‘Seewhatcoming?’
‘The impending disaster I just mentioned. I should have predicted you’d jump in with both feet, instead of keeping your next relationship casual. You need a transitional person, not something full on.’
Rosie racked her brain and tried to remember where else she’d heard the phrase ‘transitional person’ recently. She came up blank.
‘It’s like you’reaskingto get hurt,’ Niamh went on. ‘It’s bordering on masochistic.’
At this, Rosie drew in a sharp, shocked breath. ‘That’s pretty harsh, in the context of everything I’ve had to deal with recently,’ she said. ‘And you don’t know the half of it, as it turns out.’
‘Maybe not,’ Niamh snapped, in no hurry for any extra information Rosie might want to impart. ‘But James treated you like crap for months. Maybe years. Think about what you put up with – thepeopleyou put up with.’
Rosie felt like she’d been kicked in the chest. ‘Are you saying I’m weak? Some kind of pathetic yes-person? Because I don’t think that’s fair. I’ve come a long way in the past few months and—’
‘And you’re going toruinall that progress by letting another man walk all over you,’ Niamh almost shouted. ‘A man who’s been to twenty-five countries in the past ten years, has a temporary job and appears totally uninterested in staying anywhere for more than a few weeks. You’ve accommodatedhisneeds without considering your own. You’ve started something with him, but you haven’t asked for any kind of commitment in return. You’re still pandering. You’re constantly bending over backwards to be what other people want, and it’sexhausting.’
Her rant over, Niamh looked up at Rosie, who now had tears rolling down her face.
There was some truth beneath Niamh’s bluster, and it frightened her: she and Aled hadn’t discussed his job, or their living situation. Did he want to stay with her? Did he plan on catching the next available flight to somewhere interesting and exotic? Would he leave her, or did he want to stay in her life? She knew what she’d felt between them last night, but nothing was certain. Nothing had been said out loud.
She eyed her friend from across the counter, taking in the deep, dark shadows beneath her eyes. She noticed Niamh’s bitten nails, and finally recognised her pinched, nervous look as one that often accompanied too much rapid weight loss. Rosie’s mother had worn it frequently in years gone by – usually after crash diets that made her thinner, but also rendered her so ravenous she could barely function.
Sympathy for her friend swelled inside Rosie. Niamh was sinking, and she had been too preoccupied with her own troubles to properly realise it.
As she prepared to say something kind and calming, Niamh burst out: ‘Your naivety isastounding, Rosie. I mean, when are you going to stop letting life just happen to you? When are you going to start living withintention?’
‘For fuck’s sake, spare me the fridge magnet bullshit,’ Rosie retorted angrily. ‘I had more than enough of that from James. Iamliving with intention. I intended to have some excellent sex last night, and I absolutely did.’
Niamh shook her head dismissively.
‘And d’you know something?’ Rosie continued, her ire now up and running away with her. ‘You lecturemeabout bending over backwards for others – trying to be all things to all people without considering my own needs. Look atyourself. I think this is your stuff, not mine. As one of those LA life gurus might put it: you’re projecting.’
Niamh’s jaw dropped.
‘Since you went back to work, you’ve been coming apart at the seams,’ Rosie said. ‘You won’t even admit it’s hard half the time – you just shrug for the sake of saving face. You want to be perfect for Brendan, perfect for the kids and perfect for your clients, no matter what it costs you. You thinkI’mexhausting? I’m exhausted just looking at you. I don’t know why you can’t admit you’re strugglingandlet me in.’
‘I think you’ve said enough,’ Niamh murmured, her face a stony mask that didn’t quite conceal how hard Rosie’s words had hit her.
Rosie herself felt breathless, like she’d had all the air knocked out of her lungs.
She wanted to fix this – to wind the clock back and begin the whole catch-up again. She wanted to apologise for yelling, to ask Niamh what she needed and to offer her some support … But Rosie was hurt, too. Niamh’s characterisation of her as a desperate walkover had cut deep, and she apparently had no intention of saying sorry.
‘Maybe you should go,’ Niamh said stiffly. ‘Unless, of course, you think I won’t be able to manage when the twins wake up.’
‘I’ve no doubt you’ll manage,’ Rosie said, entirely honestly. ‘I just worry about what all thismanagingis costing you, because I love you. I’ll see myself out.’
Dazed and confused by her argument with Niamh, Rosie caught the bus back to Walthamstow. She ambled around the village’s nicer shops, as though eyeing up designer stationery or artfully displayed house plants might reveal a solution to her troubles. She and Niamh hadn’t argued since they were in their early twenties – and they’d never fallen out this badly.
When no magical answer presented itself from among the hand-knitted scarves in the shop next door to the deli, Rosie decided to pop in and see Rhianne. If nothing else, she could thank her for getting in touch with Aled last night – for saving her from a situation that would have been utterly humiliating, but for his unexpected appearance.
Almost every table inside was occupied, so Rosie pulled up a seat at the counter. Becky was there, in a t-shirt that read: ‘FEMINISM IS MY SECOND FAVOURITE F WORD’.
‘You all right, Rosie?’ she said. ‘You look sort of … down.’
‘I’m OK, I promise,’ Rosie lied. ‘Is Rhianne around?’
‘In the kitchen. Go through – I’ll make you a coffee. Something cheering. Caramel latte?’
‘That sounds perfect, thanks.’
