I agreed. Perhaps a holiday was what we needed.
I’d book a surprise romantic trip and then we’d see …
It’s a month later and I’m sitting on the floor of Toby’s bedroom, sorting through the latest load of boxes I’ve brought over from Rachel’s garage.
I always thought moving in with a man for the first time would be a mark of how responsible and grown-up I’d become. It would be a conscious, level-headed decision to move the relationship to the next stage.
But there was nothing remotely level-headed about the speed with which this latest life-changing decision was made.
Not that I’m complaining!
The past few weeks since my short story triumph have passed in a mad whirl, mainly due to the fact that Rachel’s boyfriend, Adam, proposed to her right out of the blue. Rachel was ecstatic and, after we’d celebrated for the best part of a week, she told me she’d decided to sell her house and move in with Adam. So obviously I needed to find somewhere else to live.
It was the following Sunday, when we were over at Toby’s mum’s house for lunch, that everything crystallised into an obvious solution …
*
I was in the kitchen, helping Rosalind make cauliflower cheese to go with the roast.
I suppose I was feeling more emotional than usual at the thought of my flat-share with Rachel coming to an end.
Rosalind seemed to pick up on my feelings.
‘So how are you, my love?’ she asked, her tone filled with empathy. I knew she was thinking about how I must be missing Mum and, immediately, the pain of loss – which was never far away – came crashing in.
‘I’m fine. Absolutely perfect,’ I said, pasting on the bright smile I used when people started asking questions that brought on the panic. I could feel Rosalind’s kind eyes watching me as I stirred the bubbling cheese sauce on the hob.
‘Yes, but how are you really?’ Her voice was soft and loving, and my throat closed up. To my alarm, my hand started to tremble and I had to stir extra fast to stay in control, with the result that some of the hot sauce splashed onto my hand.
Rosalind gently took the pan from me and I ran my hand under the tap, grateful to turn away so she couldn’t see the tears of panic that had sprung up when she tried to probe deeper.
Why did people always want me to talk about Mum and what had happened?
Didn’t they realise that was the worst thing they could possibly make me do? I needed to get over this, otherwise I was in danger of losing my sanity, and in order to move on, I needed to concentrate on the present, not keep going over and over what I couldn’t change.
Why couldn’t they see that?
With an effort, I pulled myself together and turned. ‘I’m in a bit of a fix, actually,’ I said. ‘Rachel’s selling the flat.’
‘Oh, Daisy, you poor thing. So you have to move out?’ Rosalind looked horrified.
‘Well, not immediately. She won’t even be putting it on the market until later in the year.’
‘But still … it’s a bit unsettling.’ Her look said: As if you haven’t already been through the mill enough …
I shrugged and started grating more cheese for the topping. ‘Something will turn up.’
‘Perhaps it already has.’
‘Sorry?’
Rosalind smiled, dimples appearing in her rosy cheeks as she stood up, flushed from checking the beef in the oven. ‘Toby was telling me only the other day how well things are going between you.’
‘He was?’ I looked at her in surprise. I didn’t think Toby confided in Rosalind about such personal stuff.
She shook her head and laughed. ‘Well, he was actually talking about the rising cost of living and how it was probably true that two could live just as cheaply as one. But when I cheekily asked if he was thinking of sharing his place, he didn’t deny it. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘Did I hear my name there?’ Toby walked in at that moment.
‘Daisy was telling me about her housing situation and I was just pointing out that a solution might be staring you both in the face, that’s all.’ She gave us a mischievous smile. ‘Keep an eye on the roast, will you? I’m just going to make sure those kids aren’t actually killing each other out there!’
When she’d gone, Toby and I looked at each other. We both laughed a bit awkwardly.
‘Mum wants you for a daughter. You do realise that,’ Toby said with a sheepish grin.
The idea of that squeezed my heart so that I had to look away and blink rapidly.
‘It does make sense,’ he added. ‘I mean, you moving into my flat.’
I swallowed hard. ‘Really? You’d like that?’ All sorts of feelings were tumbling around inside me. A while ago, I’d doubted that we were right for each other. But then Mum got ill and I was just so grateful for Toby’s support that I forgot all about my concerns that we were suited for the long haul. It just seemed important to get from one day to the next.
Could I really move in with Toby? It was such a huge commitment. Shouldn’t I at least take a week to decide?
But then I thought about how the times I spent here with Rosalind, Toby and the boys filled me with new hope for the future. I always came away from these lovely family Sunday lunches feeling happier than when I arrived and that had to mean something. It was that precious feeling of belonging. It was worth its weight in gold …
‘I’m game if you are,’ said Toby, and there was a vulnerability in his smile that took me by surprise and melted my heart. It wasn’t the most romantic of propositions but that didn’t matter. I was being given a chance to move on with my life. To start afresh and make brand-new memories with Toby.
I wanted that new start like I’d never wanted anything in my life before.
So I smiled shyly and took his hand. ‘I am game.’
We were kissing when Rosalind walked in.
‘Oh, please tell me you have good news?’ She beamed, crossing her hands over her heart. And when we nodded, she gave one of her throaty laughs, hurried over and drew us both into one of her big hugs. Toby, never one for displays of emotion, went a bit wooden, but the tears in Rosalind’s eyes were reflected in mine and I knew then that everything would be all right.
*
So at the age of thirty-two, I’m finally doing the grown-up thing of living with a guy! It feels unsettling yet quite exhilarating all at once.
It’s Saturday morning and I’m trying to get unpacked. But the boxes I’m tackling are full of Mum’s belongings – stuff I kept after clearing the house to put it up for sale – and I keep snagging on memories of my life with her. Everything I pull out seems to have a special meaning attached to it.
Toby, who’s getting ready to go into work, pops his head round the bedroom door, holding the house phone aloft. ‘It’s Joan.’
Panicking, I shake my head, miming to him to tell her I’m out. Joan will want me to talk about Mum and I just can’t face all that.
But Toby says, ‘Yeah, she’s here. Hang on a second, Joan.’
He hands me the phone with a frown. So obviously, I have to take it.
I close my eyes and take a big, bolstering breath. ‘Hi,