What Rosie Found Next (20 page)

‘You said I paid a lot of attention to the roses and you’re right, I was obsessed by them, losing myself in memories of Natasha and how much I was to blame for losing her. Your dad said the same and saw the rose tattoo as a cry for attention. But I wouldn’t listen.’ She looked down at her lap.

Owen supposed it made sense, although if that was why he’d done it, it had certainly been subconsciously.

‘I’d watch you sometimes,’ he said after a while. ‘I’d see you sitting on the edge of the pool, your legs dangling, and your mind a million miles away. This secret even stopped you from going into the water. You let us enjoy it but somehow you never seemed to want to. And …’

‘And what?’ she asked when he hesitated.

‘I remember, it was my thirteenth birthday and I came racing out the back of the house. I couldn’t wait to tell you that the entire class had had popcorn in my honour. But there you were, trailing a single red rose across the surface of the water. I called to you, you didn’t hear me.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I do,’ he said sombrely.

‘I was always afraid something would happen to you, Owen, and it’d serve me right for lying. Ever since the day Gregory tried to snatch you, the fear never left me. I’d watch you jump into the pool and panic you’d never resurface. I’d watch you run around with your brothers and imagine one day you’d just keep running and I’d never see you again. It was as though I was always waiting for something bad to happen.’

She drew in her breath. ‘I never once stopped loving you, from the moment I knew I was carrying you in my tummy, to the moment you knocked on the door tonight, and it’ll never change. I’m proud of your achievements, Owen. You always excelled in everything you did and overcame anything that stood in your way, but I’m most proud of the man you’ve turned out to be. You’re always so in tune with other people’s feelings. Oh, you have this bikie look with your leathers and your height and your stature and the tattoo, but underneath you always did have the kindest heart.’

Her shoulders finally gave way to sobs, and Owen took her in his arms as she clung tightly to him, the same way she would’ve held him to her the night his biological father tried to take him away.

They stayed that way, talking and comforting one another, until the clock chimed eight o’clock and the man who’d always been his dad came home for dinner.

The pine aroma filled the room at twenty-seven Lakeside Lane, and Rosie admired the conical-shaped tree from as many angles as she could now that she’d managed to make it stand up straight. She touched the deep-green pine needles that left scent on her fingers and paused to think about her dad. He’d have hugged her and said, ‘It’s a great tree, Rosie.’ They’d have giggled as they hid presents beneath it, tempted to shake them or feel them to work out what they could possibly be.

Rosie almost reached out for the phone to call her mum but decided it could wait until closer to Christmas. It was time to tackle the next and worst job of the season: unravelling the lights. It would help her work away the frustration that Adam hadn’t even sent her anything yet for Christmas. Surely he hadn’t forgotten?

Once the lights were laid out in a trail across the floor, she pulled the set of kitchen steps to the side of the tree, climbed up and, starting at the top, wound the lights round and round, getting a face full of branches pinging back each time. Owen had found three sets of lights – good job as the tree looked a lot bigger now it was inside instead of standing amongst its friends on the farm – all white with a master switch to enable the lights to alternate between constant, twinkling, or a setting that made the lights gradually fade in and out. By the time she’d finished, she felt as though she smelt as much of tree as the tree itself. Next, it was time for the baubles: silver, red and gold. She’d never subscribed to the idea of ‘theme’ with a tree and preferred the haphazard, natural look. Christmas, to Rosie, wasn’t about perfection. It was about the fun and childishness of it all, and part of that was hanging a whole array of decorations.

She smiled when she pulled out the next two decorations. Three snowflakes, kept between two pieces of cardboard to keep them flat, had been decorated with balled-up tissue paper and glitter, and each had a gold ribbon looped out of the top, ready to hang on the tree. On the back of one it said ‘Owen’, another said ‘Ben’ and the third, ‘Tom’. Whatever had happened in the past, Jane Harrison must love her boys to keep these so pristine for so many years.

When Rosie’s iPad sounded to announce a FaceTime call, she tutted and waded through the tissue paper tossed across the lounge room. She tiptoed gingerly in case any ornaments lingered beneath. Adam certainly knew how to pick his moment.

‘This is a surprise!’ she said when she answered the call, because looking back at her was Owen, and she was desperate to know how things were going in London.

‘I wanted to check you hadn’t trashed the house.’ He grinned into the camera.

She turned the iPad round and heard him laugh as he saw the mess for himself. Then she turned the focus on the tree.

‘Wow, looks even better than it did out at the farm,’ he said.

Rosie moved the camera to the handmade snowflakes and a Santa made out of an old toilet roll with cotton wool for its beard and pipe cleaners for his arms.

‘I’d forgotten about that gem.’ Owen laughed. ‘I made toilet-Santa at school in year two.’

‘It’s brilliant.’ Rosie turned the camera back on her.

‘Miss Aves, my teacher, loved me,’ he said. ‘There should be a stylish reindeer there somewhere too.’

‘Ah yes, I wasn’t sure where to put that.’ She stepped over the tissue paper and focused the camera on the decoration sitting beside the television, a crazy-looking reindeer made out of a polystyrene cup turned upside-down and coloured in brown felt tip pen with a smiling face drawn on. It had a red, slightly squashed pom-pom for a nose and twigs as antlers.

She moved away from the mess and propped the iPad up against her bag on the kitchen bench. ‘So how’s it going? Have you seen your mum?’

‘I have. And believe me when I say it’s a long story.’

Rosie sat back on a stool. ‘The tree can wait. I’ve got time.’

*

The story of Owen’s past exhausted Rosie as though she’d been a part of it. But he was talking to his mum at least. They were even going out for dinner that evening, and Rosie was glad they were starting to mend a relationship that seemed worth saving.

She finished the tree, cleaned the house from top to bottom and, satisfied that she was Christmas-ready, she had lunch out on the deck and then lazed on the sofa, wishing away the hours until it was dark so she could switch on the Christmas lights.

Her iPad sounded from the coffee table next to her and Rosie reached over lazily and pulled it onto her lap.

‘I thought you were at dinner.’ She smiled when she saw Owen for a second time.

‘Dinner was hours ago, Stevens.’ Surrounded by darkness, he was all bundled up with a grey scarf wrapped around his neck and tucked inside the collar of his coat. ‘It’s almost ten o’clock now.’

‘How did it go?’

‘It was fine. Dad was there too and for tonight we agreed not to go over old ground. I think that’s what made the evening.’

‘I’m really pleased, Owen.’

‘Nature versus nurture, Stevens.’

‘Huh?’

‘Nurture is just as powerful in my opinion. This visit has been a real starting point, like starting afresh. And at least now I know everything.’

Rosie knew that if the sparkle in his eyes was anything to go by, the whole family would be able to move forwards from this, together.

‘I’ve got something to show you.’ He flipped his iPad round to show the lights of a London Street.’

She gasped. ‘Where are you?’

‘Standing on the famous Oxford Street.’

‘Show me everything.’ She couldn’t get close enough to her screen, her excitement bubbling as he moved the camera round. ‘I can see the big red bus,’ she squealed. ‘A double-decker!’

He moved the iPad to look up at the Christmas lights. A giant lit-up cube with bows in lights depicted a present. A 3D star shone in yellow and silver-blue. Strands of fairy lights were woven through a tree at the side of the road, standing out against the night sky.

He brought the camera’s focus down to street level and a man standing on a bench snapping away on a camera, a Union Jack rucksack on his back. ‘Please don’t tell me I look like him,’ he whispered.

‘I doubt you’d be able to carry off the bag.’

Owen turned the iPad on himself. ‘It’s bloody freezing, Stevens – I’m wearing thermal socks.’

‘Now that’s cold.’

‘I won’t tell you what I’m wearing under my jeans.’

She giggled as he moved away from the swarm of last-minute Christmas shoppers. ‘You should come and see London for yourself.’

‘Adam talked about taking a trip to Europe one day.’ The words were out before she could stop them. Maybe his name had fallen into the conversation as a way of exonerating herself from this repartee that felt too comfortable.

‘Well, when you come, come in the winter, there’s nothing like it. You could ice skate at the Tower of London, hit the markets for your Christmas shopping, soak up the over-the-top festive spirit. You’d love it.’

Glad he’d ignored the reference to Adam, she asked, ‘Does that mean you’re not coming home?’

‘I’ll be home on Christmas Eve as planned, ready for the Harrison family Christmas.’

Her heart warmed at the thought of being included in the arrangements this year. ‘Does Tom know anything?’

‘About the sordid family secret?’ Owen shook his head. ‘Once my parents are back in Australia, we’ll deal with it, but for now all he needs to know is that everything is fine. Everything is going to be fine, Stevens.’ He blew on his fingers to warm them up and then swapped hands with the iPad and blew onto his other hand. ‘I need to thank you, Rosie.’

‘It must be serious. You’re using my first name.’

‘It is a serious “thank you”. If you weren’t so incredibly crap at burying something, I wouldn’t have found the box and I may never have had this conversation with my parents. And thank you for being there that night when I stormed out of Magnolia Creek after the wedding. Thank you for being the voice in my head when I roared away on the bike, the voice that brought me to my senses and made me turn round.’

Rosie gulped as they looked at one another through FaceTime, and despite a separation of thousands of miles, she’d never felt this close to anyone.

Owen had had a better time in London than he’d anticipated, but he was glad to get some distance at the end of the visit, to let the dust settle for a while until his parents returned to Australia themselves. They’d insisted on driving him to the airport as though he were a kid unable to make his way across the big city alone. But he’d loved every minute of the attention and concern, especially from his mum.

‘You are nothing like Gregory,’ she’d told him as they said their goodbyes at London’s Heathrow. She touched his cheek tenderly. ‘You treat women with respect, he never did. You go after what you want but not if it means hurting people along the way. Owen Harrison, you are your dad’s son.’ She’d looked up at Michael then and Michael had pulled them both into his warm embrace.

At Melbourne airport some twenty-eight hours later, Owen climbed into the familiar yellow taxi, irritated that he had to use his navigation skills rather than lazily listening to a London cabbie who knew his way around. His identity had been in tatters when he’d left the country ten days ago, but as they passed by the concrete and high-rises in the city, he felt as though he’d found a part of himself. He’d never get those days of his childhood back, those days his mum had been so distant, but at least now he was beginning to understand her reasons why.

When the taxi pulled into the driveway of his parents’ home, he pulled out the colourful dollars hiding at the back of his wallet behind the UK currency and paid the driver. His heart lifted at the sight of the Hubba out front. It was a strange sensation to be so happy that someone would be inside, waiting for him to come home.

He pushed open the front door. If he got on with the job quick smart, he could string the fairy lights around it and the outside windows by tonight.

‘Stevens?’ he called out as he dumped his holdall in the hallway, but she was nowhere to be seen. He smiled when he saw the tree in the lounge, finished with an angel on top. He could imagine her stretching up to put it in place.

At the sound of splashes in the pool, Owen headed out back. Rosie was in the water, laughing, and he grinned. But when he walked to the edge of the deck he saw she had company. His insides plummeted because there was Adam, sitting in the spa, head tipped back as the bubbles leapt up around him. He was a Christmas gift Owen definitely hadn’t anticipated.

Rosie emerged from the pool and grabbed a towel, muttered something to Adam and then joined Owen on the deck.

‘You should’ve called me to come and get you from the airport.’ Water dripped from the tip of her button nose.

‘You look busy,’ he replied coolly.

‘He turned up first thing this morning as a surprise.’ Rosie’s eyes never left his.

So the guy did have the decency to spend Christmas with his girlfriend. Clearly he hadn’t given Adam enough credit.

‘Do you mind an extra one for Christmas dinner?’ Rosie’s brown eyes searched his as her breathing settled into a steadier pace.

‘It’s fine. I’m going to take a shower and then have a kip.’

He felt her eyes watching him as he wearily climbed the stairs to bed.

*

Owen slept for less than two hours but stayed in his room as long as he could before he felt he had to emerge and see the happy couple. He went straight outside and strung the lights around the doorway. He couldn’t be bothered with the windows. Maybe next year.

Rosie caught him in the hallway as he came back inside. ‘I’ve hidden the box in the shed for you.’ Her voice fell on him softly. ‘I didn’t know what to do with it.’

‘Thanks, I’d hate for Tom to come across it before my parents have a chance to talk to him first.’

‘Owen, I—’

‘Please don’t apologise about your boyfriend turning up for Christmas, it’s hardly a crime.’ Her eyes were downcast to the floor. ‘Seriously, Stevens.’ He lifted her chin with his fingers so she had no choice but to look at him. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

He left her standing in the hallway, still looking up, lips slightly parted, and went through the kitchen and outside to do the decent thing and make the guy feel welcome. Ever since he’d learnt what an arsehole his biological father was, he was determined to be the complete opposite.

‘How are you at carol singing, Adam?’ he asked after they’d skated over the preliminaries. He crossed one foot across his other knee as he sat out on the deck.

‘Terrible,’ Adam replied.

‘Great, that makes a few of us, then.’

‘Why do you ask?’

Rosie hovered between both men as though she didn’t know quite where to sit.

‘It’s the annual Christmas Carol concert tonight at Magnolia Tavern. It’s fun and a bit of a laugh but best enjoyed with a few beers.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ Adam pulled Rosie in close.

Owen couldn’t stand by and watch. ‘Another tradition is to have a Christmas Eve swim, and I think I need it after the flight.’

Adam yawned. ‘I’m going for a lie down. I only flew in this morning myself.’ And with that he took Rosie by the hand and headed upstairs, leaving Owen with only George for company.

*

‘Rosie?’ Owen called upstairs for the fourth time that evening, impatience growing. Or was it the apprehension of spending the evening as a gooseberry?

She trotted down the stairs in a black dress fitted to the waist and swinging out from her hips in little folds. She slipped on the pair of black satin flat shoes in her hand.

‘Where’s Adam?’ He cleared his throat and tried not to stare at her effortless elegance, hair piled up and fixed in place with a sparkling clip that would be sure to catch the Christmas lights of the pub and dazzle anyone who came near her. Not that she needed any help in that respect.

‘He’s been working long hours over the last week. Says he’s got a bit of a cold,’ she explained.

‘Or maybe he’s afraid he’ll show us all up with his choir-boy voice.’

Rosie put a finger to her lips. ‘He’s sleeping, let’s go.’

‘You do realise this isn’t
quite
as big as Carols by Candlelight,
don’t you?’ He nodded to her dress.

‘I’m not daft. I just wanted to make an effort, feel nice for a change.’

When did she ever look anything but good?

‘I feel underdressed now.’ He patted his black cotton shirt and looked down at his dark wash jeans.

‘Now who’s being daft?’

*

The beer garden at Magnolia Tavern was already bustling when they arrived, and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.

‘The singing won’t start till it’s dark,’ Owen explained, ‘so plenty of time to get sloshed first.’ He pulled a face as he pushed open the door to the pub. ‘Come to think of it, maybe that’s why the singing is so appalling each year.’

They grabbed a couple of beers, and on their way outside again Bella made a beeline for Owen. He pulled her into a tight hug and they held it until someone needed to go through the door they were standing in front of.

‘Owen, I—’

‘No, Bella, not tonight. We’ll talk, but for tonight let’s show this one a real Magnolia Creek Christmas.’ He indicated Rosie beside him and Bella nodded, giving Rosie’s arm a squeeze.

Owen and Rosie talked until it was dark – about the tree Owen said was taking over the lounge; the food Rosie had stuffed into the fridge and was enough to feed the entire town; the preparation list Rosie had pinned next to the bushfire emergency plan.

As darkness descended Rosie shivered. It wasn’t cold, not in the slightest, but with the magical lights shining from the trees and the smiles on faces as song sheets were handed out, the atmosphere was charged. They started with ‘Jingle Bells’, followed by ‘Away in A Manger’, ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town’, and ‘Silent Night’. And when they launched into the chorus of ‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’,
Rosie felt the warmth of Owen’s body behind her right shoulder and the words struggled to form on her lips. She was further away from Adam this year than she had ever been before, even though he was only a few hundred metres away, asleep in her bed.

The crowds dispersed after the carols for more Christmas Eve drinking. Families took their children home to tuck in, older couples bid goodnight to other residents, and Rosie leaned against a tree as the coolness of her beer trickled through her insides.

‘Have you thought about whether you want to contact your biological father?’ she asked.

‘Now I know he’s alive you mean? I don’t know. I mean, I’ve always thought he was dead, that getting in contact wasn’t an option – unless I developed psychic powers of course. What do you think I should do?’

She smiled now. ‘Since when have you listened to anyone else, let alone me?’

‘Good point, Stevens.’

They took their empty beer bottles inside and passed through the lit-up archway in the direction of home.

‘I feel like I’ve just found my mum, after all this time.’ Owen stared straight ahead. ‘And it’s bad enough digesting what my biological father did in the past, let alone finding out there’s more. I’m starting to think it’s better to let things go than fight to understand them completely.’

As they walked Rosie thought about what Owen had said. Maybe all this time with Adam she’d been fighting her own battle in search of the perfect dream. Had she pushed aside real life to look for a happiness she was never going to find?