Page 44 of A Part of Me and You
And at that he is gone. I have shut him out once more.
I need to go quickly and meet Rosie.
Chapter 15
Juliette
‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out today for the boat trip, honey, but I’ve got it all arranged for tomorrow. We could maybe take a walk around the village and—’
‘Mum, I do not want to walk around the village. I am so sick of walking, I’m sorry.’
Oh no, it’s another one of those days when nothing, and I mean nothing, I say is going to be right.
‘Well, how about if we go swimming?’
Rosie busies about the cottage, only half-listening to what I have to say.
‘It’s okay, Mum, I really have to go,’ she tells me, pulling on a pair of boots that don’t belong to her. ‘Now do you want to come with us or what?’
‘Where are you going? With whom? Who owns those boots?’
She shrugs. ‘Dunno who owns them but they fit me perfectly. I found them amongst all that water-sports stuff by the back door. And I already told you, Mum! I’m going horse-riding. With Shelley. You coming? Come on, please. You will enjoy it!’
Wait a minute, wait a minute. I don’t remember being told any of this. I remember it being suggested, but I didn’t realize it was actually arranged.
‘How on earth did this come about?’ I ask my daughter.
‘Mum! I told you!’
‘Ah, Rosie are you sure Shelley’s up for this?’ I say to her. ‘I know it would be good for her to go horse-riding but is she okay with it?’
Rosie stops what she’s doing and lets out a deep sigh that I swear, sounds like it came from her ankles.
‘Why do youalwayshave to be so negative?’ she asks me. ‘It’s only horse-riding for goodness sake! It’s not like I asked her to go to the moon or anything. And I did tell you! You just weren’t listening or else you forgot. You’re always forgetting stuff these days.’
Well, I don’t really have an answer to that, do I? Maybe she did tell me. Maybe I did forget. Michael did say that I would become more and more forgetful as the tumour in my brain grows.
I try to act normal which is never easy around a ‘know-it-all’ teenager, let alone when you have a terminal illness which makes you forgetful.
‘As long as Shelley is happy to go along with you?’ I say to her. ‘I mean, who owns the horses? Are they Shelley’s?’
I would not be one bit surprised if Shelley did keep horses. The woman practically lives in a palace though I didn’t see any stables when we were up at her house. Not that that means anything, she might keep them elsewhere.
‘I have no idea how she pulled it off but she is meeting me at five at the shop so I’d better hurry. Come on, Mum! It will be fun!’
‘Hmm, okay but—’
‘Look,’ she says to me. ‘It’s like this. You have about two minutes to move it and come with us or else sit here and look at these four walls and I don’t know about you but I’m getting cabin fever sat here all day, so come on.’
I am being bossed around by a teenager and I actually quite like it, mad as it may seem. This is what so many people wish away – these hormone-fuelled, mood swing years of slamming doors, hiding in bedrooms and throwing tantrums; one minute she was a toddler with attitude, now I’ve fast forwarded to swear words and developing bodies and all the rest. I want to witness all of these magical, unpredictable moments from now on. I want to enjoy every single time she tells me she hates me, or that I’m a weirdo, or that I’m so not as cool as I think I am and any other insult she might throw my way. I want to see her on that horse, her face determined and bold, fearless with innocence as she gallops along the water front and most of all I want to hear her laugh and laugh and even if I can’t be a part of that experience directly, I will happily sit on the side-lines and cheer her on every step of the way.
I take a picnic rug that is folded in a basket in the living room and grab my coat. The sun is still in the sky but as the evening sets in, I know how the weather can change in this part of the world. Rosie is already gone ahead of me, eager to beat the clock to meet Shelley in case she might miss this golden opportunity she has been so hoping for since she got here.
Shelley
Sarah meets us at the beach as promised with her horse box in tow and when I see her I don’t have to say a word about what happened with Teigan yesterday. She puts her arm around me and squeezes me in, kissing my forehead and I close my eyes and drink in her familiarity, her perfume, the woman I used to turn to for every little question I had about motherhood or marriage or life in a village that I was still learning to call home.
‘You’re doing great,’ she says to me. ‘Now, introduce me to your friends, please?’
