Rescuing Rose (32 page)

'Well, don't bawl her out about carcinogens—that's clearly never going to work—I suggest that you lie instead. Simply tell her that new research shows that smoking gives women fat ankles: I guarantee she'll stop like a shot. '

It was ten to twelve and I was terribly tired by now: I had another swig of white wine.

'And now, ' said Minty, 'we have Martine on line four. What would you like to ask Rose. '

'Oh I don't want to ask her anything, ' she said. 'I just want to thank her, for giving me some great advice. '

'Remind us of the story will you?' said Minty. But I'd already remembered. I don't forget these ones.

'Well, I was distraught because I can't have kids, ' Martine began, 'so I wanted to adopt. But my husband wouldn't agree to it because he was adopted, but now, thanks to Rose, he has. '

'Well, that's just wonderful, ' said Minty warmly.

'You see, ' Martine went on, 'his problem was that he'd never really faced up to the pain he'd felt all his life at knowing that he'd been given up. ' I fiddled with the stem of my wine glass. 'Psychologists call it the "Primal Wound" don't they, when a baby is taken away from its mother. But, on Rose's advice, my husband had counselling from someone at NORCAP about it, and it just seemed to—set him
free
. It was as though he'd been liberated, ' she went on, her voice quivering, 'and this enabled him to search for his mum. ' I raised the glass and had another large sip of wine: this was more than I wanted to know. 'And the amazing thing is that he actually found her—just ten days ago. ' Oh
God
. 'He found his mother, ' she repeated, 'and he phoned her; it was as though a wall in his mind had come down. ' My face was suddenly uncomfortably warm and I felt the familiar ache in my throat. 'They met last week for the first time in thirty-seven years, ' I heard her say. 'And now he understands why she did what she did. ' I stared at my pad, and saw, with a kind of detached interest, that my scribbled notes had begun to blur. 'He'd carried this hatred around in his heart for so long, but now, at last, it's gone… ' A tear dropped onto the page with a tiny splash and the black felt tip began to bleed, '… so I just wanted to say a huge thank you to Rose because now I'm hoping to be a mum. '

There was a moment's silence, then I heard Minty say, 'That's a lovely story. Isn't it, Rose?' She pushed a tissue across the padded table.

'Yes, ' I croaked. 'It's great. '

'Well, thanks to everyone who's called in tonight, ' she added warmly. 'Do join Rose and me again on Thursday but, until then, goodbye. Are you okay, Rose?' she added solicitously as the signature tune played us out.

'Sorry?'

'Are you all right?'

'Oh. I'm fine. '

'It was a very moving story, ' she said quietly as we left the studio. 'I was close to tears myself. It must be great though, knowing how much you can help other people with their problems. '

'Mmm, ' I agreed with a sniff. 'It is. It's… wonderful, ' I murmured, my throat aching. I just wished that someone could help me with mine.

I went slowly down the stairs, Martine's words still ringing in my ears as I waited for my cab.
Never really faced up to it… Primal wound… carried this hatred around
. The rain was falling like stair rods as I pushed on the door and stepped outside.
Saw his mum for the first time in thirty-seven years… as though a wall in his mind had come down
. As we sped south through the City, the buildings spun past the window in a blur of raindrops and strobing lights. I distractedly wiped away the film of condensation with the back of my hand.
At last he understands why she did what she did. It's as though he's been set free
. I stared straight ahead, aware only of the metronomic sweep of the windscreen wipers, and the surprising heat of my tears.

If just one more person thanks me for 'helping' them with their lives, I am going to puke! It happened again this morning. There I was, on the number thirty-six, enjoying the crossword, temporarily stuck on thirteen down: 'Big trouble, sis! Tread with care'—an anagram of 'sis' and 'tread, ' clearly—when Bella phoned oozing gratitude.

'It's thanks to you that I met Andrew, ' she gushed as we trundled along. 'Because without you I wouldn't have gone to that ball. '

'In that case you should thank Beverley, ' I pointed out as we drew up at a bus stop. 'After all, it was her gig, not mine. '

'Yes, but you invited me, Rose: and little did I realise as I got ready that night, that I was about to meet my Fate! I'm so glad I met him, ' she went on ecstatically as I showed the conductor my travelcard. 'Did I tell you we're going skiing the day after tomorrow. Klosters. You know, where Prince Charles goes. '

'You're going
skiing
? But what about the shop?'

'Oh we're only going for a week, ' she said airily.

'But how will Bea manage on her own?'

'She'll
be fine
. She does most of the organising as it is, Rose, she likes it that way—you know her. And to be honest I've realised that my personal happiness is far more important than my business success. ' As Bella droned on about Andrew and about how 'gorgeous' he was I glanced down at the crossword clue again. 'Sis! Tread, ' anagrammatised. What was it? S, i,'s,'t, r…

'There was just one other thing I wanted tell you, Rose, ' I heard Bella add.

'Oh, what's that?'

'Well, you know your assistant, Serena's husband, works for Andrew. '

'Yes, Rob, ' I said as I glanced out of the window at the clumps of daffodil buds in the park.

'The thing is, well it's rather unfortunate, but I'm afraid he's had to be sacked. ' Had to be sacked?

'But they've got three young kids, ' I pointed out hotly.

'I know, ' she sighed, 'it's very sad. But apparently he was useless at his job. Now the reason I'm telling you is in case Serena mentions it, because if she does, she'll probably portray Andrew in a negative light, and obviously I wouldn't like that at all. '

'Don't worry, Bella, ' I said calmly. 'Whatever Serena said to me about Andrew couldn't possibly affect my opinion of him in
any
way'

'Oh that's such a relief, ' she breathed. And I was tempted to tell her just what my opinion of Andrew
really
was when she added, 'well must dash. Got to get my skates on—or skis rather!—see you at the party, Rose. Byeeee!'

I looked at thirteen down again. Sis, tread, anagrammatised. Got it! 'Disaster'. How apt.

When I got to work I saw that Serena was on the phone. She was still wearing her coat, which was odd, and she was whispering and looked very distressed. She glanced up, then saw me and slammed the receiver down as though it were red hot.

'Hi, Serena!' I said with a cheerfulness so bright I risked damaging her retinas. 'How are you today?'

'Oh I'm
fine'
she replied nervously. 'I'm fine. Yes, yes, yes… yes. I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine, ' she gibbered, unable this morning to summon a single cheery cliche with which to console herself. 'Of course I am. I'm fine. Why do you ask?'

'Er, because I always do, that's why. '

'Well I'm absolutely
fine
! she repeated, 'I'm fine. Absolutely. I'm… Right, ' she said, grabbing the pile of mail, 'let's get down to work. '

She started ripping open the letters, her hands visibly trembling, her eyeballs practically swivelling in her head. Poor Serena: this latest blow about Rob's job could send her right over the edge. But she clearly didn't want to confide in me about his dismissal, so I pretended I had no idea. As she date-stamped the letters I sent Ricky another urgent e-mail about her pay rise and got a nasty one straight back.
Rose, if you don't stop banging on about this I will not renew your contract when it comes up in March. For your information the Daily Post is a national newspaper, not a charity for life's losers. R
.

Serena and I turned to the day's mail—acne, bedwetting, blushing, male menopause, snoring and thinning hair. There was also another letter from Colin Twisk. I recognised his rather feminine, loopy handwriting and took a deep breath. What would it contain today? Another shower of Confettimail? An invitation to dinner? More absurdly lavish praise?

Dear Miss Costelloe
, I read.
I am writing to tell you how disappointed I am in you
. Oh…
I cannot believe that a woman for whom I have always had the highest regard can behave in such a depraved way
. What???
When I saw the new Helplines on your page I was shocked to my core
—
and revolted. 'How to Spice Up Your Sex Life? Sexual Fetishes?' I could not at first believe that you could be responsible for such unadulterated filth. But I have since discovered not only that you had recorded these frankly pornographic pieces, but that you had actually composed them yourself! Notwithstanding the excellent advice you once gave me
—
which, may I say, has led to my happy association with my new friend, Penelope Boink
—
I have to inform you that, as from today, I will no longer be reading your page. I am henceforth switching to one of your rivals, June Snort, at the Daily

News. I am also discontinuing forthwith what had heretofore and hitherto been a very pleasant epistolary association with you. Yours in disgust. C. Twisk.

I read it again in amazement, then looked up at Serena and grinned.

'Hurrah and hallelujah!' I declared. 'I've just had some very good news. '

'Lucky you, ' she replied bitterly.

'Creepy Colin's gone off. He's disgusted with me because of the helplines—that's made my day. I'll make them
really
disgusting now, ' I added, vehemently, 'just to make sure he never bothers me again. What could I do, Serena? Three-in-a-Bed-Sex, no, Six-in-a-Bed Sex; no Sixteen-in-a-Bed-Sex; Sex Toys; Sex Games; Same Sex Sex; Orgiastic Sex; Sexual Perversion; Spanking; How to Swing. What do you think, Serena?'

'Well the new ones are certainly popular, ' she pointed out, slightly calmer now. 'Accounts say we've had thousands of calls. '

In which case Ricky can definitely up her pay a bit I reflected crossly. I'd go and see him again tomorrow and I would
not
take no for an answer—in fact I'd bawl him out. I calmed myself again with the happy thought of Colin taking himself off. No more creepy, kiss-covered letters, I reflected ecstatically. No more silent calls. No more worrying that he'd turn up at the house. No more Confettimail. I reread his letter.
Forthwith… heretofore… hitherto
… What a pompous little git. Right! I fired off a short sharp letter of my own, telling him how delighted I was at the prospect of never hearing from him again either by letter—or by telephone at home, I added meaningfully; then I flung it in the post tray as joyfully as I would skim a large, flat stone. Cheered, uplifted and invigorated I phoned my solicitor, Frances, to find out about the status of my divorce.

'We haven't had the Acknowledgement of Service back yet, ' she explained.

'Well how long does it take?'

'It has to be returned within eight working days. Apparently there was a two day post strike in Putney last week which means he won't have got it until the eighteenth. So, taking account of fact that today's Wednesday, we should have it by the twenty-seventh. '