A Girl Called Rosie by Anne Doughty

Author:Anne Doughty [Anne Doughty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749017606
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2014-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Richard left on Wednesday morning soon after his mother and father arrived and the two men had spent some minutes with John. His pulse was stronger, they agreed, but there were still no signs of him opening his eyes.

‘Be a good girl,’ said Richard lightly, as he tramped through the kitchen where Rosie was already at work. ‘Up and down the garden as often as you can and a nice sit in the sun when Mrs Love comes back.’

He paused and looked at her with mock severity.

She returned his look and sensed how tired he was. This was the third night he’d spent dozing in a chair beside John’s bed and now he was driving back to Dromore to take his surgery before going out on his calls.

‘You haven’t had breakfast,’ she said accusingly.

‘No, but I do intend to when I get home. I always have breakfast, I promise you, but that’s because I don’t always get lunch,’ he confessed with a wry glance. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She smiled and nodded and felt strangely sad as she watched him stride across the yard and drop his leather bag into the back of his motor. Minutes later he was gone. Before the sound of the engine had faded from the fresh morning air, she heard the doorbell. The day had begun and it was not yet eight o’clock.

Slowly and quietly the hours passed. They were surprised when Mrs Love did not return, but Elizabeth did arrive and insisted on cooking lunch and Rosie went and sat with her grandmother until it was ready. They ate it together at a small table at the foot of John’s bed.

Rosie had never met Elizabeth before, though Rose had spoken of her dear friend so often. A tall, stately woman, her hair iron-grey, her face still soft and given to smiles. When she laughed, her large, grey eyes lit up and Rosie was startled to discover how beautiful she still was.

There were fewer visitors today though the messenger from Ballievy arrived at regular intervals. It was he who told them Emily was now well advanced in labour, that her friend had not yet arrived from Belfast and that Mrs Love was fully occupied with the three lively little girls, the youngest just starting to crawl.

Rosie did as Richard had asked and walked out into the garden whenever she had a free moment. It gave her the chance to pick sweet pea and put it in vases in the sitting room. There were creamy pink roses just opening which she arranged with spikes of lavender and the shiny leaves of magnolia for the hall table. She took a single, short-stemmed rose in a small bud vase up to the bedroom where Elizabeth and Rose sat in companionable silence. It was still tightly rolled with only a small tip that told her what colour it would be, but it was beautifully shaped, plump and perfect. In the warmth of the sunlit room, it should open very soon.

She

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