Page 47 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Twenty

Rosie

Rosie’s neck and back twinged with pain as she tried to move, and her hand tingled with the sensation of the circulation coming back. She moved stiffly, stretching out each limb so she could loosen them one by one and get the feeling back into her body. She rubbed her eyes, let out a yawn and listened for sounds around the house, but there were none. Surely if William was home, he would have come in and woken her. But there was no sign he’d been there. Even his computer had turned itself off and gone to sleep.

She pushed the chair back across the carpet and took herself to the window. Dark outside. She could sort of see the garage, if she pressed her face to the glass, but there was no bike. William’s clock on the wall said it was 5:30 in the morning. She rubbed her hands together, trying to steady her heart, but her pulse was a desperate beat in her head, ready to go out of control. If she wasn’t so cold, she might have. Her skin was icy enough that she could easily have surmised she’d slept outside. The heating wasn’t due on for another hour, and she hadn’t yet learnt how to override it. That was going on the list when she saw William.

She padded across the hallway, ready to curl into bed, her mind not accepting all logical reasoning that William wasn’t home yet. When she turned into the room and saw the bed was exactly as she’d left it, a lump formed in her throat.

“William,” she whispered. She fought against the sting in the back of her eyes and swallowed hard as if she could push the lump down. She went back to the office to get her mobile, but that was dark. No messages on her screen, no missing calls. She called him instead. Four hours was enough time for her to worry, especially at this hour of the morning, when he should have been home long ago. His phone went straight to voicemail, the mechanical voice informed her that her call couldn’t be taken at this time, and would she like to leave a message.

No, she damn well wouldn’t.

“Call me.” She tapped out the message in a text and hit send. Then she added another. “Please.” Not wanting to seem demanding and one of those women, but the way he had left, she had the right to panic.

God, she hoped he’d understand. She was worried about him. No, more than worried.

The dishwasher had finished the cycle she’d set it on when she was downstairs before, she busied herself emptying it, putting away plates and bowls and not staring at the screen, trying to catch sight of the little read icon that would appear when he opened it. She even made herself stay by the dishwasher and not press call again. He’d be okay. He was just out, clearing his mind. It took a while.

When the machine was empty, she loaded it again, this time with plates and anything she could fit around them. Odd lids that had no home, small side plates with chips on that probably needed throwing away. It was like a giant jigsaw of kitchen things. Some of which she had no idea what they would ever be used for.

Another check of the clock, still no William. A glance at her screen, nothing. She stood, momentarily frozen in the middle of the kitchen, stuck between the back door blocking her from the outside world where he was, somewhere in the cold, and the oppressive presence in the house, that loomed over them all the time. Though it wasn’t the house itself that was oppressive, it was the woman in the other room.

There were boxes at the end of the counter, on the floor. Boxes they’d stacked when they’d cleaned out the lounge for Maria and the back room for themselves to have a place that was without her. They were things William had said they’d sort out later. Rosie made herself a coffee and then lugged the top box onto the small table. When she popped back the lid off it, she had the faint sense of feeling like a busybody; this wasn’t hers, and she had no right in looking through it all.

The strange photo album on the top caught her attention. She hadn’t seen it before. It was leather bound, decorative, encased in dark green. The kind of covering one might find on an old wedding album. She lifted it out and then carefully placed it in front of her as she sat down, ready to uncover the hidden mysteries that could be locked inside the tissue bound pages.

William’s face was unmistakable in the first picture. He was a child in it, all wild hair and glasses … glasses. He didn’t wear glasses, did he? A man stood in the background, he was slender, tall and from what Rosie could make out in the old picture, he had a cigarette hanging from his lips and he was watching whoever was taking the picture of William as he beamed at the camera.

She turned the pages. Another grainy picture, another snapshot of the boy William had been. This time, a picture of him in his school uniform, with a tie and a jumper that had a green stripe around the edge. He wasn’t smiling and his eyes were cast down, framed by shadows of his already silent and secret childhood.

“Oh, William,” she said as she traced the lines of his face in the picture, her heart heavy with the need to reach in and comfort the boy. Tell him it was okay and one day, everything would be great.

She had to believe that too. One day, everything would be great. He’d see. She’d show him just how great she could make everything—they could make everything.

On the next page was a picture of William much older, close to what he was now. He had his arm across the shoulders of a woman, someone his age. She was tall like him, but her dark hair was almost black, and she had the most deeply set eyes, like someone had spliced buttons in them. With a frown, Rosie held the album in front of her and peered closer, as if she could get right in there and ask William who the woman was and what she was doing there.

“That’s Sam,” Maria said from behind Rosie, making her let out a small yelp and almost drop the book. “Having a spring clean, are you? William won’t like it.”

“I didn’t realise you were there.”

“Of course not. You were too busy eyeing up everything you can never be.”

Rosie closed the book and tried to push away the tug in her heart as it pounced and sent off small warning flares to her fight or flight system. “Would you like some breakfast? Tea?”

“Where’s William?”

“Out,” Rosie said. “He’ll be back soon.” God, please be back soon. He’d not leave her like this with this woman again. He wouldn’t … he couldn’t.

“Needed to get away from you, did he? That’s how they start you know, then the next minute, they’re fucking someone else and you’re out on your ear.” She looked at Rosie like she was eyeing her up and giving her the once over. Rosie was ready to put her hands over herself as if she had something to hide, something to be ashamed of. “That boy needs to get out more. How is it you say over in America? Sow his oats? He’s not been the same since Sam. Only girl he ever loved, really. Don’t think he’ll love another like he did her. Almost broke him. I think it did in so many ways. Broke his heart. He hasn’t been the same since.”

Rosie felt her throat constrict at Maria’s cruel words, and it was hard to tell herself that’s all this was. Maria’s cruel words. She plastered on her best smile. “Well, now he has me,” she said, brightly.

Maria barked out a laugh. “Don’t kid yourself. I mean, you’re pretty and all, I can see what he sees in you, but you’re no Sam. He’s just passing by.” She reached out a hand and patted Rosie’s belly. Rosie stayed, frozen with it. The woman’s hand pressing against her and making her not breathe. Not because she pressed hard, but because Rosie didn’t expect it there. “Look at that wobble,” Maria spat out, her voice like a cackle. “How do you ever expect to keep a man with a jelly belly like that? Sam … she knew how to look after herself. She knew how to look after William.”

“But she isn’t here now, is she?” Rosie snapped and then regretted it as she went to make Maria her tea.

“She would have been. He was going to marry her. She’s dead, though.”

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