Page 6 of Rescuing Rosie
‘You’vewhat? Oh no, Rosalynd,surelynot? What on earth happened? Is this just a tiff?’
Rosie briefly explained how difficult things had become, and why; how her publishing dream had crashed and burned, and Reuben’s response to that.
‘Well, I’mverysorry to hear that,’ said Mum, after a pause. ‘As you know, I like Reuben very much. But I expect he’ll come back, if that’s really all it was about.’
Excuse me?
‘All?Mum–’
‘It’s obviously terribly disappointing, but he’s a busy and important man – you can’t expect him to be as invested in your book as you are … were. And to be fair, writing books is only a hobby; it’s not your job. You can’t–’
‘Mum–’
‘It sounds to me as if you haven’t been paying him enough attention. You have to work at these things, you know.’
Rosie sighed. ‘I’m sorry you don’t seem to understand either, Mum.’
She sensed her mother sitting up straighter. ‘But I rather think I do.’
Rosie didn’t respond. She’d suddenly remembered the zoo gardener’s cheerful grin, along with the suspicion that had followed – that perhaps, all this time, she’d been subconsciously choosing men for all the wrong reasons.
‘Is the bookdefinitelynot happening, then?’ said Mum, breaking the silence.
‘Definitely not. The boat with the World War II books on it has apparently already sailed.’
‘Well, that’s an awful shame – my friends were allsoexcited to read it. My book club had it pencilled in! And Ihateto think how your father’s going to react.’
Rosie hated that thought too. Her book had been inspired by his mother’s wartime experience, which had made it all the more special to him.
Tears sprung into her eyes as it hit her all over again. ‘Will you tell him for me, Mum? I don’t think I could do that without crying, and that’d only make him feel worse.’ She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. ‘Look, I’m going away tomorrow, to the Lakes, for an assignment …’ She opened her eyes again, and the tears ran down her cheeks. ‘I’ll ring him … from there … I can’t …’ She blew out a breath and swiped at her cheeks. ‘I’m quite upset, Mum. I really need some time …’
‘And you and Reuben–’
‘It’s over, yes. He’s gone. I know you liked him, but I think it’s probably for the best – he wasn’t there for me, not properly …’ Rosie didn’t have the strength to further explain how her mother’s prospective perfect son-in-law had let her down. She ended the call, then pulled a handful of tissues from the box on her bedside table, lay down and cried some more.
Ah well, at least she’d broken the news. Her mother would now be telling Dad, and the thought of how that would make hersoft-hearted father feel only made her cry harder. She wished he was here, to give her a hug and some reassuring words. She reminded herself of how, at the start of it all, when she’d received rejection after rejection, he’d quoted Churchill (didn’t all dads?): ‘Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.’
Now, her reserves of enthusiasm – for writing, for life – were almost on empty. But … she blew her nose.Get it together, Rosie.She’d attempt to fan the tiny spark of positivity that remained. Thatthird thingshe’d feared when she’d been summoned to Amara’s office, which had turned out instead to be the chance to write something with potential to move her journalist career forward, even if her novelist dreams were dead in the water.
Rosie sat up again and texted her mum:Good to chat. It’s been a horrible couple of weeks but don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Tell Dad I’ll be in touch soon. XX
A little later, as Rosie finished packing her case, her father texted:I’m so very sorry to hear about the book, but as Churchill said, “Never give up!!” I’m sure someone else will want to publish your wonderful words. Also I’m sorry about Reuben, but if I can speak honestly now, I never thought he was right for you (but don’t tell Mum!) Love, Dad XX
‘Any refreshments?’ asked the man wheeling a trolley down the aisle as the train sped its way north.
Pulled from her meandering thoughts, Rosie slid her laptop across the table to make room. The couple sitting opposite had left the train at Crewe, and now she had all four seats to herself.
After reading up on Madison Tyler and casting her eye over the material about the wellness weekend, Rosie had spent the journey gazing out of the window. Soothed by the smooth swoosh of the high-speed train, her mind became untethered from its low-key angst and wandered off in random directions as London’s urban sprawl gave way to farmland, rolling hills, winding country lanes, waterways with old humpback bridges, villages with pretty cottages and ancient church spires.
I wonder who lives there?
Who’s that person walking their dog across that field?
What are they thinking about?
The Midlands towns of Northampton … Rugby … Stafford … passed in a blur.
At first it wasn’t so different to her native Surrey, but now, two hours or so on, as they reached the old mill towns of Lancashire the land opened up, and in the distance to the east rose purple hills. The Pennines?
