafront, it took him a while to find the one he’d chosen from the Internet.
‘I may sleep right through till morning,’ he told the receptionist. ‘It’s a big time difference coming from Australia. Could you give me a wake-up call about eight o’clock tomorrow morning?’
‘Of course. Just put the Don’t Disturb sign on your door handle until then, sir, so that they don’t come in to turn down your bedcovers this evening.’
Sighing in relief he wheeled his suitcase up to his room, took a shower and fell into bed.
He knew nothing more until the following morning when he woke to the patter of rain against the window and looked out at grey skies and a heaving, brownish-coloured sea. Further along from his hotel was a pier. There were no pedestrians around.
He grinned. Well, what did you expect? This was Lancashire, famous for its rainy climate.
He had a quick shower and went down to eat a hearty breakfast. It sometimes embarrassed him how much he ate, but he never put on an ounce.
He would, he decided, ring his English daughter tonight after she got home from school. In the meantime, he’d go out for a nice long walk along the seafront, rain or no rain.
Mandy found another letter for Rosie in her family’s post office box and wondered what to do about it. She decided to call in and see her friend, who hadn’t been at school today. She could pretend to be giving Rosie information about homework.
Mrs Quentin opened the door and made no effort to invite her in. ‘Rosie has bad flu, Mandy, and your mother won’t want you catching it.’
‘I’ll just stand in the doorway of her bedroom and have a quick chat.’
‘I’m afraid that’d be unwise. Anyway, she’s sleeping at the moment. Thanks for calling.’ She closed the door firmly.
Mandy frowned and walked slowly along the garden path. At the gate she met her friend’s brother and grabbed his arm. ‘Casey, can you give Rosie a message for me?’
He shrugged. ‘I suppose.’
She fumbled in her pocket for the letter and dropped it. The wind caught it and they had to chase it across the garden. Laughing, she pounced on it and handed it to him. ‘Give her this.’
He stared at it. ‘What is it?’
‘Just a letter.’
‘It’s from Australia.’
‘So maybe she’s got a pen friend. Don’t let your mother see it.’
He looked at her then stuffed the letter in his pocket without a word, unsure whether she knew who Rosie was writing to in Australia.
As she went away Mandy began to wonder if she’d done the right thing. No, Casey wouldn’t betray Rosie to her parents. He was all right, for a boy.
Jane didn’t normally spy on her children but Mandy’s obvious desperation to see Rosie had made her feel suspicious so she went to watch her through the front room window.
‘Ah,’ she said softly as Mandy stopped Casey, pulled out a blue envelope then had to chase it across the garden. ‘So that’s how Rosie got the letters.’
When her son came in, Jane was waiting. ‘I’ll have that letter.’
He took a hasty step backwards. ‘It’s for Rosie.’
‘Do you know who it’s from?’
He hesitated, caught her eye and nodded.
‘So do I. Give it to me.’
He fumbled in his pocket and held back. ‘You’re not going to open it, Mum?’
She snatched it from him before he had realized what she was doing. ‘Just forget you ever saw it.’
‘But she wants to meet him.’
‘And I don’t want her doing something that could tear our family apart.’
‘Only if you make a fuss about it. People do it all the time, meet their biological parents. It wouldn’t worry me, so it’s only you and Dad you’re thinking of.’
‘I’ll decide that, thank you. And I want your promise that you’ll not say a word about this to Rosie.’ She waited.
He looked at her pleadingly.
‘Promise me you won’t say a word to her or you’ll be grounded for the next month.’
‘I promise I won’t say a word.’
The way he was looking at her made her feel guilty, but she had to protect Stu. ‘Just remember your promise. Now, come and get a snack then you can get on with your homework. And you’re not to go near your sister. She’s got flu and I don’t want you coming down with it as well.’
Casey tried twice to slip into Rosie’s room but both times his mother seemed to materialize from nowhere.
‘I shan’t tell you again to stay away from your sister,’ she said the second time.
In the end he had to wait till after he’d gone up to bed and his parents were watching one of their favourite programmes on TV. But when he slipped into the next bedroom he found Rosie fast asleep, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy. He’d already scribbled a note to her, so that he wouldn’t have to break his promise not to say a word. He shoved it into Rosie’s iPod case and went to bed.
She’d be using the iPod tomorrow, he was sure. She always had some music or other playing and their mother didn’t like loud noise, so they had to use headphones.
His mother didn’t usually open their letters. They weren’t little children, so what she’d done sucked big time.