Christmas at Rosewood. Sophie Pembroke
didn’t know then. That was something. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are no more secrets here at Rosewood. But there is definitely liquor, and I was promised a Christmas cocktail by Saskia’s grandmother, and I intend to claim it. Anyone joining me?’
‘Let me get Mum and Freya and Max settled first,’ Edward said. ‘Then we’ll see. Come on, everyone. Let me show you to your rooms.’
We trailed dutifully up the stairs after Edward and Saskia, our bags shared out between us all. But I couldn’t help but pause at the top of the stairs and look back down into the hallway.
Aiden still stood in the doorway, watching me go. I looked away fast.
Edward had always said that Rosewood was home to ghosts. I just hadn’t realised it would be my past, my secrets, that were haunting me.
Edward and Saskia deposited me and my bags in a bright yellow bedroom looking out over the Rose Garden, then Saskia promptly retreated to show Mum and Max to their rooms, leaving Edward and me alone.
I got the feeling that this was something of a pre-planned attack.
I could hear Saskia talking to Max as they left. ‘Aiden’s a writer, you know – you might have heard of him. Aiden Waites?’ I groaned as I realised the wider implications of Aiden’s presence at Rosewood. Max had been begging to read Aiden’s books for months – apparently his mates had all read them, something I knew from talking to their mums wasn’t the case. Actually meeting the man himself wasn’t going to make my ‘they’re not suitable for a twelve-year-old’ argument any easier.
Edward shut the bedroom door softly behind him, muffling Max’s excited reply, then leant against the dressing table. I took a seat on the bed beside my suitcase, wondering if there was a way out of the inevitable ‘we’re all worried about you’ conversation I knew was coming.
‘So,’ Edward said.
‘So,’ I echoed.
He sighed. ‘I’m no good at this.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said, taking pity on him. ‘Mum asked you to “have a word” with me, without specifying exactly which words to use?’
‘Oh, she was pretty clear about the words, actually,’ Edward said, giving me a half-smile. ‘Mostly “mistake,” “forgiveness,” and “family”.’
‘Right. Yeah, no.’
‘That’s what I figured.’ He pushed away from the dressing table and came to sit beside me on the bed, the suitcase between us. ‘Is she right to be so worried about this? I mean, I know I’ve been away, but you don’t look like you’re falling apart, and Max seems okay.’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘I mean, I’m fine. Furious, but fine. But Max… I don’t know. I hoped maybe you might be able to talk with him. See how he’s doing.’
‘Of course,’ Edward agreed, instantly. ‘How much does he know?’
‘Not a lot.’ Darren was still his father, whatever he’d done, and I didn’t want Max to lose all respect for him. All the same, not telling him hadn’t made things noticeably easier between them, anyway. ‘We just told him that as much as we loved him, Darren and I had grown apart, so we were separating. We kind of focused on the “still being a family, just with two houses” thing, rather than the adultery and betrayal part. As far as I know, Darren hasn’t told him about his new girlfriend yet, either.’
‘You realise he’ll have to know the truth eventually, right?’ Edward asked. ‘One thing I’ve learned since coming to Rosewood – the truth always comes out.’
God, I hoped not. ‘Maybe. But not yet. After Christmas, at least.’
‘Okay. So, you okay with being here for Christmas?’
Here, with a houseful of strangers, my disapproving mother, and the man I had the most intense relationship of my life with fourteen years ago? Sure!
‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely,’ I lied. I wasn’t sure at all. In fact, I was pretty convinced it might be hell on earth for three days. My doubts must have shown on my face, because Edward didn’t look at all convinced. I hunted for something else positive to say. ‘Actually, it might do us good to be somewhere with no memories this Christmas. I mean, given everything.’
‘I hope so.’ Edward got to his feet. ‘Maybe we can even make some new family memories, yeah?’
‘That would be lovely,’ I said, and I wasn’t even lying that time.
‘Right. You relax,’ he said, crossing to the door. ‘Take a shower, have a rest, and come down when you’re ready. I’ll take care of Max and Mum.’
He was trying to help, I realised. Trying to make up for not being there when Darren left – for being half a world away on a book tour when my life was collapsing around me. Maybe for being happy, when I wasn’t.
Except… I wasn’t unhappy, either. And that was something I couldn’t admit to – couldn’t tell Mum, or Max, or Edward. How could I tell them that the end of my marriage felt like the beginning of something new? Of a fresh start for me? How could I explain the relief I’d felt, the day I realised that Darren was cheating on me?
I couldn’t let Max know that I was glad his father had left. Just like I couldn’t tell Mum that I’d given up on my marriage long before it actually ended.
Neither one of them would even begin to understand.
‘Okay,’ I said, putting on the brave smile I’d perfected in the days after Darren left. ‘I’ll be down soon.’
‘No hurry.’ He shut the door tight behind him, and I was alone.
I sighed, and flopped back to lie on the bed, my mind still swirling at being at Rosewood, at Edward’s words, and, most of all, at the sight of Aiden, two hundred miles away from where I’d expected him to be.
It was strange, knowing we lived in the same city, but never running into one another. Never even considering the idea of making contact. I’d wondered, once or twice, what I’d do if I saw him – across the street, on the tube, at some event or another. I’d never been certain – but I’d always suspected I’d have turned and walked away and pretended it never happened.
And now, here he was. And here I was. And pretending we weren’t really wasn’t an option.
No. I wasn’t thinking about Aiden. I’d spent fourteen years hardly ever letting myself think about him – why stop now? I needed to focus on my family, on my son, on our Christmas together.
I threw an arm over my eyes, listening intently to the silence. I supposed it was kind of nice to have some peace and quiet after Mum chattering in my ear all the way from London.
The problem with Mum was that she meant well. She was so earnestly supportive and helpful and encouraging that I couldn’t ever get properly mad at her.
She just had absolutely no understanding of how I felt.
When Dad died, it was as if the world ended for her. They’d been married for over thirty years, and never had a cross word. There’d been no warning, either – his death had come like lightening from a clear sky, one bright and sunny spring day. And for a while, I’d honestly worried that life might never start up again.
But it had. Mum had found strength she’d never needed before, and she’d carried on living and thriving without Dad. It was only in the quiet moments – when I caught her looking at old photos, or staring out at the tree in the back garden that Dad had always planned to cut down but never had – that I realised anew how much of a hole he’d left inside her.
Well, not just then, in truth.
Every