Dearest Rose (27 page)

‘If I’d wanted you to become pregnant,’ he told her, ‘I would have told you. That should be enough.’

And then he picked up a bottle of port from the drinks cabinet and took it upstairs to the bedroom. Rose curled up on the sofa for a long time after that, uncertain of what to do next, shocked by his last words. Gradually it dawned on her that the man she married was more than merely protective, adoring, concerned. Until that moment she’d always rather enjoyed knowing that she belonged to him, like some precious possession, that was until she realised that was exactly how he saw her: his possession, his to direct in all things – what she should wear, do, eat, cook, think, and now whether or not she should get pregnant – and she had been complicit in allowing him to treat her this way. She’d willingly let him take complete control of her without even realising it.

Shuddering with icy cold as the truth of her life dawned on her in one moment of awful clarity, Rose realised she felt like an interloper in her own home, her house of which she had happily signed half over to her husband on their wedding day. At least he hadn’t mentioned abortion, not yet, and Rose didn’t think that he would. The local medical network was too small and too insular for him to want to force her to a clinic locally. It came as something of a shock to Rose to realise that the idea of Richard forcing her to abort their baby was horrifying, frightening, but not altogether surprising. He was utterly capable of doing just that. The question was, would he?

The very last scales dropping from her eyes, Rose sat upright on the sofa, wrapping her thin arms around herself, and wondered how to adjust to living in this new world, this birdcage, that Richard had created for her, now that she was aware of the bars. At least now she had a focus, a purpose that was her own. She must think of what she could do to protect the baby, protect herself, to keep Richard happy and at arm’s length. She had to find ways to placate him, please him, make him see that a baby would be an asset, not a disadvantage. She stared up at the ceiling, where she could hear Richard shifting in bed. Should she go to bed now, be meek and apologetic, deferential and willing? Would he even want her there? Perhaps it would be better to stay out of his way until he called down for her? Rose sat on the edge of the sofa, watching the ceiling and listening for sounds of movement until eventually the house fell quiet and she was almost certain that Richard was asleep. Her heart in her mouth, she tiptoed into the bedroom and undressed in the dark, slipping into bed beside him with the minimum of disturbance. Only the sheer exhaustion of early pregnancy dragged her off to sleep, and even then she dreamt all night of what terrors the morning might bring.

What she had not expected was Richard’s silence, his complete refusal to acknowledge her with a look, a touch or a word, which was somehow worse than if he’d screamed and shouted at her.

Richard didn’t speak to her for weeks after that night, unable to look at her changing body or forgive her for what she had done. And it was at the height of her isolation, her punishment for unwittingly disobeying him, that one morning a kind softly spoken young man came to the door and asked her about her
father
. That hour with Frasier became her one bright spot, her beacon shining in impenetrable darkness, the memory that, whenever she recalled it, which was often, gave her another layer of resolve. Resolve that one day, life for Rose and her baby would not be like this.

For a while Rose wondered if Richard might leave her after all, leave her free to get on with life alone with her child, and the prospect didn’t frighten her as much as she might have expected. Except that the moment Maddie was born, he fell in love with his new image of being a proud father, drunk on his own godlike powers of creation to bring this tiny, screaming, mostly angry little being into the world. Perhaps it would be a new beginning, Rose hoped, as Richard fussed over her and their baby. Perhaps it would be a clean slate and life could go on as it had before – better, perhaps, because Richard would pour all his love and attention onto their child and leave Rose herself alone. But that hope ended a few months after Maddie was born and Richard noticed his wife again.

Exhausted, Rose had just got Maddie off to sleep one evening. She was a difficult baby, who seemed rarely to sleep, and when she did it was never deeply. She never fed for long, or seemed very satisfied, and she cried persistently, as if even at that age she was aware of the injustice of her situation. Resting her in the bassinet beside the bed, Rose breathed a quiet sigh of relief, looking forward to a much-needed half-hour or so of rest. And then Richard came into the room and looked down at the sleeping baby.

‘She gets in the way a lot, doesn’t she?’ he said, not unkindly. ‘It’s been months since we’ve … you know.’ He sat next to
Rose
on the bed, putting his arm around her and kissing her neck.

‘Richard … no,’ Rose said, taken off guard by his sudden interest in her. The months since Maddie had been born could in no way be described as restful, but Rose had grown used to Richard’s lack of interest in her, allowing herself to believe that perhaps she had overreacted before, that perhaps his behaviour at the news of her pregnancy was understandable if extreme, and that now life, while it might never be happy – happiness being an elusive dream that Rose had caught the merest glimpse of during her hour with Frasier McCleod – could at least be tolerable. Rose so wanted to believe her own scenario that she shrugged him off with utter disinterest. Later she realised that had been a mistake.

‘I’m so tired, I thought I might get a little sleep now while I can,’ she told him with a weary smile.

‘Come on,’ Richard said, pushing her back onto the bed. ‘It’s been so long, Rose. You don’t want me to look elsewhere, do you?’

‘It’s just she’s only just gone to sleep,’ Rose whispered anxiously. ‘And anyway, don’t you think it might be too soon? The stitches, and … I’m just not sure I’m ready yet.’

‘It’s been well over six weeks, there’s no excuse,’ Richard said, his intention set like stone in his expression as he tugged her top up round her neck. ‘I want you now.’

Pinning her to the bed, he did not let her move until he was done, not even when the baby started crying. And from that moment on, when he came to her, as rare and unpredictable as it was, it was always that way. It was always by force.

Rose did her best not to show him any sign of resistance
because
she knew that he preferred it if she did. The trouble was that Richard also knew she couldn’t bear him to be near her, she couldn’t stand him touching her. And knowing that was enough satisfaction for him. It wasn’t about sex, Rose realised quite soon. His desire for her had not increased in the slightest; if anything it was less now than it had ever been. No, it was that he had found another way to control her, a way that she couldn’t predict or escape, plan to avoid or put off. And it was then, with Maddie crying in her Moses basket, as Rose stared up at the ceiling waiting for him to be finished, that she realised somehow, one day, if she were to do the best she could for herself and her daughter, she would have to find the courage to leave him.

Chapter Eleven

‘ALL I’M SAYING
is, I know people,’ Shona said as soon as they managed to find a moment together alone to talk the next day, which was just after Jenny had tried her best to stuff them all with an enormous Sunday roast. Rose had come upstairs on the pretence of fetching something, and Shona had followed her, closing the door behind her as she entered the room, sitting on the edge of Rose’s bed. Maddie was downstairs, drawing Brian, who was asleep in an armchair, his mouth open, his snores rattling the rafters, which Maddie found highly amusing.

‘Hired assassins, you mean?’ Rose asked her, casting about for something to fetch and settling on a tube of lip salve, before sitting next to Shona on the bed.

‘Faces, sorts,’ Shona said, adding to, rather than clearing up, any ambiguity. ‘Blokes who’ll do what needs doing.’

‘So you’re suggesting I get Richard killed?’ Rose asked her, raising an eyebrow.

‘Ssh.’ Shona looked around as if she thought that Rose’s bedroom might be bugged. ‘I’m just saying, if that was what you wanted I could get it done. Fuck it, I’ll do it myself if I get my hands on him.’

‘It’s fine,’ Rose said, as if she herself was a little surprised by the news. ‘I’m OK, Shona.’

‘You’re not.’ Shona shook her head adamantly. ‘How can you be after what the brute did to you?’

‘Is it worse than what Ryan did to you?’ Rose asked her.

‘He never forced himself on me,’ Shona said, peculiarly proud.

‘No, just good clean physical violence,’ Rose said, shaking her head at how Shona seemed so able to box away the terrible violence done to her as if it were inconsequential. ‘At least he never physically hurt me, not really. Not until that last day. And before that, when he … he did it because he hates me. I think he’s probably hated me for a long time, and knowing that … it doesn’t make it better, but it makes it bearable. Because I’m starting to see that physical … you know … it’s nothing like what Richard did to me. It’s an entirely separate thing. I might never ever want to do it, ever, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that now I understand why Richard did what he did, I can escape it, be free of his hold on me. He hates me, and knowing that is an incredible relief. It makes everything so much simpler.’

‘Simpler? The psycho is out to get you whatever way he can, and you know he won’t stop until he has. How can you be so calm?’ Shona asked, horror and disbelief showing on her face. ‘Why don’t
you
hate
him
for what he did? Why aren’t you a shivering wreck?’

‘Oh, I do hate him,’ Rose said with grim assurance, as she passed the lip salve from one hand to the other. ‘But don’t you get it? I’ve been a shivering, wailing wreck. I’ve done that. But this time he is not going to win. I’m not calm, Shona, I’m something like what I think happy is. I’m free. Yes, he frightened
me
last night, he made me feel for a second that he had enough power over me to pull me back, whether I wanted that or not. And talking to you about that night, the night I left, it did bring it back, the disgust, the fear, the uncertainty. But when I woke up this morning I wasn’t afraid.’ Rose smiled as she picked up Shona’s hand. ‘The sun was coming in through the curtains, Maddie was already up, humming to herself as she drew. I thought of seeing my dad, and how he’s willing to try and be some sort of father to me, and how much it must cost him to do that. I thought of Frasier calling me last night to arrange to take me out, and you and Jenny and, yes, Ted, and Ted’s crazy kissing ability …’ Rose dropped her gaze, blushing a little as she remembered how sweet it had been to kiss Ted. How pure and clean and one million miles away from anything that Richard had ever done to her. ‘And I thought
this
is what life is supposed to be like.
This
is how it’s meant to be. Complicated, difficult, painful and quite probably disappointing, but with the possibility that everything will be all right.’ Rose laughed, spontaneously leaning forward to kiss Shona on the cheek. ‘Don’t you see? It’s the first time I’ve felt that way in the longest, longest time, and
I
got myself here, I rescued myself. What he did to me was all about keeping me down. Well, nothing is going to do that any more. Let him come and find me, I’ll be ready. And in the meantime, I’m going to practise being happy and, well, live my life for once! And you know what, it actually feels pretty good.’

‘You are a fucking hero, you know that?’ Shona said, hooking an arm around Rose’s neck and pulling her in close for a kiss. Just at that moment, Rose’s phone, which she had forgotten was still languishing under the dressing table, rang, and she tensed, feeling her heartbeat thunder in her chest. Taking a deep
breath
, and then another one, she let it ring until she had control of her habitual fear. It was only a phone, after all.

‘Leave it,’ Shona said, but Rose shook her head, falling to her hands and knees to reach it where it pulsated with light, wedged up against the skirting board.

‘Oh,’ Rose said, smiling as she saw the name on the display, hurrying to answer it before it went to messages. ‘Hello? Hello, Frasier!’

Shona rolled her eyes, smirking as Rose knelt on the pink carpet, biting down hard on her lip as she listened to him.

‘I know, I’m sorry. Maddie slipped in the shower and got a fright, and then … I suppose my phone must have been on silent. Yes, yes, lovely. I look forward to it. Six at Storm Cottage. I’ll be there. Brilliant. See you then!’

As she ended the call Rose couldn’t help hugging it to her, as if she was cradling a little lovebird between her hands.

‘I’m not sure about this, you know,’ Shona said, looking worried. ‘I mean, before I thought you were mental going after Frasier, but now I know what you’ve been through, how little you can take, whatever you say, Rose, I’m so worried you are only going to end up getting hurt. Frasier’s got a girlfriend, he’s got a life and you aren’t part of it. And I don’t care what you say, I’ve watched enough daytime television to know that after everything you’ve been through you are bound to be fragile, like in the head.’ Shona tapped her own forehead to illustrate her point. ‘I mean, all this snogging Ted, seeing Frasier – do you think you should?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Rose said emphatically, standing up to make her point. ‘This is about taking chances, being free. Doing what I want, what I’ve always wanted. And I’ve always wanted to have
dinner
with Frasier McCleod. I
know
that Frasier and I aren’t going to have our fairy-tale ending, but I’ve got so much to thank him for that he doesn’t even know about, that in one way, if I stop thinking too much about how I really do love him a lot, it doesn’t matter. Because if it wasn’t for him and his postcard and my silly little fantasy, then I don’t know where I’d be today. So I think seeing him, getting to know him – even if it is only
as a friend
– in the real world, can only be a good thing.’