After the Honeymoon (46 page)

He was looking decidedly shifty. ‘Promised someone I’d meet them.’

A chill cut through her. So he
had
got someone else! ‘What about the children?’ It was her last card and, despite hating herself, she had to use it.

He looked down at the pair glued to the screen. ‘They seem happy enough.’

‘But
I’m
not,’ she said softly. ‘I miss you, Tom.’

Then it happened before she knew it. His lips came down on hers. Hard. Purposefully. Meaningfully. He kissed her in a way he had never kissed her before and, just as surprising, her own body was reacting too.

She fancied him! Much more than she had ever done when they’d been together …

Then he broke away, muttering something about having to go, and was out of the door before she could stop him.

Emma was left staring through the window as Tom broke into a run down the street, out of sight. What did that kiss mean?

And – more worryingly – who had taught him to snog like that?

Honeymoon bliss is a myth! Couples are most unhappy during the first year of married life when they are still getting to know each other. They are happiest after they have clocked up forty years or more.

According to a recent survey

ROSIE

Looking back over the previous weeks, Rosie couldn’t believe how much had happened. That terrible experience with poor Greco in Customs was still fresh in her memory. If it hadn’t been for Winston and his hotshot lawyer, Greco might be in prison.

Of course, he had been very naive. ‘Didn’t you think it was odd that this French couple asked you to bring the figures back with you?’ one of the policemen had demanded.

Greco had shrugged. ‘No. It was part of the service.’

Rosie could see his point of view. In a culture where neighbours did things for each other as a matter of course, Greco’s actions weren’t as daft as they seemed. Besides, he was a fisherman. He spoke as he thought and wasn’t well versed in the subterfuge of a drug-driven world.

Even so, the police might not have believed him if she and Winston hadn’t identified the French couple from the ID shots. Shortly afterwards, they’d been tracked down in Notting Hill and arrested.

Rosie felt like jumping in the air with relief. ‘We did it!’ said Winston, giving her a high five when she told him the good news over coffee in London before Greco flew home. The touch of his skin gave her a tingly, unsettling feeling. Not a good idea, she wanted to say, glancing at Greco’s sulky expression over his latte.

‘So you’re not going back to Greece yet?’ continued Winston casually.

Greco stiffened.

‘I’d like to,’ Rosie said quickly. ‘But Dad needs me. He really seems to be mellowing and keeps talking about lost time. Besides, I need to be near Jack.’

She stopped, not wanting to say any more in front of Greco, but the truth was that you only had to look at her son’s shining face to see what a difference it had made to have a father in his life. How could she take that away?

‘You will come home soon, I hope,’ Greco had said, when she saw him off at the airport at the end of November.

She nodded. ‘I’ll stay just until the new year. Look after Cara for me and keep an eye on the villa, won’t you?’

Swiftly, he’d bent down to kiss her, watched by a rather envious-looking middle-aged woman at Departures, and for a few seconds Rosie felt herself being transported away from the hustle and bustle of Heathrow. Greco really knew how to kiss!

They continued waving until she could see him no more. Feeling deflated – surely a good sign if she was serious about him? – she threaded her way back through the crowds towards the underground sign.

Then her mobile rang. Her heart lifted. Was it Greco, at his departure gate, with a final goodbye?

Winston.

‘I didn’t want to tell you in front of Greco but things have changed.’ His voice sounded tight. ‘I’ve moved back to London. Alone. Jack really likes his school and wants to stay until the end of term. So I’ve persuaded Melissa to let Jack stay with her in the interests of his education. Meanwhile, I’d like to see him at the weekends if that’s all right with you.’

Rosie’s head whirled. Did that mean that he and Melissa had separated, or was Winston’s move precipitated by work? And where did that leave her? She wanted to see Jack at weekends too. It didn’t seem right that other people were organising her son’s life.

‘I’ve got a job in a London health club,’ he added. ‘And there’s a guest room in my flat if you’d like to stay.’ There was a moment of hesitation. ‘You could bring your father up too if you want.’

Rosie snorted. ‘That’s very kind but he’d only be terribly rude – he’s like that with everyone. And anyway, he’s not really well enough to travel. It’s best that I stay with him to make the most of the time he’s got left.’

Winston’s voice softened. ‘You’re a good daughter. What exactly is wrong with him?’

Rosie took a deep breath. It was only at her last visit that Dad had come clean. ‘Cancer of the liver amongst other things. It’s inoperable, apparently. They’ve already done what they can.’

‘I’m sorry.’

His voice felt strong, like a hand to hold on to. ‘Thank you.’

‘Tell you what. Why don’t you and Jack come up this weekend? We could do some museums. The National Portrait Gallery has got an exhibition on.’

Rosie felt a burst of excitement. ‘That would be lovely – provided Jack’s OK about it.’

‘He is. I’ve already spoken to him. If you ask me, he and Alice might just be cooling off, which is probably just as well.’

‘Really?’ Part of her was relieved but she was also concerned for Jack. Who had hurt whom? She needed to call him, make sure he was all right. There was nothing more painful (well, almost nothing) than unrequited teenage love.

She should know.

‘I’ll text later to make arrangements,’ said Winston. He seemed to add something else – about Dad? – but she was walking down to the underground now and the signal had faded out. As Rosie stepped onto the tube, surrounded by people with heavy cases and rucksacks, or others like her who had just seen off loved ones, a thought struck her. Winston had spoken to Jack about staying on at Melissa’s before he’d discussed it with
her
. It made her feel pushed out and jealous.

Even more confusing, she and Winston had just had yet another conversation about their son, like any pair of parents, and it had felt disturbingly normal.

‘Gemma’s mum says you’ve got a boyfriend,’ said Dad with a
what’s going on?
look in his eye, when she went down to see him soon after her conversation with Winston.

He was sitting in a G-Plan armchair with frayed arms and an old red tartan rug draped over his knees, even though it was a bright day outside.

Rosie nodded, resisting the temptation to say that she was a grown-up woman now and that boyfriends were her own business.

‘A Greek boyfriend,’ said Dad, adjusting his spectacles. They had a bit of sticking plaster on the side, saying ‘Short distance’. The other pair with ‘Long distance’ taped to them was on the side table, along with a copy of the
Daily Express
, which she had bought at his request.

‘A Greek boyfriend who was arrested by the police,’ added Dad with a warning tone in his voice.

Sally could be quite a gossip. Gemma must have said something to her mum, who in turn had passed it on. How many others knew?

‘Not exactly,’ said Rosie quickly, getting up to refill Dad’s mug of tea. ‘It was all a bit of a misunderstanding.’

Her dad made a clucking noise of disapproval in the back of his throat. ‘I must say, you do pick ’em. First a coffee-coloured bloke who leaves you up the duff, and then some Greek fella with a criminal record …’

Enough was enough. ‘That’s not fair, Dad. Winston may not have been around when Jack was growing up – just as you weren’t – but he is shouldering his responsibilities now.’

Dad winced. ‘I’d do the same if the lad let me.’

Had she heard correctly? ‘Can you blame him for not coming down? You were very rude to him.’

‘I know, I know. Don’t go on.’

‘You were the one who brought it up. As for Greco … my Greek friend … he’s entirely innocent and he doesn’t have a record. He’s gone back to Siphalonia now, which is where I’m returning after Christmas.’

Her tougher stance seemed to be working. Now Dad was looking like a child who knew he’d stepped out of line. ‘Have you
got
to go back to Greece, love?’

This was so hard! An unkind dad was much easier to leave than one who was giving her this
I need you
stuff. ‘Sorry, but I must,’ she replied more softly. ‘It’s my job. But Jack and I will stay for Christmas and we’ll have lunch together.’

Even as she said it, she wondered whether Jack would agree.

‘The lad will come too?’

Rosie nodded uncertainly. If necessary, she’d make him – as far as you could make a nearly-sixteen-year-old boy do anything. ‘Now let me get on and make you this cuppa. Got any more tea bags, by the way?’

He sniffed. ‘If you were here more often, you’d know where I keep them. Under the stairs. And be careful you don’t knock over your mother’s china.’

Only Dad would keep tea bags under the stairs instead of in the kitchen cupboard! Still, at least it had an interior light. Rosie fought her way through all the rubbish to get to the box marked ‘TEA/COFFEE’ sitting on top of a cardboard box stuffed with packets of (out-of-date) biscuits.

He needed looking after. It was all very well the nurse from the surgery coming in every now and then, but it wasn’t enough. She’d have to arrange some regular help, maybe talk to Sally to see if she knew someone. Ouch!

Rosie tripped over another cardboard box that was in the way. It fell over on its side, spilling out paperwork. Exasperated, Rosie began to shovel it all back in. There were gas bills going back years. Old Christmas cards too and … and envelopes. Addressed to her. Opened envelopes with postmarks that went back to the summer before Jack had been born.

Her heart racing, Rosie sat down on the rubbish around her and pulled a letter out. It was dated a month after she’d left for Europe and it had a foreign stamp that she didn’t recognise.

Dear Rosemary
,

I still haven’t heard back from you. Does that mean you have forgotten me already? I hope not. I think of you every day. I cannot get you out of my mind. In my sleep, I stroke your hair and kiss you. If this sounds like twaddle, please ignore this letter so I can get on with my life, leaving you to get on with yours. But if you feel half of what I do, then write back, dearest Rosemary. Somehow we’ll find a way to meet up.

Love Charlie

Stunned, Rosie stumbled out of the under-stairs cupboard and into Dad’s lounge. ‘About time,’ he mumbled, barely looking up from his paper. ‘My mouth’s parched. How long does it take to make a cup of char?’

Trembling furiously, she held out the letter in front of him. ‘Why didn’t you give me this, Dad? Why have you kept this and the other letters from Winston for all these years?’

Dad gave the bundle a cursory glance. ‘Can’t remember. It was so long ago. You did remember to put in three sugars, didn’t you? The nurse says I need to keep my strength up. Got any more of that cake that Sally made, have you?’

What an appalling old man! They might be related, but she’d had enough. ‘I’ve been wrong about you.’ Rosie grabbed her coat, tucking the letters carefully into the pockets. ‘You let me think that Winston left me in the lurch. But instead, he was waiting for me. Jack could have had a father to bring him up.’

Dad’s hands began to slowly tear a strip from his newspaper. He used to do that during their teenage arguments, she remembered. ‘You weren’t here,’ he said slowly. ‘You just went. I didn’t know where to send them.’

‘Gemma knew! She told you where I ended up. And I wrote after Jack was born. Remember? You could have sent them then.’

He was tearing up another page now. ‘I thought it was too late. ’Sides, I didn’t like the sound of him. I didn’t realise he was a decent enough bloke until I met him …’

Wait!
‘You
met
him? When?’

Dad was tearing up a third page now, scrunching it into a ball. ‘He came down here a while ago. After I’d been rude to the lad. Told me I should have known better. Nice bloke, he was.’ His milky eyes met hers regretfully. ‘You didn’t tell me he was that bloke on telly that did exercises. I told him I liked him better than that whippersnapper they’ve got in his place.’

Rosie held out a hand to steady herself. Dad was unbelievable. If he wasn’t old and ill, she’d tell him what she really thought of him. But now he had her over a barrel. She had to be nice to him because his time was running out.

‘I’m going back to Sally’s now,’ she said, forcing herself to sound civil. ‘And I’m going to spend the afternoon reading all these letters that I should have been given years ago.’

His face was on hers, watching. Saying nothing. ‘I’ll be back tonight with your dinner,’ she added, ‘and I don’t want to say anything else about this, ever again. In return, I’m going to bring Jack and Winston down here for Christmas lunch –
if
they will come – and you are going to be on your best behaviour to both of them. Got it?’

He nodded, relief washing through his eyes. ‘All right.’ As she went through the door, she thought she heard him say something. It sounded like ‘Thank you’.

How could he? Rosie asked herself, shaking her head as she walked down Dad’s little path towards the gate. She would never have hidden anything from Jack. In fact … whoops! she almost collided with a small, dark-haired woman in a blue uniform carrying a small case. ‘Sorry.’

The woman beamed at her. ‘You must be Derek’s daughter. He’s been talking non-stop about you since you arrived. You live in Greece, don’t you? He’s very proud of you, you know. And his grandson.’

Were they talking about the same person? ‘Actually, I’m glad I’ve seen you,’ said Rosie, glancing at the net curtains, which now looked less grubby since she’d washed them. ‘I wanted to speak to Dad’s doctor but he wouldn’t let me.’ Lowering her voice, in case he was listening at the window, she added, ‘Isn’t there
anything
they can do for Dad?’