Page 61 of Cuts Like An Angel: Part 3

Chapter Twenty-Five

Rosie

Rosie walked into the house behind William. She wasn’t a coward … No. Wait. She was. She hid behind William with no shame as they entered the house. Muffled sounds came from another room, one deeper in the house—the kitchen, and her stomach tightened at the sight of the bags on the floor in the hallway. Three big cases got in the way, all of them brandishing her father’s business logo on the labels. Smaller bags sat beside them. Bags her mother would have used to have her essential items in. And God, she’d have given hell to the staff at the airports.

Rosie squeezed William’s hand, and for a moment, he stopped. They said nothing to each other. There was nothing they could say. They were walking into the lion’s pit and there wasn’t just one starving beast in there ready to eat them up. No, there were three. But God, her head was screaming, wanting to tell William to turn and walk away. Just leave the parents to their misery

The light in Maria’s room was on and they didn’t need to look inside to know she wasn’t in there. Her presence was always tangible, and this evening was no different. The darkness was in the back of the house, making a gang, ready to torment her and William.

“We’ve got this,” he whispered to her.

She nodded, wishing she could believe him. They weren’t kids … not teenagers caught outside in an illicit affair where they needed permission, they were adults. William thirty, Rosie not far off, but with each step, she felt the years peel off their ages.

“We can do this,” he said again as his hand grabbed the handle to the kitchen. They both took a breath and nodded to each other, then he pushed the door open and all eyes turned to them. “We didn’t know we were expecting visitors,” William said, thrusting enough confidence into his voice for both of them.

Rosie stepped around William. She wanted to stay behind him and use him as her shield, she knew her parents too well and that would only feed into whatever this was with them. So, she stepped out and met her father’s gaze, rather than her mother’s.

“W-we …” William clutched her hand, giving her strength and she used that to speak. “We didn’t know you were coming,” Rosie said, echoing William’s surprise.

“As usual, my daughter doesn’t know how to greet us properly. How about, it’s so good to see you Mother?” Her mother folded her arms across her chest and put her shoulders back and stared.

Careful, Mom. The halo’s slipping from that perfectly conditioned head.

Rosie took another breath and tried to let the way her mother spoke to her roll off like it was nothing. It was nothing. Nothing compared to the three bags out there. The words wouldn’t come out even if she wanted them to. Three bags in the hallway, two people here. She paused a second to listen for any sounds anywhere else in the house. The toilet flushing, footsteps … anything that would say they’d brought another unwanted guest with them.

“I told you there was no need to come.”

“Perhaps we wanted to,” her mother said, “You may not know how to speak to me, Rosie, but Maria does. She has been quite helpful.”

“I’m sure she has,” William said. He turned to his mother, his eyes blazing. “You knew they were coming?”

“Of course, I did. This is my house. I know who comes and who goes. I was explaining to Linda and Michael here just now how all this has to stop. And they agree.”

The chill of the night bit Rosie’s skin, even though there was no breeze in the house, and she had her coat on. But cold crept along her skin, each movement an uninvited and unwanted sensation. “You should have told me you were coming.”

“Why? The owner of the house knew we were coming.”

“No, I did not.” William said.

Rosie’s father stayed silent. He was sitting on one of the foldout chairs that they kept in the other room for when they needed an extra seat at the table. Rosie glared at him, and he looked away. But not in shame. Her father was too stupid to be ashamed of anything. He looked away because he didn’t want conflict … don’t make a scene. That was his moto. Or don’t make your mother make a scene.

“We have come to take you home,” her mother said. “Where you belong. You won’t listen to us, so we came to you.”

“You can’t force me to come home,” Rosie said. “I’m an adult, not a child who’s run away and you own the papers to me. I’m not a toy. I am here because I want to be.”

“We had a good chat while you two were out for the evening. It seems Maria has been more than generous with allowing you to stay here. But, through no fault of her own, she has made it quite clear; you have become intolerable to live with. I can’t say I blame her. When you were at home …”

“When I was at home? I am at home? This is my home.” She prodded her own chest as she spoke. “I live here. With William. It is his house, not his mother’s.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“Rosie ….” Her father began in his usual, patronising tone. “How long did you work with me? You know as much as anyone; an agreement isn’t an agreement if it isn’t on paper and it isn’t signed. He could tell you anything and you’d have to believe it.”

“I do own this house,” William said. “It is mine legally.” He let go of Rosie and dug out the third box down from the back-lounge items stacked at the side of the room and pulled another box out of it. The one marked, important. He took out the file for the utility bills and everything else that was to do with the house. He turned page after page, moved papers. Each piece of paper that related to the house were the wrong ones. Old sheets of yellowed papers from when his mother had taken the original mortgage out with his father. With every page turn and deepening of William’s frown, Rosie felt a little sicker.

He lifted his gaze to his mother. “What did you do with it?”

“With what?”

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