Page 99 of One More Day
I don’t know it yet, but a glimmer and sparkle lies on the floor. I don’t see it until a policeman hands it to me as I shiver under a fire blanket on the roadside.
‘It’s not mine,’ I tell the policeman.
But then I realise it was going to be mine. Michael was going to propose. He was taking me to the lighthouse. He was going to ask me to marry him.
I’m going to be sick. I race to the bathroom and heave as the horror physically punishes me again, the bile burning my throat as all the goodness of the evening with Charlie leaves me. I don’t deserve to be happy at Christmas. It’s not fair on Michael.
Then in the still of the night, I get my suitcase from the back hallway. I tiptoe upstairs and quietly collect my clothes from the wardrobe. I put George into the car with all his belongings.
And before I go, I write a final message to Charlie on the whiteboard.
I can’t be with anyone else. I can’t do that to Michael. I have to go.
Christmas Eve
Chapter Thirty
Charlie
I stare at the words on the whiteboard, totally lost and confused.
I’m so sorry. Take care, Charlie. Thank you for being so kind and loving to me. I’ll never forget you. Rose x
I can still smell her perfume in the air, I can hear her atrocious singing if I concentrate for long enough, but as I rattle around from room to room on my own all morning, it just doesn’t feel right being here any more without her. What happened? What was so bad she had to leave?
I’ve read her note a thousand times over. I’ve tried calling her number but her phone is switched off. I’m worried about her. I can’t believe she’d leave so coldly without saying a proper goodbye.
Is this it? Did she really leave on Christmas Eve? Without warning? With a note on the fridge after all we’ve discussed? After all we’ve shared?
She is grieving sore, I remind myself. And I can understand that last night might have left her feeling guilty – whetherthat feeling is warranted or not. But she could have told me, and I could have seen her off with a warm hug and wished her well. Anything would be better than this. This is empty and cruel.
I make coffee but I don’t drink it. I try tea but it doesn’t taste right. I turn on the radio, then I turn it back off again. I try to hold Max for comfort but he wriggles away to the window. He’s looking for her too. He knows that something’s not right.
I go to the bedroom and stare at the empty wardrobe. I lift her pillow and hold it close, doing my best to think of all the good things she brought my way. I refuse to think that the time we spent together was in vain. I’m a great believer in everything happening for a reason. Even the toughest life lessons that hurt are there to teach us something. It’s what I tell my clients. So I close my eyes and I try to think of the positives.
Rose reminded me of the joy of making someone laugh, the magic of knowing when it was about me and when it was about her. She reminded me when to offer my arm to her and when to hold back and give her space. Of when to kiss harder and longer, or when to hug her without saying a word. She has taught me that it’s possible to fall for someone again.
She also taught me to let go when I need to, and perhaps that time is now.
But it’s not as simple as that, is it? I miss her already. I long for her smile and her presence.
I long for her, for everything about her. I know now that love doesn’t care about time. It doesn’t matter how long youhave known someone. Love is measured in transformation, and the way Rose touched my heart is something that can never be taken away from me.
I walk the forest with Max and all I can think of is how she held on to me so tightly when we searched in the snow for my errant dog, who has no idea of the role he played in bringing us so physically close for the first time.
I go into the village but all I can see is the ghost of her on every street corner. I stop on the part of the lane where we stood beneath the stars, and when I get back to the cottage, all I can see is her empty chair which only intensifies my sense of loss.
I pick up the phone. I make a call I should have made before now.
I realise I don’t want to be alone for Christmas.
I never really did.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rose
It’s just gone 10 a.m.
