“You see, you don’t know me at all!”
“Then tell me.” She took my hands in her cool fingers, with a tenderness that surprised me following so closely after her apparent annoyance. She led me towards the stairs and sat down. As she did, she was bathed in a shaft of daylight from the small window above the door and looked heartbreakingly beautiful. She indicated I should sit beside her. I obeyed her automatically, perching on the step just below her, drawn to her kindness. Why was she still here? What did it mean? “Go on, fill me in,” she urged.
“I can’t. You don’t want to hear about—”
“Tell me, Ros. I’m not asking. You owe it to me.” I considered her words. She was right. In allowing her so close I’d opened the door to a greater intimacy between us. It was unfair of me not to explain why I slammed that door closed again now. I had to do the right thing by her and make it clear to her why we couldn’t pursue a relationship.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “But I don’t know where to start.”
“At the beginning is usually best.” Her tone compelled me to speak.
“I’ve only had one girlfriend in my entire life.”
“Well, that’s hardly a problem, and it certainly hasn’t turned you into a prude or anything,” Anna said.
“That’s not what I mean. I’m saying I don’t feel like I can handle relationships very well. I told you we broke up earlier this year.” I looked up into Anna’s eyes and wanted to tell her. “I think I’d always had an idea of what our relationship was, and when I finally realised it wasn’t living up to that, I decided it had to end.”
“Were you with her a long time?”
“Nine years. But I guess the magic had gone for at least the last three of those.” I smiled wistfully. My relationship with Francesca had been on the rocks long before my mother’s death and my subsequent re-evaluation of my life and career. I’d just never forced myself to look at it honestly before.
“It’s not easy to move on from long-term relationships Ros, I don’t expect you to—”
“It’s not just that.”
“Then what else is it?” Anna looked as though she really wanted to understand. The temptation of breaking down and telling her everything I felt, seeking her sympathy and understanding, was huge. I made an effort to keep my composure and my mind on what was sensible and healthy.
“My mother’s death made me think about things so differently. She was only fifty-two. She’d never even thought about death, but she was already dying when she was diagnosed. I watched how easily a life can slip away. How a living person becomes a memory, nothing but a ghost.” It had been a real shock to my system. I’d never confronted the idea of death before. I knew it had to happen one day, but to see the reality of it shook the entire foundation of my life.
“And it made you look again at your career and your relationship and wonder whether they were really what you wanted to do with this brief life we have?” Anna was so perceptive when she chose to express her thoughts.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“But I understand that, Ros. I wouldn’t push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with.” Anna’s tone was imploring me now. I knew she wanted me to trust her, to believe her when she said she understood. Could I trust her when I didn’t even trust myself?
“It’s not you that’s the problem here,” I told her as honestly as I could. “It’s me. And I don’t mean that in the clichéd way either. I do really like you, Anna. But I’m not in a place where I can do this right now.” She deserved the truth. My words were the closest approximation of what that truth was I could manage.
“I think you underestimate yourself, Ros,” Anna replied. I could tell she was beginning to see how resolute I was. The compassion in her eyes was turning to something that looked a lot like pain. My lack of ability to trust her, to believe her assurances and her faith in me, was hurting her. After the clear effort it cost her to speak the words to explain her feelings she deserved more. I hated myself for causing her pain but knew I had no other option. I needed more time before I entered any sort of relationship. Being with Anna promised so much, but if I was not ready, it would be pointless and cause us both even more heartache. I had to find my own path, and be sure it was safe, before I invited someone to walk with me.
“You might be right,” I acknowledged. “But really whether I’m underestimating myself or not, the point is I don’t know myself well enough at the moment to give you what you need.”
“You don’t know what I need,” Anna said firmly. “If that’s all that’s the problem—”
“It’s not all. I don’t know what I need either.” I said this more firmly, knowing she was still missing the point and determined she would understand me now. “You’re very kind Anna, but I’m in a place where I don’t know how I feel about my future, I even can’t bring myself to contact my baby sister because she intimidates me with her competence, and I’m not sure what sort of relationship I want to be in with anyone. I don’t know myself. How can I let you know me when I’m not sure who I am? Please understand that it’s not about you at all. But right now I cannot give you everything you deserve.” My tone was emphatic, and she winced slightly as I concluded.
“I didn’t mean to pressure you, Ros,” she said, half apologetic and half indignant. “And I’m not stupid. I understand what you’re saying, I’m just trying to tell you that I don’t see it as a problem for us to give it a go and— ”
“And nothing Anna.” My exasperation was with myself, not her, and I hastened to soften my words. “I can’t. Not right now. I wish I could tell you something different.”
Anna considered me thoughtfully for a moment, clearly slightly taken aback by my bluntness. I was half in love with her already, ludicrous though that was when I’d only barely seen beyond the surface. That in itself was proof of my vulnerable emotional state and a very good reason for me to stay firm to my resolution. My emotions would only grow stronger if I confided in her further and gave her a chance to reassure me.
More doubts began to trouble me. How did I even know for sure her reassurances were genuine? My heart longed to believe her, but my mind reminded me we’d just slept together. She could hardly run a mile from whatever I told her now without looking heartless herself. I didn’t know her well enough to know what she was really thinking. Why on earth did it seem to be such an effort to tell me how she was feeling? Until I knew her better I couldn’t allow myself to be drawn in.
Besides, even if every word she uttered was entirely honest, I needed more time, I needed more hours alone to find my way again, without the complication of falling for someone I barely knew, especially someone I already liked as much as I did Anna. Too much, too soon. I had to end this. For both of us. Now.
I forced myself away from her and got to my feet. “Look, Anna, you’re very kind. After last night, I don’t have to tell you the way I feel about you. I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why it’s best you just leave now.”
Anna rose to her feet to stand next to me. I could see she was about to protest. When she reached out her hand for my arm, in one of the hardest movements of my life, I stepped away from her. “No, please. I can’t, Anna. Know that I want to, please know that. But I really can’t.”
Her eyes were keen on my face, and I saw the moment she comprehended my decision was final. Realisation was followed by something between disappointment and resentment. She was hurt I didn’t trust her, I could see it plainly.
“Okay. I can’t force anything, and I respect your choice, Ros. I clearly can’t convince you differently.” She reached for her coat and put it on. Her face had become a mask again, and her tone gave nothing away beyond a vague regret. I wanted to tear the mask away again but knew I could not. She wrapped her scarf around her neck. I watched her with misery quivering inside me, forcing myself not to reveal it to her. She turned towards the door. “Last night was pretty perfect for me too, Ros. I really thought there could be something good between
us. I suppose I was mistaken, I’m sorry. I’ll call you about Winter after the New Year.”
“Thank you,” I said, unable to look her in the eye. She let herself out of the door. I didn’t breathe again until I heard her car pull away. I sank to my knees in the middle of the hallway and sobbed until I’d made my throat raw and my eyes swollen. Anna had shown me a possible path into the immediate future, some real solid happiness. But I knew all too well the dangers of thinking I was on a sure and certain path. It could all change in a painfully short amount of time. What Anna offered was wonderful, but it would be built on a shifting and weak foundation. I couldn’t take the chance with my emotional well-being. Given time, I could contemplate a relationship again. There would be other attractive women, when I was stronger. Now, gazing through blurred vision at the wilting mistletoe and half-eaten box of chocolates, I just had to reconcile myself to my sensible decision.
Chapter Nine
I waited indifferently for the New Year to dawn. Last year I had greeted the beginning of another January with enthusiasm, imagining the year in which I turned thirty would be one of the best of my life. I had expected to achieve something. Now I wandered blindly around Winter, my optimism dissolved, and the coming months loomed like huge obstacles in front of me.
What had happened with Anna left me longing to feel numb. Instead, I was tormented by thoughts of her. Where I’d expected ending our relationship before it began to give me room to develop the clarity and direction I was lacking, I found that I was instead rather more confused and full of doubts as to whether I should have handled things differently. Worse, the notion of facing her again terrified me. I knew I certainly had to see her again. Auntie Edie had wanted her to work on Winter, and I doubted there was anyone better. Besides, I wouldn’t deprive her of a job because of my own emotional turmoil. I’d simply have to find a way to deal with her on a professional level. Professionalism and efficiency were what Anna did best; dealing with her professionally would surely be straightforward, if not easy. I knew I would never forget her wine-sweetened kisses, those warm, firm hands, and the embraces of Christmas Day when, for a brief moment, my life seemed to come together again. But I would have to put the memories out of my mind.
I visited Maggie Potter on New Year’s Eve, motivated by the need to escape from the thoughts that were circling in my head until they were sending me half crazy. I found the entrance to her farm easily and drove slowly along the track leading to the house, wondering what her home would be like. I’d brought a bag stuffed with my dirty washing, as she’d instructed me to. I’d not been to the shops and had nothing to offer her as a gift, but I sensed she wouldn’t be offended.
I parked my car outside the house. It was an average-sized late-Victorian building built of red brick and looked almost exactly like the imaginary houses I’d drawn as a child—square, with a symmetrical pattern of windows, and the door in the centre. To the side was the first of a series of barns and outbuildings which stretched into the farmyard to the rear. Just in front of the house was a well-laid-out garden, with neat borders, which I imagined would be a riot of colour in spring and summer. The house and garden were surrounded by fields, some green with crops I didn’t recognise, some brown and fallow.
I was just climbing out of my car when the front door opened and Maggie came outside to greet me. She was wearing plain blue trousers, a colourful knitted pullover, and a floral apron. “Hello there, Ros, pet, I saw you from the window.”
“Hi. I hope you don’t mind that I brought some washing?”
“No, I told you, you’re welcome.” I heard a bark, and Pepper the Dalmatian darted out of the front door to stand next to Maggie, barking further at me. She smiled at him. “He’s pleased to see you.”
“I’m pleased to see him too,” I said, since it seemed the appropriate thing to say. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“No, pet. I was just doing a spot of baking. I need someone to sample my coffee cake when I’m finished.”
“I’d be happy to help.” Maggie made me feel welcome easily. As she guided me, laden with my bag of washing, through her front door, I felt almost as though I was a normal person again, not a confused idiot who had just let a near-perfect woman slip through her fingers.
We went through the small hallway and into the kitchen. It was everything I expected a farmhouse kitchen to be, with the exception that the fittings were perhaps more functional than I had imagined, and there was no roaring open fire. This was the twenty-first century after all. The scent of the just-baked cake, cooling on a wire rack on one of the work surfaces, filled the comfortably warm room and made my stomach rumble.
“The washer’s here,” Maggie said. “Shove your things in now, pet, and they’ll be done in an hour.” I did as she said, and the washing machine was gurgling through the beginning of its cycle as I sat down in one of the chairs surrounding the long wooden table in the centre of the kitchen.
“Tea or coffee?” Maggie asked.
“I’d love a cup of tea. Milk and two sugars, please.”
“That’s just how my daughter takes hers. Always had a sweet tooth, that one. Heaven knows how she stays so slim.”
“I know the problem.” I grimaced. Maggie bustled around the kitchen making the tea, and I watched her, feeling more content than I had in days. I couldn’t let my turmoil over Anna, or anything else, overtake me now, since I had to keep an appearance of being mostly sane for Maggie’s sake. The ability to indulge my melancholy removed, I found I was able to feel something like happiness, as I relaxed in the warm kitchen.
“So, how was your Christmas?” she asked, as she poured boiling water into a large ceramic teapot.
I tensed instantly, a vivid recollection of my Christmas evening conjured suddenly into my mind by her question. “It was good,” I replied quickly. “How was yours?”
“Lovely. It was so nice to see Peter and Philippa again. I don’t see them so often these days.”
“That’s a shame.”
“Not really, pet. I don’t expect my children to organise their lives around me, no mother should. They’re their own people.” She placed the teapot, covered in a red-and-yellow knitted cosy, in the centre of the table, then fetched mugs, a milk jug, and a sugar pot. “You know, being a mother’s a wonderful thing, I won’t ever say otherwise, but a good one won’t ever make her offspring feel like they have to visit her. If they want to come, they will.”
In that moment I wished I could have had a mother like Maggie. I sensed her understanding and time for her children knew no limits. I felt guilty for allowing myself such a thought. Since my mother’s illness, I’d never really confronted the feelings I’d had about her when she was healthy, and I’d thought we’d have years left together. In some ways, her death had been a shock, because I’d always expected to have more time to really understand our distant relationship. Now, with Maggie’s words, I allowed myself to remember the feelings and insecurities I’d buried in mourning her death. I’d not been close to my mother and always felt the odd one out in our family. I had to let myself remember and confront these things if I was going to move on. I could never ask my mother about it now. I looked up into Maggie’s kind face and felt compelled to ask her instead. “Do you find you relate better to one of your children than the other?”
Maggie looked serious for a moment. “Well, pet, a mother shouldn’t, but sometimes she can’t help it. Only it can change with time too. Now, my Philippa and I used to argue terribly when she was a teenager. Then she was unhappy for a very long time in her first relationship. I knew it, and I wanted to help her, but I couldn’t get close enough to her to do any good. Her boyfriend was very possessive, you see, never let her have a thought she could call her own. It was the worst feeling in the world, to watch her suffering and not to interfere. It brought us closer in the end, when she finally left him. I’m closer with her than with Peter these days, though when they were younger she used to think he was my favourite. She told me that
quite recently. Really, I think mothers love their children equally, just differently.”
“All mothers?” I hoped Maggie didn’t see how much I wanted to hear her affirmative answer.
“I think so, pet.” I looked back at Maggie, who was regarding me with curiosity in her expression. “Do you see your own mam often, pet?” she asked.
“She died earlier this year,” I replied.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. She must have been young still.”
“She was. It was cancer. I cared for her in the end.” So few words to explain a situation that had changed my life.
“That must have been hard for you.” Maggie’s expression showed nothing but sympathy and concern. In all of the funeral arrangements, worry over my job, trying to co-ordinate with Jeanne and to be strong for Francesca, I’d never had much time for sympathy. Now I realised the welcome comfort Maggie’s kindness was to my troubled soul.
“Yes. It was hard.”
“She’d be proud of you, pet, taking on Winter.”
“I’m sometimes not so sure.”
“Oh, I am.” It was that simple, apparently. Maggie’s faith in her assumption was profoundly reassuring. If I’d had more time with my mother she might have grown to be close to me and proud of me. I did have something to offer, and that my mother wasn’t here to see it and to express her pride in me, in the way she always had to my sister, didn’t diminish what I had to offer. She would have been proud of me. I could achieve something worthy of that pride. I felt a flicker of optimism.
Maggie watched me for a moment or two and said nothing as she rose and began mixing the coffee icing for her cake. “You know, I’m sure your mam is looking proudly down on you and hoping you’re happy,” she said, as she stirred coffee into icing sugar vigorously. Her words fitted so well with my own reflections they brought tears into my eyes, and I hastened to wipe them away. Knowing nothing of me, Maggie had still found words to comfort me. Even to inspire me to snap out of this latest bout of melancholy. She turned away from me to press her hand onto her cake and check it had cooled sufficiently. “And,” she went on, beginning to spread the icing, “you being happy would probably be the best way to honour her memory too.”
Ghosts of Winter Page 20
