‘We do what we do, as you say.’ Rosa managed a smile. ‘And I’m sorry, but I think now I’m going through pregnancy and motherhood myself, I kind of want to know everything.’ She paused, then blurted out, ‘What was my dad like? You’ve never even told me his name.’
But before Mary could answer, Mr Duncan, the manager of the Cockleberry Co-op, appeared in the doorway. ‘Mary, there’s a queue four deep at your till.’ He curtly acknowledged Rosa with a nod and a raised eyebrow. She just hoped he didn’t notice Hot’s spreading trickle of wee.
‘I’d better go.’ Mary kissed Rosa on the cheek. ‘Tell young Josh how delighted I am, will you?’ As Mary started walking to the door, she turned around and said quietly, ‘His name was Kit.’
A chill November wind whipped around Rosa’s face as she made her way back down the narrow streets of Cockleberry Bay with Hot trotting at her side, his ears blown aloft in the gusts. She was annoyed with herself for not putting a hat on before she’d left the shop that morning. Also, and more importantly, hearing those words from her mother’s lips earlier had evoked many emotions; one of them was, strangely, fear – but the overriding one was of guilt.
Guilt because several months ago now, she had sneaked into her mother’s bedroom and gone through her personal things to find the one bit of paper that Mary had always told her she didn’t have: Rosa’s birth certificate. Guilt that she had traced the man recorded on it as her father to an address in London and had sent him a letter. Rosa had undertaken this mission on her own: she hadn’t even confided in Josh. Deep inside, she knew that if she had asked anyone’s advice about trying to find her father, they would have told her to let sleeping dogs lie. But it was her life.
With everything that had been going on, Rosa had put the matter to the back of her mind. And so far, she had had no reply to her letter. But now that she had a little person growing inside her, she felt that she had to know about that side of her family. It was important to her and her unborn child. Yes, the heritage of Ned and Queenie made her who she was; however, despite her apparently being the result of a drunken one-night stand, she still had half this man Kit’s DNA.
The feelings of guilt she could understand, but what was the fear about? Maybe it was connected to her having discovered that her birth mother wasn’t the magnificent person she’d dreamed up in her mind. She’d had to face facts: that we all have flaws, that none of us are perfect. Maybe she was afraid lest her dad let her down. The fact that she hadn’t heard back from him confirmed that he didn’t care that she was the product of his loins. Another rejection in life would be too much to bear, Rosa thought. She had come so far with her mental health. Maybe she should have just let everything lie; been contented with at last knowing her mother’s bloodline. Appreciated all she had now and not be constantly looking for answers that might not even be there…
She popped into the café, waved and just mouthed hi to Sara and Nate, who were busy behind the counter. It was great that their shift patterns were working so well, and with Nate as a safe pair of hands it gave Rosa and Sara the chance to take time off when they needed it.
The tide was coming in, but a wide expanse of sandy beach remained. While Hot ran off the lead, sniffing at tiny crabs and leaping up at seaweed moving in the wind, Rosa checked to see if there was any sign of life at the Ship, and whether Luke’s plumbing van was in the car park – but nothing. And as much as she wanted to see if he was OK, after the other night, she felt it would be too awkward to talk to him. She just hoped that he was with his brother and family, and that they were working through stuff together.
Feeling a sudden twinge of nausea, she sat down on the wall outside the pub and reached for the little bottle that Mary had just given her. It smelled strongly of ginger. Putting a few drops on her tongue, she gagged slightly but then immediately began to feel better. Mary was indeed a magician of sorts.
Hot came tearing up to Rosa, licked her hand then went scuttling off again to chase a chocolate wrapper that was dancing along the sand in the breeze. Sitting outside the empty pub brought back memories of the awful night of Sheila’s so-called accident. With the woman’s anguished face imprinted on her mind, Rosa closed her eyes and sent some virtual love to Luke. Mary had taught her that the blue angel light ray represents power, protection, faith, courage and strength – and that if you felt somebody needed this then you were to imagine surrounding them with blue light. She remembered their local spiritualist church in the back streets of the Mile End Road having a blue light over the shabby front door.
Thinking about Luke suddenly made her remember the envelope falling out of his back pocket when he had run out on her the other night. She had been in such a hurry to get her sick-laden jeans off and have a shower that she had just put it in a drawer in the kitchen and completely forgotten about it. He hadn’t asked for it, but what if it was important and he didn’t feel he could contact her after baring his grieving soul to her the other night? She must dig it out as soon as she got home.
She had assumed that the funeral would be held here in the Bay, so if not before, at least she would see him then to give it to him. It was weird. Before she had been with Sheila in her final hour of need, she wouldn’t even have considered going to her funeral, as there was certainly no love lost between them, but now she felt that she wanted to pay her final respects. And to be there for Luke, even if it was just in the capacity of a friend or confidante.
Rosa stood up and pulled her coat collar up tightly to her ears. She whistled for Hot, who, as usual, ignored her first attempt to get him to come. The wind was now rushing around the Bay as the tide pulsed in stronger, causing the swelling murky waves to crash regularly on to the cold wet sand, and the salty spray to sting her eyes. The light was going. Aside from one other dog-walker right down the South Cliffs end, the beach was empty. The glowing lights of the café were a comforting sight, she thought, amid the gloom of the day.
Apart from fireworks night, Rosa wasn’t a fan of November. In fact, if she had to depict it as a colour, it would have to be grey. She had had great delight going through all her suggested colours for months with Titch, one quiet rainy day in the shop. With the promise of Christmas and good cheer, thankfully December was a much more appealing orangey-red, then back to a blue January when the snow and frost came in. And then a bright yellow for April as that was when her birthday fell. June was a light mauve and July a summery pink.
With Hot safely leashed, she was just about to leave the beach when she spotted a police car pulling into the car park of the Ship. She recognised DC Clarke in the driving seat; he it was who had tried and failed to find out who had set fire to a bin in the Corner Shop downstairs kitchen earlier in the year. The bearded policeman waved his hand slowly in acknowledgment and then stopped the car, opening the window as he did so.
‘Rosa? Just the girl. Will you be free in, say, an hour or so? I need to have a good look around here again, then ask you some questions. I can come to the shop if that’s easier for you than coming down to the station.’
‘Station? Questions?’ Rosa was bemused. ‘What for? Why?’
‘Well, it appears from the post-mortem that the force with which Sheila Hannafore hit the bottom of the cellar steps, and the serious injuries she sustained, suggest this may not have been an accident. It appears, in fact, that she could have been deliberately pushed.’