Page 21 of One More Day
‘Are you hungry?’ I ask, knowing it’s what my late mother would want me to ask under these unusual circumstances. ‘I brought some basics like rice and chicken and vegetables. Enough for tonight, at least. You can help yourself and I’ll go to the bedroom upstairs if you prefer, so you can make yourself comfortable.’
She is still wearing that ridiculously stained overcoat which is probably best suited to a dry-cleaner if not the bin at this stage, though it does look insanely expensive. She is dishevelled and the way she sighs as she looks around tells me this is equally if not more painful for her than it is for me. She is in some sort of emotional agony; I just know it. I can also tell that she’s doing her best to hide it.
‘I’m … thank you … I’m OK for food, but thank you,’ she tells me, taking off her coat at last. Our eyes meet fleetingly, and I sense a pain that radiates from deep within.
‘I was going to cook something shortly,’ I say again. She really does look like she’s fighting back tears.
‘No, thank you,’ she whispers. ‘I’m deeply embarrassed at having to disturb you again like this. You’re very kind.’
We stand in front of the blazing fire while the clock ticks in the background, the wind rustles outside and the darkness of a Donegal winter settles like a thick blanket. Rose looks paler now than before, and not quite as confident as she was on the roadside when we first met. She isn’t a lot younger than me, I’m guessing. And something tells me she really did need to come here just as much as I did, though I’ve no idea why that might be.
‘It’s such a special place,’ she says, taking in her surroundings. ‘You’re going to love it here.’
I want to ask if she’s been here before, but I’ve a feeling that might set her off as she battles with whatever has brought her here in the first place. We couldn’t look more different if we tried as we stand opposite, sussing each other out. Rose is all bloom and colour yet her mind is far away, while I feel muted in comparison in my loose grey T-shirt and jeans, overgrown dark hair and bare feet. If I’m rock ’n’ roll, she’s swing and jazz – at least on the outside. I feel even scruffier than usual beside her.
‘Have a seat. Here. I’ll take your coat,’ I say, realising I should have suggested this a lot earlier.
She hands me the coat. She sits down, then stands up again.
‘I’d love a shower if you don’t mind?’ she whispers. ‘I’m cold to the bone. You see, my car broke down again and—’
‘Yes, Rusty was saying,’ I interrupt, sensing from her tone that she’s already fed up talking about it.
She smiles very apologetically.
‘I’ll just … I’ll just go and have my shower.’
‘Yes, of course. Now, the bathroom is down the hallway to the right but you have to be quick before the water runs cold,’ I tell her, but she knows the way.
I hear the door close and I lift my glass of wine and my book and go to the bedroom upstairs where I will lie in wait for the chance to cook later. Not the evening I’d planned by any stretch, but I can do this. I open the book and try to read under the light of a fringed bedside lamp with Max who is already snoring at my feet on the deep spring mattress.
And so this is Christmas, I sing in my own head.
Buckle up, Charlie, I tell myself. You’ve come up against much more uncomfortable situations than this.
I close the book almost immediately and let out a deep sigh. This is not ideal at all, but at least I still have the kitchen to go to where I don’t have to disturb the stranger who is staying with me.
I offered her food. She said no.
I’ll just stay out of her way until morning. Surely it won’t be all that hard to do.
Chapter Five
Rose
Well, this is awkward.
I strip off in silence in the tiny old-style cottage bathroom with its squeaking toilet flush, floral curtains and timber floorboards, afraid of making too much noise and disturbing my unexpected host.
He seems nice.
A bit stiff and scruffy, but very handsome at the same time with his full mouth, chiselled cheekbones and strong features. Not that any of that matters to me.
He’s polite, I suppose, but his blue eyes look like he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe he does? He was having a glass of red wine by the fire with his dog by his side, reading his book when we turned up and disturbed him.
I’m totally mortified.
I step under the shower and turn the heat up full blast, knowing that time is against me before it shoots me with cold water. I smile as I remember it from years gone by, and although that would be annoying to most, to me it’s the little edges of this cottage that make it so endearing.
