Dearest Rose (25 page)

‘So,’ Shona said as soon as Jenny had safely left the room.

‘So what?’ Rose asked demurely. ‘You and Jenny are getting on OK now, aren’t you? I thought you two had more in common than you realised.’

‘She’s not as bad as she seems, but if you ever say that again I will kill you. Anyway, did you fuck Ted?’

‘Shona!’ Rose gasped, looking back at the open door, expecting to find Jenny lurking there. ‘No, I did not!’

‘Look at me.’ Shona attempted and failed to secure eye contact with Rose. ‘Look at me! You did something, you dirty cow. What did you do?’

‘Oh, OK, we did some kissing, but that really is all,’ Rose said, unable to stop her mouth curling into a tiny smile at the thought. ‘I didn’t think I wanted to kiss him, and then, well, then I thought, why not? Why not do something crazy and stupid for once in my life? I’m never the crazy one, I’m never the stupid one …’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Shona said.

‘So we kissed and it was nice – kissing was nice – and I didn’t think about anything else, not Richard or Frasier or Maddie or Jenny, just about kissing. And now I feel sort of terrible about it and I don’t know what to do next.’

‘Nice?’ Shona screeched in an excited whisper. ‘Kissing Ted was
nice
? So he didn’t exactly make the earth move then?’

‘I’m pretty sure I didn’t want him to do that,’ Rose said. ‘The
kissing
was nice. Sweet. It felt innocent and clean. At the time. Now I feel all stupid and confused. I mean, I
know
it was wrong, I’m still married, I’m still hopelessly in love with Frasier, and there’s Maddie, but …’

‘But?’ Shona asked her expectantly.

‘It didn’t feel that way.’ Rose giggled unexpectedly, covering her mouth with both her hands. ‘I was so worried I’d feel scared of feeling guilty, or worse, dirty, but I didn’t. I just felt like a girl, kissing a boy because it’s nice. And that was
lovely
.’

‘Why would a bit of kissing make you feel any of those things?’ Shona asked, perplexed.

‘What would what make you feel what things?’ Jenny asked as she came in carrying a tray of tea and cake.

‘Seeing her … dad?’ Shona said.

‘Clearing out this place,’ Rose said at the same time, and equally inappropriately.

‘I wasn’t born yesterday, you know,’ Jenny said, pursing her lips. ‘Whatever it is, I’ve a distinct feeling that I don’t want to know.’

Chapter Ten

ROSE WAS ATTEMPTING
to get oil paint off Maddie in the shower when her phone rang. Normally the bleep of the ancient ringtone would send shivers down her spine, as almost the only person who ever tried to ring her, who even had her number, was Richard. But just before dinner she had texted her number, having made herself delay for what seemed like an agonising period of time in order not to seem too keen, to Frasier, and he had texted straight back saying he would call later. Without having to look at her phone she knew this would be him. Was it wrong to want to see him again? Rose didn’t think so. Somehow kissing Ted had made her want to see him all the more, to test when she looked at him again the feelings she always assumed were so real. Perhaps Rose was a little more like her father than she knew. She’d lived the last few years trying very hard to feel as little as possible in order to protect herself from feeling what she could not bear. And now? Now it felt like the pressure of years of pent-up emotion was building behind her carefully constructed dam, fit to burst. Kissing Ted had been the first little fissure, a tiny reckless trickle. Seeing Frasier again, even under circumstances less romantic than she had dreamt of, would be like driving a wrecking ball into her
defences
, and the strange thing was that Rose knew she had to do this if she ever wanted to escape the prison that Richard had had her build for herself.

‘Be OK for a second?’ Rose asked Maddie, who nodded, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the shower, as the water cascaded over her shoulders, rather enjoying peeling the flakes of paint, which she had somehow got everywhere, off her skin.

Rose took a breath when she saw Frasier’s name on the display, attempting her best casual, you-could-be-anyone-my-phone-never-stops-ringing hello.

‘Hello?’

‘Rose, hello, it’s Frasier. Now a good time?’ he said softly into her ear. Rose felt her heart rate quicken and her knees buckle as she sat down on the bed. Not even Ted, with all his good looks and charm, and definitely skilful lips, had cured her of the feeling that Frasier gave her.

‘Now’s fine,’ she said, careful to sound non-committal and casual.

‘So I hear you were with your dad today? I couldn’t believe it, he actually answered his mobile! How was it?’

‘Odd,’ Rose said thoughtfully. ‘Confusing, interesting. Nice.’

‘So mainly good, then?’ Frasier spoke with a smile in his tone.

‘I think so,’ Rose said. ‘Maddie thinks he is the most interesting person she has ever met.’

‘Ha, I bet he likes that,’ Frasier said. ‘The thing your father forgot when he decided to hide himself away for good is that he really does rather like being admired. If only I could get him to lecture, teach, make appearances. I think I could make
him
quite the celebrity of the art world. Still, he has his reasons and I respect them.’

‘That he is a miserable old git?’ Rose said, smiling.

‘That is one of them,’ Frasier admitted. ‘Anyway, dinner. I’m coming down tomorrow. The van will be going back to Edinburgh, but I could stay. Take you out? There’s this incredible place near Ullswater where they actually invented sticky toffee pudding.’

‘Are you sure, you don’t have to, you know …’ Rose said, suddenly anxious that Frasier shouldn’t feel obliged to spend time with her.

‘Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked you if I wasn’t,’ Frasier said pleasantly.

‘I’d need a babysitter,’ Rose said, not so sure if now was the right time to break down that dam of emotion after all.

‘Surely your friend would oblige? And if not, I know –’ Frasier began, but before he could finish, a screech and a thump came from the shower room, followed by a rising cry.

‘Got to go,’ Rose said, hanging up and rushing into the bathroom, where she found Maddie splayed out on her back, her legs in the air, the water still pelting her.

‘Oh, no, did you slip?’ Rose asked her as she climbed into the shower, fully clothed, and switched off the showerhead. Maddie nodded, sobbing noisily as Rose pulled her up and bundled her into a soft warm towel that was waiting on the heated towel rail outside. ‘Oh, baby, I’m sorry. What hurts?’

Maddie pointed to the small of her back, which Rose rubbed, as she hugged the girl until she eventually stopped crying.

‘Will I have a bruise?’ Maddie asked her, attempting to look over her shoulder at the sore spot.

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ Rose said. ‘Maybe just a small one. I think it was more the shock that upset you.’

‘This bruise has nearly gone now,’ Maddie said, slipping the towel off her shoulder and looking at the now grey and yellowish bruise that covered most of her shoulder and extended down her back. ‘Purple and yellow are complementary colours. See how that yellow looks really yellow?’

Rose bit her lip as she looked at the bruise, her heart clenching as she remembered how Maddie had got it.

‘Why did Daddy do it?’ Maddie asked Rose, as she continued to examine herself. ‘It hurt a lot. That shocked me too, but mainly it hurt a lot.’

‘He was angry,’ Rose said. ‘He was completely, completely wrong. And bad. He was angry and he lashed out at me, and you got in the way. I’m so sorry, darling. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘So he didn’t mean to hurt me, he meant to hurt you?’ Maddie asked her, putting her hands on Rose’s face, so that she had to look the child in the eye.

‘Yes,’ Rose said, silent tears sliding down her face. She hadn’t expected Maddie to choose a moment like this to face up to what had happened on the night they had left. She hardly wanted to do it herself. But Maddie was talking about it, she wanted to try and understand what was impossible for a little girl to grasp – the reason why her daddy had hurt her – and Rose could not let that moment pass to help her. ‘I’m so, so sorry. You were never meant to be hurt.’

Maddie looked pained and confused, uncertain again, all of the things that so often characterised her when they were at home, that strange little girl, the odd one out, the one that no
one
understood and who never fitted in, her shoulders hunched against the memory, the truth.

‘That night,’ Rose said, struggling to contain her sobs, ‘you were in bed, Dad and I were … talking. Fighting. I made him very, very angry, so angry he wanted to hit me. I didn’t know you were coming down, I didn’t know you were there until …’ Rose stopped, picturing the moment Richard grabbed his seven-year-old daughter by the shoulder and slammed her into the door so hard it banged shut, as he made his way towards Rose, who was already sprawled on the floor, put there by a slap that numbed the side of her head and made her ears ring.

‘Maddie,’ Rose had shrieked, seeing her daughter’s stunned face, too frightened, in too much pain to cry. Richard had seen her too, then, her cries snapping him back into the room. He’d turned and looked at Maddie, horror sweeping over his blanched face. And that was when Rose knew what she had to do. Scrambling to her feet, she picked up Maddie, who clung to her, barged past Richard while he was still too shocked to react. She grabbed her secret bundle from where she kept it hidden at the back of the broom cupboard, and a few still damp things from the wash basket. Then she picked up her bag and the car keys.

‘Where are you going?’ Richard asked. ‘What are you going to do? You can’t say anything, you know … my job, my reputation … I didn’t mean it!’

But Rose had ignored him, tearing into the night, knowing she had only a few minutes before his rage supplanted his shock and he came after her. She stuffed Maddie into the back of the car, slammed the driver’s door shut behind her, and banged down the central locks. Richard did not attempt to follow her,
though
; he did not try to stop her taking his daughter, probably because he never imagined that his mousy wife would have the courage to go further than once round the block. Rose had taken one last look at him standing in the doorway of her mother’s house, leaning against the post, his arms crossed as he watched her, now utterly calm.

‘He doesn’t think I can do it,’ Rose realised. ‘He doesn’t think I’m capable of leaving him.’ And for a moment, as her white-knuckled fingers gripped the steering wheel she wasn’t sure that he was wrong.

‘Mummy, go,’ Maddie pleaded in a whisper from the back seat, her voice trembling with fear. ‘Mummy, drive.’

It was at her daughter’s bidding that Rose had switched on the ignition and pulled away.

‘When we
will
see Daddy again,’ Maddie asked her now, quietly unable to make eye contact, ‘will he still be angry?’

‘Not with you,’ Rose said. ‘Only me.’

‘He wasn’t angry with me before. I still got this,’ Maddie pointed out, gingerly reaching over her shoulder to touch the bruise.

‘I know,’ Rose said wearily. She was so tired, so desperate just to be able to close her eyes and sleep, but there was one more thing she had to say to Maddie while she had the chance. ‘I … Maddie, I don’t think I can be married to Daddy any more.’

‘I know.’ Maddie nodded as if she’d already worked that out for herself. ‘That’s OK. We can stay here. I will become an artist with John.’

‘Wouldn’t you miss home, school, Daddy?’ Rose asked her
as
she escorted her into the bedroom, pulling her pyjama top over her head. Maddie might feel this way about Richard now, but how long would it last? The last thing Rose wanted to do was impose an estrangement between daughter and father, even if she knew Richard was by no means the best of fathers. The damage done by ripping him completely out of her life could be worse even than the bruise he’d given her, which would heal, at least.

‘No,’ Maddie said with certainty. ‘I don’t like school there, and I like you better here. You are much more interesting to look at and listen to. You are kinder and funnier and … you smile more. Here is better for you, this is where you are happy. And you like me better here too.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rose asked her, horrified at what Maddie thought she knew.

‘I mean,’ Maddie said, with some emphasis, speaking slowly and carefully, ‘that you like me better here than you do at home. Because you aren’t frightened or sad.’

‘I think not being at school, not being in the middle of all the worries that me and Daddy had, even though we tried our best to keep them from you, has helped you not to be so uncomfortable, and anxious,’ Rose said, trying to work out what Maddie was feeling herself, and if being away from Richard gave the child the same sense of relief and being able to breathe that it gave her. ‘And so I am less worried about you, less worried about how you will fit in. But it’s not that I like you better; I can’t like you better than I do. I love you, Maddie, more than anything.’

Maddie looked at her for a long moment, studying her face as if she were trying to decipher exactly what it was that Rose
was
saying, and then out of the blue she launched herself into Rose’s arms, nestling her head into the curve of her neck, a rare gesture of affection that Rose embraced happily.

‘I don’t want to see Daddy,’ Maddie said after a while in her mother’s arms. ‘And I don’t want to go to school ever again.’

‘I think you will change your mind about Daddy,’ Rose said. ‘And you will have to go to school, as soon as we’ve decided where to live. It’s the law, darling.’

‘Let’s live here then,’ Maddie said. ‘We’ve got a bedroom and our own bathroom, and Jenny cooks.’

‘We can’t stay here for ever,’ Rose said, as much as she would like to.

‘John’s house then, although John doesn’t cook, he told me. I do like Jenny’s cooking.’

Rose sighed and smiled all at once. ‘You are a funny girl, Miss Maddie.’

‘Can I go and see Shona and Jenny to say good night?’ Maddie asked her. She liked tiptoeing up and down the carpeted stairs in her bare feet.