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‘Rosie?’
She was fighting back the tears that had sprung up with relief at hearing his voice and couldn’t continue for a minute, and as the line cracked and popped his voice came again, louder, saying. ‘Rosie? Are you there?’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Her bottom lip was trembling so much it was hard to speak. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’
‘Rosie, I can’t hear you—the storm—you’ll have to shout.’
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ she bellowed down the line, the urgency of it all providing the shot of adrenalin she needed to pull herself together. ‘I’ve been so stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid—’ The line faded and then crackled, and his voice came back again, saying, ‘…very brave, don’t you know that?’
‘I can’t hear you!’
‘I said you are the gutsiest woman I know and very brave. Look, it’s getting worse—’ there were a few more frustrating moments when the line shuddered and died, and then ‘—get back.’
‘What? Oh, Kingsley, I can’t hear you and I want to say I’m sorry and that I love you and that you must be careful.’ But he was saying something too and she was almost sure he couldn’t hear her.
‘Kingsley, if you need to go and shelter, do it. I love you. Let me know you’re all right when you can.’ But the line had gone dead. She put down the receiver and burst into tears. He was in danger, and she wasn’t sure if he knew she loved him or had heard anything she’d said.
She spent the rest of the day glued to the TV and radio reports, getting more and more worked up as they confirmed that Cyclone Kimberley was a biggie and was taking no prisoners. Rosalie drank numerous cups of coffee but couldn’t eat a thing, and when Beth called in the evening, having heard the news on the TV, which had mentioned all power lines were down along with pretty severe destruction in places, she was all but climbing the walls.
‘I’m coming over,’ Beth said, at the sound of Rosalie’s agitated voice.
‘No, it’s all right, really.’
‘I’m coming. George is away at some conference or other and won’t get back till tomorrow, and at least it won’t seem so bad if there’s two of us worrying together. Have you eaten?’ she added in true mother-hen fashion.
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘See you in a little while.’
Before she knew it Beth was on the doorstep, her arms full of tubs and boxes from an Indian take-away, along with a couple of bottles of wine.
‘I’m…not hungry.’ Rosalie was determined she wasn’t going to cry again. She hadn’t cried in years before she’d met Kingsley, but since he’d come into her life it seemed as if she’d done little else.
Beth ignored her, bustling about the kitchen heating food in the microwave and opening a bottle of very good red wine, saying as
she did so, ‘Listen to me, Lee. There have been worse cyclones than this one, much worse, and Jamaica and other such places are geared up for them. They’re a yearly hazard, for goodness’ sake, like…like snowstorms here.’
Rosalie’s expression indicated what she thought of such a pathetic comparison.
‘Kingsley’s going to be absolutely fine, I know it, and you won’t do him or yourself any good if you make yourself ill, now then. You are going to eat and drink, and wait for him to call you. Power lines always go down with these sorts of things, along with roofs being blown away and the odd boat or two being sunk, but that doesn’t mean anyone gets hurt. I told you, they know what to do.’
Beth handed Rosalie a large glass of red wine. ‘Drink some, now,’ she commanded in the same voice she used to her offspring when it was a case of ‘she who must be obeyed’.
Rosalie drank. The rich and full-bodied wine with the aroma of raspberries, damsons and spices left a warm glow and steadied the trembling in her stomach.
‘Now go and set the table for two,’ Beth said briskly, handing her the bottle and another glass. ‘We’re eating first and then you can tell me all about it.’
Amazingly Rosalie found she managed a good assault on her heaped plate before finally admitting defeat when it was half empty, another glass of wine helping enormously in forcing the food down.
After she had filled Beth in on her decision and the position to date, the two women sat sipping wine and talking until far into the night. Eventually, at gone two, Beth persuaded her to go to bed, insisting she would sit and doze in a chair by the phone.
‘You look awful,’ Beth said with her usual honesty. ‘Get some sleep or you’ll be meeting him with bags under your eyes big enough to shop with.’
Rosalie climbed into bed complaining that this was a wasted exercise and she wouldn’t sleep a wink, and it was much more sensible for Beth to have her bed. However, she was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, the lack of rest over the last few days and the relaxing effect of the wine causing a deep, dreamless slumber.
She only slept for four hours, her subconscious then kicking in and reminding her she ought to be awake and worrying, but she felt better for it as she tottered into the sitting room where Beth was snoring softly in her chair by the phone.
