Resisting Mr Rochester

by Sharon Booth

  "Go and get dried and changed," he urged me, as we entered the hallway. "I'm going to contact Antonia. Trust me, Cara, please. I swear to you that nothing will ever separate us again. I love you, and that will never change."

  I nodded, believing him, and ran upstairs to my room. Overhead, a roll of thunder roared its warning, but I still took no notice. I was happy. For that brief, golden moment, I was truly happy.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I'd slept in. It seemed impossible to me that I'd slept, at all, but somehow exhaustion had overcome me and I'd succumbed. After rubbing my eyes, I stared at the alarm clock on the bedside table in shock. Half-past nine! I'd never slept in so late—even after the party.

  The day seemed so magical to start with. I climbed out of bed and headed into the bathroom. As I showered, my mind replayed the events of the previous evening, and I felt my stomach churned with nerves and excitement. Had I imagined it all? Had he been winding me up? What if, in the cold light of day, he regretted every word he'd said?

  As I dressed, though, I'd been unable to wipe the smile from my face. He'd meant it—of course he had. I was going to marry Ethan Rochester. It seemed so ridiculously unlikely, that I actually laughed out loud. How could someone like him want to marry someone like me? Yet. it was true. It was really true!

  I hugged myself, then hastily smoothed the sheets and plumped the pillows, and rushed round to the far side of the bed to straighten the duvet. From the corner of my eye, I spotted a piece of paper sticking out from under the bed, and my heart leapt. The sketch of me!

  Remembering how beautiful Ethan had made me look, my whole body tingled with excitement and love, but when I bent down and pulled the paper out, everything seemed to stop.

  The drawing was torn clean in half. I sat down with a thud and stared in horror at the two halves. Who had done it? Why?

  Sitting staring at the torn paper, I became aware of a commotion downstairs and ran out onto the landing, wondering what was happening now and if I was ever to be happy.

  Jennifer stood in the hallway, talking—rather loudly—to two women, who seemed quite distressed. Mrs F had Adele in her arms, and she shot me a rather anxious look, before hurrying into the kitchen, no doubt to get Adele out of the way.

  Jennifer and the two women didn't seem to notice me as I walked slowly down the stairs, my eyes fixed on them. My heart beat so erratically I wasn't sure if it was going to stop altogether.

  I knew one of those women. No mistaking her, it was Antonia Rochester—a very pregnant Antonia Rochester. I sank onto one of the steps and just stared, hardly able to believe what I was seeing, and trying to make sense of what I was hearing.

  "He can't do this. He promised."

  "Things have changed, Antonia. You must have known that one day they would."

  "But not like this! Not now!"

  "You do know," said the other woman coldly, "that her father's dying?"

  "I do, and I'm terribly sorry. I know this must be very difficult for you."

  "Difficult? You have no idea! He couldn't wait? He couldn't just give me a few more months? A year, perhaps?"

  "As he told you last night—"

  "Where is he? I don't believe he's not here."

  "He went to find you. He's probably knocking at your door in Devon right now. Why have you come up here, for heaven's sake?"

  "To stop him! To make him think again! For God's sake!" Antonia dissolved into tears. "I can't do this, I really can't."

  "Why don't you come into the sitting room, Antonia?" Jennifer's voice was gentle. "You're overwrought, and it's not good for you, or the baby."

  "Babies." The other woman sounded furious. "And no, this isn't good for any of them, but whose fault's that? Ethan had better get his arse back here, pronto. How do you think the press would react if they knew he'd abandoned his pregnant wife just weeks before she gave birth to twins?"

  Jennifer glared at her. "I don't appreciate your threats, Faith. I understand you're worried, but let's try to keep things civil, shall we? Besides, I should think publicity would be the last thing you'd want." As Antonia sobbed, she put her arms around her. "It will all be okay, Antonia. You're not thinking straight. This isn't as bad as you fear, I promise you."

  "Not as bad as I think? How can it get any worse? How can he abandon me now, just when I need him most?"

  Jennifer ushered her into the sitting room, and the other woman followed and closed the door behind them.

  I sat there, staring through the gap in the bannister at the closed door. I felt dead inside. All hope, all joy extinguished. I remembered the photo of the two of them—Antonia and Ethan, arms around each other in Paris. I remembered the look of love in Antonia's eyes. I remembered Ethan saying softly, ‘Paris.’ It had only been taken at Christmas—just under seven months ago. Seven months! Was that when Antonia's twins were conceived, then? I wasn't sure how pregnant she was, but it seemed likely.

  He was going to be a father.

  I stood up and walked slowly back upstairs. He was already a husband. That should have been enough to stop me. I'd let myself down once again.

  I took my suitcase and threw my belongings into it. It didn't take long. I hadn't brought much, after all. I looked down at the few things inside and tears filled my eyes. The remnants of a life poorly lived. I looked around the room, remembering how happy I'd been just a few moments before. It seemed impossible that so much had changed in such a short time. I glanced at the drawing, torn in half. If ever there was a symbol of how I felt inside, that was it.

  My fingers stilled as I fumbled with the lock. I remembered the way Ethan had held me the previous night. I remembered how we'd stood there, so desperate, so in love, while the rain had poured down on us. I remembered the look in his eyes, the pleading in his voice, the impassioned way he'd begged me to stay with him. Wasn't it enough? For God's sake, how could I leave him? How could I bear it? He loved me, I was sure of it, and I loved him. I loved him so much. So what if he was married? It wasn't a real marriage. They never saw each other. So what if she was having his babies? He could still be a father to them. I'd never stop him from seeing them. She hadn't cared about him when she’d been off travelling everywhere, leaving him alone to run a business and care for Adele. Why should she claim him all of a sudden, just because she'd decided she needed him? Couldn't I just accept the situation? Couldn't I just stay and love him and be happy? Who would know, or care? Who would judge me?

  I closed my eyes as the answer came to me, unbidden and unwelcome. I'd judge myself.

  I'd already let myself down so badly, and I couldn't do it again. If I allowed myself to make such a compromise, how could I look myself in the face ever again?

  Deep down, I knew I would never forgive myself.

  I pictured the looks on my parents' faces. They would try to understand, but they wouldn't be able to, not really. And how could I defend myself when, inside, I would know they were right? It might be old-fashioned, but I couldn't compromise my values any longer. I loved Ethan Rochester, but he wasn't mine to love. I had to leave.

  I snapped the suitcase shut and left the bedroom, casting one last regretful look at it before closing the door on it forever. I made my way downstairs as quietly and as quickly as I could, and let myself out of the front door. The driveway seemed endless, but finally I followed the path through the woods, pressed the button on the wall, and walked through the side gate.

  As the gate clicked shut behind me, I gripped my suitcase tightly, as it dawned on me that I'd left the sketch behind. Ethan would find it and probably think I'd torn it myself. I couldn't bear him to think I'd done that.

  I glanced back through the gate, feeling as torn as the drawing. What should I do? But it was too late. I knew I couldn't risk going back. I might never have the courage to leave again.

  I took a deep breath and sent him a text message that simply said:

  Antonia is here. I understand why it's been so difficult for you, but it's impossible f
or me. Whoever tore that sketch had more foresight than I had. I'm sorry. Be happy.

  Then, much as I'd done with Seth, I blocked his number, blinked away the tears, and began to walk towards Hasedale, my head held high.

  #

  The smile on Mum's face died within seconds. I stood there on her doorstep, saying nothing, but something seemed to warn her of the state I was in. She ushered me inside, taking the suitcase from my hand and putting her arm around me, as I walked, half-dazed into the living room.

  Dad was watching the television, and the minute I entered the room, shock entered his face. His hand reached for the remote and suddenly there was silence.

  "What the hell? Cara, what's happened?"

  I shivered, wondering vaguely how they knew. I'd not said a single word, but they'd already sussed that I was broken. That was parents for you, I supposed. The bond between parent and child—unbreakable. Not that I'd ever know. Ethan would, though. Soon, he'd have twins to care for, and he'd understand that bond in a way I never would.

  A big, fat tear rolled down my cheek. I couldn't even be bothered to wipe it away.

  I vaguely remember Mum pushing me into the chair, and Dad rushing off to make me a cup of tea, and lots of cuddles and anxious expressions. In the end, Dad said, "You don't have to tell us anything just now, love. Whenever you're ready."

  It turned out that I wasn't ready until the next morning. I'd slept in my old bed in the box room—although, to be honest, there wasn't much sleep involved. I’d mostly stared up at the ceiling, wondering if Ethan was thinking of me. More likely he'd thrown himself on Antonia's mercy, and they were excitedly choosing names for the babies. He'd make a wonderful father, I thought. As a husband, though, he sucked. Mind you, she wasn't much of a wife, either. Maybe they really did belong together. Maybe they were lying in bed together, right then, and he was stroking her bump and talking to his unborn children.

  I think I did sleep a little. Well, I must have done, because one minute I was lying there in the darkness—imagining the cover of All the Goss, with Ethan's and Antonia's smiling faces as they cradled little Jonquil and Bunty in their arms, the headline screaming: At Home with the Rochesters: Ethan and Antonia introduce their bundles of joy. We've never been so happy, says Ethan. We've made mistakes in the past, but it's all behind us now—and the next minute, it was morning, and my room was flooded with sunlight, and I could hear Mum clattering in the kitchen below me, and Dad whistling in the garden.

  I climbed out of bed, opened the curtains, and looked down on the lawn below. Dad was strolling down the path, swinging an empty pan in his hand. He'd obviously been to feed and water his pet rabbit, Dave. I smiled to myself, thinking how much I loved my parents, and how dear and familiar their house was. Nothing much had changed. Even after all the years since I'd left. Same noises, same routine. Comforting and familiar.

  I took a deep breath. Okay, so I'd been badly let down by yet another man, but I wasn't the first woman it had happened to. I couldn't let it beat me. I'd been tempted, but I hadn't succumbed. I'd stayed true to myself. I'd changed the course of my life, and I hadn't compromised my values. I could finally be proud of myself. It was time for a new start.

  "Bacon sandwich, love?" Mum's eyes were anxious, but she smiled brightly when I nodded and agreed that a bacon sandwich was just the way to start the day.

  Dad put the pan on the draining board, washed his hands, then sat opposite me at the table. "You're looking a bit better this morning," he said. "How are you feeling?"

  "Much better," I said defiantly. "I'm sorry I turned up like that out of the blue yesterday. And I'm sorry I didn't explain myself."

  "You don't have to explain yourself," he said, shaking his head. "This is your home. Always will be. You can come here any time you like."

  "Your dad's right," Mum handed me a plate with a doorstop of a bacon sandwich on it. "You don't have to tell us anything. It's your business."

  Dad winked at me, and I grinned. It was clear to us both that she was dying to know, and so, over breakfast, I told them both what had been going on. Needless to say, they were completely enthralled as I poured the whole sorry story out to them. Dad quite forgot to eat his own sandwich.

  "I don't believe it," he said finally, as I ended my woeful tale and pushed my plate away.

  "It's true," I said. "Honestly. I know it sounds unlikely, but he really did seem to love me."

  "I can well believe that," he said indignantly. "Why the hell wouldn't he? I mean, I don't believe he lied to you like that. How dare he? What a swine."

  "And twins." Mum shook her head. "Poor little mite. Fancy being pregnant with twins and having your husband do that to you."

  "But to be fair," I said, because I couldn't bear them to think completely ill of him, "she was never around. She was always away travelling. He hardly saw her."

  Mum sniffed. "Well, she obviously saw him at some point. Unless he posted a semen sample to her by Royal Mail."

  "Sally!" Dad laughed, and Mum waved her hand at him dismissively.

  "I don't care. What a rake, treating his wife like that, and treating our Cara like that, too. You're better off out of it, love. You can't trust people with loads of money. They're a weird bunch. Their morals are non-existent. All love rats and crack addicts."

  Dad rolled his eyes. "If you say so, love. Mind you, Cara, she's right. You are better off out of it. I'm very proud of you for walking away."

  "Me, too," Mum said. "Although, I'm always proud of you. You're such a good girl."

  "What?" I stared at her in astonishment. "Proud of me? What on earth for?"

  Dad frowned. "What do you mean what for? We've always been proud of you. Always."

  "Always?" I shook my head. "Yeah, right. Even at school?"

  They looked at each other, clearly puzzled. "Of course at school. We always looked forward to parents' evenings, didn't we, Ray?" said Mum.

  "What for? I never got the glowing reports that Redmond and Tamsin got," I said.

  "You've got a short memory," said Dad. "Redmond may have got good marks and done well at sports, but the teachers were pretty scathing about him at times, weren't they, Sally?"

  Mum rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes. He was always contradicting them, insisting he knew best. He used to tell them the lessons were boring and cause an awful lot of fuss in class. Mind you, he was so clever, I expect he found the other children slowed him down."

  "Which is pretty much what he told his teachers on a regular basis." Dad laughed. "Then there was Tamsin."

  "Ooh, we had fun and games with her, didn't we?" Mum agreed. "Tamsin is, unfortunately, rather bossy," she said, as if reciting from something. "She would do well to remember that she is a pupil, not a member of staff."

  "I remember that report," Dad said. "Too cocky by half, she was. Always thought she knew better than anyone. She was a bit unkind to that little lass with the sticking out teeth, too. Remember?"

  "I do. We had to go in to school a few times about her attitude, didn't we? Not that she physically bullied anyone," she explained hastily. "But, it has to be said, she could be quite thoughtless and nasty sometimes. Some of the kids were scared stiff of her."

  I couldn't believe it. Tamsin! But she was so pretty, so popular.

  "You, on the other hand," said Dad, smiling fondly at me, "were adored by all your teachers. Polite, kind-hearted, hard-working. Never a single complaint. We used to feel very smug when we left your classroom, I can tell you."

  I blinked away tears. How had I never known that?

  "You were always the one who looked after the unpopular kids, too," Mum said thoughtfully. "You always made sure they weren't alone. I remember your form teacher saying you were worth your weight in gold, and that you were like a little mother hen, taking care of her chicks. Mind you, you've always been motherly," she continued blithely, having no idea the effect her words were having on me. "We always said you'll make a brilliant mum one day, and you will."

  "But," I managed
, "it was Tamsin who played with the dolls. Not me."

  Mum laughed. "Tamsin liked to dress up her dolls and boss them around. You didn't play with them, true, but you looked after that pet guinea pig of yours as if it was a real baby. You didn't just shove it in its hutch and forget about it, like Redmond did with his rabbit. Don't you remember? It was you who used to feed and water it, and clean it out. He lost interest after a week. And you were the one who all the local mums wanted to babysit their children. You used to make a fortune. I remember Mandy at the end of the street saying to me that you had the patience of a saint with her kids. Oh, yes, we were always very proud of you, love."

  "Until I met Seth and left home," I said, choked. "Then I let you down badly."

  Dad shook his head. "You didn't let us down," he said seriously. "Yes, you made a mistake, but by God, you more than paid for it. Point is, you got on with it. No complaining. No whingeing. You got yourself a job, put a roof over your head, and kept going. You supported not only yourself, but that useless lump, too. You never gave in. You never became like him. You were always Cara, no matter what. How could we not be proud of you for that?"

  "We'd never want you any other way," Mum said, squeezing my hand. "You always had your head screwed on tight, and your heart in the right place. What more could we possibly want, or ask for?"

  "If it wasn't for you," Dad added, "we might never have found out how Robyn and Alice really felt, and Brad and Tamsin might still be separated. They didn't tell me and your mum. They couldn't even tell their own parents. But you got through to them. They trusted you enough to be honest with you. That says a lot, Cara."

  Isn't it funny how you can get your own life so completely wrong? I'd seen myself through a tinted lens, somehow, unable to see the bright bits that Mum and Dad remembered so clearly. My vision of myself and the life I'd lived had been very different to the one they had. For the first time, I began to believe that I wasn't the waste of space I thought I was. And for the first time, I began to understand how someone like Ethan Rochester could love me.