My Husband's Wife (34 page)

‘Okay, Nan!’ Naomi yelled and raced out of the kitchen with her little sister following in her wake.

‘Cup of tea, love?’ Mo asked, as if this was just another normal day.

‘Yes, please.’ She took a seat opposite Phil. He looked dreadful: unshaven and with greasy hair and bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep. But that wasn’t what struck her most. He looked beaten.

‘I’ll be off,’ Kayleigh called from the hallway, obviously having seen and heard enough.

‘Righto, Kayleigh, see you soon!’ Mo shouted in reply.

‘How are you?’ Rosie laid her forearms on the kitchen table and clasped her hands. Vengeance was far from her mind; despite the dark thoughts that had plagued her over recent months, she took no pleasure in seeing the father of her children in such a state.

Phil shook his head and licked his dry lips. ‘She changed her mind.’ He jutted out his jaw and blinked, trying to stop the tears that threatened. ‘I did everything she asked, everything she wanted. But she was just playing with me.’

With us...
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ She meant it.

‘Here you go.’ Mo placed the mug of tea in front of her daughter-in-law and put her hand on her shoulder before slipping from the room.

‘What about the baby? How’s that going to work?’ She tried to imagine how this situation would pan out, pictured him rushing up and down the motorway at weekends and wondered how it might affect the girls, having a half-brother that they saw infrequently, and with money already tight, she wondered how they would cope if Gerri wanted him to contribute.

He gave a small laugh. ‘There is no baby.’ He shook his head again and this time the tears found their release.

‘What?’ She squinted. ‘What do you mean?’ It made no sense.

‘She made the whole thing up. She was never pregnant.’ His voice cracked.

‘Good God! But...’ She stared at him, lost for words. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘Well, it’s true. She’s a fucking nutcase.’

There was a pause while they both considered this. Both heard Rosie’s words of warning months earlier, but this offered scant comfort now.

‘I should have listened to you, Rosie.’

She didn’t say anything. It didn’t seem to matter so much now. The damage was done.

He cried openly; his swagger and poise had been left in W8 outside that fourteen-million-pound Mary Poppins house. ‘I’m so sorry!’ He held her gaze. ‘I fucked everything up. Everything. I let my dad down, you, the girls. I’m so sorry!’

She stared at him, this broken man. There was a time when to see him cry would have crushed her. The man she loved. And there had been innumerable nights when to hear his apology was all she longed for. But now?

He reached forward and took both of her hands in his. The physical contact surprised her. She felt her cheeks blush. But what swirled in her stomach wasn’t close to happiness; she wasn’t sure it was even love, not any more.

‘I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you, Rosie. I swear to God. I will be the best dad and husband in the world, I promise you.’ He sniffed, wiped his nose and eyes with the back of his hand and reached again for her hands.

She gazed at him. Words tumbled in her mind, unsettled by the sentiment of the moment. She felt numb, confused. It was all way too much to take in and respond to in such a short space of time.

‘Phil, I’m not sure if—’

The back door opened. Rosie sat up straight and stared at the space, a smile of anticipation forming on her lips, as if she was expecting someone to waltz through the back door and change the course of her life. But it was the girls and their grandad coming in from the yard. She winked at them, trying to hide the edge of surprise.

Phil spoke loudly and with confidence. ‘Daddy is coming home, kids. We’re going to go back to our little house when it’s finished and you can put your feet on the furniture and you can make as much noise as you like and you can eat in any room you choose!’

His announcement shocked her, but his words also came as a surprise, giving an insight into the rules and regulations of Marloes Road.

‘Can we get Truffle back?’

‘Can we, Dad, please?’

The girls stared at him hopefully. This seemingly more important to them than his declaration that they would all be moving home together.

‘We can’t. He can’t leave that farm we sent him to.’ He looked at Rosie and she considered for the first time that maybe Melody and Tilda had been right. The idea horrified her.

The four of them took up residence in Mo and Keith’s spare room. Rosie and the girls were squashed into the double bed, with Phil on a camp bed in the corner, and this arrangement suited her just fine. She tried not to look too far ahead and was content to fall asleep every night with the familiar sea breeze wafting through the window and her daughters right alongside her. Being with them was her cure for everything.

Her despair had lifted and her outlook was, if not sunny, then improved. She and Phil were polite to each other, more formal than they had ever been, while he struggled to come to terms with the way his life had been turned upside down and she tried to analyse his apology and intentions.

They dropped the girls at school together, both choosing not to comment on Mel’s enthusiastic wave from her car, and went to visit the house. The charred wood had been replaced and parts of the upstairs floor too. Keith had started the rewiring and new windows had been fitted. Ross and Phil had nearly finished plastering and the smooth walls were nearly ready for them to decorate with all that green paint.

‘It’s a new beginning, Rosie.’ He took her hand and squeezed it tightly.

She looked up at the place that had been her home for all those years. ‘It’s funny, Phil, it wasn’t me that wanted a new beginning. I was happy.’

‘I know.’ He nodded and swallowed, still uncomfortable at having this conversation. ‘And if I could turn back time, I swear—’

‘But you can’t,’ she said. ‘You can’t turn back time. You can only work with the now and with what you know, the facts. And what
I
know is that you left me, left us.’

‘But—’

‘No, just let me talk, Phil. I had it all. I was content, but you changed that. You made me look at my life, made me question everything and I realised that you were a different person to the one I married.’

‘I want to go back to being that person.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘I do.’

‘But that’s the thing. I’m a different person now too. And I don’t know if I can go back or even if I want to. I need some time.’

‘Don’t talk like that, Rosie, please! We can figure it out. You can have all the time you need, but please, I need you. I’m not going to rush you. I made a mistake and I’m just asking for the chance...’

She spoke slowly. ‘You should know, more than most, that those words don’t mean anything when there’s been a change of heart.’

As she walked away from the house towards the seafront, she took no joy from the sound of his crying, which echoed down the street.

Ten weeks later and the house was finally ready. The girls were ecstatic, excitedly planning the garish colour scheme for their bedroom. Rosie smiled at them over the kitchen table.

Mel was busy organising the housewarming. Rosie had received several texts along the lines of:
Oi! Shitstar! Are you serving coleslaw at this do or are you just going to tip it over your head?
They had made her laugh. Things would never be the same between them, but they were talking and trying and that was enough, for now.

‘You’ve still got a couple of boxes of bits and bobs in the yard, love,’ Mo reminded her. ‘Stuff they salvaged from the house.’

‘I’ll have a look through.’ She sipped her coffee.

While Phil took the girls to school, she gingerly unpacked the boxes and picked through the contents. The smell was the first thing that struck her. Everything stank of bonfires. It turned her stomach to think how differently things might have ended. It was mainly rubbish: some make-up, a couple of books, the odd bit of clothing and some crockery. She decided to throw it all away. Digging deeper into the box, beneath some underwear that had been inside her chest of drawers, she pulled out a blank, white envelope. She held it against her chest, then carefully lifted the flap and removed the single, precious sheet. She read the words slowly.

I wanted more than to be known as my husband’s wife. I wanted a life for me. I wanted to be me. I know you thought that a baby might make everything okay, but it didn’t. Not even a bit. I knew if I came home with you both, I’d be trapped, possibly forever. It’s best for you both that I went when I did, a chance for everyone to have the life that was meant for them. You included. This is kindest.

Rosie couldn’t even begin to conceive of abandoning her children the way Laurel had abandoned her, but she was beginning to understand what her mum meant about everyone needing the chance to have the life that was meant for them. Raising the note to her mouth, she kissed it before putting it back in the envelope and tucking it into her charity-shop handbag.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Mo.

Bench time?

Rosie read and reread the message, then raced into the kitchen, where her mother-in-law was washing up mugs in the sink. ‘Where’s your phone?’ she asked.

Mo turned to her. She spoke slowly, deliberately. ‘I lent it to someone.’

Rosie raised her shaking hand to her mouth and began to cry.

‘This is no time for tears.’ Mo walked over to her and put her arms around her. ‘You have to be strong, my girl.’

‘I was so upset, Mo, when you knitted that jacket for Gerri. I thought she’d replaced me and losing you was just as hard as losing everything else. I thought you were mad at me.’

Mo released her from her grip and stood back, facing her. ‘I was mad at you! But not because of Phil. He can make his own bed. As much as I love him and, God knows, I do, he’s a grown man, a spoilt one at that. He needs to learn, he needs to step up to the plate and be the best dad he can, that’s all that matters.’ She took a deep breath. ‘No, my love, I was mad at you on Kev’s behalf. That boy has worshipped you since you were young and I wanted you to wake up and see that, not hurt him more! When he came back here and told me he had to leave again, miss Christmas...’ She shook her head at the memory. ‘I will never forget his face, and I couldn’t get over the bloody stupid waste of it all!’

‘Oh, Mo!’

‘Don’t “Oh, Mo” me!’ She threw her car keys at her. ‘Get off to that bench and start your next chapter, Rosie, my girl.’

Rosie jumped in the little Renault and sped along the lane until the Esplanade was in her sights. She parked haphazardly and ran up the grassy incline until her bench came into view. Suddenly self-conscious, she raked her fingers through her hair and wiped her cheeks and mouth. She walked slowly to the seat, where he was sitting with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. His long, blonde, sun-kissed hair and his tan made his teeth and eyes look bright.

‘You see, that’s the thing about your one,’ he began, still looking out to sea. ‘Sometimes you have to fight for them. Sometimes you have to fight and wait, hoping and trusting that one day all the planets will align and it will be like a moment of realisation when everything falls into place and they finally realise that you are their one too.’ He stood up and took a step towards her until they were only inches apart.

‘Why should I believe you?’ she whispered.

‘You shouldn’t. You should believe your own instinct – trust it. You know it’s you and me. Kev and Rosie, Rosie and Kev. You
know
it.’

‘I do,’ she admitted, and it felt good.

‘I will always fight for you, Rosie Watson. Always. I have no choice; you are my one.’ He smiled, took her in his arms and drew her towards him. ‘Oh God, no! Not the ugly crying thing again! We really need to work on that.’ He pulled away and kissed her gently on the mouth.

‘I look horrible now.’ She touched her scars.

‘You could never look horrible to me. I love you,’ he whispered, in a way that sounded as if he’d been saying it for years.

‘I love you too,’ she managed through her tears.

‘Don’t cry! I’ve got you now and I’m not going to let you go. Not ever again.’

She lay on the folded vintage quilts that lined the bottom of the boat, letting the rocking motion gently soothe her. The green/blue water was quite hypnotic. Fish jumped and splashed, breaking the surface and sending tiny ripples that gently rocked the flat bottomed fishing boat. It was so peaceful. This was possibly her favourite time of the day, as the sun began losing its heat in the late-afternoon shadow. She closed her eyes in a semi-doze, completely lost to the paradise in which she found herself. She ran her fingers over the warm, broad mahogany deck and smiled at the sound of a ring pull being released on a cold tin of beer.

He blocked the sun, as he bent over and kissed her forehead. ‘Are you sleeping?’ he asked, wary of disturbing her.

‘No, just thinking, dozing.’ She stretched her arms over her head, her t-shirt rising up to reveal her flat, tanned tum.

‘Good, because we’ve got fish to prepare. They aren’t going to cook themselves, you know. And it looks like the barbecue is just about ready.’ He shielded his eyes and squinted at the pebble-strewn bank forty feet away, where a thin wisp of smoke rose from the charcoal pit they had prepared.

‘Just five more minutes. It’s so peaceful,’ she whispered. Her hand held the cold tin against her stomach.

Kev gathered up her long hair and coiled it around his hand. ‘I’ve always loved your hair.’

‘You’ve always loved all of me.’ She opened one eye and peered at the man who had always been there for her.

‘That’s true, Rosie Watson, I have. By the way, Mrs Mackenzie called. She wanted to know if you’ve organised their boat trip?’

‘Yep, all done, and their flights home. I’m efficient, you know! And I think I deserve at least one day off!’

The online travel agency, Woolacombe-Willamette was going from strength to strength. She and Clark had a thriving clientele; indeed she sent many people to holiday in the glorious cabin that they were staying in, situated among the tall trees on the wide bend of the Willamette river and he in turn sent walkers and surfers to Woolacombe where they could choose from charming B&B’s, snazzy hotels and the new, fabulous ‘glamping’ experience that she had talked Doug into. It was bringing in a small fortune! She had identified a niche market of people who yearned to go travelling but weren’t interested in the mass tourist experience. She knew all the small details that would assuage their nerves and give them confidence; little things, like identifying someone locally who spoke their language, instructions on how to phone home and the best place for a cup of tea. Their business was thriving, which meant she had been able to pay Shona and Keith and Mo back. It had felt good.