Chapter 8
Rose
What was that all about?
I jump back under the covers as I hear the front door close.
I was still reading Eliza’s diary and only switched off my light a little while ago, peeking out of the window when I heard Angus’s car pull up. It wasn’t spying, I was just curious to see what he was up to, but now I’m more confused than ever.
What the hell were he and Eliza arguing about? The way he tried to embrace her... The way she pushed him away... It seemed so intense – almost intimate. I’ve never seen them act like that around each other before.
I listen as Eliza’s footsteps reach the top of the stairs. She walks along the landing and pauses outside our bedrooms. I grab her diary and shove it under the duvet, then freeze at the sound of gentle knocking on my door. I close my eyes and pretend to breathe deeply as the door opens. A moment later it shuts and I hear her go into her room.
My eyes fly open. That was not an encounter between platonic friends. There’s something going on between those two. They have history. What sort of history? What the hell? Eliza! What did you do?
My conscience pricks me as the memory of my own betrayal comes back to me. New Year’s Eve, almost a decade ago...
I’d gone to Darryl White’s party on my own because Eliza was ill. I knew Angus was going to be there and I wanted to see him. He’d seemed down for a couple of days and it had been a while since we’d caught up properly. But then he spotted me and smiled and he was so drunk and... and... Oh God.
Phoebe had returned to France the day before so I thought – hoped – that he knew what he was doing when he started to kiss me, but he was so out of it, he’d obviously forgotten she’d left. Not only did I return his kiss passionately, but I let him feel me up. My face burns at the memory. I nearly died when he turned on the cloakroom light and realised his mistake.
I groan and slide further under the bed covers, pulling my duvet over my face. It’s ridiculous that this still bothers me.
Angus and I never talked about what happened, although I think he tried. He called for me the morning after, but I was horrified. Eliza had been ill the night before so I pretended I’d caught her tummy bug and managed to escape to university without facing him. Even though I heard from Phoebe – very belatedly in a letter – that she and Angus had broken up before we’d kissed, I still felt disgusted with myself. In his drunken state, he must’ve thought Phoebe had changed her mind and come back to him.
I couldn’t bear to face him at Easter either, so I jumped at the chance when Aunt Suzie offered to have us to stay in Somerset. The next time I saw Angus was in the summer holidays, well over six months after our encounter. He was warm and friendly and seemed genuinely happy to see me. Eventually, my blushes came under control and I realised he was cool to let it go – we never had to speak of it again. Thankfully we’ve been buddies ever since.
Oh, but his kisses... I shiver and do what I really shouldn’t, which is remember the good bits. I’ve never had anyone kiss me like that, before or since. He was divine.
Mum rouses me from a deep sleep at ten forty-five the next day.
‘Rose! Are you ill?’ she exclaims, whipping back the curtains. I groan and bury my face in the pillow, but she’s pulling me out again a moment later and checking my vital signs.
‘Mum!’ I squawk, batting her away. ‘I’m fine! I’m just tired.’ Too damn right I’m tired. I struggled to get to sleep last night after all that. Needless to say, my urge to hug Eliza has flown right out the window and is probably migrating to Africa.
‘Are you sure you’re my Rose?’ Mum asks, sitting beside me on the bed and peering at me with amused blue eyes. We inherited our green eyes from Dad, but the rest of us is all Mum: similar height, similar build, and we did have a similar hair colour, before hers turned grey. Now she dyes it dark blonde and wears it in a bob. ‘Did you and Eliza swap beds in the night?’ she asks.
‘No, we did not,’ I snap indignantly. Eliza almost always oversleeps. ‘I just had a bad night.’
‘Aah,’ she says, patting my cheek. I flinch with annoyance.
Sometimes I think my mum still sees me as a little girl and not the twenty-seven-year-old woman that I’ve become. Maybe if she came to London more to visit, she’d know the real me – the one who has a sophisticated, older doctor for a boyfriend and a busy job – but she rarely gets out of Sale these days.
‘You’d better get up,’ she says, standing. ‘The new owner’s architect is coming over soon to measure up.’
‘Okay.’ I yawn and swing my legs out of the bed. ‘Is Eliza up yet?’
‘She’s long gone,’ Mum replies.
‘Where to?’ I ask with alarm.
‘London, flat hunting. Didn’t she tell you?’
‘No, she did not!’ What on earth?
Mum fills me in. Eliza wants to move to London. I can’t believe she didn’t say anything! We may not be close, but I’m still her sister and I could have given her advice about where to look – she doesn’t know London well at all. Even more proof of how little she respects me.
‘She was out of here at the crack of dawn, raring to go. She reminded me of you when you’ve got ants in your pants.’
I humph and she smiles at me as she goes out the door.
Wait a sec. Why does Eliza want to move to London when Angus and Phoebe are about to come back here? I thought she hated that I’ve had them to myself all these years.
I’ll never work her out, so I give up trying. Eliza’s an enigma, that’s for sure.
Right, then, I’d better get ready. I went out with an architect once and he was rather dishy.
Sadly, this one is not, as I discover half an hour later. He’s up in the loft, grumbling about not being able to see the wood for the trees. The new owners plan to do a loft extension, apparently.
‘I’m still in the process of sorting everything out, I’m afraid,’ I call up to him, rolling my eyes.
Not that I’m looking for a boyfriend. Gerard is a catch, but frankly he could do with a firecracker or two up his jacksie. We’ve been seeing each other for six and a half months and he’s thirty-four, tall, dark, handsome, and he’s a doctor. However, he does unfortunately happen to be married. He’s not still with his wife, mind. I would never do that. But it would have been nice if the divorce papers had been signed before he’d asked me out. I don’t think they’ve actually been issued.
The thing is, although I admittedly did have a soft spot for Angus when I was younger, I wasn’t deluded. I knew early on that he and I weren’t meant to be, and I certainly haven’t sat around pining for him since. I’ve moved on, dated, searched for the one true love of my life. I’ll find him eventually, if I haven’t already. I’m not sure it’s Gerard. He is reasonably attractive, clever and definitely fancies my pants off, but he’s no Angus.
What I mean by that is he’s not the same with me as Angus is with Phoebe. Those two together are adorable. The way they laugh at each other, listen to each other, look at each other... The way he casually drapes his arm around her shoulder, when they’re hanging out at a barbecue, a beer in his spare hand. I can picture them both, right now, standing on my London balcony in the early evening sunshine, the week before last. Gerard is far less attentive to me.
There is no doubt in my mind: Angus is absolutely besotted with Phoebe. So what the hell has been going on between him and Eliza?
‘Are you okay up there for a minute?’ I call up the ladder, feeling twitchy. I wonder if Eliza’s diary holds any clues.
‘I’m almost done,’ the architect calls back.
‘Do you need help getting down?’
‘Yes, if you could just wait,’ he replies a touch huffily.
I sigh, eager to get back to my reading.
But it’s one thing after another, and then Angus rocks up. Mum answers the door to him and he doesn’t waste much time getting to the point.
‘Is Eliza there, by any chance?’ I overhear him asking.
‘Oh, no. She’s gone to London to look for a flat,’ Mum replies.
‘Has she?’ He sounds taken aback.
‘I know, that’s what I thought!’ Mum exclaims. ‘She was out the door before I’d even made breakfast. Rose was still fast asleep.’
‘Hello, Gus,’ I interrupt, squeezing between Mum and the doorframe.
‘Hey, Rosie!’ While he might sound jovial, I can tell that the news about Eliza has thrown him.
I turn to Mum. ‘Do you think you should check on the architect?’
‘Does he need me?’ she asks with a frown.
‘I think so.’ Actually, he’s fine, but I want to speak to Angus alone. ‘You’re after Eliza?’ I ask him when Mum has moseyed off.
‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t important. You okay?’
‘I’m fine. Busy packing up.’ I watch carefully for any signs of guilt as I ask my next question. ‘Have you spoken to Phoebe?’
‘I tried calling her last night,’ he replies. ‘But it went straight to voicemail.’ His right eyebrow twitches. Oh, Angus! I want to ask him about his apparent intimacy with the wrong sister, but he distracts me before I can think of a way to phrase the question.
‘Are you missing Dr Gerard?’ He raises one eyebrow in a cheeky gesture.
‘Yeah, but he’s really busy at work, so I wouldn’t have seen much of him this week anyway.’
‘It’s a shame you two couldn’t have got some time off together.’
‘What, so he could come here and help me pack?’ I tease.
Angus gives me a sympathetic look and nods past me. ‘How’s it all going?’
‘Slowly,’ I reply. ‘What about you?’
‘Same. I have no idea how I’ll get the apartment sorted before Phoebe returns.’
‘Maybe I could come over and give you a hand?’ I offer.
‘Haven’t you got enough on your plate?’
Er, yes. What am I thinking? ‘I could just hang up Phoebe’s clothes or something,’ I find myself saying. ‘I bet you’re rubbish at that.’
He grins. ‘Have you seen inside my wardrobe?’
‘No, but I know you, Angus Templeton, and you’re a right messy git.’
He chuckles. ‘Alright. I’d love to show you the place. What are you doing tonight? Maybe I could order us in a pizza?’
‘Sounds perfect. I want to see what you’re leaving me for.’
‘Aw.’ He flashes me a fond smile and pulls out his phone. ‘I’ll text you the address.’
As he types out a message, it occurs to me that I could use this evening as an opportunity to find out what’s going on with him and Eliza. I wish that had been my reason for offering to help him unpack, but no, I’m just being a martyr as usual.
‘Rose is a giver, not a taker.’
You got that straight, Dad, I think wryly. I really should sort out my priorities.