The Daughter's Choice

by S. D. Robertson

  Why not? She’d been lied to plenty. She wanted to see what it felt like to tell a big fib of her own. Also, it got rid of him without any awkward questions. Death was rarely a topic people wanted to stay and discuss. Plus, who would begrudge a second bottle of wine to someone in the throes of grief, even if they looked like they’d already had enough?

  She looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she poured herself yet another large glass and immediately started to gulp it down.

  No wonder he’d asked if she was okay. She looked awful: blotchy red skin, panda eyes and hair like a bird’s nest, still wearing the outfit she’d gone to dinner in, but with her white bathrobe on top, because it felt soft and comforting.

  Soon afterwards, the landline rang. Well, it felt soon, but she was rather drunk by that point, so impossible to know for sure.

  It was her father. ‘Sorry to bother you, Rose. I had to check on you. I’d have texted instead, but I know you don’t have your mobile.’

  ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone.’ She hung up, then called down to reception and, doing her utmost to sound sober, asked them to hold any further calls.

  She nearly phoned Ryan countless times. She knew his mobile number by heart and dialled it again and again, only to hang up at the last minute, before it connected. She couldn’t bring herself to confront him yet. To make what she’d witnessed real.

  She cried a lot that night. What felt like floods and floods of sorry-for-herself tears came out as she lay on the bed, wailing and moaning, thumping the pillows, wondering what on earth to do with her life in light of everything she’d learned. Eventually, she started feeling queasy. Soon she was running to the en suite and being sick in the bath, knocking her half-full wine bottle over in the process, thus curtailing her drinking for the night.

  Her sobbing continued as she unsteadily undressed, having a shower to wash the foul-smelling mess away from herself and the bath.

  Crying some more, she used two rolls of toilet paper to mop up the wine on the bedroom carpet.

  And still she wept as she got into bed and drifted off into a fitful sleep full of nightmares almost as scary as the truth.

  ‘Would you like me to come with you when you meet your, um, you know, parents?’ Cara asks at breakfast. ‘Sorry, is it okay for me to use that word?’

  ‘It’s fine – and kind of you to offer,’ Rose replies. ‘But no, thanks. I need to do it alone. Besides, you’ve done enough for me, bringing me here and listening to my incessant moans for the past few days. You have your own life to get back to.’

  ‘Feel free to change your mind,’ Cara says. ‘I’d be happy to hold your hand. And I’ve loved being here with you, despite the difficult circumstances.’

  Rose reaches across the table and squeezes her best friend’s cool hand. ‘What would I do without you?’

  They smile at each other and Rose feels weepy for the umpteenth time these past few days. She gulps, takes a few slow, deep breaths and blinks back the tears. ‘Thanks for everything,’ she manages, a catch in her voice.

  ‘Of course. That’s exactly what friends are for, right?’

  Rose nods and battles another wave of emotion.

  They’re downstairs in the small dining room of the isolated guest house. By chance, and somewhat ironically, it’s a modernised former vicarage, just like the family home she’s run away from. They’ve been here since Monday. It’s in the Lake District, not far from Buttermere, pretty much in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by gorgeous green pasture land and dramatic Lakeland fells. Cara miraculously managed to find it, thanks to a late cancellation, and made a last-minute booking for the two of them to escape, as per Rose’s request.

  It’s turned out to be a real delight, run by an attentive but easy-going husband and wife team called Bob and Suzie, who keep the place immaculate inside and out and serve the most wonderful breakfasts, from full Cumbrian to eggs Benedict, or scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. It’s all free range, locally produced fare, alongside homemade preserves and honey from their own beehives. Rose has struggled with her appetite after everything she’s been through, but Bob and Suzie have successfully managed to tempt her with something delicious most mornings. If either of them has noticed how up and down Rose has been emotionally during the visit, they’ve certainly not let on or asked anything intrusive, for which she’s grateful.

  She turned up on Cara’s doorstep last Sunday afternoon, fresh from confronting Ryan, hungover and broken, and begged to stay with her and her parents for the night, not wanting to face her own father. Later, after bringing her friend up to date about what had happened, in between sobbing sessions, she said: ‘I need to get out of here, as soon as possible. Will you come away with me for a few days, preferably somewhere quiet, where I can take shelter, lick my wounds and regroup?’

  ‘Yes, it’s the least I can do after leaving you like I did yesterday. Honestly, Rose, I had no idea what was coming. Obviously I knew something was going on after Dad told me there wasn’t really a family emergency. He made me swear not to let on, so I didn’t dare speak to you. Dave had told him he was arranging a surprise, which I was afraid of ruining. It sounded like something nice. How was I to know otherwise?’

  ‘You weren’t,’ Rose said. ‘Which is why I don’t blame you at all, and why I’m hiding out here.’

  Cara screwed up her face, adding: ‘Cards on the table. I’m sure my parents will have tipped off your dad that you’re here. But I’ve told them, in no uncertain terms, not to let him in to see you. Unless, of course, that’s what you want.’

  ‘No. I don’t want to see anyone, apart from you.’ She felt short of breath. ‘And definitely not Ryan. If he shows up here, I don’t know what I’ll—’

  Cara pulled her into a warm hug. ‘He’s not getting anywhere near you – not as long as I have anything to do with it.’

  Back in the present, the full Cumbrian breakfast they’ve both opted for today arrives at the table courtesy of a smiling, moustachioed Bob. ‘Here we are, my glorious guests,’ he says with a theatrical flourish. ‘Any extra condiments I can get for you on this final morning of yours?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ Rose replies, while Cara requests some brown sauce, which he duly fetches.

  ‘We’ll be sorry to lose you,’ Bob adds. ‘It’s been a particular pleasure to have you both stay with us. If you ever fancy a return to this green and pleasant land, you’ll be most welcome.’

  Cara beams at him. ‘Thank you very much. We’ve had a lovely stay. We certainly fell on our feet finding you at the last minute. Thank goodness for whoever it was that cancelled.’

  Bob chuckles. ‘I was cursing them last Sunday morning, I must admit. But yes, all’s well that ends well. I’ll get out of your hair now before Suzie has my guts for garters. Enjoy your food.’

  ‘So how are you feeling about everything today?’ Cara asks Rose as they’re both tucking into their sumptuous spread.

  ‘A bit nervous, I guess, about seeing Dad and, um, Cassie later.’ She hasn’t seen or spoken to either since last Saturday night, communicating only with her father via an occasional text, which was how they arranged their meet-up, at a restaurant close to home at six o’clock this evening.

  Nana will be there too, since she’s flown back to the UK, regardless of the fact the wedding has been cancelled. Will that make the meeting easier or harder? Difficult to say, considering they haven’t spoken about any of this yet. Rose has had several missed calls from her this week, but she’s not been answering her phone to anyone, using the poor mobile reception up here as a convenient excuse.

  Apparently, Nana didn’t know that Dave was back in contact with Cassie or about Ryan’s cheating. She was in on the whole dead mother deception from the start, of course, but only very reluctantly, it seems.

  Rose isn’t really angry with her. What would she gain from falling out with Nana now? Besides, Ryan’s cheating has overshadowed everything else.

  There have also been some missed
calls from him, which isn’t particularly surprising, considering they were supposed to get married today. She doesn’t know what more there is for them to say to each other. It’s done and dusted as far as she’s concerned. And yes, she most definitely is angry at Ryan. How could she not be? Especially after she forgave him for cheating on her that first time, believing his promises, only for them to prove fake and meaningless. She really believed he’d changed; that he was a man worth dedicating the rest of her life to. He won’t be getting any more opportunities to make a fool of her. What a prize idiot she must look to all those people who were supposed to be attending her wedding today. How will she ever face them? She knows she’ll have to – it’s one of the many things she and Cara have discussed on their short trip away – but that doesn’t mean she’s looking forward to it.

  ‘Tell them the truth,’ is Cara’s advice. ‘Say you discovered he was a lying cheat in the nick of time and pulled the plug.’

  Thank goodness she’s at least been spared the job of contacting everyone – guests, caterers, photographer, florists and the numerous other people involved – to inform them that the wedding is off.

  Her dad texted: Leave that all to me. Don’t give it a second thought. But of course she has. How could she not after living and breathing this wedding for so long?

  She keeps panicking that he might have forgotten someone; wondering whether he’s had any help, particularly with regards to contacting the invitees from Ryan’s side. She hopes this job has fallen to her former fiancé himself, who she doubts very much Dave will have let off the hook. Cara has relayed a couple of questions along the way, but otherwise Rose has escaped all involvement. And when she has been tempted to query something, Cara has talked her down with an assurance that it’s all under control.

  ‘What did your dad say?’

  ‘Not to give it a second thought.’

  ‘There you go. Just forget about it.’

  ‘It’s hard, Cara. I keep thinking about all the financial implications. None of this will be covered by the wedding insurance.’

  ‘Your dad and Ryan’s parents were paying for most of it, right?’

  ‘Yes, but still. I feel awful.’

  ‘If anyone should be feeling bad, it’s Ryan, not you. Let go of it all, that’s my advice. Worrying won’t change a thing.’

  In the car on the way back home, Cara drifts off to sleep in the passenger seat and Rose’s mind drifts back to the moment she confronted Ryan.

  CHAPTER 39

  LAST SUNDAY

  Rose pulled up outside Ryan’s flat in Clitheroe at 1.32 p.m. She still felt rough from the night before, but her headache had at least been muffled by paracetamol and now the adrenaline running through her veins in anticipation of the confrontation to come.

  She’d barely been able to think of anything else – not even the shock reappearance of her dead mother – since her dad had sent her those pictures last night. Those awful, heartbreaking, stomach-churning photos depicting a man she barely recognised as Ryan, trampling all over her hopes and dreams. And for what? Mindless sex.

  The fact each photograph showed him with a different woman too! How could he do that to her, behind her back like a scumbag – a cowardly, horny little weasel? What did they give him that she couldn’t? Was it the danger, the threat of getting caught, that got him off?

  How was this even the same person who’d begged and pleaded with her for forgiveness, sworn never to stray again, and then gone to all that effort to propose to her in such a public, romantic, extravagant fashion?

  It was definitely the same person who’d quietly slid a knife into her back while she was at uni. So why had he chased her, gone to all the effort of winning her back, only to cheat on her again, goodness knows how many times?

  And that didn’t even address the fact that he’d put her at risk of catching all kinds of horrible STIs. How could he do that to someone he genuinely loved and was about to marry?

  She felt physically sick every time she recalled those images her father had sent her. She’d hoped to rid herself of them by ditching her phone, but it was too late: they’d already seared themselves into her memory.

  When she’d seen the first picture – before that, even, if she was honest – she’d known in her heart it was true what her dad was telling her. The stuff she’d said to him about the photos looking fake was pure desperation, clutching at straws.

  She’d had her suspicions before. Nothing serious. Only inklings, really, like Ryan being overly protective of his mobile, or not wanting to get close to her until he’d showered, saying he stank from sweating at work. She’d talked herself out of worrying about these things, writing them off as paranoia rather than intuition, which she now regretted. She should have listened to her father, who she’d rebuffed whenever he’d tried to warn her.

  As she approached the entrance of Ryan’s flat, it occurred to her that he might be in there with someone now – some floozy from the night before. He had said he was going out in town with some of his friends yesterday, and he wasn’t expecting her, so it was definitely possible. Pulse racing at the thought of catching him in flagrante, she stood before his front door, steadying her nerves and building herself up to going inside.

  Rose considered whether to ring the bell or to use her key. She opted for the latter – even though it scared her what she might see as a result.

  As she gingerly slid the slice of metal into the lock, turned it and pushed, she closed her eyes for an instant, before snapping them open. She saw Ryan sprawled on the sofa in the lounge at the end of the short hallway, wearing boxers and a T-shirt.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ he said casually, unfazed. ‘I wondered if you might call in this afternoon. How was yesterday? Nice and relaxing, I hope.’

  ‘Hi,’ she replied, raising her right hand in greeting, thrown by the prosaic scene before her.

  What if none of it was true after all?

  What if those photos really were fakes? Her dad didn’t like Ryan – and he had already proved himself more than capable of lying to her.

  The thoughts crossed her mind, to her shame, but her gut was having none of it. Not any more. Stop burying your head in the sand, it said to her. You know the truth. Now make him admit it.

  ‘Yesterday was interesting,’ she said, slowly walking towards him. ‘Not what I expected at all, but very illuminating.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ryan said, looking away from her and towards the TV. ‘Let me pause this.’

  He was on his Xbox, playing some game involving zombies.

  Rose stepped into the lounge, looking across to the open kitchen, still half-expecting to see a scantily clad stranger climbing out of the window. But unless he had someone hiding out in the bedroom or bathroom, which his relaxed demeanour suggested he did not, he was alone. Rather than joining him on the sofa, as she usually would, she sat down on the adjacent armchair, having first lifted an empty takeaway pizza box out of the way.

  She met Ryan’s gaze.

  ‘No kiss?’ he said, eyes narrowing as he finally appeared to sense that all was not well.

  She shook her head. ‘I need to talk to you about something, Ryan. Something serious.’

  His Adam’s apple jerked as he gulped, but still he kept his cool. Like a serial cheater, used to not getting caught, would do.

  ‘I know what you’ve been up to,’ she said in a low, steady voice, suddenly enveloped by a shield of calm detachment she’d not been expecting.

  ‘Sorry, what do you mean?’ Ryan replied.

  ‘Either you tell me or I’ll tell you.’

  ‘W-what are you talking about, Rose? Is this some kind of wind-up? Because it’s not funny. You’re scaring me.’

  ‘Poor little lamb,’ she replied, an ice queen. ‘Last chance. Confess. It’s over anyway.’

  ‘What’s over? Rose, seriously, please stop this. It’s creepy. I’ve got a hangover. I can’t deal—’

  ‘Fine, I’ll tell you, then. You’ve been cheating on me,
Ryan. Numerous times, with numerous women. On your stag do, in your work van … Do I need to continue?’

  ‘What? Where’s this coming from? I, um—’

  ‘Don’t try to deny it. I’ve seen hard proof. Turns out Dad was right about you all along. More fool me for falling for your bullshit again after you cheated the first time.’

  Putting on a whiny, singsong voice to impersonate him, she continued: ‘“I’ll never do it again, I promise.” That’s what you told me, right? “I love you so much, Rose. Please forgive me.” What a load of old crap that was, Ryan. At least have the balls to admit it now you’ve been caught. Either way, the wedding is off. We’re over once and for all. On my life, you’ll never get another chance.’

  Finally sensing he was beaten, out came the apologies and excuses.

  ‘I’m so sorry. It was just sex – meaningless sex. Nothing like what we have. I don’t know why I did it. I have these urges. I couldn’t stop myself. I … I … please, Rose. I do love you. I was planning to stop once we were married. Honestly, I—’

  ‘You just said you couldn’t stop. And what on earth does honesty have to do with anything? You disgust me. You put my health at risk. You could have passed any number of nasty infections on to me. Maybe you have. Some STIs appear symptomless while having lifelong effects, like infertility. Didn’t consider that, did you? And you know damn well how much I want to have children. I thought that was important to you too, but you’re nowhere near ready to be a parent. You’d be an awful father. You’re too much of a child yourself – and a bloody selfish one at that. I’ll have to get myself checked out now, Ryan. Thanks so much. To think I nearly married you! You’re repulsive.’

  ‘No!’ Ryan said, dazed, shrivelling back into the corner of the couch, a horrified look etched into his gurning features. ‘I was careful. I, um … got myself checked out when I needed to. Several times.’

  ‘Wow. What a gentleman. So you’ve got a season ticket at the GUM clinic, have you? Would you like a round of applause?’

  ‘Seriously, Rose. I stayed away if I thought there was any, er, risk. I’d never do that to you. I care too much about you.’