Dearest Rose by Rowan Coleman Read Free Book Online Page B

able to be at peace. She had persuaded Rose to skip school, and the two of them had gone for a walk along the seafront, stopping for ice cream and to play the games in the arcade. Rose had gone to sleep that night believing that at last the storm clouds that had plagued Marian for so long were finally clearing, sleeping truly peacefully for the first time in months . When she’d got up the next morning and found Marian had already gone out, Rose hadn’t given it much thought. And she hadn’t been that concerned when her mum still wasn’t home when she got in from school. It had been just after eleven that night, just as Rose was wondering about whether or not she should tell someone her mother hadn’t been at home all day, when the doorbell sounded, and a very kind policewoman told her that her mother’s body had been washed ashore a few miles down the coast. She was wearing a swimming costume; there had been no note. So they had every reason to believe it was a simple, tragic accident. But Rose knew that her mother had walked into the sea that morning without ever planning to come back, and she realised that the final perfect day they had spent together was Marian’s goodbye gift to her daughter.
    ‘I’m so sorry, Rose,’ Frasier’s voice made her start, as his fingers slid across the table towards hers, stopping millimetres away from making contact.
    ‘Don’t be.’ Rose smiled weakly, retrieving her hand from the proximity of Frasier’s and resting it on the crest of her tummy. ‘The way I look at it, the best thing I can do for this baby is to make sure that I don’t live life like my mum, don’t let my circumstances beat me down. Don’t get me wrong, she was an amazing person, and a really great mother – no one could have loved me more than she did – but I never wanted to be caught forever in the things that have happened to me. I don’t want to be the victim. My dad is a prick and my mum is gone, but I don’t have to be ruined by that. Not at all.’
    Neither one of them spoke for a moment and, a little flustered by the unexpected passion that had overtaken her as she spoke, Rose looked away from Frasier, feeling the heat in her cheeks. Everything she had told him was true, but she hadn’t known exactly how she felt until just that moment. She certainly had never had the guts to say it out loud. Here she was, trapped in this immaculate kitchen, with Richard’s baby in her womb, and the rest of her life, a successful life, mapped out for her. And yet Rose wanted to scream out loud, she felt so imprisoned.
    ‘You are a remarkable person, Rose,’ Frasier said, tentatively reaching out again, this time touching her arm. ‘I turn up here unannounced, looking for the man that’s hurt you so badly, and you ask me in, give me tea and … well, show me how life should be lived.’
    ‘Not really.’ Rose twisted her mouth into a wry knot. ‘I’m sorry I just got a bit carried away, and I haven’t been at all useful about helping you find Dad.’
    ‘You have,’ Frasier said, watching her intently, his fingers resting on her bare skin. ‘You’ve reminded me that art is just that. It’s not real life. Sometimes I’m afraid I do get rather carried away and forget that.’
    ‘But you will keep looking for him?’ Rose asked him, hopeful, for some reason that she didn’t really understand, that he would. Perhaps because as long as he was looking for her father, he might still think of her from time to time, and she would like that very much.
    ‘I will,’ Frasier said with certainty. ‘In my experience, being a terrible person rarely stops you from being a brilliant artist. And I care about the work too much to let it go unnoticed. If I do find him, do you want me to let you know where he is or tell him about you?’
    Rose shook her head without hesitation, the thought of having to face John again after all these years unbearable.
    ‘No, no. I’m done with him and he’s done with me, and