Chapter Forty-Five
In another ten days it would be June and then, as far as Rosie was concerned, it was properly summer.
Her sewing room (formerly her mum’s back bedroom) overlooked the garden and she paused for a few moments to gaze longingly out of the window.
Her first job today was cutting out new sleeves for a dress, but the warm sunshine streaming in through the open window and twitter of birdsong reminded her of why she loved being outside.
As often as possible Rosie helped her mum in the garden with various jobs, but she missed her little garden in Mickleborough Gardens.
Sometimes she tried to picture what it might look like now; the bulbs would have died back, but the hostas Dorothy had given her would be putting up new growth and her seedlings would be ready to go into the flower border.
She’d had so many creative ideas that she’d never get to try out, but she directed her energies into her designing and sewing instead.
Fran’s enthusiasm had definitely helped, although many of her customers lived quite a drive away, so to avoid wasting time, Rosie had set up a process whereby she carried out an initial online consultation in order to see the garment and give the customer an estimate.
Today she was working on a dress makeover that had been commissioned by a friend of one of Fran’s crowd.
Word of mouth was proving to be a good way to grow her business.
It was a sleeveless yellow silk dress that had already been worn for at least three functions and, according to its owner, it needed an overhaul.
Rosie was learning to accommodate such first world problems with tactful understanding, and had suggested shortening the length slightly and creating a handkerchief hem to give interest at the bottom of the dress, and adding sleeves made from a yellow lace material.
She had got used to having her wind-up radio as company while she gardened, and now she liked to work with the radio on in the background. Rosie often sang along over the hum of the sewing machine.
The early afternoon programme was devoted to listeners’ requests, and the radio presenter kept urging people to ring in with their stories and messages.
There had already been several cheesy requests along with some hilarious messages.
One person had phoned in to say they had accidentally locked their husband in the house after leaving for work that morning, and he couldn’t find his keys so when the shopping order arrived, each item of food had to be passed in to him through a ground floor window.
So if you’re listening, Roger Fellowes, your wife says she’s really sorry and this one’s just for you to calm your nerves.
The mournful sound of Elton John’s “Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word” wafted over the airwaves.
From laughing over the absurdity of passing the groceries in through a window, Rosie dipped into a somewhat melancholy mood.
Any song on the theme of regrets inevitably turned her thoughts down a well-trodden path.
After the news, we’re staying on the theme of sorry and we’ll be playing a song especially for Rosie.
The sound of her name jolted her back to the present, and she turned to stare at the radio. There were thousands of people in the country called Rosie or Rosemary or Rose, and yet just hearing her name spoken aloud made it sound so personal. She chuckled to herself at being caught out so easily.
She was onto the second sleeve when she heard her name again.
So, Rosie, I hope we haven’t kept you waiting too long, announced the voice on the radio.
‘No, I’m still here,’ she answered with a smile.
This is a message from Connor.
The smile slipped off her face and now she sat transfixed.
He has emailed this morning to say if you’re listening, he is desperately sorry for everything that happened.
He says he has got a lot of things wrong, but you are not one of them.
He writes that the words of this song say everything you need to know, and if you can forgive him, please meet him in the garden on the twenty-fifth of May at eight in the evening.
So, here is Connor’s apology, just for you.
Daniel Bedingfield’s “If You’re Not the One”.
Rosie barely noticed the scissors slipping out of her hand as she sat trembling, waiting and listening. As the heartfelt words poured out of the radio, the memories flooded back like an incoming tidal bore. Rosie closed her eyes, letting the song speak its beautiful words directly to her heart.
Had she got this all wrong? Had she reacted so quickly that she’d left him no chance to explain?
And why did her head have so many good reasons why she needed to keep away, while one mention of Connor’s name had her in bits all over again?
She wiped the tears from her face. How could that man still have such an effect on her?
She had wrestled with that question too many times over the last two months and was still no nearer to an answer.
The radio announcer was talking again, but she couldn’t hear what he was saying – it was just noise in the background.
She tried to rationalise her feelings, but her thoughts were too confused.
There were too many questions and too many memories – both happy and miserable – and she didn’t know what to think.
Her phone was ringing and she took a couple of deep breaths before answering.
‘Rosie, it’s Fran. Have you been listening to the radio?’ squeaked an excited voice.
‘Yes, I heard it.’
‘Henrietta’s just phoned and told me. You’re not going, are you?’
‘I-I don’t know.’ She couldn’t even remember what date was mentioned, she had been too shocked to take it in.
‘Well, our advice is to stay clear. Henny’s heard things from people.
’ Fran left the sentence dangling, and Rosie didn’t ask for clarification.
She needed to think about what to do. In the old days, she’d have conferred with Simon over such decisions to get what she called the male perspective, but of course Simon was hardly impartial in the matter.
She texted Emma and asked her to ring as soon as possible.
*
Emma called back an hour later and insisted Rosie came over after she finished work, so they could have a proper girly chat.
Rosie filled the intervening three hours as best she could.
She couldn’t concentrate on the dress, so after several attempts to get on with something else, she took the dog out for a walk over Haxford Common.
She was definitely in danger of turning into her mother.
Rosie arrived at Emma’s house a few minutes after six, having told her mum to go ahead and have dinner without her. She doubted she would eat much anyway.
Emma already had a bottle of wine open and poured Rosie a large glass as soon as she sat down in Emma’s kitchen.
It was more of an everything room really, stretching across the back of the house with a kitchen area at one end and a pine table and benches at the other.
The walls were full of photo frames with collages of pictures from holidays, college days, family occasions and everything in between.
She had always felt at home in this house, and they had talked over many disasters and triumphs here at this table. Now they sat and unpicked the latest conundrum: what to do about Connor’s message.
‘What exactly did it say?’ asked Emma. ‘Can you remember?’
Rosie pinched her lips as she thought for a few seconds. ‘It said he was sorry about what happened—’
Emma snorted. ‘They all say that after it goes wrong.’
‘—and that he wanted me to listen to the words of the song—’
‘Which was what?’
‘Daniel Bedingfield. “If You’re Not the One”.’
Emma clasped her hands to her heart. ‘Ooo, really romantic then.’ She leaned forward and her face became serious. ‘But very cheesy. Sounds like he’s trying it on, if you ask me. Anything else?’
‘Yes. He asked me to meet him in the garden on a specific date.’
‘Which date?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘Can’t remember. I was in a state of shock, to be honest. But Fran doesn’t think I should go anyway.’
Emma swung her legs over the bench and came round to Rosie’s side.
‘Budge up.’ Emma put her arm around her.
‘You’re my best friend and I don’t want you to get hurt again.
You had a wonderful marriage that ended very suddenly and you were emotionally vulnerable.
Meeting anyone in that state is dangerous, but Connor Forbes is off the charts dangerous and you fell for him hard by the sounds of it.
’ She peered at Rosie intently. ‘Did you sleep with him?’
Rosie felt her cheeks glow and she looked down. At the time it had felt so right, so perfect.
‘Right. That answers that question.’ Emma sighed. ‘I’m sorry to say you have experienced the classic love-you-and-leave-you routine.’ She gave Rosie a quick hug. ‘I’m sorry, hon, but I don’t think you should go. Leave the past in the past as my mum would say.’
‘Why is my life so complicated?’ Rosie moaned, leaning against her friend. ‘You’re not going to believe this, but Simon proposed.’
‘What! When the hell did this happen?’
‘Just over a week ago; remember the website launch at Simon’s flat? It was after Jesper walked you home.’
A smile flickered across Emma’s face. ‘He is rather cute, isn’t he? But seriously, Simon asked you to marry him?’
‘Yes,’ replied Rosie miserably.
‘And what was your answer?’
‘I was too surprised to give him one at the time, but we met up last week, and I said I couldn’t. I mean I love him to bits as a friend but not like that.’
Emma put Rosie’s glass in her hand. ‘Drink up. Then I’m going to make us both something to eat. This could be a long evening so we’re going to need some convenience food and carbs.’
Despite not feeling that hungry, Rosie managed to eat some of the chicken and pasta Emma put in front of her.
Emma was brilliant at crisis management and always led from the front.
She’d had several relationships with men although few lasted long, and she could write the book on break-ups.
Rosie had often wondered whether she preferred to stay single or whether she was just choosy.
Either way, Jesper must have certainly scored highly to be regarded as “cute” after one meeting.
Emma was still clearing the table when the doorbell rang. ‘Don’t worry, it’s probably someone trying to sell me something. I’ll get rid of them and then we can get started on the choccies.’
Rosie heard muted voices in the hall, and then it went quiet again.
Emma came back to the kitchen and pushed the door closed carefully behind her. She pointed at the door and then put her finger to her lips.
‘It’s Simon,’ she whispered. ‘He’s insisting on speaking to you. Did you tell him you were here?’
‘No!’ replied Rosie in a forceful whisper. ‘Of course not!’
What the heck was she supposed to do now? Had he decided to ignore her answer and try again? She wracked her brain for alternative possibilities. Emma was clearly waiting on her decision and they looked at each other for a few seconds. The longer they lingered, the more awkward it would be.
‘Come on then,’ she whispered. ‘Let’s go.’
Simon was standing by the front door with his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the floor.
‘Go in there,’ said Emma, pointing to the front room. ‘You can’t discuss anything standing around in the hall.’
‘Thanks,’ said Simon.
Rosie paused to let Emma go first but she shook her head, pointed at herself and then at the kitchen door. Before Rosie could object, she felt a gentle shove from behind and suddenly it was just her and Simon.
As Simon was sitting on the sofa, Rosie opted to perch on the armchair.
‘You’re probably wondering why I’m here,’ said Simon. ‘I called round, and your mum told me where you were, so sorry for the unannounced visit.’
Being unable to think of any other response, Rosie gave him a guilty smile. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I won’t beat around the bush, the reason I came was because Jesper told me about the message on the radio. I assume you know about it?’
That wasn’t what she expected to hear. Rosie nodded.
‘I heard it.’ A rush of adrenaline flooded her body and she started to feel rather warm.
‘Look, I know things are complicated at the moment, but you can rest assured that I’m not going to repeat my mistakes, so I’ve decided I’m not going to meet him. ’
‘For what it’s worth,’ replied Simon quietly, ‘I think you should.’
Rosie stared at him. Surely she had misheard that? Many things were confusing about her current predicament, but one thing that was perfectly clear was how Simon felt about Connor.
‘You think I should meet him?’
‘Yes. I don’t think you’ll ever fully understand what went on between you if you don’t talk. I know you and I are not…’
‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Rosie.
‘So am I. But I know you too well, Rosie Devereux, and I’m telling you, you need to speak to him. And when you do, you’ll know what your answer will be. Just trust your gut instinct.’
‘Emma thinks I should move on.’
Simon shook his head. ‘I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, but she’s wrong.’
‘The irony is, I can’t meet him even if wanted to. I don’t remember what date I was supposed to go.’
Simon reached into his pocket. ‘Jesper wrote it all down to show me as I was at work at the time. Between you and me, I think that cool Nordic exterior is just a front, and he’s a bit of a softie at heart.
’ He passed over the paper. ‘Go on, unblock his number, send him a text, and put the poor bugger out of his misery.’