‘Well, then. You’d best get yourself over to the house. We can do lunch and talk about how you’re going to handle this situation.’
‘Mum. I’m already handling it. In fact, it’s handled – past tense.’
‘It’s not, though, is it?’ Her mother sounded indignant now. Impatient. As though she thought Rosie was being wilfully stupid. ‘You can’t stay in that little flat all by yourself with only antique tat for company. Can you even afford it on your own?’
Rosie let this slight on her collection of vintage treasures slide. She had more serious beef with Julie today. ‘Actually, I’m very happy here and I’ve no interest in moving. I’ve got a new flatmate – so it’s all fine, for the time being at least.’
‘A new flatmate?!’ her mother spluttered.
‘Yes,’ Rosie cut in, before she had to hear a list of reasons why living in shared accommodation in her thirties represented some kind of moral failing.
‘Well, who is it?’ Julie said. ‘Some stranger you found on the internet, I suppose? Some weirdo you barely know?’
‘Neither of the above,’ Rosie said, with absolute honesty. Not only was Alednotan oddball she’d come across online – she was starting to feel like they really understood one another.
Last night’s chilled evening in had been lovely: fun and relaxed in a way she’d never have thought possible a few short weeks ago. She’d eaten a mountainous plateful of curry with no fear of judgement, and they’d laughed like lunatics as Springsteen did his best to shove his nose in Aled’s lamb pasanda. Characteristically reticent, Aled hadn’t waxed poetic about her haircut; he’d simply said, ‘New hair? It’s lovely,’ then passed her a bottle of Kingfisher. It was the simplest of compliments, but obviously sincere – and thus more welcome than any gushing, effusive appreciation might have been.
Conversation between them flowed naturally, now, but their spells of silence were equally easy –soothing, even. Being quiet with Aled, Rosie thought, was easily a hundred times more comfortable than talking to James had been towards the end of their time together. Aled’s dark, watchful eyes and natural shrewdness had made her feel jumpy and exposed when they first met, but somehow, without her noticing, they’d taken on a different power. These days, the feeling of being seen clearly by him was warm and freeing. She felt like she had no reason and nothing to hide from him – with the obvious exception of her carefully curated ‘Factual Reasons Why Aled Is Gorgeous’ file.
None of these, however, were observations Rosie wanted to share with her mum. As a diversionary tactic, she volunteered yet more explosive information. ‘While we’re chatting, I might as well tell you: I’ve got a new job, too. I left Cover 4 U because my boss – for want of a better way of putting it – was a total idiot. So now I’m working with a lovely team at a local deli.’
The line went silent for a few seconds, during which Rosie genuinely wondered whether her mother had passed out.
‘You mean, like … a cafe? You’re awaitress?’ Julie asked, aghast.
‘I’m a barista,’ Rosie said, ‘for the time being, anyway. I enjoy it, the people there are great and it earns me almost as much as my old job.’
‘Your father’s going to go mad,’ Julie announced.
‘Why?’ Rosie demanded, finally driving the conversation towards its crux. ‘I’ve told you, I’m fine – not that you asked. So it isn’tmywelfare you’re worried about, is it?’
Julie made a series of ill-defined, outraged noises, but Rosie didn’t stop. ‘Every shred of “concern” you’ve shown this morning is basic box-ticking. It’s about whether I’ve checked off all the stuff you think I should do, or be. It’sneverabout whether I’m happy.’
‘Of course I care whether you’re happy!’ Julie cried. ‘I’m your mother! I want to see you settled because I know it’s what’s best for a girl like you.’
‘And what kind of girl is that, Mum?’
Her mother faltered.
‘I don’t even need you to say it,’ Rosie told her. ‘You think I’m nice. Simple. Not thick, but not that clever either. Average, if a little on the chubby side. You think I wasluckyto have James. But d’you know what? He was lucky to have me. And I’m starting to realise there’s more to me than you’ve ever seen – than any of you have ever bothered looking for.’
‘Now, Rosie, come on,’ her mum said, her tone softer now – almost wheedling. ‘Come and see us today and we can talk about this properly. You and I can have a good old catch-up while we cook. Set everything to rights. Find a way forward.’
‘I’m already moving forward,’ Rosie said. ‘Like I said, I’m doing pretty well. And I’m busy today.’
Julie’s temper finally snapped. ‘For god’s sake, Rosie, what am I going to do with a 2.5kg leg of lamb and a fresh mint plant if you don’t come for lunch today?’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rosie said, her own rage reaching its peak. ‘Cook it yourself?’
She heard a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line and immediately felt bad. Rosie was in the right, and she was hurting – but she knew that, for all her faults, her mother did love her.
‘Listen, Mum,’ she said. ‘I’m not coming out to Braintree today, and I think we could both do with calming down. Why don’t I give you a call next week? Maybe we could even arrange you coming to visitmefor once.’
‘Fine,’ Julie said, sounding brittle. Rosie could tell she was already rehearsing a walking wounded routine in her head. When her mother recounted it, this conversation would be a story in which Rosie was the antagonist and Julie a hapless, well-meaning victim. Right now, though, that wasn’t worth arguing about.
‘I love you, Mum,’ Rosie murmured – and she meant it, despite everything.
Julie merely sniffed.
