Page 93 of The Man Upstairs

Chapter Twenty-Three

Julian

I’d learnt long ago notto be optimistic about situations, but when Rosie opened the door with her face streaming with tears, lugging a battered suitcase behind her, I knew things had been particularly bad. I took her suitcase and set it down in the living room, then wrapped my arms around her as she cried.

“Mum wouldn’t listen to me,” she said through the hurt. “I told her everything, about Scottie, about you saving me, about how what they spout in the Brewery is nothing but bullshit, but she wouldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t accept me being with you.”

If truth be told, I didn’t blame Beverly for that. The pub would have been rife with enough accurate gossip to put Beverly off me in its own right, let alone combined with the exaggerations.

Part of me wanted to set Rosie free and send her back to rebuild her relationship with Beverly. It must have shown on my face, and Rosie was coming to know me well enough to read me. She pulled away to look up at me and shake her head.

“Don’t even think about it. I’m not going back down there. I want to be here, with you!”

“Rosie–” I began, but she shook her head again.

“No. This is MY decision. MINE.”

“And I respect that absolutely, but sweetheart, listen to me.” I put my hands on her shoulders. “I lost my family, and it cost me and them dearly. Please, don’t make the same mistake I did. A mother’s love is a sacred thing. You will feel the separation hard, and so will she.”

Rosie’s eyes were fierce. “Then she can be the one to build bridges. I’ve spent enough of my life respecting her decisions, no matter how shit I thought they were. She can do the same for me for once.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Rosie shrugged, but tensed with the pain. “Then she doesn’t.”

I felt terrible for her. I hated my part in their fallout.

“You really want to choose this, over your life downstairs?”

“I don’t want to have to choose, but I’m not leaving you, Julian. You’d have to throw my suitcase outside and kick me out, and even then I might not go back to her.”

I stroked my thumb across her cheek, trying to lighten the mood, even just a little as I smiled.

“I’d have to throw that case pretty hard. That thing weighs a bloody ton.”

Rosie’s eyes lit up through her tears. “Yeah, so don’t bother then. Let me stay.”

There was no doubt whatsoever I’d be doing that.

I made her a cup of coffee as she gathered her emotions into some kind of order in the kitchen.Ourkitchen, since she now lived here with me. Her eyes were on the ceiling as she spoke.

“I still can’t believe this is happening. She could have at least listened to me. Given you a chance.”

“She is only trying to protect you.”

Rosie scoffed at that. “Makes a fucking change.”

Her venom towards her mother was such a sad thing. Through my wife’s therapy business, I’d witnessed so many families torn apart by differences, and so much trauma ensuing as a result. I’d seen mothers struggling with their own past and issues, and how that had impacted their children – generation, after generation, after generation. Beverly didn’t mean harm. She was a woman looking for stability and love, which is what almost everyone seeks from life. Including my own family that I’d ripped apart at the seams.

“You feel really bad for her, don’t you?”

Rosie read me, yet again. She was a very empathic soul.

“I feel very bad for both of you, yes.” I handed her mug to her. “This is my doing.”

She actually rolled her eyes at that. “Maybe you should stop undervaluing yourself for once, don’t you think? You’re the good guy in this, not the bad one.”

No, I didn’t think so, but her words were touching. The love in her eyes made my heart bloom. I was honoured by the strength of her belief. The little flower with the mug in her hand was so simplistically honest in her truth and faith in me.