by Eva Woods
‘So you did Business Studies instead?’ He’d remembered. He’d been listening.
‘You can’t get much more different, right?’
‘Did you act at school?’ Luke was slurping down the last of his second beer. They all drank so much back then, free from worries about work or babysitters or getting the last train home.
‘Yeah. I was meant to be the lead in something but I … I didn’t in the end. Maybe it’s too late now. That’s what my parents say, anyway.’
Present-day Rosie winced. Poor Mr Malcolm. What a twat she’d been, dropping out of that play.
‘Rosie, that’s ridiculous,’ said Luke hotly. She liked his passion. His fair hair flopped over his tanned face as he scowled. ‘You can’t be too old for anything in your twenties.’
‘Except, maybe, wetting the bed.’
‘A guy in my hostel did that last week. Too much raki.’ They both laughed.
‘You really think I should do it?’ she said.
‘If it’s your passion.’ He grew sombre for a minute. ‘You and I both know, Rosie, that life is short.’ Past Rosie put her hand shyly over his, and he gripped it, and Rosie remembered how that felt, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. But she couldn’t remember what had happened to Luke. He’d lost someone? For that matter, what had happened to her?
He took another gulp of beer. ‘When my dad was ill, he made me promise I wouldn’t go into some crappy job just to make money, like he had. That I wouldn’t settle down until I’d lived a bit, explored the world. So here I am, travelling on his dime.’ Of course. She remembered now. His father had died when he was fourteen. He’d left Luke money in his will, which he’d stipulated had to be used for travel. She’d thought it was an amazing thing to do, one her own parents would never think of.
Past Rosie raised her cocktail solemnly. ‘To your dad.’
‘To Dad. And to living first.’ They drank.
‘So … where will you go after this?’ she asked shyly.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I might check out Istanbul, get the ferry. Then volunteer in Africa, help build schools or something. That’s the beauty of it. I’ve got no ties, I’ve got some cash, thanks to Dad, and I’ll go where the road takes me.’ Oh, Luke. She’d forgotten the exquisite confidence of young men, rushing into the world with open arms, sure that it would never hurt them.
‘You don’t think you might get … lonely?’ said Past Rosie, faux-casual.
‘I’ll meet people on the way – the way I met you guys. Youth hostels, trains. It’s all very friendly.’
Rosie tried again. ‘But wouldn’t it be nice if you had people with you? Some travel buddies?’
He still wasn’t getting it. ‘I guess, but Nick has to go back to start his job and …’ Finally, the penny dropped. ‘You’re not saying …?’
‘Well, we’re sort of going the same way, aren’t we?’ Past Rosie laughed nervously, gulping half her cocktail. ‘I mean, only if you want to.’
‘The others wouldn’t mind?’
‘Oh no. Ingrid would love to have another person.’
He was watching her closely. ‘Ingrid would?’
Rosie couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘Um, sure. We all would. It’d be fun!’
‘Well … if you’re sure …’
‘You mean …’
‘Yeah, why not? Let’s travel together!’
They stared at each other, electrified with the hugeness of this step, and with the excitement of the world spread out in front of them. Past Rosie laughed. ‘It’s mad. We only just met!’
‘But that’s the beauty of travel. You make friends on the road, you have adventures …’
Friends. Past Rosie looked slightly crestfallen at that. ‘I wouldn’t want to cramp your style.’
He put his hand on hers again, strong and brown, the wrist twisted round with gap-year beads. ‘Rosie, I’d love to come with you. It would be awesome.’
For a moment, it looked like they would kiss, there in the taverna with the Greek accordion music and the laminated menus and sunburned tourists. Rosie could remember the dizzy feeling of it, almost not wanting it to happen because it would end the delicious anticipation of the moment. Her head was tilted towards his. She could feel his breath on her cheek, smell his aftershave and the faint tang of suncream. Jack couldn’t have been further from her thoughts. Kiss me, for God’s sake! But they both chickened out, downed their drinks instead. ‘Another round!’ Rosie declared. ‘To travel!’
‘To adventure!’
‘To the open road!’
‘To Dad.’ Luke suddenly had tears in his eyes. ‘He’d have loved this. He’d have loved you.’
‘Really?’ Rosie was now tearful too. They were very drunk.
‘Come on. Let’s go for a walk on the beach. It’s best at night.’
And that was where kissing happened. Had they kissed on the beach that night? Had she broken up with Jack? Had she cheated on him? Or maybe they were already over. Enthusiastically, Past Rosie flung down her euros on the table and staggered after him along the sand, beer bottle in hand. The bored waiter came to clear their barely touched plates, and looked after them for a moment with an indulgent smile – ah, young people – before forgetting about them altogether.
But they hadn’t got more than three steps when two figures materialised in front of them on the beach. A young woman, her face pink as a lobster, her hair sun-lightened, wearing a tight red bodycon dress and high heels that were sinking into the sand. And a young man, in a polo shirt and shorts, a jumper knotted about his shoulders. Both seemed effervescent, wide-eyed. They had, Rosie now realised, probably taken something back at the apartment. She’d been so naïve back then.
‘There you are!’ said Ingrid, latching onto to Luke, threading her arm through his. ‘Sorry I didn’t come out earlier. Too many sambucas last night.’
‘Oh,’ said Rosie, looking between the newcomers. ‘You felt better then?’
‘Suddenly could eat a scabby donkey,’ said Jack, putting his arm around Rosie. She winced as he pressed on her sunburn. ‘All right, Luke mate?’ He grasped the other boy’s hand and pumped it hard. Luke also winced. ‘Thanks for wining and dining my lady. I’m back on form now. What do you say we take these girls for some vino?’
‘Sure,’ said Luke unenthusiastically, and Rosie watched Ingrid lead him off, talking loudly about her family’s ski chalet in Chamonix. Jack and Past Rosie followed. Her past self’s face said it all: disappointment. Jealousy. What a mess.
‘Oh,’ said Now Rosie, watching it all fade. Why hadn’t she realised? She turned to Darryl. ‘I was on holiday with Jack when I met Luke. Jack, my boyfriend. That’s why we didn’t … why nothing happened? Did Luke get together with Ingrid instead? Is that why we fell out? Oh God, surely not. He was engaged to that other girl.’ Poor dumped Ingrid, who after all had every right to flirt with the cute single boy they’d fallen in with on their travels. Whereas Rosie – Rosie who had a boyfriend – had no right at all. ‘So what happened next?’
‘Mate, you know what happened. It’s all in there.’
‘I don’t! I can’t remember. All I know is I think he got married. Not to me.’ She didn’t know why she felt ashamed saying this. Rosie screwed up her face, trying hard to pin down the memory of what happened next. It was darting round her head, always out of reach, like a fly when you try to scoop it out of an open window. She shook her head, frustrated. ‘This isn’t working! There’s so much I still can’t remember.’
She and Luke had been so happy then, on the Greek beach, talking and laughing. If you asked her what happy felt like, she would have chosen that night. But she hadn’t been single. And Luke was no longer in her life, even as a friend? What had happened next? Rosie had a nasty feeling she was about to find out.
Daisy
‘I suppose we should have some dinner.’ Her mother looked vaguely round her kitchen. Daisy knew the fridge would only contain Slimming World meals and the cat’s super-l
uxury food, much more expensive than what they’d had in the sandwiches in their school packed lunches. Mopsy, her mother’s ancient and vengeful tabby, had shot under the cooker as soon as Daisy appeared. He hated Rosie and Daisy both, as if he knew they were rivals for Alison’s undivided love.
‘We could order a takeaway?’
‘Darling, the calories!’
That made Daisy think of the boy in the café, the kind way he’d looked at her, the deftness of his movements flicking the cake into the bag for her. ‘Rosie’s in hospital, Mum. We have to keep our strength up.’
‘Well, I suppose I could eat a Chinese maybe. Just something small. That black bean stuff. And some fried rice.’
This was Daisy’s chance. ‘I’ll go and pick it up, it’ll be quicker. You pack some things to take to London, then we’ll eat and get some rest, OK?’
‘OK.’ This was a change, Daisy taking charge. As if the absence of Rosie, her argumentative, fiery presence, had left a gap for her sister to step into. As she picked up the car keys, there was a knock on the back door, and she opened it.
A man stood there, middle-aged, with distinguished grey hair and a quilted jacket.
‘Oh hello, is Ali in?’ he said. Ali, indeed. What was going on there?
Her mother looked flustered. ‘Oh, John, hello. This is my daughter – eh, my other daughter. Daisy. John just moved in next door, darling.’
‘Hello,’ Daisy said, scoping John out. No wedding ring. Sixtyish, in good nick. A small bunch of roses in his hand, wrapped in tinfoil, obviously home-grown. And Mopsy had slunk out from his hiding place and was rubbing himself against the man’s chinos. Mopsy, who hated everyone except Daisy’s mum. Curious.
‘How is she?’ he asked sympathetically, as if he knew Rosie. Or had heard a lot about her.
Her mother shook her head. ‘Not too good. We just came down to get some things. It’s likely to be a long haul, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh Ali, I’m so sorry.’
Her mother’s eyes shone with tears. ‘It’s … it’s very hard to see her like that.’
‘Well, don’t you worry about things here. I can water the garden, feed Mopsy, whatever you like. I’ve already got the key, after all.’
‘Thank you, John. That’s very kind of you.’
‘I’ll leave you to it. Just wanted to drop these over. I do hope she’ll be all right.’ He put the flowers on the side, and nodded and smiled at Daisy as he left.
‘Er … the new neighbour,’ her mother explained. She still looked flustered.
‘He seems nice.’
‘He has two boys about your age. His wife died last year, cancer, so hard. Wanted a change of scene. Has a nice chocolate lab, Lily, who Mopsy just hates. He sits on the fence and tries to scratch at the poor dog.’ Excessive detail. Suspicious. Her mother’s face had gone red.
‘Well. I’ll go and get the food then. I won’t be long.’
‘Get some spring rolls too, darling.’
‘Spring rolls, got it.’ She went to the door.
‘Oh, and those prawn cracker thingies!’
Daisy smiled to herself slightly, wondering how long it had been since her mother had let herself eat anything unhealthy. In the car, she sat and thought for a moment. She’d been to the Timmons’ house a hundred times back in the day, dropping Rosie off, reluctantly picking her up. Could she remember where it was?
Turned out, she could. It was in what had once been the town’s poorest council estate. Now the houses had all been sold off, and the drives were full of Audis and Golfs, children’s scooters piled by the doors. Daisy went up the drive, feeling abashed. What would she say? Hello, I’m looking for your daughter? I’m not selling anything! Perhaps she should have messaged in advance.
The door was opened to a cacophony of sound, a TV blaring out and children fighting. ‘God, would you two put a sock in— Oh! Hello?’
It was a woman – a young woman, Daisy could now see, despite the initial impression. Not much older than her. She wore a large floral top of the kind Carole favoured, and pyjama bottoms tucked into Uggs. She’d changed a lot since the nineties – but Daisy knew her all the same. She must have taken over her mother’s house. ‘Angie?’
Angie blinked. ‘Yeah? Do I …? Oh! You’re Daisy, aren’t you? Daisy Cooke?’
‘Yeah. Sorry to just call round like this. Um. Could I have a quick word? It’s important.’
Angie’s front room was comfortable, if over-decorated. Daisy remembered it had smelled constantly of chips in the old days, but now the place was studded with scent reeds and candles, exuding a warm vanilla odour. Pictures of two chubby kids at various stages of growth, wedding shots. It was hard to believe that Angie and Rosie were the same age, and Rosie was living in that tiny studio flat. Daisy had said yes to tea, just for something to do with her hands, and it was too hot and she blew on it while Angie sat bewildered, a large glass of squash at her own feet. From the next room the noises of the kids went on. ‘I don’t understand,’ said Angie. ‘Rosie’s in a coma?’
‘Yes. They’re hopeful, though, I think.’ She could hear the lack of conviction in her voice. Were they even hopeful? So far Rosie had shown no sign of improvement.
‘And you came to tell me?’
‘Kind of. The thing is, Angie, I went to Rosie’s flat. She’d written this list of names – some people I knew, some I’d never heard of. I think she must have done it right before she went out that day. You were on it. And as we’re trying to find out what happened …’
‘I see. Well, she did ring me yesterday morning, if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘She did?’ Daisy’s heart lurched.
‘I thought it was a bit strange – we hadn’t spoken since school, you know. Then she just calls, out of the blue.’
‘What did she say?’
Angie looked embarrassed. ‘I didn’t pick up. I was busy with the kids, and you know … no time in the mornings. And, well, we had a bit of a falling-out way back. Over a boy, as it happened. Bryn Collins. Don’t know if you remember him, you’d have been too young maybe. Anyway, I liked him and Rosie went off with him. Silly girl stuff. But she wanted to say sorry. After twenty years!’ Angie shook her head. ‘I wish I’d answered the phone. I could have told her he was in prison, for a start.’
‘He’s in prison?’
‘Oh yes. Beat his last two girlfriends black and blue, so he did. A real nasty piece of work.’ Angie’s face hardened. ‘Tell you the truth, Rosie saved me from him. Fella like that, you need to be strong to stand up to him. And I wasn’t. I’d have been crushed. Anyway, it all worked out fine. I ran away that day, sobbing my heart out, and his mate Steve came after me, offered me a bite of his Caramac. We’ve been together ever since.’ She beamed. ‘Almost twenty years, can you believe it? I’ve got a ten-year-old!’
‘That’s amazing.’ And vaguely terrifying – Angie was only a few years older than Daisy. ‘So … you aren’t angry with Rosie?’
‘Oh no, water under the bridge. I’d planned to ring her back once I got a minute. I’m ever so sorry I didn’t do it sooner.’
A thought occurred to Daisy. ‘This Bryn – did Rosie go out with him for a while?’ It seemed like something a sister should know, but Rosie had always been secretive.
Angie frowned. ‘Long enough.’
‘Oh.’ Had he hurt her? Angie’s silence felt heavy, and Daisy knew she couldn’t ask any more. ‘Well, thank you, Angie, that’s been really helpful. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’
‘Not at all, love. I’d come and visit but I can’t get up to London much these days. When she wakes up … will you tell her there’s nothing to forgive? Tell her … it’s thanks to her I’m happy, that I’ve got Steve and Jasmine and Harry. We’ll go for a drink next time she’s down. Cocktails at the George, only this time we’ll be legal!’
As if his name had summoned him, a burly man with arms like hams opened the living-room door. Daisy vaguely recognised him from school, a f
ew years above her. ‘Hiya, love. All right?’
Angie smiled at him with fond affection. ‘This is Daisy from down the road. Just calling in to say hi.’
‘I better go,’ said Daisy. ‘Thanks, Angie.’ She hadn’t the heart to tell her it wasn’t as simple as Rosie just waking up, good as new. That even if she did wake up, things might be very different.
So right before the accident, Rosie had been contacting the list of people she’d made. But once again, someone had not answered her call.
Did Bryn hit you too, Rosie? What were you hiding from us? Daisy sighed; the Chinese closed in ten minutes, so she’d better go and get her mum’s prawn crackers, then speed back to Rosie’s bedside. Her dad hadn’t been in touch, so she could only assume things were fine, but the worry still clenched her stomach. Why did you do it, Rosie? What were you up to?
Rosie
Night had fallen on the hospital. Time was running out, day two was almost over, and still she didn’t have an answer to the biggest question of all: Was I trying to kill myself or not? Outside, the spire of Big Ben was illuminated over the river. One of her favourite views, ever since she’d come to this city at twenty-one, all set for drama school.
Right. That was a definite memory. She’d felt for it and it had been there, right where she left it. What a relief. So, she’d gone to drama school after all, as Luke had told her to. And before that, had she travelled with him and Jack and Ingrid? It was very frustrating, still finding gaps in your memory. Not knowing if you were the kind of person who, say, had ever worn jeggings. Or the kind of person who’d be in love with someone else’s husband.
Her father had gone to sleep now, after spending hours by her bed, dutifully chatting to her about accountancy, and reading out bits of the paper. (‘Ooh, look at this, Rosie, man grows biggest ever courgette!’) Gary had looked in on her earlier, pushing the door aside while chatting the whole time on his phone, ‘Course, course, mate. Let’s run the numbers and see. We can move some of the surplus from K2 to K3 …’ Gibberish, basically. But Rosie had a nasty suspicion that this was how the adult world worked, all codes and targets and professional smiles, and she was lagging behind, with the job of a teenager, which she hadn’t even managed to stick at. When she got out of here – if she got out – she was going to have to make some serious changes, starting with moving out of that horrible flat. It was exhausting just thinking about it.
