‘What about me?’
‘Well, you seem like one of those “follow your dreams” sort of people. You remind me of one of my teachers. What do you want to do? Are you in training for something?’
Rosie coloured, embarrassed and a little angry with herself. Who was she to lecture a smart, ambitious eighteen-year-old on not giving up – on making the most of her life?
‘Not at the moment,’ she admitted. ‘I’ve … well, I’ve not had the easiest time lately. I split up with my partner of ten years, left a job I’d been in for a long time and now I’m sort of … working stuff out, I suppose.’
‘That sounds hard,’ Tobi said.
‘I’m lucky to have a few people on my side making it easier,’ Rosie reassured her.
‘Your family?’
‘Ha! No. I haven’t even told them what’s happened, to be honest,’ Rosie groaned. ‘They love me – at least my parents do – but it’d be a stretch to describe them as supportive.’ More than anything else, she realised, Rosie feltlonelyinside her family. They didn’t not care about her, but they didn’t understand her – they saw what was lacking in her without recognising the qualities that her friends valued most.
‘Sounds familiar,’ Tobi said. ‘My dad says I should go and get a job in an office. Work my way up. The idea of borrowing money to go to university was always crazy to him and my mum.’
‘My parents said the same.’
‘So did you not go, then? Do you regret it?’ Tobi’s dark eyes were wide, and Rosie saw that she had a strange sort of sway over this young woman. The Peter Parker principle popped into her mind, unbidden:with great power comes great responsibility.
Rosie knew she had lied to herself for years. At times, she had successfully convinced herself she had no regrets about abandoning university. But to lie to Tobi now felt somehow sacrilegious; it would be a shabby abuse of trust, and a poor foundation for the friendship she could already feel burgeoning between them.
‘I did go,’ Rosie admitted. ‘Then my grandad got ill and I moved back home so I could take care of him. I was supposed to restart my course – I always said I would. But I didn’t … And yes, I do regret that.’
She felt her eyes grow glossy and blinked the sudden wetness away. She’d never even told Niamh that, deep down, she wished she could go back and do things differently. Rosie had a strange sense of weightlessness – as if uttering the words aloud had lifted a burden she hadn’t even known she was carrying.
Tobi’s gaze was sympathetic. Rosie liked that she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence between them with cheerful platitudes; it reminded her of the measured, calm way Aled approached conversations.
‘Which is why,’ Rosie said, characteristically unable to resist speaking, ‘you should think long and hard before giving up on something you want. You can modify your plan, instead of chucking it in the bin. It isn’t too late.’
Tobi nodded, then tipped her head to one side as if deep in thought. ‘Is it too late for you? To go to uni, I mean? Are there reasons why you can’t?’
‘Maybe,’ Rosie said, ‘but I’m not sure how good they are at this moment.’ In truth, her standard objections to studying seemed flimsier and less convincing than ever. Marriage and babies were off the table for now, as was the notion that her career could take a back seat to her more successful partner’s.
‘So does that mean you’re thinking about it, then?’ Tobi asked, smiling gently at her new friend.
‘I could be,’ Rosie nodded, smiling back. ‘Anyway, we’d best get on. The dishwasher’s not going to empty itself.’
When Rosie arrived back at the flat that evening Aled was sitting on the sofa, surrounded by what she could only describe as a sea of A4 paper. He was bent over a printout of what she assumed was a student’s essay, his back to her, green pen in hand.
It was nice to see him there, using the space as though he had a right to. It had taken weeks, but he was finally behaving as though helivedin the flat – less like a troublesome house guest afraid to emerge from his room in case he irritated his host.
‘Hey,’ she said, gently breaking his concentration. She could tell he’d been so lost in whatever he was reading that he hadn’t heard her come in.
He turned to say hi, and Rosie felt like a brick had dropped through her stomach. Her mouth went dry and her heart seemed to pause for a moment, then resume beating at double time.
He was wearingglasses. Spectacles with black, heavy frames that had begun sliding down his nose. It was like he’d one-upped himself, embellishing his sexy professor look with a finishing touch that should have come with a health warning.
‘Secret glasses?’ Rosie stuttered, nonsensically. ‘Since when?’
He pushed at the bridge of the glasses with a forefinger, then made a confused smile-frown face. Rosie was increasingly convinced that he was woefully ignorant of his effect on women. And probably a decent proportion of men, too, come to think of it.
She addedlooks insanely hot in glassesto her internal catalogue of Theoretical Reasons Why Aled Is Inhumanly Attractive. The list was growing, but filing the information away in a drawer marked ‘Factual Observations’ felt safe; she could place it alongside gems such asribbons of vegetable are no substitute for pastaandno one ever wants ‘just one bite’ of your dessert if they didn’t order their own.
Collecting the information felt protective. Self-preserving. If she kept an accurate record of his charms, they couldn’t take her by surprise. This, Rosie had decided, was important – as this afternoon’s revelation proved. The last thing she needed, especially so recently after being dumped, was a sudden attack of the hots for someone so wildly out of her league.
‘Since I was about twelve,’ Aled said, reclaiming her attention. ‘And not secret – just sporadic. They’re readers: I wear them when my eyes are tired, though I should probably put them on more often.’
