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She curled up in the narrow bed, her aunt’s diary on her knees, parting the pages with the silk bookmark at March 2012. Tears flowed as she meandered through the catacombs of her aunt’s life story. Rosie was convinced that the diary, and theBake Yourself Bettermanuscript, had been retained specifically by her aunt in that pock-marked trunk for her to discover one day, as it catalogued events from the past as well as from the present in her aunt’s daily résumé.
The personal tome recorded that Bernice had enjoyed a carefree life as she grew up with her sister, Rose, Rosie’s mother.On turning eighteen, her childhood sweetheart had proposed, but she’d turned him down believing herself to be too young for the responsibility of marriage. By the time Bernice had sent Rose and Jack down the aisle, Gordon had become involved in another passionate relationship, one with which Bernice could not hope to compete. A career in the cloisters of the local parish church had beckoned.
Over the years they had maintained a solid friendship, but they had never taken it further. Bernice had devoted her life and her heart to a man she loved, but Rosie didn’t know if those feelings had been reciprocated. She thought back to Bernice’s posthumous letter urging her to date, to find happiness with a someone she adored, and to have a family of her own; a life like her mother’s, not like Bernice’s.
As she laid the diary on the bedside table and switched off the lamp, she thought of her discussion with Charlie that afternoon and acknowledged that he had been right. Shehadbeen hung up on her need to care for her sister and she should start to concentrate on her own happiness. She thought of the sacrifices Bernice had made for her enduring love of Gordon, their regular meetings her aunt had recorded with such love and joy, until he had left the area two years ago and she hadn’t set eyes on him again in this lifetime, and she was determined that wasn’t going to happen to her.
Chapter Twenty One
The last day of August arrived – the day Lauren and Brett were due to find out the results of their second round of IVF. She glanced at her watch and cursed the time difference between the two countries. Lauren’s appointment at the clinic was not until three p.m. which meant she would have to endure an interminable wait until eight p.m., UK time. How on earth would she get through the day? She needed something to occupy her whirring mind.
Decision made, she hauled out her aunt’s preciousBake Yourself Betterjournal and flicked through the pages for the most complex recipe she could find. She settled on one that was accompanied by a beautiful pencil drawing of a sprig of oregano. She read her aunt’s words of wisdom then ran her eyes down the ingredients and instructions.
Focaccia and Olive Oil to Help Ease the Turmoil
Oregano means ‘mountain joy’. How lovely! The herb is also said to contain a rich source of iron and fibre and vitamin K. But, Rosie my darling, for this recipe to be successful you need to knead! Concentrating on the rhythmic, repetitive massage of the dough redirects the thought processes and takes your mind off the turmoil.
Her aunt was right, the strenuous kneading required to develop the gluten strands in the dough did relieve some of the gathering helix of tension which enabled her to think more clearly. It really was time to go home, and she needed to bite the bullet and make the arrangements. For one thing, she had run out of savings.
Her elbows began to ache, and she could wait no longer to speak to Lauren. She scrabbled for her phone and selected her number, dousing her hair with a generous sprinkling of flour as she held her mobile up to her ear.
‘I just wanted to wish you and Brett luck today, Lauren. I know you would both make amazing parents.’
‘Thanks, Rosie. I’m so nervous I feel nauseous, and I know that’s not good for pregnant women. Anyway, I’m pleased you called, and I don’t want to add to your woes, but I’ve heard rumours about Hannah.’
‘Oh, God, what now?’ Rosie rolled her eyes.
‘Just that she was seen over at Hoochies Bar in Brooklyn with a guy who definitely wasn’t Jacob. Maybe you could have a sisterly word with our flighty friend?’
‘Lauren, what can I do? She’s a married woman, and anyway, when has she ever taken any notice of what I say? It’s her life. She has to be left to fight her own battles and face the consequences of her actions, good or bad. Perhaps if I’d left her to do just that in the past she would have been more responsible now.’
‘Rosie! You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. At last you’ve severed the apron strings. I’m so proud of you. Now, you just need to get yourself home, sort out your career issues and, maybe, just maybe, buy that “Best Godmother in the World” badge to wear with pride! Oh, and don’t forget thetreasure trove of vintage garments you promised me. It’ll be like an early Thanksgiving!’
‘Thanks, Lauren. I miss you.’
‘Not for long, darling. And at least in the UK you’re busy, you have friends, and can gather some perspective. What’s the position with the cottage?’
‘I’ve signed the contracts. They’re not exchanged yet as I’ve been prevaricating, but I really just want to tie things up in my aunt’s estate and come home. That’s my plan, anyway.’
‘I wish I could come over to the UK to be with you, Rosie. I’m desperate for a break myself. Brett is livid at the excessive hours I’m putting in at work. He blamed me for the failure of the last round of IVF, I’m terrified of his reaction if this one has failed too. He’s now quite understandably demanding I make a choice, my career or a family. Not an unreasonable proposition to make, if I’m honest.’
‘Oh, Lauren, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there to support you.’
‘I’ll be fine, Rosie. I have Brett. I have my sisterandtwo sisters-in-law. Even my neighbour, Martha, will be cheering from the side-lines. Attendance levels are so high I’m thinking of selling tickets. It’s time you thought about yourself now. Brett and I were actually discussing taking a trip over to the UK at the end of October. We thought we might stay at that old English country manor you told me about. It would be a dream to stay in five-star luxury, but its website says it closes at the end of September for the season. What sort of establishment shuts its doors to the paying public for six months of the year?’
‘Somersby Manor is a family home. The Campbell-Wrights have lived there for more than five generations, I think. They only open in the summer to make ends meet. It’s prohibitive,the cost of running these old mansions. Lots of families have had to sell their ancestral homes. I’ve met one of the guys who’s working there over the summer season. His job finishes at the end of the month and he’ll be going back up to London.’
‘Life’s tough, Rosie, isn’t it? Tough to start, tough in the middle, and tough at the end. But it’s sure better than the alternative!’
For a reason she couldn’t explain, after her conversation with Lauren Rosie succumbed to a bout of tears. She thought she had mastered her tendency to burst into hot tears whenever anyone uttered a kind word or asked about her plans for the future. But she missed her best friend immensely and so wanted her to hear good news that afternoon at the clinic. Lauren deserved it, she would make a loving parent, Rosie knew it.
Rosie had never partied like the other girls at college, so she hadn’t bonded with anyone in particular. She could count her true friends on the fingers of one hand. Those women she had stepped into satin bridesmaid shoes for probably couldn’t even remember her now as she had never had the time to coo over their wedding photos on Prosecco-fuelled nights dissecting every detail of the reception and the honeymoon. They were probably now drinking Perrier on spa weekends, desperately trying to remember her name – Was it Ruthie or Ruby? – as they rubbed their baby bumps and reminisced about the best day of their lives.
A sharp rap on the front door broke into Rosie’s reverie. She prayed it wasn’t Charlie as she couldn’t cope with a dose of his personal brand of chirpy banter. She wanted time to wallow in self-pity for a little while longer and he’d encountered her puffy, red-rimmed eyes too often already.
‘Hi. How’re things in the Hamilton household?’ Emily’s shrewd chestnut eyes took in Rosie’s demeanour and sheclearly concluded they weren’t good. ‘Come on, I’ll make tea. Camomile? And is that bread I can smell burning? I thought you’d tamed the beast?’
Over china cups, Rosie confided in her friend her anxiety that all her US friends had married, settled down, and were happily nurturing their expanding broods. For her, even finding her soul mate was proving a challenge too far.
