Rose
2012
Rose Grahame: Today’s the day! We finally move into our dream home! The next step of our life together – and proof that hard work and talent pay off. Housewarming party details to follow later when we’re unpacked and settled. So excited! #Newhome #Blessed #WhereDidIPacktheKettle?
‘You know we won’t be having a housewarming?’ Cian laughed, looking over my shoulder.
‘Not even a little one?’ I asked him. ‘Close friends and family?’
He sniffed. ‘People just looking for a nosy around the house? Let them look at the magazine spread when it’s done – we don’t need them snooping in the bathroom cupboards.’
‘Close family and friends don’t care what brand of shampoo we use, Cian,’ I mocked, but he didn’t laugh back. He was becoming a little more reclusive these days – the pressure of book three was building. He wanted From Darkness Comes Light to be his breakthrough book – the one that won him awards, recognition from the literary community. His second book had earned him the sales he wanted – but the reviews from his peers weren’t always kind. He’d have swapped the first for the second.
‘Maybe when the book’s done,’ he said. ‘I don’t need to worry about a party and everyone asking how my writing is going before then.’
I couldn’t help but feel a bit deflated – this house was more than I could have dreamed of. It was beautiful, filled with character. A home that I could see us raising a family in. I was standing in our new kitchen – which was bigger than my first flat – looking at the new furniture that had been delivered and how good it all looked and of course I wanted to show it off. Maybe it did make me shallow, like Cian said, but I was proud of what we had achieved.
‘But my parents can call round, and my sisters?’ I asked, knowing my mother was dying to get a look around and I wouldn’t be able to hold her off for long.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose I can’t stop them,’ he said. ‘But you know the pressure I’m under, so can you make it quick? We’ll do something more when the book is done. Promise.’
I tried to understand. I tried, if I’m honest, to reassure myself it was only going to be great when this blasted book was finished. Although I couldn’t tell him I was starting to resent his dedication to writing – how he put it above everything else. How would that make me look? When he had just bought us this big house on the proceeds of his dazzling career? Like the ungrateful cow he had said I was when I had complained of his long hours before.
‘Try not to look so sad about it,’ Cian said, a hint of frustration in his voice. ‘I know you’d love to have everyone round. I’m just asking you to hold off for a bit, Rose. Not nail the door shut. If it makes you feel better, I thought I could invite Greg and Lucy over for dinner? You can do all your showing off then.’
Greg and Lucy, his agent and his publisher. People I liked, I suppose, but didn’t really have anything in common with. They didn’t find tales from the dental surgery or want to talk about the soaps, and as much as I had tried to widen my reading I still found I preferred lighter reads, reads that didn’t make me feel stupid. Neither Greg nor Lucy lived nearby so a visit was a big deal – a huge deal in fact. If we had a fatted calf it would be slaughtered for the occasion. I would play hostess rather than relax over a glass or three of wine. It wouldn’t be the housewarming I’d dreamed of.
‘I’ll ask them if they want to stay over in the spare rooms – sure there’s a chance for you to get them decorated – done up just right. I want to impress them, Rose. Make them think I’m in control and not scrabbling around with the soggy middle of this bloody novel.’
He looked sad, stressed – and I suppose my heart ached for him a little. My job was easy in comparison, as he reminded me. His book – and the need for it to be even better than the last – was with him always.
‘The book will be brilliant, Cian. I have every faith in you,’ I said, wrapping my arms around him.
He kissed the top of my head, pulled me closer. ‘I don’t know how you put up with me,’ he said, ‘but I’m glad you do. Look, how about I take a day off this weekend? We can go shopping together? Look for bits for those spare rooms? And on Sunday invite your parents and sisters around? Have an afternoon tea? I think the weather is meant to be nice – we’ll go and get some furniture for the garden? You can all make an afternoon of it while I languish in my office.’
‘That sounds lovely, Cian. Some time together, just the two of us. Making this house our home. The break from writing might do you good too – give you a chance to recharge.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But let’s not think about it all too much today. This should be a happy day.’
‘It is,’ I told him, looking up into his eyes, trying to find that carefree affection that used to be there. ‘How about I hunt out the kettle and make us both a cup of tea and we can unpack some more after?’
‘I like the sound of a cup of tea,’ he said, ‘but would you mind if I did even an hour’s work after?’
‘Of course not,’ I said, resigning myself to unpacking the kitchen on my own. Hoping I did it just right. ‘You do what you have to do.’
‘I’m lucky to have you, Rose Grahame,’ he said. ‘And when this is all done, we’ll celebrate with champagne. We’ll have the biggest party imaginable. I promise.’
I knew we wouldn’t, but for a moment or two, while I kissed him and counted the blessings in front of me – the house, the more secure income – I let myself believe we would.