‘We will if we have to,’ said Rose heatedly. ‘But we must show our solidarity as a community. We don’t want to be walked on. Don’t you care about the motorway?’
‘It won’t be anywhere near our house,’ Hugh pointed out.
Rose gave up. She found it hard to understand how Hugh could be so pragmatic about important matters. She herself became passionately involved in all her causes, whether they affected her directly or not, but Hugh didn’t seem to feel these things as deeply as Rose.
The girls had all taken after their mother. Thirty-eight-year-old Stella, for all she appeared to be a sensible lawyer, working hard to bring up her daughter on her own, hid a romantic soul beneath her sober office suits. Tara, seven years younger, was the same: a debating queen at school and college, she threw herself wholeheartedly into anything she did. She’d fallen in love the same way, marrying computer sales executive Finn Jefferson six months to the day after they met, half-astonishing people who thought that Tara was destined for unconventionality and liable to run off with a rock star if the mood took her.
And as for Holly, the baby of the family at twenty-seven, Rose knew that beneath her youngest daughter’s gentle exterior there was a vulnerable, fiercely passionate heart. But while Tara and Stella had the courage to fight for what they believed in, Holly didn’t. The secret fear that Rose carried round with her, was that Holly lacked self-confidence because of Rose and because of what she had or hadn’t done. Somehow, Rose felt, she had failed her beloved youngest daughter. But the thought was too painful, and Rose Miller, known for facing all kinds of problems with calm resilience, blocked it out. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think about it.
Today was the dreaded Kinvarra Charity Committee and as Rose parked her car outside Minnie Wilson’s sedate semi-detached house, she had a sudden desire to take off on a mad shopping spree and forget all about the meeting. Instead, she did what was expected of a sensible Kinvarra matron; she checked her lipstick in the mirror, re-pinned a wayward strand of her greying dark hair back into its elegant knot and carried a home-made lemon cake up the path.
‘Rose, is that the time? I’m all at sixes and sevens, I’m not a bit organised!’ wailed Minnie when she answered the door.
Rose gritted her teeth into a smile and walked in. Minnie had to be at least Rose’s age, round the sixty mark, but had the manner of a dizzy young girl and got flustered at the slightest provocation. Minnie was one of the people who’d worried so much about the type size on the charity lunch menus. She’d moved to Kinvarra three years ago when her husband retired and she’d thrown herself so frenetically into local affairs, it felt as if she’d been part of the community for years.
‘Don’t worry, Minnie, I’ll help,’ Rose said automatically. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Well…’ said Minnie anxiously. ‘The kettle’s boiled but I haven’t got the cups out. And look at my hair…’
Hang-gliding, definitely. It had to be more fun than this, Rose reflected. ‘Why don’t you go and fix your hair, Minnie,’ she said calmly, ‘while I sort out the tea.’
Minnie fluttered off upstairs and Rose grimly thought that the group’s chosen charities would be better served if its members all just sent a cheque every year to the charity of their choice. They’d save money spent on endless tea mornings where at least half the time was spent on the process of sorting everyone out with seats, cups and plates of cake.
Rose briskly organised the tea, her mind elsewhere. She often wondered how had she ended up in this life. She’d never wanted to be a pillar of the community and a leading light of every local concern going. When she was eighteen, she’d wanted to work in a modern office in the city, where people addressed her respectfully as Miss Riordain and where a wage packet with the anticipated amount of money was put into her hand every week without fail. The respect and the unchanging wage packet were important. On her father’s tiny farm, income fluctuated wildly, resulting in lean times and very lean times. Nobody felt the need to show particular respect to the beautiful and clever daughter of a small farmer and Rose had grown up deeply aware of the nuances of how people treated the daughters of the local doctor and the big landowners. One of her ambitions was to receive such respect. A good, settled job and a pay packet that came every week would give her freedom. She’d got her foot on the ladder all right, with the junior secretarial job in a construction company. Efficient and eager to learn, she’d dedicated herself to self-improvement. She’d battled with an elderly typewriter until her nails broke and she watched the senior secretary for hints on how she should dress. And then she’d met Hugh, the dashing young lawyer friend of the owner’s son. Hugh came from a world where people never needed to be told how to dress or which fork to use. But to two people in love, that didn’t matter. They were soul mates. Love turned Rose’s life plan upside down and within two years she was married with a small daughter.
Occasionally, she wondered what would have happened if she’d said no to Hugh? Maybe she’d be a high-powered businesswoman, having an exciting but selfish life instead of living for others in Kinvarra where her only day-to-day concerns were her charity work, getting the freezer fixed and helping Hugh organise Christmas hampers for the firm’s most important clients.
Tonight, his firm was involved in a Christmas fundraiser for the local poverty action group which, with the recent wave of redundancies among the area’s big factories, was even more stretched for funds than usual. A black tie gala dinner, it would mean top table stuff and all the Kinvarra glitterati out in force. Rose enjoyed getting dressed up but there were times when she got bored with the inevitable polite conversation at such events. Hugh, on the other hand, never got bored with gala dinners.
She dragged her mind back to the task in hand.
There were seven committee members, so she whipped out seven cups and saucers, because Minnie always made such a big deal about china cups and not mugs. She laid out milk and sugar, cut her lemon cake into slices, and had everything ready by the time Minnie came downstairs.
‘Oh, Rose, you’re so good,’ trilled Minnie when she saw everything. ‘I don’t know what we’d do without you.’
Rose had been about to say something mundane about how it had been no problem, when she really looked at Minnie. For once, Minnie’s girlish complexion (‘soap and water every morning!’ she claimed) was grey and tired. Her eyes were a telltale watery red. It wasn’t mere tiredness, Rose realised. It was something else.
‘Are you all right, Minnie?’ she asked gently. Minnie looked into the face of the woman she’d been half in awe of ever since she’d moved to Kinvarra. Rose was like some elegant television celebrity; gracious and ladylike, without a hair out of place. She had a look of that poor Jackie Kennedy, God rest her. Minnie had never met any aristocratic types but she knew one when she saw one. Rose Miller came from classy people, Minnie was sure. And she was kind; as friendly to the girl in the pub who served them tea as she was to Celia Freidland, the committee chairwoman.
Minnie had tidied the house extra specially for the meeting mainly because Rose would be there. Rose’s husband was a very important man, she had a beautiful house in the most expensive part of town, and she had three lovely girls. Minnie never met Rose without being overwhelmed with a desire to impress her.
‘Minnie,’ said Rose again. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? Is there anything wrong?’
Minnie shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I’m just tired, that’s all. Now, the committee will be here any minute.’ Her smile was camera-bright. ‘I suppose we’re all ready?’ she added.
‘Yes,’ Rose said kindly. There was more to it than tiredness, clearly, but if Minnie didn’t want to talk, that was her business.
The doorbell pealed and Minnie rushed to answer it, welcoming in her guests as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
For once, Rose didn’t hurry the committee’s ramblings. She was quieter than usual and the meeting meandered on until half five when everyone began making astonished noises at how time had flown