After the Honeymoon (37 page)

‘What?’ Emma felt her chest tighten with fear. ‘Where were
you
?’

‘Trying to get Willow onto the potty.’ Her mother’s tone was defensive. ‘It’s not easy being in two places at once.’

She knew that. But that was part of a mother’s job description. Still, this wasn’t the time for blame-throwing.

‘What are you doing?’

Emma was rifling through the kitchen drawer, trying to find the travel file she’d put together after Bernie’s surprise wedding present. There it was. A printout of their flight itinerary and, crucially, a mobile number.

‘Ringing Rosie, the woman who runs the villa.’ She glanced through the door of the lounge to see Gawain playing happily with his cars. He looked all right but you never knew. ‘With any luck, she’ll tell me what’s in it.’

Her heart still beating furiously, Emma listened to the continental tone. The phone call would cost a fortune but this was more important. What time would it be there? Eight o’clock. She could just imagine Rosie sitting out on the terrace with a glass of wine, snuggling up to Greco, with Yannis perhaps, in the background.

Don’t let
him
pick up the phone. Don’t.

‘Villa Rosa. May I help you?’

The lilting sound of Rosie’s voice filled her with relief. ‘It’s me, Emma. You know. My husband and I spent our honeymoon with you. He was ill …’

There was a slight change in the tone. ‘I remember.’

‘Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but …’

Briefly she explained what had happened. ‘Jack gave it to us,’ she went on. ‘He said you swore by it.’

‘It’s all right.’ The voice now had changed from cool to reassuring. ‘It’s only flavoured water.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Nor did I at first.’ There was a laugh. ‘It’s one of Cara’s recipes. Remember? She’s the co-owner and a good friend of mine. When Jack was young, it was a little trick of hers. She says that if children
think
they’re getting something to make them better, they often get better on their own. In other words, it’s psychological. Works on adults too – especially the ones who are hypochondriacs, if you don’t mind me saying.’

Emma could have cried with relief. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘Not at all.’ There was a slight hesitation. ‘Actually, it’s funny you should ring. Jack and I may be paying a visit to the UK soon. I was just looking up flights.’

Really? Perhaps that was so Jack could see his father. Poor Melissa! That wouldn’t be easy for her. ‘If you come to Corrywood,’ she said carefully, ‘I do hope you’ll come round for a cup of tea.’

Now why had she said that? Immediately Emma regretted her invitation, made out of politeness and relief about the medicine. Rosie might say something about Yannis in front of Tom …

‘Thanks, but we’re actually going to Devon. Anyway, it was nice to chat. Do keep in touch.’

Devon
? Emma couldn’t help feeling curious as she went back to the kitchen. Maybe Jack and his dad were going to meet up out of the public eye.

Still, the important thing was that Gawain was all right. But how weird to give someone something that wasn’t medicine at all! This Cara was either a bit touched or really rather clever …

‘That’s all right then,’ said Mum, casually, when she gave her the good news.

‘Not really,’ said Emma awkwardly. ‘I don’t want to criticise, but you need to watch the kids all the time to make sure nothing happens to them.’

Her mother slammed the teapot down on the table. ‘If you don’t trust me to look after my own grandchildren, you can always find someone else.’

Oh dear. Now she’d offended her.

‘Want chocolate biscuit!’ Gawain was grabbing the packet on the side before she could stop him.

‘Not before your meal, love.’

Too late! Brushing the crumbs off him, she had a sudden yearning for chocolate herself. Unable to resist – despite her new healthy eating regime since Greece – she popped a little piece in her own mouth. Ugh!

Mum rolled her eyes. ‘What’s wrong now?’

‘This biscuit.’ Emma eyed the rest suspiciously. ‘It’s off.’

‘Mine’s all right.’

‘It tasted, well, metallic to me …’

Emma heard her voice trail away as her mother’s eyes hardened. ‘Metallic?’

Then her eyes fell to Emma’s stomach. It was flat. In fact, she’d actually lost some weight in the last few weeks, thanks to the protein diet. It was true that the period she’d had after coming back from honeymoon had been very light, but that wasn’t anything unusual.

‘Do you think you’re pregnant?’ asked her mother sharply.

‘What does Preg Nent mean?’ chirped Gawain.

Why was it that kids only overheard stuff they weren’t meant to?

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ Emma clutched the chair as her mind went back. Tom … Yannis … The recent change in her pill – at her doctor’s suggestion – because she’d been getting so bloated.

‘Sit down, love.’ Her mother was clucking. ‘A honeymoon baby? How on earth are you going to manage with three? Honestly, Em. Talk about being careless …’

‘After the honeymoon my new husband was posted to Brussels. I stayed in London for my job. It’s a great recipe for marriage!’

Gail, still happily commuting

ROSIE

Dear Rosemary
,

How are you doing out there? I get some news from Gemma, of course, and often think about you and your little boy – although he’s not so little now, is he? It seems hard to think that it was all so long ago. I don’t know where the time goes!

I’m writing an old-fashioned letter because I can’t get the hang of these emails, and sometimes it’s better to put things on paper rather than a computer where it’s so easy to say something you don’t mean to, don’t you think?

Anyway, excuse the rambling, but I’m also writing for another reason. I’m aware that you and your dad haven’t seen eye to eye for a while, but I thought you ought to know that he really hasn’t been at all well. In fact, he may well have written to you himself and told you – if so, please excuse me for interfering – but I had a funny feeling that your mum would want me to say something.

If you do decide to come over and pay him a visit, you are very welcome to stay with us. I know Gemma would be thrilled to see you – she and her little family come down to Devon whenever they can. The boys love digging sandcastles on the beach and they’ve given my husband a new lease of life. I am sure your dad would like to see Jack too.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Much love
,

Sally

Rosie had read and reread the letter several times since it had arrived out of the blue a few days before. No one ever wrote to her from England: she and Gemma always emailed. But when she read the name ‘Rosemary’, she was taken back all those years to the confused, scared teenager whose father had thrown her out of the house.

‘What’s wrong?’ Greco had asked, noticing her expression.

They were having breakfast on the terrace, overlooking the vineyards dropping down to the sea. Yannis had made a delicious concoction of honey and yoghurt, which seemed to be a rather perfect ending to the half-hour that she and Greco had just spent in bed. Now that the final guests had left and the villa was closed for the usual winter clean-up, Rosie could afford to take some time off in the last of the warm autumn sun.

She glanced down at the letter again with its beautiful sloping writing in proper ink. ‘It’s from my friend Gemma’s mother, Sally. She lives near my dad – in fact, she was a friend of Mum’s – and she says …’ She hesitated slightly, still not sure of her emotions. ‘She says he’s ill.’

Greco sat forward, his handsome face concerned. ‘Then you must go and see him at once.’

‘You don’t understand.’ She stood up and walked towards the edge of the terrace, where tubs of bright red and orange geraniums were still cascading down. ‘When I was pregnant with Jack, Dad said he never wanted to see me again.’

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around her and she leaned back into his warm, reassuring body. Over the last few months, Rosie had learned more about this body – and Greco’s mind – than she could ever have thought possible. Both were full of surprises.

‘People change, my loved one,’ he murmured. ‘It is normal for the old to look back and regret their mistakes. We will do it one day ourselves.’

Rosie gulped, trying to concentrate on the line of trees between the terrace and the sea to stop the tears from welling up in her eyes. ‘Sally implied that Mum would want me to go back and see him. She also said that my father would want to see Jack.’

‘Exactly.’ Gently, Greco spun her round so she was facing him. ‘You do not need to worry about the villa. Cara and I will look after it, will we not?’

He addressed his remark to the figure asleep on the chair in the sunny corner of the terrace. It was Cara’s favourite morning position. Every now and then, the older woman would have unexpected bursts of energy and insist on cleaning the kitchen floor because ‘no one else does it as I do’. Then she would have a long nap before waking up with renewed vigour.

‘Of course we will look after the villa.’

So she wasn’t asleep after all. In fact, Cara was sitting upright now, like a little bird, her beady eyes looking round her. Greek matriarchs, Rosie had noticed, gave the appearance of being ancient with their crinkly tanned skin, but then they surprised you with their sharp minds and observations. ‘It is right for Jack to see his grandfather and show respect, however badly your father has treated you both. It is also important that the boy sees his own father. You must not let history repeat itself. The two of them need to build a relationship just as
you
need to rebuild one with your own surviving parent.’

Then, as if exhausted by her speech, Cara sank back into her chair and closed her eyes. On the other hand, that might just have been her way of saying ‘No more arguments’.

Rosie glanced up at Greco, who gave her a wry smile. ‘What Cara says must be done,’ he said, gently tilting her chin up to his face as he often did when he was about to kiss her.

‘And you can keep that kind of business to your own room,’ came the voice from the chair.

Rosie moved away, embarrassed, but Greco laughed out loud. ‘She is right. Come, let us take a walk.’

She knew what he had in mind. A walk along the beach often ended up with something more, provided that no one else was around. Rosie didn’t know what had come over her since that time in Athens. It was as though Greco’s touch had unleashed something in her that she hadn’t known existed.

Winston had helped, too. Although she didn’t like to admit it, the sight of him fawning over Melissa had proved that any hope she might have had of them reconciling was gone for ever.

It made Rosie even more determined to carve a new future for herself.

‘I can’t,’ she said, tucking the letter into her trouser pocket. ‘Go for a walk, that is. I have so much to do now, so much to organise.’

Greco gave her a meaningful look. ‘So you are going, then?’

‘Yes. I suppose so.’ The words didn’t seem to match the reality of the situation. ‘Provided Dad wants me to.’ She gave a short little laugh. ‘I’ll have to ring him, I suppose. Knowing my father, he’ll tell me not to bother.’

‘Then just go,’ called out the voice from the chair. For a woman of her age, Cara had sharp hearing. ‘Turn up at his doorstep with Jack next to you. Your boy will soften the hardest of hearts. Your papa will be a fool if he does not want to own a grandson such as that.’

But what about school?

‘He can catch up on his education,’ said Greco, as if reading her mind. ‘Cara is right. You must go. Come.’ He placed a hand in the small of her back, sending electric tingles down her spine. ‘I will help you make arrangements if you like.’

A week ago she would never have thought they’d be standing here. It was all so different! So cold, too. Rosie and Jack huddled, shivering, outside Gatwick airport, scanning the people milling in and out of the doors with trolleys laden high with suitcases.

It wasn’t just England that had changed, she thought to herself, looking around at the billboards advertising everything from a quiet night’s sleep at a hotel chain to immaculate teeth. It was her as well. She was older. Wiser. More Greek, at times, than English.

‘The people look different,’ observed Jack while texting at the same time (to Alice, perhaps?). ‘Paler and really stressed out.’

Rosie let out a silent sigh of relief. It was one of the first proper sentences her son had spoken to her since she’d told him about his father back in July. Even when she’d explained that she was going to see her own dad in the UK and that she’d like it if he came too, Jack had simply shrugged as though she’d suggested a trip into the main town on the island.

Then she’d tentatively added that he might like to combine the trip with a visit to his own father in Corrywood, which was about three hours from Grandad’s home in Devon. ‘Whatever,’ he’d said, although the fleeting expression on his face suggested a mixture of apprehension and excitement.

So she’d booked their tickets and asked Gemma’s mother if they could take up her kind invitation to stay for two weeks. ‘Please don’t tell Dad,’ she had written to Sally. ‘I’m concerned that he might try and stop me coming.’

Once her mind had been made up, she really wanted to go, partly because of something that Greco had said. ‘If you don’t and he dies, you may feel guilty for the rest of your life. Trust me, my Rosie, I know what I am talking about.’

And now, finally, they were here. But where was Gemma?

‘So sorry we’re late!’ Rosie felt someone hugging her almost before she actually saw her old friend.

‘I can’t believe you’re here after all these years! Jack, let me take a look at you! You’ve grown since the last pictures Mum emailed. Wow! You’re going to break a few hearts!’

Resisting the temptation to say that he already had, Rosie gave Gemma a big hug back. ‘And I can’t believe how you look exactly the same! Still blonde and beautiful!’