What had Ceri interrupted? Had he been about to say he was moving back to Wales? That he and his ex were trying to work things out? The thought made Rosie feel like her stomach had dropped through a trap door.
After a brief handshake with Rosie and a moment’s insincere small talk, Ceri tugged on Aled’s sleeve and led him away.
Back inside the flat, Rosie leaned against the front door and tried to regulate her swift, shallow breathing. She felt irrationally angry – blazing with resentment that, when she looked at it head-on, seemed mostly like it should be directed at herself.
Aled had done nothing wrong. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to help her start rebuilding her life. He’d promised her nothing and – regardless of Ceri’s reappearance – they’d always said their period of mutually convenient cohabitation would finish at the end of the year.
It was only now that Rosie realised this prospect had become more painful to contemplate than the grim reality of James’s departure.Gradually, then suddenly, she thought again.That’s how these things happen.
Slowly, then all at once.
November
Chapter 20
Over the following week, Rosie saw less of Aled than she’d become used to. She couldn’t help thinking this was a likely side-effect of his encounter with Ceri, though he’d shared precious little about what they’d discussed.
All Rosie knew was that she’d appeared in London – newly divorced and keen to catch up. Rhianne had grumbled darkly about Ceri attempting to ‘get her claws back in’, bemoaning Aled’s ‘intensely romantic’ nature as just the sort that might let her.
To Rosie’s relief, Ceri’s stay in the capital had been short-lived. Rhianne reported that she’d gone back to their home town within a week – though she couldn’t say what promises, if any, Ceri had extracted from Aled before she left. Though it killed her not to ask him herself, Rosie couldn’t face questioning Aled about his affections for the woman who broke his heart. Ignorance wasn’t bliss, but it was preferable to hearing a potentially painful truth.
Upon starting back at school after half-term, Aled had also been informed that an Ofsted inspection was imminent. The late nights and early starts this necessitated meant that, at most, he and Rosie crossed paths in the kitchen while waiting for the kettle to boil.
In a show of support, Rosie continued making dinners for two and left large portions in neatly labelled Tupperware containers so he could eat on the go. She also made several batches of her favourite chocolate-chip cookies for him to take and share with his over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived colleagues.
This was nothing more than she’d have done for a close friend, but it was a far cry from what common sense informed her was appropriate for a short-term flatmate. The voice of reason, however, was drowned out by the low, insistent hum that reminded her, very inconveniently:you miss him.
Since the ‘accidental best date in history’, which – in the privacy of her own head – was what she’d begun to call their afternoon of roller skating, she’d felt the pull of him more powerfully than ever. On the days when he was absent, she felt the loss of him keenly. The bathroom smelled of his shower gel in the mornings, his book sat unread on the coffee table and more than once she made two morning cups of tea, forgetting that he’d already have left for work.
She’d said nothing to Niamh about the mess of her feelings, and felt grateful that a run of high-profile projects was keeping her best friend so busy they’d cancelled their last couple of meet-ups. As soon as Niamh saw her in person, Rosie knew it would be game over. It would be useless to deny that her feelings for Aled had progressed from ‘noteworthy but manageable crush’ territory to take up residence in a dangerous place that might be labelled ‘sexually spellbound and emotionally invested’. She was in no rush to admit this to herself, let alone anyone else.
It annoyed her that, on the Saturday after the school inspectors departed, Rosie was unable to take Aled up on his offer of a ‘thanks for looking after me’ lunch. ‘I’ve got to drive out to Essex,’ she moaned. ‘I have a christening to go to, my cousin Mandy’s baby.’
‘Oh, nice.’
‘Not really,’ Rosie grimaced. ‘I RSVP’d months ago, when James and I were still together. I’ll be on the receiving end of some major sympathy-trolling when I turn up alone.’
‘Sympathy-trolling?’ Aled raised a single dark eyebrow, which did strange things to Rosie’s stomach.
‘Yeah. You know, where people say things like: “So howareyou, really? I mean,honestly? Are youmanagingsince the split?”’
Aled simply stared at her, so she ploughed on. ‘What people really mean when they lay it on like that is, you look like shit, it’s no wonder you got chucked and good luck finding another partner – you’ll definitely need it. The crappier your situation, and the more they backhandedly reinforce its crapness, the better they feel about themselves.’
‘Ouch,’ Aled murmured. ‘Will your parents not have prepared the ground for you at all? Warned people that James won’t be there, that it’s a sore subject?’
‘Absolutely not,’ Rosie said, barking a laugh. ‘Not in a million years. My mother would rather eat full-fat cheese than admit her daughter’s been dumped by the man they all hoped she would marry.’
‘That’s rough.’
‘Yep. Wish me luck. If I’m not back by six, assume I’ve pulled into a lay-by on the M11 to rock slowly back and forth while contemplating my lonely, loveless future.’
Oof. She wished she hadn’t saidloveless. She could feel her face heating.
Aled smiled softly, his soulful eyes thoughtful. Then they lit with a glint that could almost be described as mischievous. ‘I could … come with you, if you like? I mean, no pressure, I just have nothing else on today. If you could use a friend …?’
Rosie felt her mouth drop open. His garbled thoughtfulness made her heart squeeze, even as the word ‘friend’ echoed unpleasantly in her ears. She told herself it was an improvement on ‘flatmate’.
‘Er – isn’t this sort of thing your worst nightmare?’ she asked him. ‘Like, tons of people you don’t know – most of whom, I won’t lie, are pretty awful … Not to mention a church service, during which the baby will cry and my uncle Jim’s mobile will go off at least five times. He gets a lot of Betfair notifications.’
