‘He must like you very much to go out of his way to do such a thing.’
‘I hope he does.’
Her mother picked at the thread of her shawl. ‘I know I’ve not been easy to live with since Arthur’s death. It has been difficult for me. He was my son.’
‘He was my brother too.’
Her mother looked up at her as if registering the fact for the first time. She nodded. ‘He was. And he was a good brother. The best.’
Rose fell silent. Arthur had been good, but not the best. He was several years older than Rose and preferred the company of his friends. They had little in common and barely conversed. Most of Rose’s time was spent with her mother as she baked cakes for Arthur’s shop. The sibling relationship was not as strong as it could have been. It was distant as he always seemed an adult to her. However, this was not the time to argue. The threads of understanding between mother and daughter were beginning to form, but they were delicate and friable and needed to be carefully handled.
‘I have missed you not being home,’ confided her mother.
‘I need my independence. I’m not coming home.’
To her surprise, her mother nodded. ‘We all need that.’ She looked about the shop. ‘To be independent, you need money. A closed shop is not the way to go about earning money.’
Rose stood up. ‘I have other things on my mind.’
‘Your fancy man?’
‘Don’t call him that. Nicholas is unwell. He could . . . die.’
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she said the word. Saying it out loud had made the threat feel all the more real and it terrified her.
Her mother stood up. ‘Rose, you are crying.’
Rose searched for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. ‘I know. So stupid.’
‘It’s not stupid. I have just not seen you cry since you were a child.’
Rose almost laughed. ‘I have cried lots of times.’
‘But not in front of me. Even when Sam died, you seemed to carry on as if nothing had happened.’
‘I carried on because Ihadto. Because youweren’t.’ She folded the handkerchief, but kept it in her hand. She had a feeling she would need it again soon. ‘I crieda lotand I criedalone. I hid my tears because . . .’
‘Because?’
‘Because . . .youwere in your own little world and I couldn’t reach you and Father . . . well, he did not want to see!’
‘I’ve not been a good mother.’
Rose shook her head. ‘You have. You just left me when Arthur died and someone I didn’t recognise took your place.’
Her mother took her handkerchief from her and dabbed her own eyes. She gave it back with a sniff.
‘You should’ve said.’
‘And if I had, would you have changed?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘I don’t know. To me it felt wrong to behave normally as if nothing had changed when in reality everything had.’
‘Arthur died. He no longer needed you, but others did. Father did. I did.’
‘But now you don’t. You have your soldier.’
‘I don’t want an argument.’ Rose turned away and headed for the stairs. Her mother followed in her wake and stood in the doorway of her bedroom as she packed some clothes.
