Page 25 of One More Day
‘Oh, good morning,’ I splutter. ‘Er, sorry, I don’t mean to be in your way. I was just out for a walk.’
‘Morning, Charlie,’ she replies, then skulks towards the bathroom with her trusty companion in tow. ‘Hopefully Rusty will get here soon and I’ll be out of your hair. Thank you again for letting me stay.’
She closes the bathroom door which clicks loudly, leaving the slobbering ball of fluff barking after her.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ I ask her above the barking, but she doesn’t hear me.
I take a quick peek into the living room and rub my forehead when I see how it looks like it’s been hit by a mini tornado.
Two magazines lie on the floor along with blankets and cushions dotted across the terracotta tiles. Her suitcase lies wide open, leaving nothing to the imagination, and is that anoverflowing make-up bag on the armchair? I close the door and try to blank the whole scene out of my head. She’ll be gone soon, and I can finally make this place my own again.
‘Come on, Max. Come on, George,’ I say to the two dogs. ‘How about I let you both out to the back garden to explore?’
Max bounces towards the kitchen but George chooses to totally ignore me and slumps down on the floor with his head on his paws, waiting on Rose by the bathroom door. Ah well, seems like he is as distant as his owner.
Hopefully Rusty arrives soon and then I can relax here at last.
Chapter Seven
Rose
I deliberately dodge Charlie for the next hour by camping out in the living room with just a coffee and George for company, staring out the window longing for Rusty to come to my rescue.
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,’ I mutter to the dog. I really do feel like a prisoner. Charlie is in the kitchen, listening to a podcast or something through his headphones but I bet he’d rather be in here by the fire. I’ve invited him to do so, but he politely refused.
So far, we’ve managed a conversation about the weather (there’s more snow on the way), the price of fuel (extortionate, we both agreed) and the beauty of Donegal (there’s just something about being by the sea and so close to the guarded eye of the Fanad lighthouse).
I then made an excuse to go pack my bags for Rusty’s arrival. I’ve been sitting here for what feels like forever, like a damsel in distress waiting to be rescued.
I have never been a damsel in distress, no matter how lonely and sad I’ve felt over Michael, and nor do I ever intend to be.
This really sucks.
There’s barely signal on my phone here, the Wi-Fi is touch and go to put it mildly, and even though I’ve managed to set up Netflix on the TV, the snow is interfering with the signal too much to make it worth fighting with, so for now all I can do is sit here and wait.
But when Rusty eventually does arrive, I can tell by his tone of voice and the way he sniffs, then looks at his feet, then rubs his chin, that the news is far from good when it comes to me making my great escape.
The three of us are standing in the kitchen of Seaview Cottage as the dogs chase birds in the back garden through the blanket of snow that has now settled outside.
Well, I should sayMaxis chasing birds while George just watches on, his big whooshing tail swinging to and fro, but there’s no way he’s getting stuck in. At least one of us is happy around here.
Charlie, meanwhile, looks like he’s very slowly swallowing nails as he drinks his coffee waiting on Rusty’s big announcement.
‘The g-good news is that the carcanbe fixed, so that’s a relief,’ says Rusty, waiting for a reaction he doesn’t get. I hold my breath, knowing the bad news is on its way. Rusty always stutters when he’s nervous, so I think I know what’s coming. ‘Thebadnews is that the p-part I need for the engine – well, it’s tricky to find for your car considering its age, but …’
‘Tricky?’
‘I’m looking online as well as my usual suppliers,’ he finishes quickly. ‘Iwillget it. It just might take a wee while longer to arrive, that’s all.’
Charlie sets his cup down on the worktop and the delph hitting the wood makes Rusty jump.
‘Howmuchlonger?’ he asks. His full lips are open and although he looks sulky and unimpressed, his striking features wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of some high fashion magazine.
‘It could take quite a while.’
‘How long is quite a while?’ asks Charlie.
I have to say something.
