Page 69 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Rosie

Rosie pulled the robe tight around herself and padded across to the bathroom. William had gone off to his meeting. Of course, he’d given his mother her tea and breakfast first and made sure she had everything she needed. Shame there was no arsenic in that or something. And although Rosie knew Maria couldn’t get up the stairs, the idea of her being in the house alone with the woman, made Rosie’s skin prickle. It was stupid, though. She was safe from the woman.

Sitting on the side of the tub, she poured some essential oils into the water and wafted the scent of it to herself. Lavender to calm her nerves. She let it seep into her, closing her eyes for a moment and trying not to focus on all the hate and arguments from the day before.

If only they could go far away. If only they could get away from Maria, her mother and father. Of all the people her parents could have told their lies too, it had to be Maria. They might as well have handed her a sword and made sure it was long enough so she could give it a good twist whenever she needed it.

When the bath was full, and the room was nicely filled with the fragrant steam, Rosie took off her robe and hung it on the back of the door.

The water was hot when she put one foot in, held it there and waited for her skin to get used to the temperature. A moment later, she stepped in with the other foot and slowly lowered herself into the bath. This was it. This was perfect. She washed her hair and body, though, before allowing herself to lean back. She knew the moment she did; she’d be a goner and probably wouldn’t come out until William messaged her that he was on his way home.

It was as she was about to lower herself back when she heard a noise downstairs. Her pulse jolted into life at the sound of the front lounge door banging closed, and Rosie listened, waiting for the direction the steps would take into the kitchen. The sound made her pause, froze her in place as she listened.

What am I doing?

If Maria called to her, would she go down? She didn’t think so. Not that Maria would call. She’d have to be half dead to call on Rosie for help.

William had put a small digital screen next to the bath on a small cabinet. It was one of those voice command things, although she preferred to use the screen. He used it to listen to podcasts and music while he was in the shower, but Rosie used it just for the music. She switched it on now, flicking it to her favourite relaxing playlist and turned it up to just the right volume where she couldn’t hear what Maria was doing downstairs.

William would be back soon, and she wanted to be relaxed. She wanted their first tree shopping day to be a good memory for them. It was hard to picture which one they’d choose. Tall and fat she hoped. Maybe they could go and get decorations for it later, although he probably had his own, she wanted some that were just theirs--just for them. Maybe they could pick up a magazine and try and fashion it after one in there. Or not … then she’d be like her mother if she did that, so she scratched that idea clean out of her mind.

It was possible that she was as excited for the tree as she was for Christmas itself. Her first Christmas in England. Her and William’s first Christmas … with Maria. The sour addition to their day. It was hard not to let the latter part play on her mind too much, even if she told herself she’d not let Maria spoil this.

On the day, she planned to play nice. She’d already decided for the dinner they were having, chicken. Back home she had turkey. One her mother had usually hired someone in to make, and they’d have a buffet and all her father’s work friends over. With William, she could have the kind of Christmas she’d read about in books, and she’d include Maria. She’d shower the damn woman in kindness.

Anything would be better than the last Christmas, that was sure. She’d had her appendix out. Not that that was the issue, but Christmas was being hosted at another house. That was the thing with her father’s work colleagues, they took it in turns to host. Like working together wasn’t enough. She'd come down in the morning expecting to see her parents, but no one was there. Not even Peter. They’d left the milk and cookies she’d left out. A childish thing, she knew, but it was tradition.

They’d left her — on Christmas day … all alone without a word.

Rosie pressed her lips together just thinking about it. Thinking about the way Peter had said she was overreacting when they all got home, and that she was being childish.

It’d be different this year. So different.

She reached for the flannel and soaked it in the warm bath water. Then she screwed it up to get the water out of it and placed it on her face. She’d not long closed her eyes when the bathroom door slammed open with such force that it bounced off the bathroom wall. Rosie half expected to hear the tiles breaking with it.

“Maria?”

“I need a shit,” William’s mother said.

Rosie scrambled to get the flannel to cover her breasts, and she tried to pull her legs up to give herself as much dignity as possible. “What's wrong with the one downstairs?”

“It’s blocked,” Maria said. “Shitty plumbing if you ask me. That boy of mine wouldn't know a spanner from a fucking screwdriver. I swear, if he weren’t fucking you, I’d think he was gay. But then perhaps …” She scowled at Rosie, letting her gaze go up and down. “Maybe you shouldn't eat so damn much. It does nothing for your figure. Not that you have one.”

Rosie held herself tighter.

Ignore her. Ignore her, and she’ll go away.

“Even your tits are sagging.”

Rosie held them tighter and didn’t tell Maria that William didn’t seem to have a problem with them. Instead, she pulled herself into a ball, trying her best to hide.

“You know, you’d be able to get yourself curled up better if you didn't have such a podgy belly.”

“You don’t have to be rude," Rosie said. “And if you don’t like what you see, wait outside, and I’ll get out of the bath.”

“I'm not rude. Telling it like it is. A girl wants to look after herself.” Maria waddled over to the toilet and hitched up her skirt.

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