Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
During the rest of her week at Grasmere Heights, Rosie worked on her article, interviewed Madison, relaxed, and hung out with Ant, and sometimes Dale too.
Her ankle made a swift recovery, and by Thursday she was able to walk small distances – mostly across the village to Hill and Dale, where the boys were sorting out the flat for her.
She loved to sit in the little lounge overlooking the green, the roof and chimneys of Grasmere Heights visible above the trees, the smell of gingerbread drifting in through the open sash window.
She took Wainwright for slow walks, to build up the strength in her ankle, and sat in Tennyson and the lounge-library drafting and redrafting her piece, until she was happy with it.
She submitted it on Friday, and after gaining a big tick from Amara, it went off for approval to Ashley, Veronica, and Madison’s crew.
The paperwork for the book was sorted, and on Madison’s last night she hosted a celebratory dinner for Ashley, Ant, Dale, Rosie and Lucas at the hotel.
Rosie had several hours of interviews, and had been busy transcribing the notable quotes, of which there were many.
Lucas was already putting out teasers for Madison’s book, title to be confirmed.
Amara had approved Rosie’s reduction in magazine hours and was fine with her remote working for the next few months.
The editor had struck a deal with Guy for exclusive extracts, so everyone seemed happy.
Rosie had taken a deep breath and phoned Reuben, asking him to remove his stuff from the flat as she’d be leaving it soon.
No, she didn’t know where she’d be going after this stint in the Lakes.
And no, there was nothing more to say. She tried to explain how being in the mountains had made her see life differently, but his only comment was that she was clearly being brainwashed by the mindfulness nonsense she had to write about for Holistic Health.
On Saturday, Rosie was packing, ready to move into Hill and Dale’s upstairs.
Next weekend she’d be taking the train down to London to sort out her flat there, and her parents would be driving her back up with her things.
They would be staying at Grasmere Heights, and Rosie couldn’t wait to introduce them to Ant, who was taking her father trout fishing.
She supposed she’d be left to entertain her mother – they could take in Grasmere’s art gallery, tea shops and the gingerbread shop, and Rosie wondered if, when she sat her mother down over a cream tea and attempted to explain the recent changes in her life, she would understand.
She’d love Ant, of course. I mean – who wouldn’t?
He was the nicest person on the planet. Planet North, as Amara had called it.
(‘That’s not remote working, Rosie – that’s interstellar working. ’)
She pulled her holdall down from the top of the wardrobe and opened it, ready to pack her clothes. Something rattled in the bottom, and she peered inside.
Strange.
It was the broken padlock. How on earth?
She took it out and traced the lettering: BEN I never stay anywhere for long. But you won’t be rid.
I’ll be stalking you on social media, emailing you to see how you’re doing.
It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, and I’m thrilled with your piece, what a clever writer you are.
I do love it when a plan works out –’ he did a chef’s kiss, ‘– perfectamundo! As Jono would say.’
The photographer had returned to London immediately after the weekend.
‘Jono,’ she said. ‘Will you keep in touch?’
‘I’ll pop up in his life from time to time, no doubt. One more thing –’ Ashley went over to the reception desk and from behind it produced … the cat umbrella. ‘A memento of your time here,’ he said, passing it over.
‘Oh, thank you!’ she said, hugging it to her. ‘If it hadn’t been for this–’
‘Indeed,’ said Ashley, with a wink. Perhaps Ant had told him about their first encounter.
Rosie felt tearful as she left the hotel. Ant arrived in the Land Rover, and she explained her long face. ‘If it wasn’t for Ashley …’ she said.
He headed inside to say his own goodbye, and Wainwright hopped out of the car and came to sit by her feet. ‘People come, people go,’ she said to him with a sigh.
At the flat, Ant suggested a walk before they set about unpacking. They strolled through the churchyard, where the daffodils were now done, their faded yellow heads dried up and droopy.
‘Oh no – Tabitha,’ said Rosie, as the black cat appeared on the path and Wainwright let out a volley of barks. Ant went to grab his collar but he was too late and once again, the dog took off after the cat, heading for the memorial garden.
They found him at the same spot as before; there was no sign of Tabitha.
‘Oh – look,’ said Rosie. ‘The lovelock’s still there. Carl + Lisa 4 Eva. I said love never lasts forever, and you said that wasn’t true. You were thinking of Gemma.’
He nodded. ‘She fell, and she took my heart with her. I thought I’d never love again, but I was wrong.’
Rosie slipped her arms round him. ‘You love me?’ she whispered.
‘I do, yes.’
‘I love you too.’
After a kiss, mandatory after such a declaration, she fished in her pocket, holding the padlock in her closed hand. ‘Remember I mentioned a canal bridge, where I had a moment of truth?’
‘I remember, yes.’
‘A guy was cutting padlocks off it with a bolt cutter, and it just so happened one of them had been attached by Reuben, to mark our one-year anniversary. The guy gave it back to me, and noticed the REU had rubbed off. He said I should keep it, in case I met a Ben.’
‘Cute story,’ said Ant. ‘Quite a coincidence.’
‘I’d say it was more than a cute coincidence,’ said Rosie. ‘I mean – look at it.’ She opened her palm, and he peered closer. ‘The date and the little picture that commemorated where we met have gone too. Don’t you find that strange?’
‘BEN & ROSIE,’ he read out.
‘I guess in the spirit of recycling, we should reuse it,’ she said.
‘But how do we attach it? I remember what you said,’ she added, as he went to respond, ‘that this is a memorial garden, not an Instagram opportunity, but I think lovelocks are very romantic, and this one has been subject to some strange magic, and therefore we should give it a new life.’
Wainwright barked again, and Rosie saw that the cat had returned, and was sitting inside the little fence, beside a rose bush. All the roses, in bud but not yet out, had labels next to them.
Rosie stepped over the fence and bent down to stroke Tabitha, reading the label on the rose she was clearly nominating: Northern Lass.
‘Here,’ she said. ‘We’ll leave it here.’ She propped it up against the label. ‘Perfect.’