Page 12 of One More Day
‘Er, hello Marion. I wasn’t expecting a welcome committee,’ says the flummoxed newcomer.
Rusty puts his hands to his head while Marion pushes her tongue into her teeth, looking at the ceiling in disgust. ‘This is very, very embarrassing,’ she scolds as her face almost folds in frustration. ‘Veryembarrassing indeed.’
It’s the lady from earlier. The one with the yellow umbrella, the dodgy car and the oil streaks smeared on her cheeks. The coat that was once perfectly blue is now a very dirty shade of grey around one pocket, but her lipstick is still perfect, and she still looks like she’s stepped out of a different era.
‘I think you’ve some explaining to do,’ Marion says, shooting her husband a stern glare, her eyes darting around us like they are squatting flies. ‘What on earth isshedoing here?’
Rusty displays the diplomacy that his wife lacks.
‘OK, let’s not freak out,’ he says gently, rubbing his weather-beaten hands together. He smells of diesel. He paces the floor beside me. ‘Right … OK … right, why don’t we all go inside and see exactly what we can do about it?’
‘I think that’s a really good idea,’ I agree.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ says Marion, marching ahead into the kitchen. ‘But Rusty,youare making the tea.’
‘I could murder a coffee,’ says the glamorous lady from earlier who is already taking off her coat.
‘I wouldn’t push it if I were you, Rose,’ whispers Rusty, which makes the new arrival roll her eyes. ‘Let’s all keep this nice and calm. Nice and calm.’
He looks at me and blows out a long, deep breath that seems to come from his toes as he makes his way to the kitchen behind his wife, who I can already tell takes no prisoners.
I think I like this Rusty character, but despite how nice he might be, there’s no way I’m giving up this cottage because of a double booking.
I’ve been living for this. I need it or I’ll crack up once and for all.
I’m not giving it up for anyone.
Minutes later the four of us are sitting by the dancing fire in the fussy floral living room of Seaview Cottage, and the tension makes it feel like the walls are closing in around us, so much so that the palpitations I haven’t had in a few weeks are starting to jump around my chest again – the perfect reminder of why I booked this solo getaway in the first place.
I’m too exhausted to argue much, so I’ve stayed relatively quiet so far. Not that I could get a word in even if I tried as Marion and Rose battle it out from cream sofa to blue sofa. It’s a tactic I’ve learned in my years as a therapist: listen first, comment later.
‘AndI’ve travelledallthe way from Dublin with a very lively and impatient dog,’ pleads Rose as she addresses the room, giving a very convincing case for why the cottage should be hers for Christmas and not mine. ‘I’ve had a hellish journey. I’ve been tested to my limits. Where didyoucome from?’
Oh, she’s asking me.
‘Belfast,’ I tell her.
‘So, practically down the road, then,’ she replies, as if she’s just scored extra points.
‘It’s not a distance competition,’ I say, unsure if I mean for her to hear it.
‘Maybe not, but being here is the only way I can survive Christmas so I’m willing to use distance to raise my stakes,’ she says. ‘My coat is probably ruined. My car broke down a few miles out of town and I’ve been stuck on a roadside for at least half an hour in the pouring rain. Now, after all that, you’re telling me I’ll have to go back home again?’
‘I’m not telling you anything,’ I say, feeling my own engines warming up now I’ve heard her plea. ‘All I know is I’m staying, so—’
I’m tempted to say,and I was here first, but I know it sounds childish so I don’t.
‘I’m sorry, Rose, but you simply can’t stay here,’ says Marion before her husband can reply. Her lack of empathy is a surprise even to me, given Rose’s sincere and rather convincing story. ‘Rusty has gone right over my head, so it looks like going home is your only option unless you want to try and find somewhere else nearby. I can give you a few numbers?’
‘Numbers are no good to me at this late stage,’ Rose replies, sounding deflated though clearly not defeated. ‘I’d already tried everywhere before I tried here, but there isn’t as much as a hotel room free this side of Christmas, never mind another cottage that welcomes dogs.’
Marion has the grace to let out a sigh.
‘Look, this is a very humiliating case of a double booking which is simply not up to our usual standards,’ she says, ‘which is why I deal with things around here and not my husband. I’m sorry, I really am, but I’m afraid there is no other option, unless Rusty has an answer?’
Rusty raises his eyebrows, then looks to the ceiling. In fact, he looks like he can’t wait to get out of here.
‘Didn’t think so. I’m sorry, Rose,’ says Marion. ‘I really am. I can assure you that this won’t be taken lightly.’
