Page 101 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
“Plus, we have a bonus,” I said, glancing behind her.
“We do?” Rose asked, looking confused again.
“Yes, it looks like we now have apple pie to sustain us through your long story,” I said, as Greta placed two large helpings of apple pie covered in fresh cream on the table in front of us. There was a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side of each plate.
“Now, if Greta can get that right, I’m sure you’re going to be able to tell me just exactly why you ran out on us all those years ago, aren’t you, Rose?”
Twenty-Eight
By the time Rose had told me what she’d been doing over the last twenty years, her ice cream had all but melted, without the need of a hot apple pie to help it along.
Rather than the wonderful, exciting life I’d thought my mother had had working in fashion and living in London, New York, and Paris, it appeared she’d spent most of her time rolling from one disastrous relationship to the next. It had been the men in my mother’s life that had taken her around the world, not her career.
“So, Scarlett, my life has been quite a rollercoaster ride. One minute I’d be up in the air, living the dream with a rich man on my arm and a glamorous job to wake up to every morning. And the next, when it all went wrong, I’d plunge into the depths of despair, and sometimes even poverty, while I got myself back on my feet again. Now is one of those down times, I’m afraid, that’s why I took the job at the cinema.”
“But at least you’ve had an exciting life. It hasn’t been boring, has it?”
Rose laughed bitterly. “No, it certainly hasn’t been that. But if I could just go back in time…would I choose to do it all that way again? I’m really not sure I would.”
“What do you mean, if you could go back in time? Are you saying you wouldn’t have left us if you’d known then what you do now?”
Rose shook her head. “I really don’t know, Scarlett. Things were different back then. Your father is probably a completely changed man now from the Tom I knew.”
“How do you mean?”
Rose looked across the empty table at me. Greta had long since cleared our plates away—there were only two empty cups left now, and the rest of the café was deserted too. I think Greta and Charlie—the man in the white apron—were hoping to close up for the night. “Scarlett, do you really want to sit here and listen to me criticize your father? I don’t think you do—because it’s obvious that you won’t agree with me, and then we’ll just end up fighting, and I don’t want that to happen.”
“I won’t say anything in Dad’s defense, I promise. I’ll just sit here and listen to your side of the story. All I really want to understand is why you left.”
Rose looked around at the empty cafe. “Perhaps we should continue this elsewhere, then? I think they’re waiting for us to leave.”
“All right,” I agreed. “But you will tell me the whole story, won’t you? You at least owe me that.”
Rose nodded. “Yes, I’ll tell you.”
We stood up and paid the bill. I insisted we go halves, even though Rose tried to pay for everything.
I still couldn’t think of calling her anything other than Rose. Thinking of her as Mum was still too painful to contemplate.
“Where should we go?” Rose asked, once we were standing on the pavement. “My flat is only a few tube stops from here.”
“Let’s go to mine,” I said. “It’s just around the corner and the rain seems to be easing up now, so we won’t get wet.”
Our walk to Lansdowne Road was quiet. Occasionally one of us would make a comment about the weather or something in one of the antique shop windows we passed. When I turned off the Portobello Road in the direction of my house, Rose spoke again.
“You live along here? Either the popcorn business pays a lot more than I thought these days, or you’ve a very rich man in tow!”
“Neither, I’m afraid.” Actually that wasn’t altogether true. David was quite wealthy—but he wasn’t the reason I was living here. “I’m house-sitting for friends,” I explained, taking the easy option.
As we reached the house, I noticed that Sean’s light was on in his hall, and my hopes were raised for a moment. But then I remembered that light had been on every evening since we’d returned from Paris. He must have one of those night light things set up on a timer.
I opened my own door and rushed through to deal with Buster.
“Gosh, this is very nice,” Rose said, spinning around in the hall. “You’ve fallen on your feet here. How long are you staying for?”
“About a couple of weeks,” I said, trying to remember how long I’d been here. Gosh, over halfway through my time already. “Coffee?” I asked, going into the kitchen. “Or perhaps something stronger?”
“Coffee is just fine. But don’t let me stop you if—”
