Darla came over and steered her off to one side. ‘That was excellent, but I wish you’d tipped me off. For a moment I thought it was real.’
‘What?’
‘The big public row,’ whispered Darla, checking over her shoulders like a rubbish spy. ‘The whole staged break-up. Genius.’
‘That wasn’t staged,’ said Ros. ‘That was a real argument.’
Darla took a moment to process what Ros was telling her. ‘Then you are actually taking a job halfway across the world?’
Ros wobbled her head. ‘It’s not signed and sealed yet but—’
‘What the actual—’ Thankfully Darla’s next word was drowned out by the boat’s horn, which also drew people’s attention back to them leaving the marina and got them waving to any random person walking by, which Ros was hugely grateful for. ‘I said what did you think you were doing not telling me?’ snapped Darla.
She’d not seen her angry before. It seemed to be the night for annoying agreeable people.
‘I was going to tell you. It’s all moved very fast and I think quite a few assumptions have been made, because I’ve not signed—’
‘Assumptions! You clearly assumed we’d all be okay with you buggering off. You promised you’d be here for me and my business. I don’t know what I’m doing but I thought it would be okay because you were going to help me. I’m really scared of messing this up and ending up bankrupt.’ Tears were welling in Darla’s eyes and her voice was getting squeaky with emotion.
‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. I thought it was for the best. A clean break. Get away from the whole thing.’
‘So it was all about what was best for you. No thought for anyone else. Not even for your dad who maybe would like to spend some time with you now he knows he has some time left?’ She shook her head, her jaw tight. ‘I thought you’d changed. But that’s never going to happen.’
Darla dashed across the flybridge, down the staircase and then came to the same conclusion as Cameron. ‘How the hell do you get off this thing?’
‘You can’t, not for another three hours,’ said one of the crew as he skirted past.
Ros managed to take a breath before her dad came over. She held up her hands. ‘I know. I get it. I’ve done the wrong thing.’
Barry shook his head. ‘I’ve not come to have a go at you.’
‘Thank you.’ It was a huge relief.
‘Only you’re a fool if you’re going to let Cameron go. He’s the best thing to happen to you in years.’
Ros opened her mouth but before she could say anything Uncle Pete was waving Barry over for a photograph. Ros was left standing on one side of the flybridge with the wind in her hair and the ocean ahead of her. The promise of a beautiful sunset tickled the horizon. She’d never felt so dejected and alone in her life.
What was meant to be a happy evening had quickly turned into the night from hell, for her at least, but thankfully Barry seemed to be enjoying himself. Everyone was giving Ros the cold shoulder. Ironically as the breeze picked up people left the flybridge for the more sheltered deck below, leaving Ros alone with her thoughts and chilly shoulders.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned to see her mother ascending the staircase. That was all she needed. She returned to looking out to sea and the twinkling lights of the Isle of Wight in the hope Amanda would get the message.
‘I know I’m probably not who you want to talk to, but seeing as nobody else was offering I thought I should,’ said her mother.
‘It’s fine. Don’t feel obliged.’
‘Oh I don’t. I can see both sides of the issue. And I believe you have been treated somewhat harshly.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ros tentatively. Amanda was the last person who she would have expected to be on her side.
Her mother leaned her back against the rail and looked at Ros. ‘I did what you’re doing.’
‘Getting cold?’
Amanda ignored the quip. ‘I put my career before everything. I thought it defined me and if I took my foot off the pedal for a moment I would slip quickly down the corporate ladder and be lost in the sea of forgotten part-time mothers.’
She really painted a picture. ‘Are you admitting it was wrong to leave me and Dad?’
‘I’m saying I felt it was too much of a compromise to be a mother and a quantitative analyst. I feared trying to do both to a high standard would ultimately mean I would fail at one or both of them. Making a choice seemed like the only sensible option.’
