Rescuing Rose Read online

  ‘And where does gravity itself come from?’ I asked as we sat side by side on the swings.

  ‘No-one knows. All we know is that gravity is the mutual attraction between every bit of matter in the universe. And the closer the matter is,’ he added softly, ‘the stronger the attraction.’

  ‘Oh,’ I murmured. ‘I see.’ A strange silence enveloped us for a minute or two as we sat staring up at the sky. And as we swung gently back and forth Theo told me about galaxies that kiss and collide; about supernovae, stars in their death throes, which explode with the brilliance of billions of suns. He told me about nebulae, towering clouds of luminous gas which float through space like vast jelly fish.

  ‘It’s…amazing,’ I said impotently, as I gazed upwards. ‘The mind-blowing immensity.’

  ‘It is. For example, our nearest star, Alpha Centauri, is just over four light years away, which doesn’t sound much but is in fact twenty-five trillion miles. And our galaxy alone is so vast that it takes the sun 225 million years to go round the centre once. Which is even slower than the Circle Line.’

  ‘That’s incredible,’ I breathed.

  ‘It puts our daily struggles into perspective, doesn’t it?’ he added with a laugh. ‘Tax returns, parking fines, dental appointments—even divorce.’

  ‘It certainly does.’ My fury with Ed suddenly seemed ludicrous and absurd. We were both less than a billionth of a subatomic particle in the cosmic scale of things.

  ‘It’s just…grand,’ I said. ‘That’s the only word for it.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s grand. And what’s really interesting is that when we look at the stars we’re actually looking into the past.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Because of the time it takes for their light to reach our eyes. For example, when we look at Sirius, the brightest star in the sky—that one there—we’re actually seeing it not as it is now, but as it was eight years ago, because it’s eight light years away. And some of the galaxies that Hubble has photographed are billions of light years away. Their light has been travelling across space for so long that by now they may well no longer exist. That’s what astronomy is really about,’ he added quietly. ‘It’s about looking back. It’s about the search for our origins.’

  ‘The search for our origins…’I repeated softly. ‘Moon-starer,’ I said suddenly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the anagram of astronomer—it’s just come to me.’

  ‘Moon-starer,’ he repeated. ‘That’s nice. You’re good at anagrams aren’t you?’ he added.

  ‘It’s just a knack. Finding parallel meanings by rearranging the letters; sorting them out.’

  ‘You like sorting things out, don’t you, Rose?’

  ‘Yes I do. I always have. I often anagrammatise people’s names for example.’

  ‘And the anagram of Rose is —’

  ‘Sore.’

  ‘Eros, actually, I was going to say.’

  I looked at him. ‘Yes, that too.’

  He glanced up again. Suddenly a phosphorescent streak flared overhead. ‘Oooh—a meteor!’ I exclaimed. ‘Oh no it’s not,’ I laughed. ‘It’s just a firework.’ I glanced at my watch: it was twenty to twelve.

  ‘Would you like some more brandy?’ he asked. In the distance we could hear party revellers. ‘Perhaps we should be drinking champagne. I’ll be right glad to see the back of this year though.’

  I heaved a sigh. ‘So will I. I’ve moved house twice, got married, and separated, all within twelve months. In terms of major life events that’s really going it,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘It certainly is. I wonder what this year will bring?’ he added quietly.

  ‘If you were an astrologer, rather than an astronomer, you’d know.’

  ‘I’ll be turning thirty,’ he went on seriously.

  ‘When?’

  ‘On August the first.’

  ‘August the first?’ I repeated.

  ‘Yes, why? What’s special about it?’

  ‘Oh…nothing,’ I said. I couldn’t explain why I always feel depressed on that date.

  ‘Is that your birthday too then?’

  I laughed darkly. ‘No. Mine’s in June. So…what else will happen to you this year?’ I asked, changing the subject.

  ‘I’ve got my book coming out in May, and I’ll be getting divorced.’

  ‘No going back then?’

  ‘Oh no. Fiona’s quite clear about that. In fact I think she might have met someone else.’

  ‘Really?’ He nodded.

  ‘She wouldn’t like to rub my nose in it, but I get that feeling.’

  ‘Well, maybe you’ll have a new relationship,’ I said, thinking of Beverley.

  ‘Yes, maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that the universe is expanding—it’s never static—and I want my life to expand too. I miss my wife,’ he added, ‘it’s been…awful; but it’s clear that her feelings have changed.’

  ‘Can I ask you something, Theo,’ I said, feeling suddenly brave. He looked at me.

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘Did you really come back early from Leeds just to work?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ he replied as he got off the swing and looked through the telescope.

  ‘You were in such a hurry you left on Christmas Day?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You couldn’t even wait until the next morning? Or until the trains were running?’

  ‘You’re dead right,’ he said quietly. ‘I couldn’t wait.’

  ‘How long did it take you to hitch?’

  He considered the question. ‘Five and a half hours, give or take. There wasn’t much traffic, obviously, so I had to wait for a lift.’

  ‘And you left at night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I…was in a sudden panic about the book.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you simply take your manuscript home with you so that you could work on it up there?’

  ‘I was…worried that I might lose it, or, you know, leave it on the train.’ I stared at him incredulously. ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ he added.

  ‘No,’ I replied quietly. ‘I don’t.’ He sat on the bottom of the slide and rested his chin in his hands. ‘All right then, I’ll tell you the truth. The real reason I left early was because Christmas was so awful, I couldn’t stand it. I had to get out.’

  ‘You had a row with your parents?’

  ‘No. I had a row with my father’s wife.’

  ‘With your stepmother, you mean?’

  ‘No I don’t mean that. I won’t attach the word “mother” to her in any way; she’s just the woman he married, that’s all.’

  ‘And what about your mother? Where’s she?’

  ‘My mother’s dead. She died when I was nine.’ How strange, I thought. After six weeks I know so many things about Theo. I know what brand of toothpaste he uses, and what aftershave; I know his tastes in music and food. I know that his childhood holidays were spent in Norfolk, and I even know how he votes. I know the reason why his marriage broke up; and yet I didn’t know that his mother had died.

  ‘I never talk about it,’ he went on quietly. ‘She died of a brain haemorrhage. She was only thirty-six. My father was on his own for a very long time. But three years ago he married Jane—who I hate.’

  ‘Why do you hate her?’

  ‘Because she’s just…vile. She has no fellow feeling for other people, no imaginative sympathy. She can’t empathise.’

  ‘But what’s she actually done?’

  ‘She’s eradicated all the memories of my mother. There weren’t many—my Dad’s not insensitive—but Jane won’t allow even a photo of my mum in the house.’

  ‘Even though she died, what—twenty years ago?’

  ‘Yes. It’s hard to understand, I know,’ he added quietly. ‘But she’s the jealous type; she knows my father really loved my mother, plus my mum was very attractive, and Jane’s not.’

  ‘
But what actually happened to make you leave?’

  His shoulders slumped forward suddenly, then he heaved a weary sigh. ‘It was awful,’ he began quietly. ‘We’d had Christmas lunch, and that had gone just about all right. And we were sitting in the living room watching telly when I looked at the wall and saw that the small portrait of my mother had gone. So I mentioned it to Dad and he looked embarrassed, so then I asked Jane, outright, but she claimed not to know. So I pressed her about it and I wouldn’t let up, and she finally admitted that she’d thrown it away. She threw my mother away,’ he said, his voice fracturing with feeling. ‘She threw my mother away.’

  ‘But why does your father tolerate her behaviour?’

  ‘Because he’s sixty-three and she’s thirty-seven.’ For the second time that night I felt ancient—Theo had a stepmother who was younger than me! ‘Dad’s terrified that she’ll leave him and that he’ll be alone in his old age. But when I knew what she’d done, I just put on my coat and walked to the motorway.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘Six miles.’

  ‘God.’

  ‘My mother was…lovely,’ he said simply. ‘She was always joking and laughing and she had this fantastic smile. Then, one perfectly ordinary Friday morning, she collapsed and I never saw her again.’ And now I suddenly realised that the woman in the photo in Theo’s room wasn’t his wife—it was her.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ I murmured. ‘How terrible. I thought you’d seemed down since you returned.’

  ‘I was. In fact I was completely miserable, so I buried myself in the book.’

  ‘Shall we go back now?’ I suggested after a moment, ‘it’s freezing.’

  ‘Yes, but can I ask you something now?’ That sounded ominous. I gave him a sideways look. ‘Who’s your “ex-mother”?’ Oh shit.

  ‘My ex-mother?’ I repeated. ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’ I glanced at my watch; it was ten minutes to midnight. I stood up to leave. ‘My mother died three years ago,’ I explained, ‘so she’s ex in that sense I guess.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ Theo said. ‘At the ball you referred to your “ex-mother”. You said it was a slip, but I wasn’t convinced. The expression, “ex-mother” has a very bitter edge. Who is she?’

  I flinched. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘Because, well, I’m…curious, that’s why. I mean, I know all sorts of things about you now, Rose. I know what brand of shampoo you use, and what toothpaste, and what perfume and what soap. I know what you eat—or rather don’t really eat—and I know a bit about your marriage, and your friends. But I don’t know anything about your family and I’d been wondering who your “ex-mother” could be.’

  ‘Well…’ I began. Then stopped. ‘Well…’ I sighed. Oh fuck. ‘Are you adopted?’

  I looked at him. ‘That’s a very blunt question.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I am a bit blunt. So are you?’

  My heart did a swallow dive. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I thought so. I was looking at that photo of your parents in the sitting room, and I could see you weren’t related to them. And there are a few other things you’ve said that I’ve picked up on, so I reckoned your “ex-mother” might be your real mother.’

  ‘She’s my birth mother, that’s correct.’

  ‘And you’ve never traced her?’ he asked softly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’ He really was very forthright.

  ‘Well, because it’s very…personal,’ I said. ‘Not everyone does.’

  ‘But surely life’s too short to neglect something so huge.’

  ‘Life’s also too short to waste. And in order to earn the epithet “mother” you surely have to do a bit of mothering first! I used to want to find her,’ I confided quietly as I looked at the sky. ‘When I was a child I’d scan the crowds for any woman who I thought could possibly be her. I once followed a woman round Safeways for two hours because I thought she looked like me. I was convinced my real mum would come for me one day, but I knew that if she didn’t, I’d look. I’d home in on her like a heat-seeking missile, and I’d find her, wherever she was. But then when I was eighteen I discovered something…bad about her, and I changed my mind. I vowed then that I’d never search for her; I never have, and I never will.’ Now, from one of the houses to the left of the park I could hear the New Year countdown begin.

  ‘TEN…NINE…EIGHT…’

  ‘What was it you discovered?’ Theo asked quietly.

  ‘It’s none of your business!’ I saw his face flinch.

  ‘Sorry,’ he murmured. ‘You’re obviously very sensitive about it.’

  ‘I’m not “sensitive” about it,’ I snapped. ‘But the point is you’re extremely direct. And I’ve answered your question, even though I didn’t want to, and I’m not answering any more.’

  ‘SIX…FIVE…’

  ‘My apologies,’ he said as he stood up and began to dismantle the telescope. ‘You’re quite right. But because I lost my mum so young I’m envious of anyone who still has theirs. And the thought that your mother might be out there—somewhere—maybe even living close by…’ I felt sick. ‘I mean, she’d only be, how old—fifty-five, fifty-six? Maybe even less.’

  ‘THREE…TWO…’

  ‘I’m not looking for her,’ I said, as he folded the tripod. ‘And that’s all there is to it, okay?’

  ‘ONE…’

  ‘But don’t you wonder about her?’ he persisted as I walked away.

  ‘ZERO!!!!!’

  ‘NO!’ I shot over my shoulder. ‘I don’t!’

  In the distance I could hear the peal of church bells, and now we heard the revellers sing.

  Should auld acquaintance be forgot…

  ‘You don’t think about her?’

  And never brought to mind…

  ‘Never!’

  We’ll tak’ a cup of kindness yet…

  ‘And I’m not thinking about her now.’

  For auld lang syne.

  ‘How old are you, Rose?’ he asked as he drew level with me, ‘thirty-six? Thirty-seven?’

  ‘I’m thirty-nine.’

  ‘So you’ve still got half your life left.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  For auld lang syne, my dear…

  ‘If it were me,’ he said as we crossed the park, ‘I’d be crossing continents; I’d leave no stone unturned.’

  For auld lang s-y-y-y-n-e…

  ‘You only say that because your mother was a good person, but mine wasn’t.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I just do. I have enough…information about what she did to know that I’m not going to go knocking on her door. In any case,’ I added as we headed for the park gate, ‘it’s much too late.’

  We’ll tak’ a cup of kindness yet…

  ‘No it’s not.’

  ‘It is!’

  For auld lang syne…

  ‘It’s never too late, Rose.’

  I turned and faced him. ‘Yes it is! She blew it, Theo! Don’t you understand? My mother blew it almost forty years ago. And if she’d ever wanted to come and find me and get down on her knees and beg for forgiveness, then she could have done—but she didn’t!’

  It was as though we’d stepped on a landmine—our earlier rapport had been blown apart. And as we walked through the park gates in clumsy silence I wished I hadn’t gone out with him. Yes, it was very nice seeing the universe and all that, but his interrogations had got me down. It’s not even as though I know him well, so he had no right to quiz me like that. And I think Theo must have realised he’d overstepped the mark because when we got back he went straight upstairs.

  ‘I’m off to bed,’ he said from the first step. ‘Thanks for coming out.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said stiffly.

  ‘It was really clear,’ he went on, ‘and I saw some very…interesting things. Well, good night, Rose,’ he added breezily.

  ‘Good night.’

  ‘And, oh yes—Happy New Year!’
>
  Chapter 9

  ‘Happy New Year,’ I said to Serena when I went into work two days later.

  ‘I hope it is happy,’ she replied. ‘The signs are not exactly—’ she began briskly, then stopped herself.

  ‘Are you okay, Serena?’ I said, narrowing my eyes.

  ‘Oh yes,’ she said chirpily. ‘I’m fine. Except that we had a flood on Boxing Day. The washing machine blew up. I’d put it on the delicates cycle and then we’d gone over to Rob’s mother’s for lunch. When we got back the house looked like the Serpentine; the carpets were ruined. Still nil desperandum,’ she added twitchily.

  ‘But surely you’re insured?’

  ‘Well, we were…but unfortunately we hadn’t got round to renewing our accidental damage cover what with things being a little bit tight. But never mind,’ she added with platitudinous perkiness, ‘mustn’t complain. I mean, worse things happen at sea don’t they?’ She really was the Doyenne of Denial. ‘The show must go on and all that,’ she added with a heroic, but tense little smile. ‘No, really, Rose, I’m fine. I’m ab-so-lute-ly fine. Unlike our poor readers,’ she said patting the vast pile of mail.

  ‘So what have we got today?’ I sighed.

  ‘Christmas quarrels, money worries, acne, bedwetting, internet infidelity and—this…’ Grimacing slightly, she handed me a tiny plastic bag in which, by peering closely, I could just distinguish two or three black…things. Although they appeared to be organic I hadn’t a clue what they were.

  ‘What the hell are these?’ I asked, pulling a face. ‘Spiders?’ She shook her head. ‘Ants?’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Woodlice?’

  ‘Uh uh.’

  ‘Fleas?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Ticks?’

  ‘Getting warm.’

  ‘Well what does the letter say?’

  Serena blushed, then cleared her throat. ‘Dear Rose, I found these in my pubic hair this morning and I wondered…’

  ‘WHAT????’I wanted to hurl. ‘GOD!!!! How revolting!’I exclaimed. ‘Is it a hoax?’

  ‘No. It’s perfectly serious. They’ve given an address.’

  ‘Then please write back pointing out that I run a problem page not a diagnostic service for STDs. That’s the most repulsive letter I’ve ever had,’ I added crossly—‘How utterly vile.’ Although at the same time I was also aware that it would be an absolute cracker of a story at the agony aunts’ lunch next week. Those dos can get very competitive. Oh yes, that one would be a winner all right. I vaguely wondered about taking the evidence with me to confound any sceptics but decided it was simply too gross. As Serena disposed of it, I glanced at the pile of new books.Understanding Obesity—very appealing.You Want Me To Do What? Oh, nice. And, oh…this one looked quite interesting—Older Women:Younger Men, New Options For Love and Romance. Hmm…I thought as I switched on the computer. Might give that one a plug.