Her mum always had one more question. ‘We can have a quick chat when I pop down there on Wednesday, same time as usual?’
They met once a week in the café for a coffee and a catch-up. ‘Yes, it’s a date.’
Another question. ‘Oh, and while I’m on, have you spoken to Leonora?’
Rosina loved that her mum never knew when to go and always used their full names, not the shortened versions favoured by the rest of the family. ‘No, just texts, why?’
‘She’s been a bit off these past couple of weeks, quiet and not her bubbly self. Perhaps she’s working too hard, too, because she’s hardly here and whenever I ask about Caspar she’s vague. Do you think they’ve had a falling out? Has she said anything to you?’
Knowing that their mum was the only person in the family who liked Caspar, Rosina didn’t voice her hopes that he and Leonora had fallen out and then none of them would have to put up with him on Christmas Day. She could have strangled her sister for hooking up with their accountant. It was just weird, having the guy who sifted through their finances suddenly sitting in their kitchen acting like he was one of the family. Caspar had unsettled Rosina from the start because he had an enquiring way about him, like he was looking into your soul when he asked a question and then didn’t believe a word when you answered. Maybe everyone felt like that around accountants: guilty conscience syndrome.
‘Nope, not a thing but if it will settle your mind I’ll do some subtle digging on Sunday. It’s probably just work: the restaurant will be hammered this time of year.’ Talking of being busy gave Rosina the nudge to get on with some work, that was if she could shake off her mum and focus. ‘Right Mum, if that’s all, I’ll get off.’
‘Yes, that’s all. I have loads to do here. I’m getting your rooms ready one by one and today it’s Max’s turn. He told me he doesn’t mind having Gran’s old room as long as he doesn’t have to share with four girls, bless him. And you’re all still staying from the Thursday aren’t you, after the party?’
The thought of her gran’s bedroom nearly finished Rosina, clenching her fist to her lips, scrunching her eyes in an effort not to cry. ‘Yes, nothing’s changed. We will all be able to stagger back to the house after the party and wake up with you on Christmas Eve, I promise.’
‘Marvellous, I’m so excited about you all coming home, I really am. Right, I shall let you go. Love you, and get some rest later. That’s an order.’
Hold it in, hold it in, don’t let her know something’s wrong.
‘Will do, Mum, love you too, bye.’ Dropping her phone onto the desk the second it disconnected, Rosina leant her elbows on top of a pile of invoices and covered her face with her hands, sucking air through the gaps of her fingers while she tried to get it together.
Why was it that when you’re down and on the edge, the second someone is kind and understanding it has the worst effect, acting as a catalyst that unleashes all those carefully guarded emotions. But it was the reference to her gran’s room that had been repainted and her personal belongings removed that was hard to bear.
She understood why her mum had done it. None of the kids would have wanted to sleep in a room that was an homage to their dead great-grandma. The flowery wallpaper behind her bed was faded and nicotine-stained, as were most of the fixtures and curtains. Granny Sylvia’s Ciggie Den: that was what she and her sisters had called it when smoking around children suddenly became reprehensible. Old-timers, set in their ways, were shuffled to the back door to have a cigarette and the birth of smoking shelters doomed workers to shivering through their lunch breaks.
The thing was, even though they all went to school ponging of Granny Sylvia’s Benson and Hedges that she’d smoked while they ate their cornflakes, Rosina never minded. Even though it had been just over a year since they lost her, whenever she caught the whiff of cigarettes in the air Rosina’s brain transmitted a cipher, the code word for Gran.
Once again, the vibration of her phone interrupted a moment of reflection, a flicker of solace. Looking through her parted fingers at the screen, as soon as she saw the words NC, Rosina began to tremble. Unable to drag her eyes away she watched as her phone jiggled on the polished surface, holding her breath as she willed it to stop which was stupid because she knew exactly what would happen next. Immediately the vibration ceased, a message appeared on the screen.
Time’s up. I want my money. Answer your phone. I know where you live. I know where you work. Last chance.
Closing her fingers over her eyes, blocking out the phone and the world, Rosina began to sob while her whole body shook. She couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t know what to do. She could get up right now and walk out of work and up to her mother’s and confess everything, or go home and wait for Lou to finish work and tell him what she’d done. But then it would be out there, her shame laid bare and she couldn’t do it. Not now, not before Christmas.
As she cried, she spoke not to herself but to someone who would have helped her out of the mess, kept her secret and made it all right again. ‘Please help me, Gran, I don’t know what to do. I can’t go on like this and I’m running out of time. Show me what to do. Please Gran, I need you to make it stop.’
When nobody answered, as she expected, Rosina wiped her eyes and after finding a tissue, blew her nose then picked up the phone, took a deep breath and made the call.
6
Leonora
Manchester
Present day
The rain pelted the windows of the break room, smudging the glow from the Christmas lights that straddled the city centre roads and pedestrianised areas below. Whatever the season, Leonora loved working in Manchester. There was a vibrancy that she thrived on – the buzz of the hotel and the bustle of life beyond its walls was a complete contrast to the countryside where she had grown up. It had been quite a teenage revelation that, although she lived on a farm and thought herself stranded in the middle of nowhere, only thirty minutes away by car was a whole new world. Leonora and her friends had embraced their inner city like it was their salvation. They’d lived for Saturdays when they would get the train in, all dressed up in their best gear so they could trawl the shopping malls and check out boys.
The vibrancy of Manchester inspired Leonora, who was the career girl of the family. She had always known what she wanted to be when she left school: a chef. And she always knew where she wanted to work: in a big city. She’d since achieved both her goals but now she had others, her focus was elsewhere. And while she could hold her own as a sous-chef at the hotel, Leonora was sensible enough to realise that going it alone in Manchester was a step too far. So now, having earned her stripes, it was time to make two life-altering decisions.
Turning away from the window she sipped her coffee, savouring the peace and quiet of an empty room as she relaxed into the sofa, slipped off her clogs and rested her achy feet. The evening shift was just as manic as the day but for the purposes of avoiding Caspar, she had swapped with two of her colleagues who were grateful to spend time at home with their families. All she had to do was avoid him as much as possible until they’d got Christmas done with, then she was telling him it was over, goodbye and here’s the door. And she couldn’t wait.
Her best friend Daniella knew the whole story and wasn’t in the least bit surprised that Leonora and Joel had rekindled their relationship, although if it had been up to her, she’d have given Caspar his marching orders straight away. Smiling, she recalled their latest conversation and wished that everything was as easy as Daniella made it sound.
‘Dan, I can’t dump my fiancé before Christmas! It’s not like when we were fifteen and we wanted a boyfriend just so we’d get a present. You were a monster and dumped poor Dale Cole on Boxing Day; at least I waited to dump Martin whatshisname till we went back to school. I have a heart.’
The loudest tut ever echoed down the line. ‘But you’re going to have to put up with Caspar at your mum’s on Christmas Day while poor Joel will be sat at home with his ready meal for one, sobbing into his runny gravy and pulling a cracker all by himself – which is really hard because I’ve tried. Just tell Caspar to get lost and have it done with.’
