Rosa laughed. ‘I don’t ever want to see one of those again if it makes me feel this sick.’
Josh laughed back. ‘Do you still fancy me?’
‘Of course I bloody do.’
‘What good taste you have, madam. Oh, and Rosa?’
‘Yes, Josh?’ Rosa let out a pretend huff.
‘I still love you to where the sky touches the sea, you know that.’
‘I love you too, you old smoothie, you. Now go away and get a bit more sleep, we can talk later.’
Rosa could hear Mary serving a customer downstairs, Hot was pottering about on the balcony, letting out random barks every time a seagull even dared so much as catch his eye. She checked her phone for the umpteenth time. Nate had been gone when she had arrived back late last night and she couldn’t believe he hadn’t left her any sort of message, let alone tried to find out how she was. She also wasn’t best pleased that he had left Hot, but she had messaged to say she would be back that night, so he obviously realised that the dachshund would be OK.
Not quite sure how she was managing to hold everything together, by herself, and to herself, Rosa lay down on the sofa and shut her eyes. She was so tired, and the recent revelation that Nate Webb was her brother had sent her into a spin. What’s more, once it was common knowledge, it would send the whole of the Bay into a spin too – and she didn’t feel she was ready to handle that and all the consequences it might bring.
She had an actual brother! That was insane but also incredibly exciting. Well, he would be her half-brother, she guessed, unless Mary had maybe kept something from her. No, Mary would never do that, surely? And anyway, Nate had said that his mother had run off with someone else. Mary couldn’t possibly have lied about something so massive as her giving birth to another child and giving them up, could she? Nate and Rosa did look alike, but if they shared a father then that was entirely possible.
Bittersweet – just like the poisonous plant that Alec had once pointed out to her on the West Cliffs path – that’s what this whole scenario was. But now, in order to find some semblance of peace, she had to investigate further. Some very BIG conversations needed to be had.
Rosa still couldn’t believe that she had been face-to-face with her supposed real-life father. Saying that, it hadn’t been until she got home to the Corner Shop that the realisation had hit. The name Christopher Webb wasn’t uncommon – she’d quickly found that out, when her initial search for him had begun online. She hadn’t gone any further than finding what she thought was an address for him. Naively, or maybe subconsciously, at the time she didn’t want to think that he might have other children. However, with Nate definitely being the funeral director’s son, and with the similarities of his looks and wild hair to her own, this told her that she must be right in her thinking. Also, the fact that she had felt a weird connection with Nate from the very first time she had met him also made her believe that they were related: a new branch to her expanding family tree.
When she first got hold of the card from Christopher and the penny finally dropped, she had gone numb, but once she got home, she had been violently sick; Rosa wasn’t sure if that was because of the baby or at the shock of it all. Christopher Webb’s card gave an address in North Devon. So, all the time she had been down here in South Devon, her presumed father had been literally across the other side of the county from her. Surely, Mary couldn’t have known this either. If she did, the hurt would be just too great to bear. And obviously this was why Rosa had been so far off the mark in her search for any kind of address. Foolishly, she had looked no further than London, as that was where she knew her conception had occurred. The letter that she had written had asked her dad to contact her – but the letter had been sent to a London address. None of it made sense. If he had received it, all those months ago, why would it have taken him so long to get back in touch? Why would he be down here now – and why would he be looking for his son and not her? So many questions.
It also made her feel even more in awe of her great-grandfather Ned and great-grandmother Queenie for how, against many odds, they had managed to find her. Especially as she wasn’t even known as a Cobb among her work colleagues or friends. No, if her mum didn’t love her and had given her away, Rosa had decided that she didn’t want one of her names. No way. Rosa Larkin was who she wanted to be known as. The one and only.
Larkin – for no other reason than that she had watched old reruns of The Darling Buds of May in one of her children’s homes. The successful TV show, based on a series of five books written by H.E. Bates, revolved around a big, brash and beautiful family, the Larkins, who didn’t have a care in the world. They lived in an oast-house in the glorious countryside of Kent, spreading joy and happiness in all their dealings. She had so wanted to be part of that family. And in her damaged and deluded eyes, in becoming Rosa Larkin by personal deed poll, she was.
Before she acted on Nate’s massive revelation, Rosa knew that, first of all, she had to talk to him properly and find out the truth. There were so many questions that needed answering before she could even think about talking to Mary. Or maybe she should talk to her mother before anyone? But Rosa was half-scared that Mary would make her promise not to do anything. No, Rosa had to follow her gut instincts on this one – and they were telling her to speak with Nate.
With the shop about to be passed on, and her being pregnant, it all really was such bad timing. But as she’d said to Luke, life was all about timing – and that timing didn’t always work the way you would have wanted.
She then sat upright and put a hand to her head. It wasn’t the voice of Queenie who spoke this time, but that of her clairvoyant mother. ‘The Jacks of this world come in many guises.’ With her streetwise head on, Rosa came to a sudden dark dawning. For all his faults, she had become rather fond of Nate, and now all she could do was naively pray that the guise he had come in was one of truth – and not of greed and duplicity.
Hot had been curled up in his basket, giving himself a thorough wash. Then, as if sensing his mistress’s anguish, he scrabbled up his sofa steps and climbed onto her lap. With his feet digging uncomfortably into her thighs, he reached up and started to cover her face in smelly dog lick.
‘Aw, my little munchkin,’ she said, stroking his warm body. ‘Why is life so bloody complicated, eh?’
CHAPTER 49
‘So, it’s your last chance, lucky listeners,’ Barry Savage announced across the radio waves. ‘Yes, today is the day to get your coloured envelopes in for the opportunity of a lifetime – to be the proud owners of not only the Corner Shop in Cockleberry Bay but also the flat above it.’
Rosa dropped the Christmas bauble she was holding, smashing it on the tiled floor. She had got up in a sprightly mood, hadn’t even felt nauseous, and was keen to decorate the real Christmas tree that Alec had kindly set up in the front window of the shop. She planned to use a selection of festive doggie treats, since they had been a big hit with customers last year, interspersed with some old Christmas baubles that must have belonged to Ned and his wife Dorothea.
Barry Savage continued with his excitable soliloquy. ‘It surely will be a Christmas to remember for the lucky winner, folks.’ Rosa tutted as she picked up the broken pieces of bauble. ‘As with everything,’ Barry went on, ‘if you’re not in it, you can’t win it. You can go to our website for further details, but it couldn’t be easier. Here’s what you have to do. Think of a Christmas name to call yourself, as this is an anonymous competition. Pledge a donation to a local charity of your choice. Then explain what exactly it would mean for you to run the Corner Shop in Cockleberry Bay – and what you are intending to sell when you take it on. How simple is that!’ He laughed his annoying cackle. ‘I will be speaking to Rosa Smith, the owner and, may I say, most generous proprietor of the Corner Shop, later to see just how many envelopes she has had in. Tomorrow, she will make her choice from those submissions.’