Part 28 (1/2)

'I see.'

'We meant it to be kind of special. We had this little fight around about a week ago. He was tired and I was tired, we both got scratchy and this is his way of making up.' Lexie looked at me with pleading eyes. 'But if you won't watch Polly, seems like we'll miss out now?'

'Lex, don't look at me like that.' I sighed. 'Oh, what the h.e.l.l you go have your fun weekend with Mr Wonderful. I guess Poll can do some guy stuff, too.'

ROSIE.

Granny Ca.s.sie was so pleased to see me.

She had been quite ill. She'd had a bad reaction to a new arthritis drug and ended up in hospital. But she was getting better now, was home again and she was very bored. 'So come on, Rosie tell me everything?' she wheedled.

'All my secrets, Granny?'

'Yes, of course!'

'Why don't you have another violet cream?'

We were eating chocolates. I'd bought them from a shop in Piccadilly. We both knew they were evil, far too high in fat and sugar, so she shouldn't have too many. But they were so delicious that we scoffed them anyway. Mum could read the riot act to us later, after the event poor Mum.

'How's your new job?' she asked.

'It's going really well. I'm getting lots of new accounts and f.a.n.n.y's very helpful, always putting work my way.'

'But it's not your job that's made your pretty face light up.'

'What do you mean?'

'You can't fool me, my girl. I've been there, got the silky knickers and the lace suspender belt.'

'Granny, you're so naughty!'

'You're in love.'

'Mum told you she met Patrick?'

'Your mother tells me nothing. She thinks I'll have a heart attack and die if I hear anything exciting. What do I not know?'

'When Mum came to London, this man was at my flat.'

'You mean in your bedroom?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, I see,' said Granny. 'I dare say that was interesting for everyone concerned?'

'It was beyond embarra.s.sing. Do please stop giggling, Granny. You sound about fourteen.'

'Why should I not giggle if the two of you are happy? As I a.s.sume you must be?'

'Pat is an American who lives in Minnesota and he's married with two children.'

'Oh, I see.'

'I don't know what to do.'

'What does he want to do?'

'He hasn't told me, so perhaps he doesn't know. Or perhaps I'm just a blip and maybe he will go back to his wife. Do you think I'm wicked?'

'No, of course I don't, my darling. You're incapable of wickedness. But please don't let him hurt you. I don't want you to be hurt again. You've been hurt more than enough already.'

'Pat isn't going to hurt me.'

'Good,' said Granny. 'What about a game of Scrabble? I could fancy that. You'll have to sort the letters out for me.'

'She's very up and down,' my mother told me when I said Granny didn't seem too bad in fact, she seemed quite chirpy. 'She's on such a mix of painkillers it's hard to get the dose exactly right.'

I don't know if in this life anybody can get anything exactly right?

But Granny had seemed bright and cheerful when she'd talked to me. Or maybe she was being determinedly jolly because I had come home? She always knew exactly what to say to me, and sometimes that was nothing.

But my mother wasn't as intuitive as Granny, wasn't into intuition, never had been, never would be. Mum was into confrontation, self-expression, talking it all through.

On Sunday afternoon, while Granny was asleep and Dad had gone to see a golfing friend about some boring tournament, Mum followed me into the sitting room. I saw she had that look upon her face. The look which was accessorised by we must have a serious talk in flas.h.i.+ng neon letters on her forehead.

'How are you, Rosie?' she began as I was gathering up the Sunday papers, hoping Mum's interrogation wouldn't last too long and I could have a quiet read.

'I'm fine,' I said and forced a smile. 'I have a bit of indigestion. I ate too many Yorks.h.i.+res. I can't resist your Yorks.h.i.+res.'

'You're coping, are you, darling?'

'Yes are you?'

'I'm asking about you. Do you want to talk about it?'

'No.'

'Do you get nightmares?'

'All the time.'

'You could still have some counselling, you know.'

'Mum, could we change the subject?'

Big mistake.