Page 55 of One More Day
Charlie was kind yesterday, kind in a way that filled me up, but today I’m empty again. I’m alone in this world and that’s never going to change, no matter where I go. No matter who I’m with, I’ll still feel alone without Michael.
I should go back to Dublin. This is all too much. I should give the cottage over to Charlie, get out of his way and go back to Dublin where I can wallow in my own misery without dragging anyone else down with me.
A double booking is a double booking and he got here first. I stand up slowly, my legs soaked through. My knees are stinging as the bandages stick to the scrapes and scores from yesterday. I lean on the picnic bench and then bend down again to grab George’s lead.
He’s really all I have. I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life as I do now.
‘Come on, George,’ I sniffle, taking my dog by the lead. ‘Let’s find our way back to Dublin. I can cope better there. I’m so sorry for dragging you here. I’m so sorry for everything.’
I struggle back towards the village as the rain soaks me through, blending in on my face with the salt of my tears.
I’ll go back to the cottage and pack up my things. I don’t care if I have towalkback to Dublin. I’m going to find a way out of here. I’m going to face up to the fact that I shouldn’t have come back. It’s gone. My family Christmas memories are gone. Michael is gone. I can’t go home to my family. I just need to let Christmas slip by and then I’ll get on with my life when there’s no festive fuss, no expectation to play happy families, and no reminder on the calendar of how miserable and alone I am.
Nothing and no one will ever to be able to take that feeling away.
Half an hour later, with my cheeks flushed pink and my whole body dripping from the rain, I stop and breathe out when I see Charlie’s car is back at the cottage already.
It’s dropping down dark so I guess that’s expected, but I don’t want to talk to anyone. I just want to text him my farewell and go.
Hopefully he is still in the mood to stay out of my way to let me pack up and figure out my next move.
I put my key in the door and stand on the mat inside where I take off my coat and shiver as the warmth of the cottage clashes against the tight cold on my face. I hear him in the kitchen, and then I pause.
It isn’t his usual crescendo of classical tunes that he cooks to.
Hang on a moment …
Is Charlie, who hates Christmas, who didn’t want to hear anything to do with this time of year, listening to my mother’s favourite Christmas song? The one I’ve been humming or singing since I got here?
I stand here in the hallway, frozen in time as well as freezing from the walk back here.
Hearing the song hits me hard and I sob like a baby, not stopping when Charlie comes into the hallway, a tea towel over his shoulder and a smile on his face which turns to dismay when he is met with the state of me.
‘Rose, what happened? Are you OK?’
I shake my head. My mouth drops open and I try to speak but I wouldn’t know what I want to say even if I could find a way to get the words out. How can a song bring back so many happy memories yet instil such a wave of sadness at the same time? Will I ever get to relive those days and spend Christmas with the people I love again?
Charlie watches me aghast as I go into the bathroom. I turn on the shower and strip off everything to do with this mind-boggling day as quickly as I can.
I want to go home, but not to Dublin. I want to go home to my family for Christmas, but I can’t.
And I need to accept that I simply can’t do it, once and for all.
Michael is dead. He’s never coming back, and I can’t ever face going home for Christmas again, no matter how much I long to.
Chapter Sixteen
Charlie
I don’t see or hear from Rose for the rest of the evening, so it’s a surprise when the silence of the cottage is interrupted by a knock on the door just as I’m settling down by the fire with my wine and my novel which arrived in the post this afternoon.
I sent Rose a quick text to say the replacement book had arrived after George’s mauling of the original. I do my best to make her feel better by referring to how we don’t know each other’s surnames even though we’ve been sharing a house for three days.
Hi, this is Charlie the Holiday Occupant, Seaview Cottage. The book arrived. Thank you. I hope you’re OK?
But she didn’t reply at all.
Maybe she’s gone out and I didn’t hear her? Maybe it’s her at the door? Maybe she slipped out for a while and forgot her key, which, let’s face it, wouldn’t be out of character.
