Chapter Nineteen
Connor was used to what his grandad called “women’s ways”.
They had a whole armoury of special skills to persuade, induce, or in Stefania’s case, entrap.
Tears were a tried and tested method. He remembered back in the days on The Challenge, how one of the girls had created a scene back at the house over something that seemed to him to be completely unimportant, culminating in tears.
She was one of the less popular girls and maybe she was worried about being voted off.
However, that show of raw emotion ensured a flood of votes, and was an interesting lesson in audience manipulation.
And thereafter, Connor had taken a highly sceptical view of crying females.
Rosie was a strong person, feisty even, and gave as good as she got.
It was one of the things he loved about her.
He was therefore caught completely unawares by his response to hearing her crying on the phone.
That two-minute conversation had undone him.
It was like having a peek under her protective armour and being shocked to see such a vulnerable person beneath.
It was compounded by guilt, knowing he had contributed to the upset. He’d reacted badly to her comment about getting a job, and he blamed Patrick for that. It had become a sensitive subject and while Patrick wasn’t being malicious, it was like a Pavlovian reaction that he couldn’t suppress.
As he sat in Rosie’s flat with its dull walls peppered with holes where picture hooks had been removed, holding her in his arms, he marvelled at his own self-restraint.
It would have taken very little encouragement on her part to take things further, but right now it would definitely qualify as taking advantage.
Even so, if that hand of hers slipped another few inches lower, he wasn’t sure how long that self-restraint would last.
Until he’d moved in with Bonnie, his no-strings-attached relationships had enabled him to not become emotionally involved.
He’d preferred to keep it that way. It was simpler.
He’d thought Bonnie was “the one” but that clearly wasn’t the case.
Maybe he wasn’t cut out for long-term relationships?
He needed to tread carefully and not let things get out of hand. Or trouser.
Rosie stirred and looked up at him. Her eyes were red and puffy and his sweater felt damp from her tears. He lifted a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. ‘So do we continue with the sympathy, or have you had enough now?’ he asked gently.
Rosie sat up and stretched her shoulders. ‘We’re good. But thank you, you were brilliant.’ She gave him one of her scrutinising looks. ‘But what I don’t understand is how you got here so quickly; it takes me ten minutes to drive over and you said you don’t have a car.’
‘Ah. I wondered if you were going to notice that.’
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he called a taxi. After all, that was the easiest and quickest answer. But not the honest one, and he could tell already that Rosie wasn’t a lies and deception sort of person. ‘I got a lift from Dorothy.’
Rosie’s eyes widened and a half-smile played around the edges of her mouth.
‘Dorothy?’
‘Yes. My neighbour downstairs. You borrowed her key, remember?’
‘I know who she is, but I didn’t think you and her were all that, um, how shall I put it? Neighbourly?’
‘Believe it or not, Florence, I do have redeeming qualities.’
‘So?’ she prompted.
Connor tapped his finger against her nose.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re nosey? Okay, honest truth.
The earliest taxi would have been at least half an hour so I ran downstairs, knocked on the old biddy’s door, told her you had rung, something had happened and that you needed me urgently.
She was very concerned and ordered me straight into her car.
’ He spread his hands. ‘And here I am. To be honest, I think she rather enjoyed being asked.’
‘It was kind of you to come over.’
‘So if it’s not me that’s the problem, who is?’
Connor was taken by surprise when Rosie stood up and took his hand.
He was pulled to his feet and she led him towards the door.
Was she attempting to seduce him? He allowed himself to be led into a small room dominated by a large wooden table covered in a white floaty material, which looked like a wedding dress that had undergone a very clumsy autopsy.
He frowned. A pair of dangerous looking scissors lay next to the heap of material.
He pointed. ‘Did you…?’
Rosie nodded.
What the hell was she up to? His imagination was already going in some seriously weird directions, and Connor didn’t like the look of those scissors. He needed to take control of the situation. Grabbing her hand, he steered her back into the other room and sat her down on the sofa again.
‘Okay, Florence, you’re going to have to help me here. I’m a bloke, and we operate better with facts. So, fact number one, whose dress is that?’
‘It’s my wedding dress.’
He suspected as much but it shocked him to hear her say it. ‘Right. Fact number two – and this is the biggie – why did you do it?’
‘I was angry.’ She looked at him defiantly.
‘My cheating husband had been having an affair. For well over a year. Maybe several. And now he’s dead I can’t even ask him why he did it, or why I’—she shouted as she jabbed her finger at her chest—‘was not good enough for him. And I can’t bring myself to tell anyone, not even my mum, because I don’t want to hear all their opinions and pointless sympathy. ’
Connor sucked in his breath. ‘Ow! Definitely harsh.’
Rosie opened her mouth to protest. ‘But understandable,’ he added quickly.
He took her hand again. ‘Trust me, I know what it’s like to listen to that sort of rubbish.
The rest of the world seems to have an opinion on what they think I did.
And to be honest I’m sick of it. The only messages I get these days are from so-called friends sending me the latest meme or silly joke at my expense. I bet even you have read that stuff.’
Rosie nodded, although Connor was pleased to note she did at least look a bit guilty, unlike everyone else who seemed to revel in all the fabricated, salacious gossip.
‘When did you find out about his affair?’
‘A couple of months ago.’
‘And was it someone you know?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘It was a work colleague.’
‘You must have been very hurt when you found out. Were you married long?’
‘Eight years.’
‘And what was he like, this cheating husband of yours?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘Ordinary. Kind. Obsessed with The Beatles. James loved card games, that’s how we met really.
He came along to my mum’s bridge club and I helped sometimes with refreshments.
He asked me out at their Christmas party.
It wasn’t like I was flooded with other invitations, so I said yes. ’
‘And the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘Something like that.’
It occurred to Connor, although he didn’t say it out loud, that she had simply caught the first bus that came along, hoping it was going in the right direction.
As he sat in the taxi heading home, he was surprised by how angry he felt on her behalf.
It sounded as though she had run round after this selfish husband of hers, being totally unappreciated.
She had even given up her dressmaking so he could have space for his stuff.
Connor wasn’t an expert but he could see Rosie was skilled with a needle and thread, she just needed the right opportunities to come along.
He too was rather short of opportunities at the moment.
From the little he’d heard, the pilot programme for Bonnie’s new venture had been made and was being considered.
He still had skills to offer, and maybe he’d been going about this the wrong way.
Instead of burying himself in an angry hole and shutting out the world, he needed to interact more with the team.
And if he made more of an attempt to get back into Bonnie’s good books, he might be able to get some work out of this after all.
It was either that or stacking shelves on the night shift at the local supermarket.
He sent a quick message to her:
Hear the new programme is shaping up well. Keep me posted!
He left it deliberately vague, added a few kisses and pressed send.
Then, before he changed his mind, he logged in to the shared social media group he’d more or less abandoned for the last few months.
However, after scrolling through a few posts, it only added to his feeling of inadequacy and he wished he hadn’t bothered.