‘No way,’ Niamh said, standing up. ‘Brendan’s been away all weekend – work trip to Berlin – and at least if I’m here with you the ratio of adults to children shifts a little in my favour. Sorry if I look a state, by the way.’
‘You look lovely,’ Rosie said, meaning it. While Niamh was visibly tired and had a flustered, strained sort of aura, she was still effortlessly stylish in dark denim jeans and an oversized lilac sweatshirt.
‘So do you,’ Niamh said. ‘I shall refrain from making any suggestion that you’ve dressed up for the sake of your new roommate. Flat white?’
Rosie made a glaring face that amounted to an admission, then said: ‘That would be great. Would you order me some toast and jam, too?’
‘Sure,’ Niamh nodded. Rory began to whine as he watched his mother walk away in the direction of the cafe’s counter. Rosie saw Niamh flinch at the sound.
‘Now don’t you worry,’ Rosie cooed, reclaiming his attention and making a succession of funny faces at him until he gurgled a laugh. ‘See? She’s back already.’
‘You’re really great with them, you know,’ Niamh said. ‘You’ll make a wonderful mum some day.’ Then, seeming to feel like she’d put her foot in it, she cried: ‘Argh, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that – blame the early morning.’
‘It’s OK,’ Rosie told her. ‘I do want a baby one day – there’s no point denying it. Did I think I’d be closer to having a family than this at thirty-two? Yes. But am I glad James decided to flounce off into the sunset before he knocked me up? Also yes. I’d feel a whole lot worse if he’d dumped me for someone elseafterwe had kids.’
Two coffees arrived, followed by a plate piled high with granary toast, plus two ramekins filled with butter and raspberry jam.
Rosie put Rory down next to his sister in the play corner, then set about buttering some toast.
‘I must say you’re taking it all remarkably well,’ Niamh said. ‘If we ignore the unexpected yet obviously great quitting-your-job thing. And the nutty decision to let your hot, mysterious landlord set up camp in your spare room.’
Rosie threw her a withering glare and handed her some toast. ‘So when you say I’m taking itwell…?’
‘I mean the James side of it, I suppose,’ Niamh explained. ‘You seem almost philosophical about him leaving – even about this idea that he’s hooked up with some other woman … If you’d asked me six months ago how you’d cope with something like this, I’d have said you’d be a wreck—’
‘Gee, thanks,’ Rosie put in, rolling her eyes.
‘No,’ Niamh exclaimed, ‘I don’t mean that the way it sounded. Can I please remind you I’m so sleep deprived it’s amazing I can even function? I can barely remember my own name most of the time. What I mean is, you’re OK. And I am so bloody relieved you’re OK. I never thought of you as weak, but you’ve been even stronger than I could have imagined. It’s like, despite James’s gold-standard twattery, you haven’t let this break you.’
‘You’re right,’ Rosie agreed, pausing between mouthfuls of toast. ‘I’m not broken. I’m a bit bashed up, though – I feel kind of like I’ve had a run-in with a life mugger.’
‘A life mugger?’ Niamh laughed.
‘Yeah. Like, I’ve been knocked down and something I cared about’s been taken away. But I’ll survive. And … I dunno. Maybe the thing I lost was heavier and more unwieldy than I thought. Perhaps I’d just got used to carrying it.’
‘And there you go, being all philosophical again,’ Niamh said. ‘You’re amazing.’
‘Thanks. Let’s hope someone on the receiving end of one of my many job applications thinks so, too.’ Rosie had spent much of her free time that week filling in forms and emailing CVs to other insurance firms, as well as several companies advertising for admin staff.
‘They will,’ Niamh said. ‘You’ll have something before the week is out, I’m sure. In the meantime, I guess you’ll be setting up house with Nameless Neighbour – despite my very valid reservations about the idea.’
‘His name is Aled,’ Rosie intoned, ‘as you well know. And we’re not 1950s newlyweds. Honestly, he seems perfectly nice but I suspect I’ll barely see him.’ She tried to suppress her smile, and her pleasure at being able to talk about him. ‘We’re going to be flatmates, not friends. We both know he’s only there because he needs somewhere to stay and I can only afford half the rent.’
‘Right,’ Niamh said sceptically. ‘He’s all moved in, though?’
‘I think so,’ Rosie said. ‘It didn’t take long – he wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t have much stuff. It was a single suitcase, a few boxes of books and a guitar. Plus some artwork, his bed …’ She trailed off, thinking of the items that had caught her attention. ‘There were a few things that looked like he might have collected them. He had this beautiful sea shell – pearlescent pink, so pretty you could believe it wasn’t even real.’
‘Really?’ Niamh murmured. ‘The plot thickens. D’you think he’s some kind of travelling troubadour? Or a deep-sea diver? He’s got the looks for it – and the wetsuit.’
‘Er – I don’t know what he does,’ Rosie admitted sheepishly.
‘Does that not strike you as a bit bonkers?’ Niamh demanded. ‘I mean, he could have some really weird job. What if he’s an embalmer or something? What if he’s one of those people who puts makeup on dead bodies so they still look sort of alive at their own funerals?’
‘Well then, maybe he could give me some tips on correctly matching my foundation to my skin tone,’ Rosie said. ‘You know I’m crap with cosmetics.’
‘Laugh it off if you want, but you’re kidding yourself if you think you’ll be able to coexist with this person without getting to know him a little,’ Niamh declared. ‘You’re built to befriend people. It’s in your DNA. Hell, it might even be inhisDNA to let you, since he’s related to the grumpy old geezer he inherited the building from. The one you used to take home-made dinners and basically bullied into becoming chums with you.’
‘I never bullied anyone!’ Rosie insisted with mock outrage. ‘And Aled and I will be ships that pass politely on our way in and out of the flat. There will be no relationship building, no cosy dinners, no looking after him of any kind because unlike his long-lost grandfather, he’s neither old nor infirm.’
