Thirty-five ~ Relationship

For the tenth time that hour, my phone began to vibrate on my bedside table. For the tenth time that hour, I ignored it.

Less than twelve hours had passed since Brent and Alastair's confrontation. A lot could happen in twelve hours in Carringham. 

Despite my incessant phone, I at least had the house to myself. Mum and Dad were working, but that didn't mean they hadn't tried communicating with me: two emails from Dad, three calls from Mum, and several rounds of them knocking on my door before they left this morning.

I'd pretended to be asleep.

The vibrating concluded, and I took a deep breath as I reached across to cancel the notification.

From within my hand, the phone illuminated again, and my eyes flickered downwards out of instinct. This time it wasn't one of my friends but Brent, telling me he was outside.

We hadn't arranged to meet up, but I found myself craving company whilst wondering what it meant that Brent and I had reached a stage where I considered him a source of reassurance and comfort.

Still in my pyjamas, I padded downstairs and pulled open the front door.

"Is it safe to come in?" he asked, glancing behind me.

I nodded and stepped aside. "My parents are at work. What brings you here?"

He slid past me, his body brushing against mine as he did so, and came to a gradual halt in the hallway, as if he didn't want to go any further.

After giving the door a push of encouragement, I let it swing shut and ushered Brent through to the living room, noticing his eyes absorbing the new surroundings. I hadn't forgotten his reaction to the Camberley house, nor his cutting comment about how the other half live. We'd come a long way since then, but I wondered if he still had those same thoughts now and chose not to vocalise them.

"The museum doesn't open 'til ten, and I figured I might as well come to see you since you're nearby," he said, his eyes landing on me again. He extended an arm, a white paper bag dangling from his fingertips. "I brought you breakfast."

I smiled as I took the warm bag from him and peered into it. A large, golden croissant sat inside, its warmth suggesting it had been freshly baked not long before.

"Thanks. That's really... thoughtful."

After last night, we needed to address the elephant in the room. We couldn't let Alastair's words go undiscussed and calling his gesture "sweet", which had been my initial choice of term, had such romantic undertones that I feared to go there.

He cleared his throat. "So, how are you?"

Pondering my answer, I sunk down into the plush cushions of the sofa and tore a corner off the croissant. Trickles of steam emerged from within the pastry, floating upwards into the air and fading into nothingness.

"I'm fine, I guess. It's not like it's affected me too much... I'd have to leave the house for that to happen." I forced out a laugh, then slid the corner of croissant into my mouth.

Brent sat down next to me. "It's my fault. If I hadn't shown up last night—"

I swallowed and shook my head. "Honestly, no, it's not. What Alastair and I were doing was stupid, anyway. Parading around in a fake relationship to save face and avoid telling my parents? I don't want to live that kind of life."

"How did they react?"

"I only told my dad," I said with a sheepish smile. "But he'll have told Mum. I've just avoided her."

"What did your dad say, then?"

I finished chewing on another portion of pastry. Lying in bed feeling sorry for yourself really works up an appetite.

"Not much," I said. "It shocked him. Then he gave me a hug and promised everything would be okay."

Brent leaned back into the sofa. I continued to nibble at my croissant, wondering who would broach the subject first. When neither of us said anything, I stalled for a little longer.

"This croissant is delicious. Sometimes it's difficult to find ones that are moist and buttery in the middle; they're often too dry. Probably over-cooked, you know?"

"I'm glad you like it. Only the best for the Queen of Carringham, after all."

I chuckled. "I believe I've now abdicated. But thanks, anyway."

Light-hearted conversation did little to mask the mutual awareness that we should be discussing something else, and Brent, the usual instigator of such talks, initiated it.

"I feel I've made your life much more complicated, and that was never my intention." He didn't sound hurt or sad, but matter-of-fact, like he was stating something undeniable.

"You haven't. All of this was inevitable. If I didn't tell my parents about Alastair now, I'd have just been waiting for the moment at some unknown point in the future, dreading it. At least it's done. No more pretending, no more worrying..."

Brent nodded and his eyes drifted around my living room again. Following his gaze, I noticed he'd focused on a photo of Alastair and me on the mantelpiece.

"Alastair was right about a few things," he said. "He and I are very different people. Do you think that's part of the reason we happened? You wanted something different?"

I shook my head. "Not at all. You might be very different in some ways, but you're also similar. You're both passionate and hard-working individuals who've had to grow up quickly. Your level of commitment to the beach was what drew me to you. Well, that and the way you look in a pair of shorts, of course," I added with a smile to lighten the mood.

"I know there's chemistry between us," Brent said, not reacting to my joke, "and I can see myself growing very fond of you, Rosalie. But I can also see how this is affecting you. You've just come out of a relationship that gave you so much grief. Although his motives were questionable, Alastair was right in saying you deserve to be single and only think about yourself for a while."

I sighed, dismayed that our bubble of fantasy had burst, yet impressed at Brent's maturity. Both of us could claim we were simply enjoying our time together without needing to impose a label, but we knew it was a conversation that needed to happen at some point.

"I never thought I'd say this," he said, "but maybe we should follow Mia and Austin's example."

"Do our own thing and see where we are next summer?"

Brent nodded. "I'll find a job and add to my savings. If we're both single next summer, who knows what might happen? But I'm not willing to compromise your freedom. You need it."

"Likewise," I said with a small smile. "That beach has imprisoned you for a long time. I don't want you to escape from there only to become trapped with me."

"I can think of worse places to be trapped."

His eyes raked over my body, lingering on my bare thighs. At least the air was clear now and, finally, so was my conscience.

~~~

My mind continued to brood over Brent as I took a walk later that afternoon. University would be a fresh start, and I wanted to embrace a lifestyle that I'd never experienced before. That didn't mean I wouldn't be counting down the days until I returned to Camberley, though...

When I got back home, I found Mum sitting at the kitchen island, tapping away on her laptop. Her eyes lifted from the screen to meet mine, and I braced myself for an uncomfortable conversation.

"Rosalie." She slid off the bar stool and crossed the room.

Then she wrapped her arms around me.

Frozen rigid in shock, my body failed to respond. The strong notes of Chanel perfume belonged to Mum, as did the silk fabric of her favourite Stella McCartney blouse, but the woman hugging me felt like a stranger.

Mum let go and stepped backwards, her fingers gripping my upper arms as she regarded me.

"Where have you been?"

"Walking..."

She sighed, dropping her hands. "Your father told me what happened, and then you wouldn't get out of bed this morning, you weren't answering your phone... I was worried."

Worried. Not annoyed. Not upset. Worried. Out of all the scenarios I'd imagined, this wasn't one of them.

"I didn't want to talk to anyone about it."

It seemed not talking about it wasn't an option, though, as Mum dragged me into the living room and sat me down on the sofa—the same place I'd been mere hours before with Brent.

"Talk to me. What happened?"

I swallowed. "I mean, it's like I said to Dad... We just..."

"Are you okay? Can I get you some wine? I've got a nice bottle of Malbec somewhere..."

She scuttled into the kitchen, bending down to open the cupboard reserved for special bottles.

"Honestly, Mum, I don't want anything."

Sympathy flooded her face, marred with pity, as she crossed back into the living room.

"I'm worried about you, Rosalie. You and Alastair were together for years—"

"I think that was the problem," I said, grabbing onto that opening. "We were young when we got together. Alastair has given me some wonderful memories, and it's hard to leave all that behind, but we've both grown up a lot. We're different people now. I know you're fond of Alastair and I'm sorry it's ended but, with the business, we'll still be seeing lots of them."

My speech rushed out of my mouth in a torrent of babble, but Mum seemed to absorb every last word.

"Rosalie, I am fond of Alastair. But you're my daughter. You come first. I can't say I'm not disappointed but, you never know... In the future, maybe..."

I shook my head. "I can't move on if I'm constantly thinking about us getting back together."

She sighed and intertwined her fingers. I cast my eyes downwards at them, catching sight of her beautiful engagement ring and remembering the stories she'd told me about Dad's proposal. At the time, I'd entertained daydreams of Alastair doing the same, getting down on one knee and reciting a romantic speech, which he'd mess up due to nerves.

Then, more recently, the increasingly sinister daydreams had taken over: imagining Alastair having affairs, me even more trapped because we were legally bound. In the worst-case scenario, having a divorce and being showered in scandal and humiliation.

"I'm sorry," I said. "But I can't stay with someone who I wouldn't be happy with, no matter how much it might benefit me."

Mum pressed her lips together and tilted her head to the side. In the corner of the room, the loud ticking of the grandfather clock sliced into the silence. I normally had no trouble interpreting my mother's opinion on something, yet I struggled to pinpoint a clear emotion from her guarded expression.

"Is it because of the American boy?"

I sighed. "No, Mum."

"Because I'm aware he's here, Rosalie."

I opened my mouth to question how she'd found out, but then shut it again. Was it really surprising? My parents had contacts all over the neighbourhood. For all I knew, the driver could have told her that very first day he picked us up from the airport.

Yet she'd said nothing. She hadn't confronted me or accused me of being selfish and disrespectful towards Alastair. She hadn't demanded to know if I was cheating on my future husband. She hadn't even asked me why he was here. She'd kept silent and let me get on with it.

"It's not because of him, Mum. We're not together or anything like that. He'll return to America, I'll go to uni, and we'll lead separate lives. I didn't know he was coming. It was supposed to be Mia but—"

"Rosalie," she said, her voice gentle yet instantly silencing me. "I don't need the details. The point is that I've turned a blind eye for a while now. Living in this environment is tough, and perhaps I underestimated how that would affect you."

I cleared my throat. "Well, I think my summer in Camberley has changed my way of thinking a lot."

She raised her eyebrows. "Why do you think I made you come with me? The more you protested about spending your summer over there, the more I realised you needed it. Although, admittedly, I didn't quite expect it to have such a dramatic effect on you."

I frowned. "You told me it might change my life."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but not this drastically. I just meant it might make you see life a little differently. It's not all about parties and drinking with your friends. There's more to the world than Carringham."

I rarely agreed with Mum, but I couldn't argue with that. For such a small place, Carringham had held a powerful grip on my life for many years. Three months outside the bubble had cleared the suffocating smoke and enabled me to see the world through a different lens.

"Everything felt a lot more real over there. I can't carry on pretending with Alastair, acting as though our relationship is great when the best thing for both of us is to separate and move on with our lives."

"I understand, Rosalie. Sometimes what looks best for you on paper isn't what's best for you as a person. And, at the end of the day, I want you to be happy."

I smiled and leaned to rest my head on her shoulder. At first she flinched at the intimacy, but then her body relaxed. It had been a long time since Mum and I had sought physical comfort from one another.

Whenever I'd injured myself as a child by falling over and scraping my knee, she'd sat me on her lap and cooed at me to be brave as she applied antiseptic and a plaster. Then she'd wrap her arms around my body and rock me until I'd stopped crying, telling me everything would be okay and I'd be better soon.

My knee wasn't bleeding this time, nor was I crying, but for a short while I felt like I'd returned to simpler times when every bad thing in my life could be solved with a plaster and a cuddle.

When Mum whispered that everything would be okay, so quiet that at first I thought I'd imagined it, I wondered if she was replaying the same memories.

~~~

Thank you for reading :) xx

~~~