Page 24 of The Fallback

ChapterSeven

Rosie loved Sundays. She loved the ones she got to stay in bed, the ones she spent the morning enjoying brunch and coffee with friends. She even enjoyed the ones when she had to go into the lab. It was always so gloriously quiet – no students around, no post docs wanting to ask her tricky questions. Rachel would occasionally be there but Rachel had an unwritten rule that Sundays were not the time for small talk (sometimes with Rachelno timewas for small talk). She would appear in Rosie’s office doorway, silently place a cup of coffee on Rosie’s desk and then walk back out again. Rosie knew that this was a small act of kindness which meant an awful lot and therefore made it unconscionable for Rosie to ever tell Rachel that she didn’t like macchiatos. There were hills to die on and this wasn’t hers.

The only other person who sometimes used the lab on a Sunday was Nadia when she was in the middle of a drug trial. Rosie had her suspicions that often Nadia didn’t need to be there at all but had used the excuse to duck out of familial obligations and leave Nico in charge of the children. She’d never asked Nadia about this, because she wasn’t sure Nadia would take kindly to being outed in such a manner.

But today there was no lab work to be done, no friends to meet and the morning stretched out in front of her. She rolled to her side in bed and opened an eye, wishing that there was someone there to make her a cup of tea so she wouldn’t have to leave her extremely comfortable bed. But it would have to be the sort of person who would make the tea just right, and then leave silently afterwards and not expect to perch on her bed and chat. She stretched her arms over her head, yawned, and then caught sight of a new dress hung up over the antique wardrobe that she and Mitch had bought several years ago only to realise afterwards that they had no way of getting it back from Crystal Palace. The van Rosie had eventually had to hire cost more than the wardrobe, and this was what one got from being impulsive and profligate, she had moaned at Mitch later.

‘Dammit.’ The dress jogged her memory further. ‘Mum’s birthday.’ Susan rarely made any demands on either of her children. She was firmly of the opinion that they should be left to live their own lives and, more importantly, her to live hers. But her birthday was a fixed tradition in the family and ever since Jasmine and Chris had the boys it was understood that Susan’s birthday would be celebrated at their house. Lunch was always an elaborate creation chosen by Chris and Jasmine. It would be something adapted from their latest favourite restaurant, with no concessions made for the children. Rory and Joe were expected to eat what the adults ate, which was why they loved it when Rosie would secretly feed them chicken nuggets or fish fingers whenever she babysat, the evidence carefully smuggled in and out without Jasmine ever knowing.

Rosie’s contribution to Susan’s birthday was the cake. Sometimes homemade, but this year it would have to be bought. She had used up all baking time this week thinking about having babies with Mitch and buying new dresses to try and distract her from these thoughts. She hoped Jasmine wouldn’t disapprove; Jasmine would have been flat-out all week at work and still have found the time to conjure up a gourmet meal for the whole family. Sighing, Rosie pulled herself out of bed; there was to be no lie-in for her this morning. But if she got up now, she could fit in a run before she had to get ready for lunch. Maybe that would help clear her head of Mitch and his nonsense.

The sun was out and the park near Rosie’s flat was already busy with early morning joggers. Rosie was not a natural athlete, but so far, at the age of thirty-four, she had managed to get by with the occasional run, plenty of walking and good genes. Idly, she wondered to herself whether that would change if she did have a baby, before berating herself because this run was supposed to banish such thoughts. Without thinking she smoothed her hands over her stomach as she watched a petite woman streak past, pushing one of those jogging buggies that cost about the same as a small car, with two dozing toddlers in it.

Rosie didn’t especially enjoy running, what maniac would? But she knew it was good for her, that she ought to do it more and that it was also quite useful for shifting persistently uncomfortable thoughts. Because it was hard to fixate on things when you needed all your concentration just to keep breathing. She looked at her watch, it would have to be a quick run during which she needed to weigh up the pros and cons of admitting to Jasmine that she had agreed to Mitch’s proposal. Sighing, she plugged her earbuds in and scrolled to her personally curated, running playlist: if RiRi couldn’t fix this then no one could.

* * *

Jasmine and Chris lived at the end of the Northern line. Ten years ago, it was the sort of place that Rosie had only heard of in urban myth; people falling asleep on the tube and ending up there in a siding, long after the last tube had left. They had bought the place when Jasmine was pregnant with Joe, eight years ago. Then, it had been a beautiful but completely run-down Victorian villa in a very undesirable part of London. Now it was a show home in a postcode where houses changed hands for millions. Rosie could never work out whether Chris and Jasmine had astonishing foresight or just amazing luck. Either way, she felt they deserved it; they had poured so much money and love into that place, even if Rosie would have preferred them to have installed comfier sofas and places where she felt more at ease leaving a glass of wine.

Rosie bought a cake at the bakery near her flat, because what it lacked in fancy packaging, it made up for in affordability. Unlike the place on the high street near her brother’s place where you would need another mortgage to shop. There hadn’t been a Northern-line train for about fifteen minutes and so the tube was packed, making for a perilous journey, Rosie hanging on to a rail with one hand and trying to keep from dropping the cake box with the other. Feeling distinctly flustered, she arrived on their doorstep and, keeping the cake box delicately balanced, leaned forward to ring the doorbell. There was a clattering sound from inside, the unmistakable sound of small footsteps running at full pelt. She braced herself.

Rory opened the door – at five years old, he had just become tall enough to reach the catch to unlock it from the inside and was immensely proud of this achievement. He took Rosie in, his little face gazing up at her. Evidently, he had yet to be taught the correct greeting after the front door was opened.

’Granny is in the garden looking for worms,’ he told Rosie solemnly, as if this was an everyday occurrence. Rosie nodded gravely; she knew that there was nothing more insulting to a small child than laughing at whatever it was they were telling you. Unless it was a joke, and then you were expected to laugh whether it was amusing or not.

‘I will go and find her just as soon as I put this—’ she showed him the cake box ‘—down in the kitchen. Want to take a look?’ she asked. Rory nodded eagerly and she bent down to his level and gingerly opened the cake box just enough so that he could peek in. Rory’s eyes grew round.

‘Do you think she’ll like it?’ she asked him in a whisper. He nodded vigorously.

‘It has to be our secret,’ she told him, putting her finger to her lips. ‘But I picked the chocolate one because I knew that it was yours and your brother’s favourite.’

Rory nodded again and then put a small sticky hand on her arm. ‘It’s OK, Auntie Rosie, I think Granny will like chocolate, too.’ He then took off at a run past the stairs and down the corridor which led to the open plan kitchen at the back of the house.

Rosie smiled to herself as she stood up. Rory was so sweet and serious. She hoped he would stay that way forever. But she knew it was only a matter of time before he got too big for secret jokes. Already his older brother Joe was frequently out when Rosie came over, more interested in playing with his friends than hanging out with his auntie. Which was only natural and right, she knew. Perhaps if she had one of her own she would feel the same pull of emotions, excited about them growing up but a sense of sadness that they no longer needed her as much.

She shook her head, banishing that thought and pulled herself together just in time to enter the organised chaos of the kitchen. Jasmine was stood at the hob stirring something that smelled wonderful in a large casserole dish. Chris was re-stringing birthday bunting which had obviously just fallen down. Rosie smiled in recognition; this was the bunting that came out for everyone’s birthdays and had done for the last decade. She loved the fact that despite Chris and Jasmine’s high-end lifestyle they still had time for those sentimental touches. Rory was trying to help his dad and seemed to be doing anything but. The string was now tangled around his ankles and he had managed to tie a complicated knot around his legs in the brief time since he had left Rosie in the hallway. Impressive, she thought to herself.

Through the bi-fold doors that led out to the garden she could see her mother kneeling on the grass inspecting something that Joe was holding out to her. To her mother’s credit she was doing a very good impression of looking extremely interested in whatever it was. Even if she did look rather uncomfortable kneeling in the grass.

‘Rosie!’ exclaimed Jasmine, noticing her standing there. ‘You’re here, great, put that down and come and tell me what you think of this sauce.’

Jasmine held out a wooden spoon towards her. ‘Your darling brother tells me it has too much basil, but I have told him there is no such thing.’

Rosie shot a glance at Chris who shrugged, still tangled up in the bunting. Rosie smiled at him conspiratorially, they both knew who would win this argument. Rosie carefully placed the cake box on the island and walked quickly over to Jasmine and dutifully tasted the sauce.

‘Mmm’ she said, ‘just perfect.’ Jasmine smiled triumphantly, put the spoon down and hugged Rosie.

‘Told you so,’ she said smugly to Chris over Rosie’s head. If Rosie had been honest there was perhaps a little too much basil, not enough to make it unpleasant but enough to overpower any other flavours. However, this was not an opinion she dared to share with Jasmine.

‘How are you?’ Chris said, having untangled both himself and Rory and coming over to give Rosie a hug too. Rosie breathed in the familiar scent of him and found herself relaxing.

‘Fine, fine. Bit of a nerve-wracking tube journey carrying that thing.’ She indicated the cake box.

Chris frowned. ‘You should have picked one up at our local place.’

Rosie looked at Jasmine hoping she wasn’t going to agree. Jasmine shook her head at Chris and tutted, then she moved swiftly to the island and flipped open the lid of the cake box.

‘Rosie this looks delicious,’ she said. ‘Personally I am delighted you went toyourbakery, it doesmuchbetter chocolate cake.’ Jasmine shot Chris a look which he was completely oblivious to, just as Rosie gave her one of gratitude. Rosie needed to remember that Jasmine wasn’t always judgemental, and sometimes, when you were least expecting it, she could be almost compassionate and understanding.

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