Chapter 69
Chapter sixty-nine
Rosa watched Imogen, Janka, and Robbie stroll down the path from the school building, walking and talking without a care in the world. Her stomach dropped at the prospect of ruining Imogen’s day.
She waved when Imogen looked up and caught sight of the familiar car and Rosa behind the wheel. Imogen squeezed Robbie in a quick hug, bumped shoulders with Janka, and then skipped the last few feet, yanking the door open, tossing her bag onto the back seat, and flopping into the passenger seat.
“Hey, Mum.” She beamed. “Got an A on that English test.”
“That’s amazing, Imogen, well done. Is that the one you studied for with Robbie last week?”
“Yep, you were right, studying pays off.”
“Nice to know I’m right sometimes.” Rosa smiled, indicated, and eased the car out of the space. “So, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
Imogen’s smile dropped, her eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong? Is Billy okay?”
“Yes, your mum is fine.” Rosa gripped the steering wheel. “It’s Schultz. They think he’s had a heart attack. He’s in hospital. Billy’s flown out this afternoon, so I’m afraid tomorrow’s dinner is cancelled.”
“Sod the dinner. What time are we going?”
The question threw Rosa. “I hadn’t… You’ve got football on Sunday and school on Monday.”
“Football doesn’t matter, Mum. I’m signing for Bath Street. We should be there with Ma and Gran.”
Rosa eased her foot off the accelerator as the traffic slowed. “I’m not sure we’re invited.”
“Mum, it’s Gran and Schultz, we don’t need an invitation, it’s family. That’s how family works.”
“I’ll speak to Billy when she calls with an update. It might all be fine. And you’ve got work tomorrow.”
Imogen rolled her eyes. “Ma wouldn’t have flown out so quickly if it wasn’t serious, Mum. We should just book the flights and go. Ma will need us…she might need you.”
Rosa’s thumb found the seam of the steering wheel and worried it—back and forth, back and forth. The car in front crept forward an inch, then stopped again.
“We don’t have the money to just book flights, Imogen.
” Because if they did, she’d have already booked their tickets.
Rosa kept her eyes on the road. “And I can’t just vanish from work.
Not without warning.” Her neck flushed from the heat of the small lie.
Roger wouldn’t mind, she knew that from their conversation. “It’s not that simple.”
Imogen crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. “It really is. I can get out of work tomorrow, Georgia will understand. And it’s the weekend, so you don’t even have to be into work till Monday,” she said, and Rosa couldn’t really argue with any of it, except she didn’t have the money to spare.
The last few minutes of the journey home remained silent.
When Rosa parked the car, Imogen got out, slammed her door, yanked open the back door for her bag, slamming that one as well.
She marched to the front door, keys clattering, and let herself in, stomping upstairs the minute her bag hit the floor.
Rosa exhaled and quietly closed the front door. She took off her jacket, hung it up, then picked up Imogen’s backpack and put it on its hook. She then wandered down the hall to the kitchen, flicked the kettle on, and began to rummage through the fridge for the ingredients for tonight’s dinner.
She was halfway through a cup of tea, peeling the potatoes, when Imogen’s footsteps could be heard descending the stairs.
A moment later, her daughter entered the kitchen and put her phone on the table.
“There’s a flight at 9:50,” Imogen said. “We need to be at the airport for 7:00.”
Rosa sighed and put down the peeler. It was nearly five. “Imogen, I’ve already told you, I can’t just book us flights.”
Imogen shrugged. “I already did.”
“What?” Rosa said. She spun around and stared at Imogen, whose shoulders lifted in a small, guilty shrug. “How?”
“Billy—Ma—gave me an emergency credit card. It’s just been in my drawer, so I used it.”
“You have—” Rosa paused, unable to decide which part of all of this irked her most.
“Ma said to keep it somewhere safe, and if there was ever an emergency—an ‘I need to get out of here’ emergency—I could use it.”
Rosa covered her face with her hands. “How much?”
“It’s not that expensive,” Imogen tried to argue, but the glare told her to spit it out. “Flights were ￡45 out and ￡33 back,” Imogen said quickly. “And I added one carry-on case. That was ￡56.”
Rosa’s brow rose as she did the mental arithmetic. ￡212, wasn’t that expensive.
“Both ways,” Imogen said, and Rosa added it on. “But it was free to pick seats—we’re just not sat together.”