Chapter 11
Rose
I find Mum at the back of the garden, staring at the rose that has climbed its way up into the branches of the old apple tree over the years.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask her.
She nods abruptly and turns her face away from me.
‘Are you crying? Mum!’ I exclaim with dismay, going around to her front to make her look at me. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Rosie,’ she laments, shaking her head, but still not meeting my eyes. Instead she stares up at the rose – my rose. I was eight when we planted it; when I asked if we could call it mine. Now it is so deeply intertwined with the apple tree that it seems almost part of it. It’s currently giving the apple its second flowering of the year: a brilliant orange instead of its pale pink blossoms of spring.
‘I’m not sure about all of this,’ Mum says.
‘Come and sit down,’ I urge, guiding her across the lawn to the chairs on the deck. The garden is in full bloom: flaming reds, sizzling oranges and hot pinks blazing out from around the border. I pull out a chair for her and take one for myself.
‘What aren’t you sure about?’ I ask gently, resting my feet on the cool wrought iron of the matching coffee table.
‘This house. This garden.’ She shakes her head again, despondently. ‘They hold so many memories. I don’t know if I’m ready to let them go.’
My chest feels tight with worry. We’ve come so far. This is the right thing to do. Isn’t it?
‘Do you think you’ll ever be ready?’ I ask carefully.
‘That man rummaging around,’ she spits suddenly, and I presume she’s talking about the architect who’s just left. ‘Do you know they plan to knock through from the sitting room to the kitchen?’ she asks indignantly. ‘What’s wrong with the sitting room? They’ll take all the cosiness out of it! Your father and I loved reading the papers there in the sunshine—’
Her voice cracks.
‘Oh, Mum.’ I lean across and put my arms around her, feeling her collarbone beneath my fingers. She’s lost so much weight in recent years. ‘It’s normal to get cold feet. I love this house, too, you know. It’s going to be hard for all of us to say goodbye.’
It was actually this garden that helped me to bond with Mum for what felt like the first time, on my own, away from my sisters.
We’d moved from a tiny two-bedroom apartment in London, and being in such close quarters for the first seven years of our lives had been stressful, to say the least. Phoebe had been no trouble at all, but Eliza would turn the room into a pigsty and we’d all get the blame for it. We had to share everything: birthday parties, toys, clothes, even our knickers, and damn, it would piss me off when Eliza managed to nab the ones with the unicorns on them. We all loved those knickers.
It was easier when we moved here and got bedrooms of our own. At least then, we had our own space.
Mum had got stuck straight into the unkempt garden and I found myself helping her. Eliza and Phoebe had no interest in gardening, but I discovered I loved it, and I hated it when our time was interrupted by my sisters – usually Eliza – seeking some attention of their own.
Later I decided to follow in Mum’s footsteps with nursing, too.
I wanted to make my parents proud, so in that way my career choice was pretty much predetermined.
Mum draws away from me and flashes me a sardonic smile.
‘Don’t suppose you fancy taking care of me instead of your patients?’
‘What, quit my job and move back home?’ I ask with alarm.
She laughs and shakes her head. Okay, so she’s not being entirely serious, but I can tell she’s not entirely joking, either.
‘What would I do for money?’ I ask, humouring her.
‘We could take in a lodger – you could keep the rent.’ She raises her eyebrows hopefully.
‘What about my life?’ I ask, feeling a little panicky now. Has she given this some thought? ‘My friends? What about Gerard?’
‘Is he still married?’ she demands to know, all teasing gone from her tone.
I tut. ‘Technically, but they’re not together like that,’ I add quickly. ‘You’ll like him when you meet him. He says he’ll come to the wedding.’
‘That’s good of him,’ she mutters.
We both start at the sound of the Templetons’ French doors being opened. I peer over the fence to see Judy stepping outside.
‘Hello!’ she calls amiably. ‘We seem to be getting a summer at last.’
‘Yes.’ Mum’s reply is half-hearted. I flash Judy a reassuring look as her smile slips.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asks.
‘We’re a bit down about the move,’ I explain.
‘Oh dear,’ she sympathises. ‘Do you want to come in for a cuppa?’ She and Mum have become good friends over the years.
‘I’ve got so much to do,’ Mum bemoans.
‘Go on,’ I urge. ‘You could do with a break.’
She hesitates and then agrees. ‘Okay. Thank you, Judy, that’d be grand.’
‘I’ll see you at the front door,’ Judy says, going back inside.
‘I don’t know why we didn’t just put a gate in at the end of the garden,’ Mum mutters. ‘It would have got enough use.’
‘That would have taken all the fun out of shimmying over the fence,’ I say.
‘Since when have you ever shimmied over the fence?’ Mum demands to know.
‘All three of us used to sneak over when Angus had hot friends staying.’
‘Rose!’ she admonishes. ‘Only now am I hearing about this?’
I laugh. ‘Too bad you can’t ground me.’
When she’s gone, I walk into the kitchen and look around at all of the items that still need bubble-wrapping. Mum’s right: there is still so much to do. I should get on. Or...
A minute later I’m lying on my bed with Eliza’s diary open to the page I left it.
Ten minutes later I’m sitting bolt upright on my bed with my scalp prickling uncomfortably. All of the blood in my body seems to have rushed into my face.
Oh my God! When Angus drunkenly kissed me at that party, he didn’t think I was his cherished Phoebe – he thought I was Eliza! The two of them had been at it the night before!