The One We Fell in Love With (8 page)

‘Are you sure you’re my Rose?’ Mum asks, sitting beside me on the bed and peering at me with amused blue eyes. We inherited our green eyes from Dad, but the rest of us is all
Mum: similar height, similar build, and we did have a similar hair colour, before hers turned grey. Now she dyes it dark blonde and wears it in a bob. ‘Did you and Eliza swap beds in the
night?’ she asks.

‘No, we did not,’ I snap indignantly. Eliza almost always oversleeps. ‘I just had a bad night.’

‘Aah,’ she says, patting my cheek. I flinch with annoyance.

Sometimes I think my mum still sees me as a little girl and not the twenty-seven-year-old woman that I’ve become. Maybe if she came to London more to visit, she’d know the real me
– the one who has a sophisticated, older doctor for a boyfriend and a busy job – but she rarely gets out of Sale these days.

‘You’d better get up,’ she says, standing. ‘The new owner’s architect is coming over soon to measure up.’

‘Okay.’ I yawn and swing my legs out of the bed. ‘Is Eliza up yet?’

‘She’s long gone,’ Mum replies.

‘Where to?’ I ask with alarm.

‘London, flat hunting. Didn’t she tell you?’

‘No, she did not!’ What on earth?

Mum fills me in. Eliza wants to move to London. I can’t believe she didn’t say anything! We may not be close, but I’m still her sister and I could have given her advice about
where to look – she doesn’t know London well at all. Even more proof of how little she respects me.

‘She was out of here at the crack of dawn, raring to go. She reminded me of you when you’ve got ants in your pants.’

I humph and she smiles at me as she goes out the door.

Wait a sec. Why does Eliza want to move to London when Angus and Phoebe are about to come back here? I thought she hated that I’ve had them to myself all these years.

I’ll never work her out, so I give up trying. Eliza’s an enigma, that’s for sure.

Right, then, I’d better get ready. I went out with an architect once and he was rather dishy.

Sadly, this one is not, as I discover half an hour later. He’s up in the loft, grumbling about not being able to see the wood for the trees. The new owners plan to do a
loft extension, apparently.

‘I’m still in the process of sorting everything out, I’m afraid,’ I call up to him, rolling my eyes.

Not that I’m looking for a boyfriend. Gerard is a catch, but frankly he could do with a firecracker or two up his jacksie. We’ve been seeing each other for six and a half months and
he’s thirty-four, tall, dark, handsome,
and
he’s a doctor. However, he does unfortunately happen to be married. He’s not still
with
his wife, mind. I would never
do that. But it would have been nice if the divorce papers had been signed before he’d asked me out. I don’t think they’ve actually been issued.

The thing is, although I admittedly did have a soft spot for Angus when I was younger, I wasn’t deluded. I knew early on that he and I weren’t meant to be, and I certainly
haven’t sat around pining for him since. I’ve moved on, dated, searched for the one true love of my life. I’ll find him eventually, if I haven’t already. I’m not sure
it’s Gerard. He is reasonably attractive, clever and definitely fancies my pants off, but he’s no Angus.

What I mean by that is he’s not the same with me as Angus is with Phoebe. Those two together are adorable. The way they laugh at each other, listen to each other, look at each other... The
way he casually drapes his arm around her shoulder, when they’re hanging out at a barbecue, a beer in his spare hand. I can picture them both, right now, standing on my London balcony in the
early evening sunshine, the week before last. Gerard is far less attentive to me.

There is no doubt in my mind: Angus is absolutely besotted with Phoebe. So what the
hell
has been going on between him and Eliza?

‘Are you okay up there for a minute?’ I call up the ladder, feeling twitchy. I wonder if Eliza’s diary holds any clues.

‘I’m almost done,’ the architect calls back.

‘Do you need help getting down?’

‘Yes, if you could just wait,’ he replies a touch huffily.

I sigh, eager to get back to my reading.

But it’s one thing after another, and then Angus rocks up. Mum answers the door to him and he doesn’t waste much time getting to the point.

‘Is Eliza there, by any chance?’ I overhear him asking.

‘Oh, no. She’s gone to London to look for a flat,’ Mum replies.

‘Has she?’ He sounds taken aback.

‘I know, that’s what I thought!’ Mum exclaims. ‘She was out the door before I’d even made breakfast. Rose was still fast asleep.’

‘Hello, Gus,’ I interrupt, squeezing between Mum and the doorframe.

‘Hey, Rosie!’ While he might sound jovial, I can tell that the news about Eliza has thrown him.

I turn to Mum. ‘Do you think you should check on the architect?’

‘Does he need me?’ she asks with a frown.

‘I think so.’ Actually, he’s fine, but I want to speak to Angus alone. ‘You’re after Eliza?’ I ask him when Mum has moseyed off.

‘Yeah.’ He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t important. You okay?’

‘I’m fine. Busy packing up.’ I watch carefully for any signs of guilt as I ask my next question. ‘Have you spoken to Phoebe?’

‘I tried calling her last night,’ he replies. ‘But it went straight to voicemail.’ His right eyebrow twitches. Oh,
Angus
! I want to ask him about his apparent
intimacy with the
wrong
sister, but he distracts me before I can think of a way to phrase the question.

‘Are you missing Dr Gerard?’ He raises one eyebrow in a cheeky gesture.

‘Yeah, but he’s really busy at work, so I wouldn’t have seen much of him this week anyway.’

‘It’s a shame you two couldn’t have got some time off together.’

‘What, so he could come here and help me pack?’ I tease.

Angus gives me a sympathetic look and nods past me. ‘How’s it all going?’

‘Slowly,’ I reply. ‘What about you?’

‘Same. I have no idea how I’ll get the apartment sorted before Phoebe returns.’

‘Maybe I could come over and give you a hand?’ I offer.

‘Haven’t you got enough on your plate?’

Er, yes. What am I thinking? ‘I could just hang up Phoebe’s clothes or something,’ I find myself saying. ‘I bet you’re rubbish at that.’

He grins. ‘Have you seen inside my wardrobe?’

‘No, but I know
you
, Angus Templeton, and you’re a right messy git.’

He chuckles. ‘Alright. I’d love to show you the place. What are you doing tonight? Maybe I could order us in a pizza?’

‘Sounds perfect. I want to see what you’re leaving me for.’

‘Aw.’ He flashes me a fond smile and pulls out his phone. ‘I’ll text you the address.’

As he types out a message, it occurs to me that I could use this evening as an opportunity to find out what’s going on with him and Eliza. I wish that had been my reason for offering to
help him unpack, but no, I’m just being a martyr as usual.

‘Rose is a giver, not a taker.’

You got that straight, Dad, I think wryly. I really should sort out my priorities.

Eliza

There’s a lump in my throat as I walk out of yet another estate agent’s. So far, I’ve seen eight places and none of them have been right, nor can I see myself
getting on with any of the people that I’d have to share with. My potential flatmates seem to be either a bit snotty, or grotty students with no one in between.

I can’t believe I have to leave my home. Bloody Angus. And bloody Rose for being such a frigging driplet! Mum is happy living there with me, and I’m happy living with her. We keep
each other company.

My eyes sting with tears because deep down I know that the time is right for her to move into something smaller and more manageable. She’s almost seventy, but she’s an old
almost-seventy. I think having the three of us in her forties aged her, and she’s definitely suffered since Dad died. I’m not there enough – if I’m not busking, I’m
waitressing – and she’s rattling around in that big house all by herself. I know she’s lonely and could do with more company, people her own age, but I’ll miss her and
I’ll miss my home. I’ll even miss my stupid waitressing job and my stupid boss, Mario, who looks at my tits every day. No, maybe I won’t miss
him
.

I sniff and begin a futile search in my bag for a tissue, but I give up and dry my eyes with the hem of my T-shirt instead, glaring at a guy passing on the pavement when he gawps at my
bellybutton ring.

I’m tired. I wouldn’t be so emotional if I’d got a decent night’s sleep, but last night’s argument with Angus put a stop to that. It was typical of what happens
when we’re alone for any length of time. Our defences slip and we fall back into the past to a place where we can speak openly, laugh, argue, cajole. We can be the best of friends or the
worst of enemies.

But nobody else is allowed to see this side of us. They wouldn’t understand how we got to be so close. In front of others, we have to keep our distance. Living 200 miles apart makes this
easier.

Sometimes, when I feel like torturing myself, I imagine what could have been, how things might’ve turned out if I’d gone downstairs to introduce myself the moment I’d seen
Judy’s car pull up on Mr Templeton’s driveway. I was watching from the window and my jaw nearly hit the sill at the sight of Angus climbing out of the car. He was as heart-skippingly
sexy as I’d remembered. The moving truck arrived and he got stuck straight in with helping to unload it while I watched him, fixated.

And then Phoebe appeared.

I felt sick to my stomach because I had an idea how the next few minutes were going to play out. I thought about bolting downstairs and going outside to introduce myself, but I couldn’t
make my feet move, so I stayed, frozen at the window with a sinking heart as Angus’s mum came outside and Phoebe won her over, too. You should have seen their faces when Phoebe headed into
our house. Judy looked beside herself with glee and Angus was smitten. Phoebe had him, hook, line and sinker.

When she rushed up the stairs to warn us off, I threw myself onto the bed and pretended to be asleep.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell her that Angus was my mystery skateboarder – I’d mentioned him at the time and she knew I’d gone back looking for him – but I
doubt it would have made a difference.

Phoebe is determined. If she likes something, she usually gets it – she’s lucky like that – and I can’t even hate her for it because I love her to death.

But also, I’m honest enough with myself to know that I couldn’t have charmed Angus and his mum like Phoebe did. I’m a slow-burner, not a bright spark. Phoebe would probably
still have offered to show Angus around, and at the end of the day, they still would have kissed.

I didn’t meet Angus until the Sunday when Phoebe introduced us and I couldn’t help but be a bit standoffish. I remember Phoebe glowering at me, willing me to be nicer to her new
boyfriend, but I didn’t have it in me and, after that, I went out of my way to avoid him.

My attempts only lasted so long, though, and a few weeks after he moved in, he overheard me singing. I was sitting on my windowsill, playing my guitar, but this was no Disney movie and I was no
princess because it was late at night and I was as drunk as a skunk and intermittently smoking a fag. Suddenly a ball of paper came flying through the window...

‘What the hell?’ I exclaimed, poking my head out into the cool night air.

‘Hi,’ Angus whispered loudly with a grin, waving at me from what I assumed was his own bedroom window a few metres away – our house was a semi and his bedroom backed onto
mine.

‘You scared the shit out of me!’ I hissed.

‘Sorry,’ he replied cheekily, nodding at my cigarette. ‘Have you got a spare?’

‘No, it’s my last one.’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’ Phoebe hated smokers.

‘I don’t usually, but I’ve had one too many beers,’ he replied. ‘Give us a drag?’

I hesitated, but then thought why not, putting down my guitar and leaning out of the window while he leaned out of his. We must’ve both been very pissed because there was no way in hell we
were going to reach each other.

‘Bollocks,’ he said.

‘Shall I throw it to you?’ I suggested.

‘Sure, if you want to burn the house down.’

I sniggered. ‘Guess I’d better not risk it.’

He grinned at me, still hanging out of his window. ‘Where have you been tonight?’ he asked.

‘Pub in the city. What about you?’

‘Just down the local with a few mates.’

‘You’ve made some, then.’ I took a drag of my cigarette and blew the smoke out in his direction.

‘Shit, I really want a drag,’ he said, distractedly ignoring my jibe. ‘I know!’ His eyes lit up and he ducked back inside. I could hear him making a racket in his room
and then he reappeared with a long plank of wood.

‘What the hell is that?’ I exclaimed.

‘Skirting board.’ He stuck it out of the window in my direction without further explanation. It wobbled this way and that from the effort of keeping it straight.

‘There’s not much left,’ I said, indicating my almost-butt.

‘Quick,’ he urged, so I popped it on the end of the plank. It immediately rolled off and fell into the flowerbed below.

We both swore at the same time.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled.

I smirked at him. ‘At least you won’t have dog-breath in the morning. Phoebe will still kiss you.’

‘Where is she?’ he asked.

‘In bed.’ Her room was at the back of the house, overlooking the garden.

‘Didn’t you go out for dinner tonight with your uncle?’ he asked.

Uncle Simon – the youngest of Dad’s three brothers – and his long-term partner Katherine were over from Australia.

‘Yeah, but I stayed out afterwards.’

He nodded and we fell silent, neither of us making any move to go back inside.

‘What was that song you were singing?’ he asked after a while.

I shrugged. ‘Just something I wrote.’

‘Wow.’ He looked impressed. ‘Are you in a band?’