After the Honeymoon (42 page)

‘You shouldn’t have sent me away when I was pregnant,’ she’d finally said, the day before they were due to fly home. Jack would be back tonight and if she didn’t say what needed to be said, there might not be time. They were sitting in his lounge with the late autumn sun shining weakly through the lace curtains, which needed a good wash. (Not that she was going to interfere unless she wanted her head bitten off.) ‘I was only seventeen. Mum wouldn’t have done it.’

His eyes had flickered. She’d struck a nerve there. ‘You shouldn’t have got pregnant,’ he sniffed.

‘It happens sometimes. Anyway, I wouldn’t change it for the world.’ She got out her iPad. ‘Jack’s a fine boy. You hardly got a chance to look at him. Take a glance at some of these pictures.’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I don’t do all that newfangled technology. Photographs should be held – not seen on some kind of screen.’

Then Rosie thought of the photograph album she’d slipped in her bag at the last minute, before leaving Greece. ‘He looks like you, you know.’

‘Hah! With that colour?’

‘You could see it right from babyhood,’ she continued, ignoring him. ‘Look.’

Before he could protest, she’d placed Jack’s baby and toddler album on her father’s lap. The resemblance really was amazing. Jack might have Winston’s colouring, but he had his grandad’s nose and that way of holding his head to one side, as though asking a question.

Her father snorted again. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do,’ she was about to reply but then her phone had rung.
Jack.
Getting up, she made an excuse to go into the old-fashioned galley kitchen with the calendar on the wrong month and the loaf of bread that was growing mouldy on the side.

‘Hi! Are you on your way down now?’

‘Actually, Mum, I’ve got something to tell you.’

Rosie leaned against the fridge door, closing her eyes. Part of her had been expecting this. ‘Dad says I can stay on if I want.’

‘But what about school?’

‘That’s the thing. Can you talk to Gemma’s husband?’ She could hear the pleading in his voice. ‘See if I can go to Corrywood for a bit? It would give me a chance to get to know Dad. Please.’

It was the ‘please’ that tore her heart. What, she wondered, staring at the dirty plate on the side of the sink, had happened in those two weeks? Was it possible that Winston, damn him, had taken her place in his affections?

‘How long is a bit?’ Rosie asked quietly.

There was a short silence. ‘Maybe until Christmas?’

Christmas? That’s crazy, she started to say, but then stopped as Dad appeared at the door, stick in one hand and catheter bag – which needed emptying – in the other. She had gone through much of her life without a mother and at the age of seventeen had had to make do without either parent. Perhaps her son deserved some time with his father now – time he should have had when he was younger.

‘OK,’ she heard herself say, while rapidly thinking through the practicalities. The flight would have to be changed. She’d need to talk to Cara and Greco, not to mention Jack’s school. And she ought to talk to Winston, too, and Melissa. Would she mind, Rosie wondered fleetingly, about her husband’s love child (as the papers put it), taking up residence for three months?

‘I’ve got things to do here too,’ she added. ‘I’ll have to ask Sally if I can stay on with her.’

As she spoke, she looked at Dad. Was she imagining it, or was that a brief flicker of pleasure on his face? If so, it had gone before it could be properly identified. ‘I also want to talk to Winston,’ she added. ‘Is he there?’

There was the sound of someone speaking loudly in the background. A woman. ‘They’re busy at the moment,’ said Jack quickly. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. Thanks so much, Mum! It would be really cool if Joe agrees to take me on at Alice’s school. And it will be a great chance for me to see what an English education is like, won’t it?’

Nice try. She knew why he really wanted to stay. It wasn’t just because of Winston – it was because her son was in love! What right did she have to put a halt between Alice and Jack? Especially after what had happened to her.

Dad hobbled over to the kettle just as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. ‘So you won’t be shooting back to this Greek place after all, then?’ He sniffed, wiping his hand on his sleeve before putting the same hand in a rusty tea caddy. ‘We’ll have more time to talk then. Fancy another cuppa, do you?’

Yes, Joe had said, after he’d made some enquiries. Jack could stay at school until Christmas, although he’d need to work hard. The curriculum was different from the one he was used to, but it wasn’t the first time that they’d taken in children on a temporary basis.

Of course, Sally had said. She’d love Rosie to stay on. It would be company, and it would give her a chance to see her father, wouldn’t it?

‘Isn’t it great?’ Gemma had enthused on the phone. ‘You can come up to Corrywood and see us at weekends. It will give you a base to visit Jack.’

But Rosie wasn’t sure. It was too much change, too fast. Not long ago, she and Jack had seen each other all day, every day. She missed him. Just as she missed Greco, who had sounded most put out when she’d rung with the news.

‘You are not coming back for three more months?’ She could just see him tossing his head with indignation. Almost hear the sea splashing against his boat with the waves sparkling in the sun. ‘You wish to spend some time with Winston, I suppose.’

‘No, it’s not like that,’ Rosie tried to explain, aware of the thin wall between the guest room and Sally’s bedroom. ‘I’m only going to be in Corrywood at the weekend. I’ll be spending the rest of my time with my dad.’

‘Pah! The one who threw you out?’

‘You were the one who encouraged me to go,’ she reminded him. ‘Like you said, he’s old. I may not have this chance again. Talk to Cara. She will understand.’

There was the sound of shuffling as though Greco was moving to another place. Perhaps he wasn’t on the boat after all. Maybe he was at the villa, leaning over the terrace wall and admiring the olive grove. She felt a lurch of homesickness.

‘Our Cara,’ said Greco quietly, ‘she is here for a reason.’

Rosie sighed. ‘I know. She thought I needed her and now I am gone.’

‘No. It is not like that. She tell me the truth now. Her nephew’s wife, she threw Cara out. Said she is interfering old lady.’

Rosie gasped. ‘That’s awful. May I speak to her?’

‘No. She has pride. Me too. You stay in your England, Rosie. We will manage without you.’

Then he had rung off. Bruised, Rosie resisted the temptation to ring back. If Greco wanted to act like a child, that was up to him.

Now, four weeks later, their communication was only in the form of brief texts. Greco didn’t do email, and when she rang him, he failed to pick up. Meanwhile, her weekday visits with Dad were growing easier and longer. They had fallen into quite a pleasant routine. She would arrive in the morning with the paper and a bag full of shopping (no more mouldy bread) and they’d do the crossword together over a cup of tea. Then she’d do some washing for him – grudgingly he’d agreed to that – and a bit of cleaning after lunch, while he had an afternoon nap. After cooking him a bit of supper she’d head back to Sally’s.

The evenings were more difficult. Lovely as Sally was, Gemma’s father was more austere and dinner was very formal. Rosie often thought, with longing, of the balmy evenings on the terrace at home, in Greco’s arms, with fairy lights strung above them. Still, if he couldn’t accept what was happening in her life, he wasn’t worth it, was he?

She missed Jack too, dreadfully. ‘Are you sure he’s all right?’ she asked Winston on more than one occasion during their increasingly regular
let’s talk about our son
calls. Although she’d gone up to Corrywood twice to visit Jack, it had been difficult. Gemma’s terraced house was already bursting with three small boys and there was little privacy to talk. When she’d taken Jack down to the local pizza place, it had been full of single dads, trying desperately to talk to their kids. And so far, there hadn’t been an invitation from Melissa and Winston, where Jack was still staying, to go over there. Not even for coffee.

Until now, that was.
R u cming up ths wkend?
Winston had texted when Dad was having a nap one bright November day.
If so, wd u like to spend bonfire nt with us? There’s smthing gng on at the schl.

Yes, she had texted back after checking that Gemma could put her up. She’d love to. And now, here she was, at Corrywood station, waiting for Winston and Jack to collect her. Gemma would have done it, but she was busy cooking for the firework spread and Joe was up to his eyes in organising the display.

Rosie was beginning to feel like a teenager all over again, waiting to be picked up. It was cold, too, but a rather nice brisk cold, with the sky lit up by pink swirling stars and bursts of sparkling silver trails. Other families and schools had started their fireworks early, reminding her of childhood bonfire nights in Devon. It had been so exciting!

‘Mum!’
Rosie was jolted out of her reverie by a tall boy waving at her from the road outside. Jack! She’d only seen him two weeks earlier but he seemed different now. A new jacket, she noticed. Rather nice. Brown suede. Had his father bought that? She should have been pleased but instead she felt slightly cheated that Jack could allow Winston to slip into his life so easily.

Running towards her, Jack gave her a big hug. That was better. ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, his breath warm on her cheek.

‘I’ve missed you too,’ she managed, as he dragged her to the car. Melissa was in the front seat, eyeing her coldly. Uh-oh. Winston’s invitation had clearly come from him alone and not from both of them.

In the back, she could see Alice, done up to the nines with heavy black smudgy lines round her eyes and a skirt that was surely guaranteed to give her hypothermia. Her brother, Freddie, was digging a packet of sparklers into her ribs.

‘Get off, Freddie!’

Some things never changed.

‘Welcome!’ Winston gave her an uncertain smile from the driver’s seat. ‘Had a good journey? Jump in. We’re going straight to the display.’

The conversation in the car might have been stilted if it hadn’t been for Alice and her brother.

‘They’re
my
sparklers.’

‘No, they’re not. They’re mine.’

‘Piss off, Freddie!’

‘Alice!’

This last remark was from Jack. ‘Thank you,’ said Melissa coolly, turning round briefly. She really was very beautiful, Rosie thought, although she looked a bit thinner than last time. Then she added, ‘Your Jack is very good at keeping my daughter in line.’

‘Mum!’ whined Alice. ‘You’re
so
embarrassing!’

What did her son see in this girl? wondered Rosie exasperatedly as Winston pulled up in the school car park. Still, parents couldn’t choose their children’s friends, could they? Just for a minute, she thought of Dad and his reaction to Winston. Maybe it wasn’t easy for any generation.

‘You’re here!’ squealed one of Gemma’s little boys, running towards her clutching a torch and wrapped up in a woolly hat and gloves. It was difficult to tell which one of Gemma’s lot he was in the dark, but Gemma was close behind. She watched those three like a hawk.

‘Come and have a mulled wine,’ said her friend, grabbing her by the arm. Rosie looked back at Jack, who was holding hands with Alice and heading off towards a group of teenagers. Both Winston and Melissa had melted into the crowd, no doubt relieved to be free of their pick-up duty.

‘It’s been so weird without Jack,’ said Rosie wistfully as she watched Gemma juggle her children with ‘Not another drink!’ and ‘Hold my hand!’ and ‘Not near the bonfire!’.

‘I can imagine.’ Gemma clucked sympathetically. ‘Any chance he might go down and see his grandad again?’

‘No way. Jack’s furious with him.’

‘You can see why. I remember when—’

‘Mummy, I need a wee-wee.’

Gemma groaned. ‘Why is it that you can’t have a conversation for more than one minute without someone wanting to join in?’ But she said it in a laughing way rather than an irritated one. ‘Can you hang on to these two for me? I won’t be long.’

Rosie took a small warm hand in each of hers. She would have liked more than one child … Still, she was lucky to have Jack.

‘Hi. Are you new here?’

She looked up to see a rather good-looking, shortish man hovering nervously nearby. He was holding hands with a small girl with long blond plaits and a pink fluffy coat.

‘My name’s Matthew. This is my daughter Lottie.’ Then he glanced down at the boys. ‘Which class are yours in?’

Rosie laughed awkwardly. ‘Actually, they belong to Gemma and Joe Balls.’ She looked across at the bonfire where her own son was chatting to some other teenagers. It hadn’t taken him long to make friends, she observed with a mixture of admiration and hurt. ‘My boy is nearly sixteen. He’s over there.’

‘With your husband?’

Was she imagining it, or was this kindly-faced man chatting her up? ‘Actually, I’ve never had one.’

It felt curiously liberating to tell the truth after years of pretending to be a widow in Greece.

The man was looking really keen now. ‘I’m a widower and … yes, Lottie. What is it?’

The girl was tugging at his hand impatiently. ‘I want a burger from the stall over there.’

‘Of course, princess.’ He gave her a regretful look. ‘Maybe see you around later?’

Rosie nodded just as Gemma came rushing back. ‘Sorry. There was quite a queue. Was that our Matthew I just saw? Chatted you up, did he? Poor man is always looking for a wife. He did have someone – a lovely woman who went back to Canada – but now he’s really lonely.’ Then Gemma stopped as though an idea had just occurred to her. ‘Actually—’

Rosie cut in before she could speak. ‘Don’t even think about matchmaking. My life is complicated enough as it is.’

The boys were still hanging on to her hands. ‘We want a sausage! We want a sausage!’

They were so sweet! ‘I’ll take them,’ Rosie offered. Feeling pleased to have a job, she made her way to the burger stall. There was a long queue. ‘There’s another over there,’ said someone. So there was.