Chapter Forty-Two
In the three days since he’d been back, without fail, Connor had set his alarm for six o’clock in the morning. He didn’t care how many hours sleep he missed, how bad the jet lag became, or how many headache pills he had to take, he cared only about making the best use of the day.
He went with Patrick to register Grandad’s death.
They arranged the funeral and contacted the necessary authorities.
They visited the solicitors who held a copy of Grandad’s will, which left everything to Patrick and Connor.
Connor didn’t care about the money either.
He cared only about one thing now, and that was finding Rosie.
Operation Finding Rosie had started badly. He had gone to her flat for the last two evenings only to find no one at home and no car outside. Today he would go back first thing in the morning before she had a chance to leave for work.
Connor arrived outside her flat at quarter to eight.
Having told the taxi to leave, he waited for five minutes after pressing the buzzer and repeated the process three times before he realised it wasn’t going to work.
As he was trying to figure out another strategy, he saw someone heading out.
Before the door had fully closed behind them, Connor slipped inside and then ran up the stairs to the first floor.
He pressed Rosie’s doorbell and waited for a response.
He knocked on the door, and then finally got down on his knees and peered in through the letterbox.
There was nothing to see. Too much nothing. The small table in the hall had vanished, as had the shoe rack.
‘Have you come to view?’
Connor realised someone was standing behind him and he leapt to his feet feeling very foolish. ‘Er, sorry,’ he said, bashing the dust from his trousers. ‘I was looking for Rosie Steadman. She lives here.’
The young woman eyed him beadily from under a long fringe. ‘Not any more, she moved out. It’s up for sale if you’re interested? I live next door.’ She peered at him. ‘Hey, you’re Connor Forbes, aren’t you?’
‘No, my name’s Patrick.’
The woman’s face fell. ‘Oh, sorry, I—’
‘Don’t worry, happens all the time. Maybe I should get a job as a lookalike.’
Connor sprinted out to avoid any further conversation and waited round the side of the building until he was sure which direction fringe woman was heading.
He had been so sure he would find Rosie at home this time. When did she go? Why did she go? He hoped it wasn’t because of him. If she had sold up, she could have gone anywhere, but logically it must still be within travelling distance of work.
He tried asking a few passersby about where the nearest bus stops were but, in the end, he decided to walk in to the centre of town. It gave him time to think about what he wanted to say.
In contrast to the featureless, concrete roads of Los Angeles, Haxford still retained its olde worlde look on which its tourist trade relied.
Public spaces had an abundance of flower displays, and lampposts were adorned with hanging baskets full of red, purple and pink trailing flowers.
He had always viewed Haxford as rather boring and traditional; now, after spending time away, his eyes had been opened to its charms.
He looked in the shop windows as he walked down Queen Street.
There was an old-fashioned haberdashery that looked like it belonged in another century, and a toy shop with brightly coloured displays in the window.
Jacob and Sophia probably pestered their mum to go in there every time they passed.
It reminded him that he hadn’t made contact with any of the neighbours yet other than being accosted by Dorothy.
He knew that when he did, the first question would be “where’s Rosie?
” Hopefully that question would be answered shortly.
Connor trundled round Pennewicks’ revolving doors and made his way up to the ladieswear department. Being careful to avoid any stern matronly looking women, he approached a young salesgirl whom he hadn’t seen before.
‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Rosie Steadman. She works here.’
The girl looked at him with a puzzled expression. ‘I don’t know that name, sir. Just a moment.’
He watched as she went to speak to another sales assistant, then they both walked back in his direction.
‘Sorry, sir, Rosie has left the company. Is there anything I can help you with?’
Connor shook his head and hurried away. He was halfway down the stairs when he remembered about Simon, who had been decidedly frosty last time. However, if the man had been friendly with Rosie, there was a chance they were still in touch. He bounded back upstairs to the menswear department.
After browsing for a few minutes, he spotted Simon tidying a pile of T-shirts, and headed over.
‘Hello, it’s Simon, isn’t it?’
Simon looked up and his expression changed instantly. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘I’ve been told Rosie’s left. You don’t happen to know where I could find her, do you? It’s urgent.’
‘Urgent? You haven’t spoken to her for two months and suddenly it’s urgent?’
‘Yes.’ Connor clenched his fists as he struggled to remain civil.
Simon appeared to be deciding what to say and there was a pause before he spoke. ‘She left six weeks ago. She said she wanted to make a new start somewhere else. Last I heard, she was getting engaged to someone.’ Simon turned his attention back to the T-shirts. ‘Sorry I can’t be of more help.’
His words thudded through Connor as he hurtled out of the store.
Rosie was engaged? When? Why? The latter question was easily answered.
He had hurt her badly, not given her a proper chance to hear about his sudden change of plans, and as a result she had rushed headlong into another relationship.
Yet again, he was the author of his own misfortune only this time it wasn’t monetary, it was something far more important.
If she wasn’t at the flat and she didn’t work in Haxford, she could be anywhere.
Connor sprinted most of the two-mile route home.
Welcoming the stitch in his side and the ache in his legs, he refused to slow down until he reached Langley Close where Rosie used to park her car.
He trotted along the short path leading to the back of the gardens and vaulted over the small fence, then lay down on the grass to catch his breath.
Rosie might not be at her flat, or at Pennewicks, but she was still here.
In her seashells, and the flowers, the wind spinner, the smell of the grass.
He needed to hang on to all of it because right now he had nothing else.
He must have dozed off because when he awoke, the sun had moved and was now in his face. He sat up and shielded his eyes. His shirt clung damply to his back and he headed indoors to get a change of clothes.
He felt guilty that he’d spent all morning on his own personal quest so he phoned Patrick to see if there was something he could help with, but his brother had gone in to the office today.
Connor flicked through his emails while his phone was in his hand.
In amongst all the usual junk there was one from eBay trying to entice him to start selling stuff again, and one from Bonnie’s PA asking for details of the date and time of his return, which he ignored.
It was depressing to acknowledge he didn’t actually have that many friends.
When you had money or fame, people flocked around you like wasps at a picnic, but you found out who your real friends were soon enough.
Only Ryan had even bothered to get in touch while he was out of the country, but then Ryan had always been more than just a long-standing professional acquaintance.
They’d kept in touch after appearing on The Challenge, and Connor was glad he’d been instrumental in getting his friend a job with Grange Productions. It had been fun working together.
Connor moved on to his social media accounts instead, scrolling idly through various posts. Bonnie’s media assistant was adding teaser trailers for the new series and he added a few likes, just to show he was paying attention, although most of his thoughts were with his family or Rosie.
So sorry to hear your sad news
What was that? He quickly scrolled back and his finger halted on the screen. This was on Ryan’s Facebook page. When had this happened? Connor read the post through twice, then dialled Ryan’s number.