Chapter Forty-Three
Simon’s request to think about his proposal was hardly necessary; Rosie had done little else over the last three days, and she still didn’t have an answer. She had weighed up so many pros and cons, she was driving herself mad. Her mum kept asking her if anything was wrong.
She wanted to scream. Everything was wrong!
She was thirty-nine in just over four weeks’ time and was still living at home.
She had married a professional cheat, fallen passionately in love with someone whose experience of commitment was flaky at best, and now one of her two best friends had proposed to her.
Simon was thoughtful, kind and easy going, but…a lover? She had tried to imagine sleeping with Simon, making love in the way she had with Connor, but she couldn’t; her mind shut it down. She loved Simon, but not like that.
This afternoon he had arranged to finish work promptly at five o’clock; he said he wanted to take her for a picnic.
Simon had never expressed any desire to go on a picnic with her.
Was this supposed to have romantic overtones?
She would have to let him down gently because she was under no illusion that he would feel very hurt, but the alternative was to live a half life, pretending this was all she wanted from a relationship, until resentment began to fester. Simon deserved better than that.
When they met at the junction of Queen Street and Brewer Street, Simon kissed her shyly. He had kissed her on the cheek many times as a friend but on this occasion she found herself analysing his response. Was this different to previous times? Was she trying to read too much into it?
They walked towards the riverbank. In the distance, the ever-busy Haxford Road sucked its commuters across the river twice a day and Rosie saw the usual thin snake of cars crawl along.
It unofficially marked the edge of the Old Town, which was unspoilt by road bridges and modern developments.
The river this side of the Haxford Road was flanked by wide pedestrian walkways, behind which stood old houses, pubs and shops.
DeLaneys restaurant directly overlooked this stretch of the river and Rosie deliberately avoided looking at it.
A little further downriver, just past the pedestrian bridge, the houses were set further back from the riverside.
A wide square of grass was flanked by several benches and it was a popular place with families and tourists alike, especially at weekends.
At this time of day though it was less crowded.
‘Bench or grass?’ asked Simon. ‘I’ve brought a picnic rug with me.’
The grass felt less intimate and she helped spread out Simon’s tartan car blanket on the grass before kicking off her shoes and sitting down.
Simon carefully removed a bottle of wine from his bag and two plastic glasses, then lifted out a cardboard box with Daisy’s Tea Rooms stamped on the side.
‘How fabulous, you’ve been to Daisy’s!’ exclaimed Rosie. ‘I must give you something towards the cost though.’
‘No, it’s my treat,’ he replied as he unscrewed the wine.
Rosie lifted off the lid of the box and peered at all the goodies inside. There was a mouth-watering selection of sausage rolls, slices of quiche, filled rolls cut into quarters, and an assortment of cakes.
‘This all looks wonderful, Simon. And you arranged for nice weather as well.’
Although the middle of May could still be chilly, the last few days had definitely warmed up and now it really felt like they were on the cusp of summer.
It was almost perfect, sitting here in the late afternoon sunshine watching the ducks on the river, listening to the happy sound of children playing on the grass, and a picnic for two laid out before her.
The only thing that was missing was the romantic couple, holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes.
‘Can I start?’ asked Simon. ‘Only I’m starving.’
Rosie laughed. Maybe this wouldn’t be awkward. Simon knew she didn’t like feeling pressurised. Maybe she was wrong and this wasn’t some subtle way of trying to persuade her to hurry up and say yes.
For several minutes their attention was fixed on the picnic treats. A couple of bold pigeons strutted over to them and Rosie flicked her hand to shoo them away. Simon broke a bit of pastry off his quiche and threw it to them.
Rosie watched them gobble it up greedily. ‘You know what your trouble is, don’t you? You’re just too soft-hearted. All that pigeon has to do is look at you with his beady eye, and you can’t say no.’
‘And what about you?’ Simon asked carefully.
This was a loaded question and Rosie suspected he wasn’t talking about the pigeons.
For a few seconds their eyes fixed on each other, then Simon reached out and his fingers gently brushed against her cheek.
As he leaned towards her, Rosie grabbed his hand.
It was cruel to let him carry on hoping and wishing, and she needed to give her answer here and now, even though from his point of view, it wouldn’t be the one he was hoping for.
‘Simon, I’m so sorry, but I—’ She paused and took a slow intake of breath, noting the pained look on his face. She tried again. ‘I don’t know how to say this but…’
‘I’m not your Mr Right, am I?’
‘Oh Simon, I never wanted to hurt you. You’re my very dear friend, but I can’t marry you.’ Rosie pinched her lips and blinked to disperse the welling tears.
‘We have to stay as friends, is that what you’re saying?’
Rosie nodded slowly. For several seconds neither of them spoke.
Simon plucked a few blades of grass and chucked them at the pigeons, and they watched as the birds scattered and then regrouped.
Of course he’d be hurt by her response, but it was better than letting him hope in vain.
She hoped it wouldn’t damage their relationship and that they could continue as they had done.
Her heart couldn’t cope with any more hurt.
‘There’s something else I need to ask you.’
Simon’s voice cut through her thoughts. His voice sounded very apprehensive all of a sudden and Rosie experienced a ripple of unease.
‘The thing is…’ He continued prodding at the grass with his fingertips. ‘Well, the thing is, Connor came in the other day. To Pennewicks. He wanted to talk to you but I sent him packing. I told him he’d upset you and that you didn’t want to speak to him.’
He stopped fiddling with the grass and looked at her. ‘I did do the right thing, didn’t I? It was all over between you and him, wasn’t it?’
Rosie’s chest hurt with the effort of holding in the rush of emotion.
She told herself this was just a reaction to a memory.
A reflex that would, over time, recede. She forced herself to remember how she had cried for days, had been sick with misery, and had for many weeks afterwards carried around a physical pain and longing for something that was unobtainable.
‘Yes,’ she replied dutifully. ‘It was over, and you did the right thing.’
Long after they had finished their picnic and gone their separate ways, Simon’s words kept coming back to haunt her.
…Connor came in the other day…
…He wanted to talk to you…
It meant he was back from America, but was it for good?
Maybe he only wanted to see her to exonerate himself.
Maybe he had another girlfriend or wanted to apologise?
She had to be strong. His name still had a strong emotional resonance but it was an echo.
A reflection of her own unrequited feelings.