Page 30 of Sassy & Sixty
As they clinked glasses, a loud banging on the front door made them all jump.
"Rosie!" a man's voice called out. "I know Catherine's in there. Tell her to come out at once!"
Catherine paled, shrinking back into the sofa. "It's Richard," she whispered. "How did he find me?"
Rosie felt a surge of protective anger. She marched to the door and flung it open, coming face to face with a red-faced Richard.
"Can I help you?" she asked coldly.
Richard tried to peer around her. "Where's Catherine? I know she's here. She needs to come home now. She's not well, she shouldn't be out on her own."
"I can assure you," Rosie said, drawing herself up to her full height, "that Catherine is perfectly fine. She's a grown woman, fully capable of making her own decisions. And right now, she's decided to stay here with her friends."
"How dare you talk to me like that,” Richard began, but he was cut off by Emma, who had appeared at Rosie's shoulder.
"We’ll talk to you in any way we choose. You have no right to tell catherine what she can and can’t do. You have no right to follow her and make demands. This is plain harassment. Either go away and leave her alone, or I’ll call the police."
Richard sputtered, clearly unused to being spoken to in such a manner. "This isn't over," he growled, but he turned and stomped back to his car.
“No, it’s not,” Emma growled back. “Because if you ever come here again we’ll ring the police. You have been warned.”
As Rosie closed the door, she turned to find Catherine staring at her with wide eyes. "Thank you," Catherine whispered. "Both of you. I've never... I mean, I didn't know how to..."
"Oh, come here, you silly goose," Emma said, pulling Catherine into a hug. "That's what friends are for. Now, who wants more wine?"
As they settled back into the living room, Rosie found herself marvelling at the turn her life had taken. A month ago, she would have been horrified at the mess, the noise, the sheer chaos of it all. But now...
"You know," she said, surprising herself, "I have a spare room or two upstairs. If either of you needs a place to stay for a while, that is."
Maria and Catherine exchanged glances, then looked back at Rosie with identical expressions of gratitude and relief.
"Are you sure?" Maria asked. "We don't want to impose..."
Rosie waved away their concerns. "Impose away. To tell you the truth, I'm rather enjoying the company."
As the evening wore on, filled with more laughter, more wine, and increasingly outrageous plans for their 'new lives,' Rosie felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. This, she realised, was what she'd been missing all these years. Not just companionship, but true friendship. The kind where you could show up on someone's doorstep in crisis and be met with open arms and a willing ear.
It was well past midnight when they finally began to settle down for the night. Rosie provided Catherine with pyjamas, while Maria insisted on sleeping in a slinky nightgown she'd bought on her shopping spree ("David always said nightgowns were for grannies. Well, I'll show him!").
As Rosie lay in bed, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of other people moving about her house, she couldn't keep the smile off her face. Yes, her life had become chaotic. Yes, her house was a mess. And yes, she now apparently had two new roommates.
But somehow, none of that seemed to matter. For the first time in longer than she cared to admit, Rosie felt truly alive.
She was just drifting off to sleep when a crash from downstairs jolted her awake.
"Sorry!" Catherine's voice called out. "Just getting a glass of water. Um, Rosie? Where do you keep the dustpan?"
“I’ve got it in my room,” shouted Maria. “Sorry. You know what I’m like, I have a genetic need to clean all the time.”
Rosie chuckled, shaking her head. Life with her new housemates was certainly going to be interesting.
The next morning dawned bright and early, much to the chagrin of three slightly hungover women. Rosie, always theearly riser, found herself tiptoeing around her own kitchen, trying not to wake her guests.
Her efforts were in vain, however, as Maria stumbled down the stairs, her new red hair a tangled mess, still wearing the slinky nightgown from the night before.
"Coffee," she groaned, slumping into a kitchen chair. "I need coffee. And possibly a new head."
Rosie chuckled, sliding a steaming mug across the table. "Here you go. How are you feeling this morning? Any regrets about the hair?"
