‘Better than in months,’ Niamh said. ‘I resigned from the agency last week, and Brendan and I have agreed that in the new year I’ll set up as a freelancer – work for myself planning mostly local stuff, and on a small scale to start with. If it goes well and I get to a point where I’m able to expand or take on employees, I’ll be able to do it on my terms – and in a family-friendly way that will make it easy for other parents with young kids to succeed.’
‘That sounds incredible,’ Rosie said sincerely. ‘I’m so proud of you. I haven’t a shred of doubt that it’ll go brilliantly.’ She hesitated, and then decided to go for it – a bubble of excitement forming about her own decision, which had been somewhat eclipsed by recent events. ‘Actually, on the career-slash-personal development front, I have some news of my own.’
‘Spill the tea,’ Niamh said, gulping from her minty hot chocolate cup.
‘I’m going to apply to go back to university,’ Rosie said, testing how the sentence sounded out loud. Saying the words felt good. ‘I’ve no idea where yet – I need to do some research – but I think I’m going to look at psychology and counselling courses. Maybe do it part-time, so I can keep working as well.’
‘YES!’ Niamh cheered. ‘This is AMAZING. This deserves a yule log. Or would you prefer a handful of Christmas pudding-flavoured popcorn?’
‘Let the record show that I am very dubious about the popcorn,’ Rosie said, pointing at the yule log packet in Niamh’s hand. Niamh passed her a bite-sized chocolate mini roll adorned with white icing. Presumably this was supposed to look like snow.
‘OK, so now the work stuff’s out of the way and we’re besties again, I need you to tell me about how you fell in love with Nameless Neighbour,’ Niamh said. ‘Start at the beginning and do not leaveanythingout.’
‘I reserve the right not to answer graphic or anatomical questions,’ Rosie warned her.
‘Spoilsport. You must be really gone for him if you won’t share all the dirty details.’
‘As you put it, the train has left the station. I think it chuffed off a lot longer ago than I realised, to be honest.’
‘I’m settled in for the full story,’ Niamh said, snuggling down in the passenger seat and tearing open the odd-flavoured popcorn.
As she and Niamh joined in with Chris Rea crooning ‘Driving Home For Christmas’ through the car stereo, Rosie couldn’t help thinking that was precisely what she was doing. She’d thought her flat was home: her vintage prints, her second-hand coffee pot, her antique furniture and charity shop finds. But without Aled there, it had all felt wrong. Empty.
It turned out home was a feeling – not bricks and mortar or bric-a-brac, but a sense of belonging, of being complete.
Now, on this dark and rainy motorway, she was on her way to find it.
Chapter 29
As her little Volkswagen Polo crossed the border into Wales, Rosie began to feel nervous. It was dark, wet and cold, and she was entirely reliant on Rhianne’s directions – plus the internet – to get her to her destination.
So far out of London, it occurred to her that she might not be able to rely on a functioning 4G signal all the way to the guest house … And even if she could, this was Christmas time. What if, in line with tradition, there was no room for her at the inn?
She’d thrown some pretty awful accusations around last time she saw Aled – ones she increasingly felt he hadn’t deserved, or at least not fully. And when he last saw her, he must have concluded she’d spent the past few months scheming her way back into a relationship with James. In itself, this was galling; but then, she hadn’t been upfront about her developing feelings for him, always afraid that honesty might lead to heartache, as well as loss of face.
For so long, Rosie had assumed that someone like Aled could never be interested in someone like her. She’d wanted the reassurance of being selected – of him showing his hand first – before she put herself on the line.
Tonight, she was going to be braver. She was picking her own path. As it turned out, this was the A55.
‘I wish we could see what’s out there properly,’ Niamh said. ‘I bet we’re passing through some lovely countryside.’
‘Probably,’ Rosie said. ‘We’re getting closer to the coast now, as well.’
Their proximity to the Irish Sea seemed to be affecting the weather, which was worsening. Great gusts of wind shook Rosie’s tiny car, and rain slapped the windscreen so hard that the sound drowned out the radio.
She slowed down, her ability to see where she was going seriously hampered by the furious swiping of her wipers, as well as the constant barrage of what she now felt could quite reasonably be called a storm.
‘How much further?’ she asked Niamh, who was in charge of navigation.
‘Only about ten miles.’
‘Thank god.’
It was around seven o’clock, but it might as well have been midnight. Rosie noted the lack of light pollution outside, in comparison with London. Big cities rarely got truly dark, she supposed – but here there were long stretches of pure blackness beyond the lights above the road.
The car rounded a corner and suddenly, on Rosie’s right, was a vast expanse of churning sea. The water arched and crashed angrily, whipped into a frenzy by the gale. Further on, they saw stationary headlights – and as they grew closer, they realised that the road ahead was blocked. A police car had been parked across the carriageway, and beyond it Rosie could see there’d been an accident. Her stomach turned over, and she sent up a silent prayer that whoever was involved wasn’t hurt.
‘Shit,’ Niamh said. ‘They’re directing everyone to get off at the next exit. That’s going to put us on some small, local road – I’ll have to rejig the route from there.’
