Part 1 (1/2)
YESTERDAY'S ECHOES.
BY PENNY JORDAN.
CHAPTER ONE.
'i'm beginning to dread christenings. In fact, I only have to hear the word ”baby” these days and I come over all broody... and me a mother of two hulking great teenagers. I ought to know better.
”I know what it is, of course... It's the threat of empty nest syndrome looming, with nothing to look forward to but Greg's mid-life crisis and hormone replacement therapy... Rosie... are you listening to me?”
Obediently Rosie turned towards her elder sister, and repeated obediently what she had just been told.
”Of course, plenty of women are having babies at forty these days,” Rosie heard her muse.
”Although what the kids would have to say about it... and how on earth I'd even manage to get pregnant in the first place... You've no idea how inhibiting it is having almost- adult children in the house with you. It's amazing how guilty and embarra.s.sed they can make you feel. Mind you, talking of s.e.x lives, how's yours going at the moment?”
Rosie felt her stomach muscles tense and prayed that her facial muscles weren't reacting equally betrayingly.
There was virtually a decade between her and her elder sister, and this had led to Chrissie's adopting an almost parental att.i.tude to her. Although Rosie knew that Chrissie would have been outraged had she been as inquisitive and critical of her most intimate personal life as Chrissie was of Rosie's, she also knew that Chrissie would never be able to understand that there were times when she found her sister's questions intrusive and over-personal. After all, she knew how much Chrissie loved her and that her questions, no matter how awkward, sprang from love and concern.
And of course today she was feeling extra- intensely sensitive, she admitted. Christenings always had that effect on her, and it was point less expecting Chrissie to understand that, to know what she was going through, to know about the tearing, wrenching pain within her, the sense of loss and anguish.
It was all very well for Chrissie to talk glibly about feeling broody, about having an other child, to a.s.sume that she, Rosie, as a single woman of thirty-one with a business to run a woman who, as Chrissie was always reminding her, had chosen to keep any men who approached her at a wary distance did not know what it meant to see another woman with a child, and to feel that aching sense of deprivation within her that tight feeling of panic and pain, of loss and fear, of so many complex emotions that she herself could barely find the words to describe them.
And then for Chrissie to make that comment about her s.e.x life!!
The Hopkinses' lawn wasn't very big; they were a very popular couple and had invited a large number of people to the christening party. Rosie winced as someone standing be hind her stepped backwards, and she felt a sharp elbow accidentally striking against her, jolting her gla.s.s and causing the other woman to immediately apologise as Rosie automatically turned round.
”I'm so sorry,” she began, but Rosie wasn't listening to her.
Her whole body frozen rigid with shock and rejection, she was staring past her at the man standing several yards away watching her.
Jake Lucas! What was he doing here? Watching her! She hadn't realised that he knew the Hopkinses. If she had suspected for a moment that he was going to be here... ”Rosie...”
She s.h.i.+vered, the rigidity leaving her body as she responded to the quick anxiety in her sister's voice.
Across the s.p.a.ce which divided them, Jake Lucas continued to watch her. She could feel the concentrated burn of that look. She knew exactly what he was thinking... how he viewed her... without having to look directly into his eyes.
”Rosie...”
This time Chrissie wasn't content with speaking to her; she was touching her as well--an elder-sisterly hand placed firmly on her arm, giving it an admonis.h.i.+ng little shake.
”What is it? What's wrong?”
Wrong? Alarm bells clamoured violently inside her.
”Nothing... Nothing's wrong,” she denied quickly, turning her head back towards her sister so quickly that her hair spun round her, fanning out of its neat, shoulder-length cut be fore falling silkily back into place, its thick russet sleekness concealing her expression as she lowered her head defensively.
Jake Lucas. Even now that she was no longer looking at him, his features remained burnt into her memory so that it wasn't her sister's firm but anxious face she saw, but his, with its hard, masculine features, his mouth curling disdainfully, his hard, flinty grey eyes watching her with distaste, everything about him, even down to the way he was standing, registering his contempt for her that and the knowledge of her which they both shared.
”Rosie, what is it? And don't tell me nothing. You've gone as white as a sheet,” Chrissie accused.
”Is it the sun? You should have kept your hat on; you know how vulnerable you are to sunstroke. You'.d better not drive home.”
Numbly Rosie let her sister's bossy fussing wash over her, for once unable to summon the independence to remind her sister that she was an adult and not one of her children.
”It's time we left, anyway. I promised Greg I wouldn't be late. We've got the Curtises coming round this evening, and I want to make sure that Alison and Paul aren't thinking of going out tonight. I don't like them going out on Sunday evenings, not with Paul's A levels coming up and Allison's GCSEs next year.”
Rosie stayed silent, letting her sister's conversation wash over her. Jake Lucas... She tried to remember the last time she had seen him was it four years ago or three? but she felt too dizzy with shock to be able to concentrate He lived on the opposite side of town from her and their paths never crossed. He moved in different social circles, and the partners.h.i.+p he had in a marina on one of the less accessible Greek islands meant that he was out of the country a good deal.
He was closer to Chrissie's age than her own, although even her redoubtable sister had always been a little in awe of him, despite the fact that she was a couple of years his senior.
He was that kind of man.
Awe didn't describe her reaction to him, Rosie acknowledged.
Fear ... dread ... pain... panic ... anguish; he made her feel all of those, and other and even less bearable emotions as well.
The mere sound of his name was enough to make her go cold with fear and shame, and to see him so unexpectedly, when she was un prepared for it and in such a vulnerable situation when she was already feeling so off balance, so emotionally open to the anguish of her past and the burden of the pain she had kept a secret from everyone else who knew her... Silently, she let Chrissie take hold of her arm and firmly make her way through the tightly packed group of people around their host and hostess.
The baby, the Hopkinses' third, was now contentedly asleep in her father's arms. A wrenching jolt of pain stabbed through Rosie as she watched him deftly transfer his new daughter's sleeping weight from one shoulder to the other while he ducked his head to kiss first Chrissie and then her on the cheek.
”Isn't it time we saw you holding one of these?” he teased Rosie.
His teasing wasn't malicious or unkind. Rosie and both Neil and Gemma Hopkins had all been at school together. Gemma was her own age. She herself was, Rosie reminded her self bleakly, the only one of her peers now who had not experienced a committed relations.h.i.+p of some kind. Some of her friends were even on their second marriages.
She knew how curious people were about her, and could guess at the questions they probably asked one another about her.
Always sensitive and by nature an extremely private person, she was acutely aware of how different she was, how isolated from experiences which seemed commonplace to others.
It wasn't as though she weren't attractive, as though men weren't drawn to her, Chrissie had exclaimed in exasperation four months ago on Rosie's thirty-first birthday, when she had brought up her perennial complaint about Rosie's dedication to her single state.
”I've watched you,” she had accused.
”You freeze the poor things off as soon as they try to get close to you.”
Her mother had been more understanding, but equally concerned.
”I don't understand it,” she had said sadly.
”Rosie, you were always the one who loved playing with your dolls, who always, from being a small child, talked about getting married and having children. Of the two of you, I al ways thought it would be Chrissie who would be the career girl.
I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life, darling. If being single is what you want...”
”It is,” Rosie had told her mother fiercely, but she suspected that her mother knew as well as she did that she was not telling the whole truth.
But how could she explain, reveal to her mother, to anyone, the thing that had made her like this, the guilt, the pain, the shock of self discovery the realisation that her degradation and humiliation, her stupidity, had been witnessed by someone else? These had proved so painful to her that the only way she could deal with them was to try to cut herself off from them, from the person she had been before it had happened, to try to create a different per son a safer, better, more responsible, more controlled person.