Her grin at remembering the time she’d popped out in stilettos to ‘help someone with a flat tyre’ faded as she took stock of several key facts. 1. She’d completely forgotten about going to her parents’ house today. 2. She was even less keen to make the trip to Essex than usual. 3. She still hadn’t told her family that:
a) James had dumped her
b) She’d moved a man they’d never heard of into her spare room
c) She’d quit her ‘nice office job’ and started working in a cafe
The idea that she was happier making cappuccinos and skinny lattes all day than she’d ever been handling insurance claims would be utterly lost on them – as would the unexpected discovery that losing James had wounded her, but not fatally.
Rosie dreaded the look she’d see on Julie’s horror-struck face when she explained why she’d come to Sunday lunch alone. She could hardly bear to think of the doom-laden pronouncements that would be made about her chances of finding someone new ‘at her age’.
Would any of them actually be interested in how she felt about everything that had happened? Would they listen if she tried to explain that – despite the cruelty of it – James’s sudden departure, far from breaking her, had made her think differently about her whole life and the possibilities it might yet hold? Or would she simply drive away from her childhood home feeling worse than she had when she arrived?
The answer to these questions was unequivocal, and it made a lump rise in Rosie’s throat. It hurt that her parents and brother would happily co-opt her as the free-of-charge family chef, but wouldn’t do her the courtesy of considering her feelings before passing judgement on her life. Rosie might be a thirty-two-year-old barista with a live-in landlord, no boyfriend and no idea where the next twelve months would take her – but she was OK.Betterthan OK. For the first time in a long time, she was teetering on the edge of believing in herself.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she typed a message to her mum and pressed send.
Rosie: Sorry, Mum – I can’t make it today. I’ve had a really busy week and I have loads to do at home. I’ll see you soon, though x
This, at least, was true. Rosie’s laundry basket was overflowing and the fridge was almost bare. If she spent the best part of the day having ‘quality time’ with her family by making roast lamb with all the trimmings, she’d come back to a mile-long ‘to do’ list and beans on stale toast for dinner.
Within seconds, her mobile began to ring. She should have expected this, but it still took her by surprise. Deciding that swerving the call would only make matters worse, Rosie took a deep breath and answered it.
‘What d’you mean, you can’t make it? You have to come! I haven’t seen you in amonth– and I’ve got all the food in now.’
Roughly translated, this meant: if you don’t come, I’m going to have to do everything myself. While Rosie had some sympathy with this – it was outrageous that her dad and Michael found themselves unequal to wielding a vegetable knife or donning an oven glove – she had decided to prioritise herself today, and she stiffened her resolve.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve had a lot going on lately and I need to sort my own stuff out.’
There. That was vague but firm.
‘You sound strange. What d’you mean, you’ve had a lot going on?Oh my god, are you pregnant? It’s about time, I suppose – though your father’ll do his nut that you’ve got yourself knocked up before you’re married.’
Oh, god. Why hadn’t Rosie seen this coming?
‘Mum,stop. I am definitely not pregnant.’
‘Well, what is it, then?’
For a moment, Rosie considered bluffing – cobbling together some excuse that would fob Julie off for another few weeks, and allow her to avoid the inevitable furore the truth would cause. But explaining what had happened wouldn’t be any easier next month, or the month after. This was a little like peeling a plaster off a patch of sensitised skin: better to rip the thing off in a single, fluid motion and brave the sting.
‘James and I have split up,’ she said, ‘he left a few weeks ago.’ Then she added, entirely unnecessarily, ‘It was a shock, but I’m doing OK.’
‘What?!’ Julie screeched. Rosie pulled her mobile away from her ear.
‘This is a disaster!’ her mother shrieked. ‘Where did he go? Whatmadehim go? Have you tried getting himback?’ Rosie heard this barrage of questions burst forth from her phone, which she was now holding at arm’s length.
Apparently in no need of a reply, Julie gabbled on: ‘You want to try and make him reconsider, girl. You don’t want to be back out there, single, in your thirties! Finding a man is pot luck at the best of times – and this is definitelynotthe best of times, is it?’
Rosie felt her mother’s words like a kick to the stomach. Reeling and a little nauseous, she said: ‘You’d rather I beg a man who clearly doesn’t love me for a second chance, than go it alone?’
‘Of course he loves you!’ Julie scoffed. ‘He’s been with you foryears, hasn’t he? Unless you think he’s traded you in for an upgrade …?’
Ouch. The casual way her mother had thrown this potentially devastating verbal grenade staggered Rosie. Her mouth hung open in astonishment. If she hadn’t already been fairly sure James had left her for Dylan, these words would have cut her to the bone.
‘Rosie? Rosie! Are you still there?’ came her mother’s voice. She sounded tinny and far away, and Rosie realised that, in her shock, she’d dropped her phone on the floor.
With angry tears welling in her still-sleepy eyes, Rosie picked it up and said: ‘Yes, I’m here.’
