Rescuing Rose (31 page)

'How lovely, ' I said suppressing a pang.

'I don't know who sent it, ' she fibbed.

'I bet you do really. '

'I
don't
!'

'Well Trevor revealed in his column that you'd sent someone a card, ' I said nonchalantly.

'
Did
he?' she replied with an enigmatic smile. But I knew who Bev had bought it for—she'd bought it for Theo of course. 'LOVE
ME
!' it had commanded in red glittery letters: he must have had it by now. As I helped Bev put up Trevor's cards— several containing photos of hopeful-looking girl dogs—I looked at all her trophies and medals and shields. We usually sit in her kitchen when I go round, so I'd never seen them before. There were twelve, all engraved with her name.

'You
are
a star, Bev, ' I said quietly as I looked at them. 'You're amazing. You excelled not just in one sport, but in three. ' She shrugged. 'But why did you change from athletics to hockey?'

'Because I was getting too old for the track; plus I'm not really an individualist, Rose; I wanted to play in a team—I still do. I hate working on my own here all day, for example, even though I'm with Trev. I'd love to go
out
to work, ' she said with sudden ferocity: 'I get so desperately lonely here; it drives me crazy… ' Her voice trailed away. Suddenly Trevor got up, went into the hall, returned with the phone, then tried to put it in her lap.

'It's okay, Trev, ' she said gently. 'I don't need to call a friend, Rose is here. Put it back. If he thinks I'm sad he brings me the phone, ' Bev explained again. 'He hit on that idea without me even asking him—he thought it up all by himself. '

'I hope you're not sad, ' I said.

'Not really, ' she sighed, 'it's just that I feel very isolated at times, and I do get a bit down working from home, and… anyway, ' she forced her features into a grim smile, 'enough of all that. Any news of Rudy?' she asked, clearly wishing to change the subject.

I shook my head. 'The police are looking, but I don't think I'll see him again. It's terribly sad. '

Back home I looked at the empty space where Rudy's cage had been: without him the kitchen was horribly quiet. His nonstop chatter had been so irritating, but now he'd gone I missed it like mad. I just hoped that whoever had him was looking after him properly and peeling his grapes, like I do: I hoped that they were keeping him warm, and watered, and cleaning him out every day. I hoped they talked to him when they were there, and put the radio on when they went out. As I took off my coat I saw that the sleeves were covered with Trevor's golden hairs. And I was just reluctantly reaching for the clothes brush—

I could hardly be bothered—when I heard a huge BOOM! and glanced outside. The semi-twilight had turned to pitch as the towering cumulo-nimbus churned and boiled: and now the rain began to strafe the windows like machine gun fire—except that it wasn't rain, but hail. White stones, like ball bearings, were driving down with such force I thought they'd shatter the panes. I dashed outside where I'd left my garden tools—I'm
so
careless these days—and as I ran back inside I glanced up. Theo's dormer window was wide open. There was no security risk because it's up in the roof but I knew that the hail would come in. So I decided to close it to protect his computer and telescope—I didn't think he'd mind. I ran upstairs and as I went to the window I saw that his table was already quite wet: the pages of his desk diary, which he'd left open, were becoming rippled and mottled with damp. As I shut the window I averted my eyes from them—but then something caught my eye. My name.

Rose is very
… —his writing was so unreadable it might as well have been in Esperanto—
Rose is very
, I tried again,
diff…'t
. Diffident obviously. Something…
mother… problems… feel sorry… very
something. .
. ctive
. That looked like 'active'. Well, I am very active. I've got a lot of energy. Something…
but… a b… pole
. Hhmmm. A beanpole? Well it's true. And on the facing page I was just able to make out, '…
and Henry's clearly keen on Bea
.'

As I say, I only read those few words because the journal was open, but of course I didn't read any more; because although I was quite naturally consumed with curiosity, reading someone else's diary is the pits. And I was just leaving his room when I suddenly heard,
Would You Like to Swing On A Star, Carry Moonbeams Home in a Jar
? His mobile phone— identical to my own—was lying on his bed. He'd forgotten to take it with him. I peered at it and there, on the screen, were the letters,
BEV/H
—he'd clearly programmed in her number—and there was the dancing telephone icon, and at the bottom of the screen it said 'Answer?'
Would You Like to Swing on a Star
… Now it had stopped, and then a few seconds later I heard the trill of his voicemail alert and the ringing envelope appeared on the screen. I stared at it, and then, involuntarily, my hand reached out and I did this awful thing. I picked up the phone, pressed the voicemail button, and held it to my ear. 'You have one new message. Message sent today at six-fifteen. '

'Hi sweetie!' I heard Bev say. 'It's only me. Just ringing for a chat. Hope you've had a lovely Valentine's Day! I've had a
very
nice one, ' she giggled. 'Talk to you later darling! Byeee!!!'

'End call?' it enquired, so I pressed OK. My hand shook slightly as I put the phone down. Theo was Beverley's 'sweetie' and her 'darling'.
Well… I
don't know why she's bothering to deny that she's interested—I mean, what's the point of being coy? And obviously that Valentine she'd bought
was
for him, and now I wondered where it was. It wasn't on his mantelpiece, or on his desk. I ran downstairs and looked, but there was no trace of it. Perhaps he was too shy to display it: perhaps he'd tucked it away in a drawer, or, quite possibly, Beverley had sent it to his office, to add to the fun and mystery. I was distracted from further speculation by the sound of my own phone ringing. I picked up the receiver and heard snuffling and heavy-breathing at the other end. My stomach clenched—it was my nuisance caller—then I realised it was Bea, in tears.

'What's the problem?' I said.

'Henry didn't get me
anything
? she wailed. 'That's what. Not a card—not even one half-dead poxy red rose. '

'Oh dear. Are you quite sure?'

'Yes. '

'Does it really matter?'

'Well, it's not a good sign, ' she sobbed. 'Whereas Andrew— uh-uh—sent Bella a huge bunch of flowers. '

'When are you seeing Henry again?'

'Next week. We're—uh-uh—going to a military tattoo. '

'But he wouldn't keep asking you out if he wasn't interested, would he Bea?'

There was a momentary silence, then a wet sniff. 'I asked him, ' she croaked.

'Oh. Well he wouldn't
go
if he wasn't bothered about you. He'd make some excuse. ' I heard her blow her nose.

'That's true. '

'I'm sure he likes you, otherwise he'd avoid you. '

'Really?'

'Yes, I think he would. '

'Oh, Rose, ' she said, audibly brightening, 'you're such a
brilliant
agony aunt. I feel so much better now. I was so mis because Andrew and Bella have gone off for a smoochy dinner somewhere and I haven't even got a date. But you've really cheered me up. I'm not going to mope, ' she went on bravely. 'I'm going to spend the evening reading
Jane's Defence Weekly
, there's this brilliant article on tube-launched tactical Tomahawk Cruise missiles. Then when I see Henry next time we'll have
heaps
to talk about, won't we?'

'Of course you will, ' I agreed. I glanced at the clock. 'Ooh, can't chat; I've got my phone-in—the cab will be here in a sec' As I stood up, I realised I ought to tidy the cushions and sort out the old newspapers but I simply couldn't be fagged; plus there was a layer of dust on the mantelpiece and the windows were filthy… I groaned. I heard the taxi pull up, so I ran out and climbed into the back; as I did so my handbag rang.

'Rose!' It was Henry.

'That's funny, ' I said as I shut the door. 'I've just been talking to Bea. '

'Really?' he said suspiciously. 'About what?'

'About the… shop. It was really nice of you to help them find premises. Are you going to the opening party?'

'I don't know. Actually, Rose, there was something I wanted to ask you… that's why I'm calling. I've been meaning to talk to you for some time. ' I leaned forward and shut the glass partition which separated me from the driver.

'Okay, I'm all ears. '

'It's about Bea, ' he began slightly wearily as we chugged up Kennington Road. 'I mean, she's a super girl… '

'Yes she is' I said as I glanced out of the window onto the rain-swept streets.

'But… I don't, you know, feel it's quite… right. ' My heart sank: Bea would be broken-hearted. I felt a stab of vicarious pain. 'I do
like
her and everything, ' he went on, 'but, well, the fact is… ' his voice trailed away.

'Don't you find her attractive?' I asked as we sped past the Oval.

'Yes, but that's not what it's about. It's just that I can't see it going anywhere because well, you see, the point is… '

'Look, you don't have to explain, ' I interrupted. 'I know why it's tricky with Bea. '

'You do?'

'Of course. '

'I simply can't help the way I feel, ' he said as we drove round the Elephant and Castle.

'And I don't think Bea will react well, ' I pointed out.

'You're dead right, ' he sighed. 'She won't. '

'I mean, cross-dressing is just not her thing. '

'What?'

'Your cross-dressing, ' I repeated as we drove through Southward 'She won't like it. She's much too strait-laced. '

'Oh. Hmm, ' he said quietly. 'That's right. '

'So maybe it's best to be honest. I mean, it's entirely up to you whether you tell her about… Henrietta, ' I said delicately, 'but if you're not interested in her, you really shouldn't drag things out. Ooh, sorry!' I giggled. 'But you know what I mean. ' There was a moment's silence during which I was aware only of the swish of the tyres on the road.

'You're right, Rose, ' Henry sighed as we crossed Blackfriars Bridge. 'The last thing I want to do is mess her about. Especially with this big party they're having. She keeps telling me how much she's looking forward to all her friends meeting me, but I don't feel comfortable with that. And she sent me this Valentine card. '

'
Did
she?' I asked disingenuously.

'Yes. '

'How do you know?'

'Because I recognised her handwriting on the envelope. But I didn't send her one. '

'Oh dear. '

'You're right, Rose, ' he said. 'I'll have to grasp the nettle. I'll do it before I go back to the Gulf in March. How's your flatmate?' he asked suddenly, as we turned into City Road.

'Theo? Oh he's fine. He and Beverley are terribly secretive but it's Valentine's cards and sweet nothings all round. Ooh I've arrived. Sorry, I can't chat any more, I'm on air in ten minutes. But do be honest with Bea, Henry, and that way you'll hurt her less. '

'Yes. Yes… ' he said distractedly. 'You're right. '

As I climbed out of the cab I suddenly remembered Bea's confident prediction that Bella was 'heading for a fall'. Rather ironic in the circumstances, and Theo had got things wrong too. In his diary he'd written that Henry was 'very keen on Bea'. No stars for observation there. But then they clearly haven't quite got that knack I have of being able to read between the lines.

For some reason—the knock-on effect of the burglary, perhaps, or, more likely, too much hospitality plonk—I found I wasn't really in the mood for my phone-in. I was in a funny, flippant frame of mind.

'Welcome to London FM if you've just tuned in, ' said a very pregnant Minty, 'and a Happy Valentine's Day to you all. You're listening to our regular phone-in,
Sound Advice
, with Rose Costelloe of the
Daily Post
. And now it's Tanya from Tooting on line one. '

'Hello, Rose!'

'Hi, Tanya, how can I help?'

'Well I've got a tricky problem in that I'd like to dump my boyfriend but the problem is he hasn't called me recently. '

'Oh, I see. Well, this
is
a tricky one, Tanya, ' I replied, with another sip of Frascati. 'I find it's always best to have a man's undivided attention when attempting to give him the boot. '

'Should I phone him and tell him it's over then?'

'No. That's much too crude. What I'd do is get him to come round to your place on some pretext—to help get your car started, say, or to clear the drains. Then, when he's done that, thank him effusively and tell him what a
wonderful
guy he is. Then "break it to him" as gently as you can that you're afraid you won't be seeing him any more. This will simultaneously confuse and annoy the hell out of him, leaving you feeling
great
. And now I see we have Janice from Hampstead on line two. '

'My problem is my best friend's husband, ' she said. 'He's such a bore. '

'In what way?'

'He insists on sprinkling his conversation with foreign words to show how clever he is. He talks about how he's an "aficionado" of Mexican cinema for example—I mean an "aficionado"' she corrected herself. 'He goes on about how "langlauf" is his favourite sport; and how he prefers his salad "
au naturel
"; he lets drop that Oxford was his "alma mater" and that he's into "gestalt" psychology. It's pathetic, ' she concluded vehemently.

'It is: it's also "bourgeois" and "arriviste". Next time he does it, politely point out to him that English is
the
international language, "
par excellence"
—on the other hand, Janice, "
chacun à son gout
".'

'And now, ' said Minty, 'we have Alan from Acton, whose problem is that his wife is a heavy smoker. '

'Really? How much does she weigh?'

'She's on forty a day, ' he explained. 'It's absolutely disgusting, but she won't give it up. I keep telling her about the health risks but she just ignores me, what can I do?'