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Authors: Rowan Coleman
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“It’s just I came here for a reason, and I don’t know how long I’ve got to see it through.”
“You make it sound like you’re on a deadline,” Ted said, tilting his head curiously.
“I am, sort of,” Rose said. “And so I think tomorrow I’d better just do it. I’d better just go and see my father.”
Rose had not come here to find her father; she had come chasing a specter, a half-dreamt ideal that might be as far away from reality as her hundreds and hundreds of daydreams of Frasier. And yet, here her father was, real and solid and for certain, and he couldn’t very well be ignored, no matter how much she might want to. And somehow the prospect of seeing her father, which she knew would be painful and most likely disappointing, was not nearly as frightening as actually, really seeing Frasier, who in reality could be so very different from all the dreams that had sustained her for so long. Rose wasn’t ready to find out if that was the case, not quite yet.
• • •
Rose left Maddie sitting on the floor of the small en-suite shower cubicle, with a drizzle of warm water pouring down on her, as she chatted away to Bear, who was sitting safely on the sink. Leaving the door into the bedroom open, Rose sat on the edge of her bed and switched on her phone. It chirruped angrily into life immediately, buzzing with a throng oftext messages and her voice mail service ringing. Her stomach filling with dread, Rose collected her messages.
He had left the first one just after she had bundled Maddie into the car and gone. It was quiet, apologetic, reasonable, kind. There was that ever-present implication that she was overreacting again, that she was irrational, tired, doing too much, needed help.
“Just come home, darling,” Richard’s voice nestled in her ear. “Come home and let me take care of you. We can sort this out.”
Rose deleted it and listened to the next message, and the next. He’d left more than twenty in all, filling her voice mail, each angrier and more frustrated than the last. Rose listened to a part of each and then deleted it, knowing what was coming next, knowing his patterns and habits inside out. For most of her married life she’d learnt to defuse his fury in its early stages, to back down, to agree, to nod and smile and keep her mouth shut. But this time she was not there, and her voice mail was taking the brunt of his wrath. Rose knew if she wanted to hear how her husband was really feeling then she needed to listen to his most recent message, left at seven twenty-two p.m., when they had been eating dinner. That’s when the real Richard had finally shown his hand.
“I’ve had it with you this time, Rose.” His voice was tight, thick with rage. “I try, and I try to deal with all your . . . stupidity, but this time you’ve gone too far. You can’t take our child and disappear without expecting repercussions. Everyone knows that you haven’t been yourself, everyone knows how difficult and unbalanced you are. And that Maddie has a delicate disposition. Let me tell you there are serious question marks over your fitness to be a parent. If you don’t contact me today I will have no choice but to inform the police, and socialservices, if need be. Because believe me, Rose, I will find you and when I do, I’ll make sure you never see Maddie again. You have until midnight, and if I haven’t heard from you by then, well, gloves are off, Rose.”
Stifling the sob of anxiety that clogged her throat, Rose deleted the call and stared at the phone sitting so benignly in the palm of her hand. This was how Richard always won, by persuading her she was being foolish, that she was overreacting, being irrational, seeing things all wrong, and finally, most recently, by implying that she was losing it altogether, that her fragile mind was finally cracking, disintegrating. She was the daughter of an alcoholic father and a suicidal mother, so it was hardly surprising really that
“You make it sound like you’re on a deadline,” Ted said, tilting his head curiously.
“I am, sort of,” Rose said. “And so I think tomorrow I’d better just do it. I’d better just go and see my father.”
Rose had not come here to find her father; she had come chasing a specter, a half-dreamt ideal that might be as far away from reality as her hundreds and hundreds of daydreams of Frasier. And yet, here her father was, real and solid and for certain, and he couldn’t very well be ignored, no matter how much she might want to. And somehow the prospect of seeing her father, which she knew would be painful and most likely disappointing, was not nearly as frightening as actually, really seeing Frasier, who in reality could be so very different from all the dreams that had sustained her for so long. Rose wasn’t ready to find out if that was the case, not quite yet.
• • •
Rose left Maddie sitting on the floor of the small en-suite shower cubicle, with a drizzle of warm water pouring down on her, as she chatted away to Bear, who was sitting safely on the sink. Leaving the door into the bedroom open, Rose sat on the edge of her bed and switched on her phone. It chirruped angrily into life immediately, buzzing with a throng oftext messages and her voice mail service ringing. Her stomach filling with dread, Rose collected her messages.
He had left the first one just after she had bundled Maddie into the car and gone. It was quiet, apologetic, reasonable, kind. There was that ever-present implication that she was overreacting again, that she was irrational, tired, doing too much, needed help.
“Just come home, darling,” Richard’s voice nestled in her ear. “Come home and let me take care of you. We can sort this out.”
Rose deleted it and listened to the next message, and the next. He’d left more than twenty in all, filling her voice mail, each angrier and more frustrated than the last. Rose listened to a part of each and then deleted it, knowing what was coming next, knowing his patterns and habits inside out. For most of her married life she’d learnt to defuse his fury in its early stages, to back down, to agree, to nod and smile and keep her mouth shut. But this time she was not there, and her voice mail was taking the brunt of his wrath. Rose knew if she wanted to hear how her husband was really feeling then she needed to listen to his most recent message, left at seven twenty-two p.m., when they had been eating dinner. That’s when the real Richard had finally shown his hand.
“I’ve had it with you this time, Rose.” His voice was tight, thick with rage. “I try, and I try to deal with all your . . . stupidity, but this time you’ve gone too far. You can’t take our child and disappear without expecting repercussions. Everyone knows that you haven’t been yourself, everyone knows how difficult and unbalanced you are. And that Maddie has a delicate disposition. Let me tell you there are serious question marks over your fitness to be a parent. If you don’t contact me today I will have no choice but to inform the police, and socialservices, if need be. Because believe me, Rose, I will find you and when I do, I’ll make sure you never see Maddie again. You have until midnight, and if I haven’t heard from you by then, well, gloves are off, Rose.”
Stifling the sob of anxiety that clogged her throat, Rose deleted the call and stared at the phone sitting so benignly in the palm of her hand. This was how Richard always won, by persuading her she was being foolish, that she was overreacting, being irrational, seeing things all wrong, and finally, most recently, by implying that she was losing it altogether, that her fragile mind was finally cracking, disintegrating. She was the daughter of an alcoholic father and a suicidal mother, so it was hardly surprising really that
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