Just Rose door L.T. Marshall

Rose pushed the damp tendrils of hair from her eyes, sweat running down her forehead and dripping along her nose every time she looked downwards. She was physically exhausted, her denim shorts exposing her legs and burning on the hot paving stones, but her determination wouldn’t let her give up on the torturous task. The weeds and paving stones had ruined her manicure, and her hands felt like sandpaper. She had made a huge start on the mammoth chore and wasn’t about to give up now. If anything, Rose was stubborn when her mind was on a task.

Looking up, she could feel the sun burning her already tender face and naked shoulders, exposed by the flimsy white vest top she was wearing. The sun had climbed to the day's highest point and mercilessly tried to cook her. Trying was an understatement! Her hot red shoulders were a sure sign it was succeeding. Arching her back, she stopped momentarily, looking at the fluffy cloud in the clear blue sky, and contemplated a little break until the heat started to cool down. That way, she could get some relief from its beating rays.

Leaning back on her haunches, she looked around the wild overgrown jungle she now called her garden with a heavy sigh; she had managed to clear about four feet of the path from her chipped and faded once bright red door. It was a start, a major improvement; she could now come and go through the door without fighting with the plants around her ankles. She only had another two feet until the rickety little gate was clear, which meant a leisurely walk from the entrance to the door, unlike the day she arrived. That day had almost been like an Indiana Jones manoeuvre to get through the wilds and into the cottage.

Her mobile phone began to ring in her back pocket. Reaching back, she slid it out to answer, her mother smiling back at her from the screen photo, staring up at her in all her beautiful glory. A feeling of warm affection spread through her stomach.

‘Hi, Mum.’ She smiled and got up on her knees to stretch out lazily, leaning back and sliding to lay flat on the scorching stone path. An impromptu break had been decided for her.

‘Hi honey, I hope you don’t mind me calling, Darling. Just checking up to see how you’re settling in. We haven’t heard from you since your first day there.’ Her mother’s warm tone made her feel happy and a little bit guilty.

‘Sorry, Mum, I’ve been so busy. This cottage had such a lot of cleaning and organising. It was a bit of a mess.’ She admitted, straining her back to get the kinks out and tipping her head back to feel the sun on her neck and exposed cleavage. Both had been neglected when hunched over.

‘That bad? It was left all boarded up and packed... Did she not have a caretaker keeping it habitable?’ Her mum sounded confused about the state in which Rose had found the cottage.

‘Yes, someone had been doing repairs, but the grounds are wild, the interior a sea of canvas sheets, and the place just smelled damp and had about three inches of dust.’ Rose glanced at the window from her crazy angle, seeing Muffin, her fluffy white Chihuahua, watching her quizzically from his perch on the wooden ledge. He was dying to escape, but she knew he would run off into the unfamiliar surroundings if she let him loose.

‘Olivia would’ve been upset to know it had become unloved.’ Her mother whispered tearfully; Rose felt the same tug of emotion at her aunt’s name. A hollow ball of heaviness stopped her thoughts and forced her to push her aunt from her mind’s eye, bringing her back to the present. She was getting good at dismissing her grief whenever Olivia’s name arose.

‘I know, Mum... It wasn’t exactly the cottage of my childhood memories... Colourful and homely, it was not. So many memories of being here with her, only to be faced with an almost derelict shell.’ Rose picked at her nail with her thumb in distraction. She always found it hard to talk to her mother about Olivia in any way.

‘I guess not living there for the last eight years took its toll... She was happy in Shropshire, though, with George. I think she missed the cottage but had found a new home.’ Her mother’s wistful tone carried a melancholy through Rose’s stomach. She shook it off with a sigh and tried to refocus on the sunny surroundings instead.

‘She always loved this place as much as I did; I guess it’s why she left it to me in her will.’ Rose smiled at the touching legacy her Aunt had left her and what that had meant to her.

‘So, what are you doing today, Darling?’ Her mother changed the subject quickly, feeling that same pang of loss and heartbreak and eager to brighten the mood. It was still too soon; even after eighteen months without her, both women were getting so good at pushing it down and misdirecting when it got too painful.

‘Gardening...With a spoon.’ Rose laughed, and her mother followed. She had never been the one with green fingers in the family, which only proved it. ‘I’m almost done. The house is habitable. She left almost all the furniture behind. My studio is ready to work, and Muffin seems to love walking in the surrounding rural emptiness.’ She sounded more positive than she felt today. She didn’t want to admit that she still had so much more to do and hadn’t left the cottage in the two weeks here due to endless cleaning of the two-bed, one-story thatched roof cottage.

So much for a fresh start and new friends!

So far, it had been a new life as a hermit in a stinky musty cottage with endless manual labour.

‘So, you’re settling in well then? Do you regret leaving London to go back to the highlands?’ Her mum sounded wary, almost concerned.

Rose had followed her heart impulsively ever since she was a child, and now coming here and leaving everything behind her. All her life, she had been fiercely independent.

‘Not even a little bit.’ She assured her, and it was true. Since her arrival, she hadn’t even thought of her six years in the big city. She had always felt something more out there for her in the world that London hadn’t given her. It was as though she was holding her breath, waiting for that clarity about where her next steps would be taken. Holding on, treading water, rather than just living and moving forward until the elusive something better came along. The cottage had been that chance for her.

‘I’m glad you decided not to sell it, Rose. Olivia would be so happy to know you’ve decided to make it your home... Much like she did at your age, and she was really happy there, Darling.’ The uplifted tone in her mother’s voice made Rose feel better. Confirming that she had made the right choice coming here, although she had never needed it, she knew in herself that this place was the key to her own happy ever after.

‘I always had really good times here too, Mum, with her... Painting, drawing, and enjoying this crazy, small town and its quirky inhabitants. I needed a fresh start; my life was becoming so stale.’ Rose flipped onto her stomach, fingers working into the edge of the overgrown lawn and distractedly twisted stems.

‘Rose, you’ve always been my baby, but out of the three of you, you were the most self-sufficient one, who followed the beat of her own drum... Olivia washed off on you so much in your young life. I guess because you were her only niece, and she couldn’t have a child. You were like a daughter to her, too, and you make me so proud. I love you, Darling.’ The emotion in her mother’s voice was raw. Her mother just wanted to get it out there between them. An acknowledgement that dismissing her aunt's name in conversation was not because they didn’t miss or love her. It was because it was still so hard to accept she was gone.

‘I love you too, Mum. Look, I really should go, I’m starting to burn, and I think Muffin is crossing his legs. He needs out.’ Rose didn’t want to end the call, but her heartache became too prominent. She didn’t want to upset her mother more by asking her to stop talking about Olivia.

They said their goodbyes, and she hung up the phone quickly, sighing before turning and rolling to her knees to get up from the ground. She was about to head into the cottage when the sound of tyres on the gravel behind her alerted her to a visitor and halted her in her tracks.

Turning to see the small red post van approaching, she pasted on her friendly smile. Although he came daily, they had never met as he usually posted letters through the slot while she was still inside cleaning and fixing up her new abode. Today she had been up and outside early to get some much-needed sun; it was about time she met her mailman.

As soon as the van pulled near, it parked by her rickety gate, and she was faced with a little, old, red-cheeked man with receding white hair and a smart royal mail uniform in navy blue. As he rounded his van with a handful of letters, he smiled her way with a devilish twinkle on his cheerful face.

‘Hello, my dear. How are you? So nice to see what you look like at last.’ He almost gushed at her when she straightened and tried to smooth down her dishevelled, grubby clothes. Rose extended her hand to meet his outstretched palm as he pushed mail under his armpit to shake it.

‘Hi there, I’m fine, thanks. Yes, all moved in and settling well. Now I have the place cleaned up a bit more.’ Rose beamed at the friendly face. She had walked halfway down the path to meet the small man, who was now retrieving her post and taking the letters he was holding to her, and she noted he had another in his right hand that he seemed to be holding back.

‘Well, my dear, there’s been a lot of talk, you know... At the church! All about our new inhabitant and the lack of your presence in town; it will be nice to tell them all it’s a very pretty young lady.’ He continued smiling her way.

‘Be away with you now...’ She giggled at his obvious charm. ‘Young maybe, not sure about the very pretty!’ She gushed and decided she liked this man. There was something familiar about him in a very genteel way.

‘Oh, weesht now, Lassie. Take a compliment! Here, I have something extra for you... Mr Munro has asked me to deliver this here personally.’ He held out the long golden envelope in his other hand towards her briskly, extending it to Rose, who took it politely with a smile.

‘Thank you.’ She took the long, smooth envelope, still frowning and still confused, the look all over her face.

‘It’s an invitation to the annual charity dance.’ he said as if to answer her look. ‘It’s time they all met our newest community member.’ His smile was genuine and bright, and Rose felt herself smiling back.

‘Well, thank you, Mr...?’ Rose lifted eyebrows towards him to encourage a name at least. If she were going to see him frequently, then a name would be nice.

‘Oh, Hen, it’s Tommy. Call me Tommy. I’m the caretaker for the big house and the village postie... Well, the misses and I take care of the repairs, like... And I’m the one who was patching up this place in Miss Olivia’s absence.’ He patted the gate frame affectionately. The mention of her name caused a saddened look on both of their faces, and he bowed his head. Rose couldn’t help but notice the genuine reaction, guessing right that he’d known her aunt well, which explained the familiarness to her.

‘Well, thank you so much! It means a lot to me that you cared for this place... She was my aunt... I used to come here a lot in the summers. Did you know her well?’ Rose said gently, curious whether she had previously known this fellow in her childhood, even though her gut told her so.

‘Oh, my goodness!!! Miss Rose? Little Miss Rose Turner? You know, I thought you looked a lot like Miss Olivia when you opened the door, and now you say it! Damn, I see it!’ He almost jumped on the spot, pumping her hand enthusiastically again, his little red cheeks overtaking his whole face. ‘Same exotic beauty she had, and those dark brown eyes!’

‘I am, yes. I’m sorry I don’t...’ She was trying to get a word in edgeways, pulling her hand free from his hot embrace, but his renewed energetic state had him cutting in over her.

‘Of course, you won’t remember me! You were such a wee thing. I never saw much of you, just the odd glimpse in passing. The wife used to bring you her jam tarts because you had a sweet tooth and always gave her such a warm welcome.’ As soon as he said it, the memory in Rose’s head was jarred to the forefront. A pleasant round lady who always brought her tissue paper wrapped confectioneries whenever she had been here for a holiday.

‘Oh yes, I do remember her. And those tarts! Of course, I remember her! ... Alice was her name, I’m sure, right? ... It’s such a small world, isn’t it?’ Rose could see his smile widening to a grin, obvious devotion to his wife and confirming her memory was accurate.

‘Yes! It’s Alice, and it really is. I can’t tell you how made up I am that Olivia’s niece is our new member. We were all worried that some American had moved in as there’s been talk, you know? Of a Yank around here.’ He leaned in with a whispered frown as though spies could hear him insulting an American.

Rose laughed, knowing only too well the small-town mentality of newcomers, especially those they classed as foreign, like children whispering in fear of a strange intruder to their lands. She shook her head and beamed at him a little more.

‘Well, can you tell her that I said hello? And, I remember her tarts and cakes so fondly.’ Rose was feeling more relaxed in the presence of this man. Somehow, she knew this was what she had wanted, a reminder of the people she would soon get to know. Olivia’s people and why she had always felt so at home here.

‘I shall, my lovely girl. Now you promise me you will get yourself into town and start mingling. There’s an awfy lot of people eager to meet you, and today is the church book sale. Prime sunny day for a bit of introducing, if you know what I mean.’ He winked at her knowingly and gave her shoulder an affectionate pat.

‘I suppose you’re right. I’ve been cooped up here long enough. A drive into town might be a good idea.’ She gratefully smiled back at him, the sudden longing for more human companionship. Now she had a taste of it.

‘I’m guessing you’re here alone, seeing as no man is sorting this mess out for you, Hen?’ He was now frowning at her with much fatherly concern like her dad used to display. Rose sighed down the giggle once more.

‘I have my little dog with me, but no man. Completely single, I’m afraid.’ She couldn’t help but smile at this, knowing how old-fashioned this place was and its view on unmarried young girls living alone. Soon she would have half the town trying to mother her.

‘Well, that’s a shame, but I guess it may be a good thing too.’ He winked cheekily. ‘I hear Rob’s available nowadays and quite a catch according to all the town women.’ Winking her way, looking at the watch on his wrist, and sighing. Rose was trying to ignore his imminent matchmaking, as love was not on her agenda anytime soon, and for all she knew, the guy Rob could be horrendous.

‘I’m sure he is nice; I will definitely check out the book sale in town.’ She was now walking him back to his parked van via her open gate, dismissing his suggestion as easily as possible. No matchmaking for her.

Hell no!

‘Yes, make sure you do, Lassie. It will be nice to get some fellows up here to sort this out for you. This is a man’s work, not for someone as dainty as you. I’ll ask Rob if the gardeners will come over for you and sort it out.’ He left the garden and paused to let her consider his offer, but Rose quickly refused.

‘It’s fine. Really, I’m sure your friend Rob has other things on his plate. I’ll look into hiring a gardener from town if it gets too much for me. I am more than capable of manual labour, honestly.’ Rose had always been capable of doing things herself, and even though she was ultimately turning down his offer, she didn’t relish doing much more on her own.

‘Rob is the laird. He oversees wee things like this to keep the town happy and beautiful. He has a crew of full-time gardeners for the grounds and would take a half day to do this. Let me talk to him.’ He gave her another affectionate beaming smile; all she could do was smile back.

Setting me up with an old man, Tommy? Tut Tut!

Rose had no intention of being harpooned into a date with some ageing landowner. She had met the Laird in visits as a child and was pretty sure he had been married with children even then. Not her cup of tea at all. But then tastes among church-going older women, we’re bound to be completely out of whack with the tastes of a twenty-eight-year-old girl from Edinburgh.

‘Well, thank you anyway, don’t go out of your way.’ She was trying to thank him, but he was already waving her off with a shaking head, which meant he was ignoring her refusals. With a beep of the horn, he slid into his little van, pulled out to U-turn, and left with another wave out of his side window.

Rose waved back, a feeling of complete deflation running over her now she had returned to rural silence. She hadn’t minded the peace the last few weeks, but now she craved people after that interaction. She was intrigued about this dance too and was not about to go to a ball, in however many weeks, knowing she was not a soul of her new community.

Rose turned back to the cottage and pushed open the door, walking inside just as Muffin peaked out to check all was clear before snorting with a nose in the air as though he had personally chased off the visitor. He turned his little white bushy butt and trotted back to her room. Lately, he’d been hoarding bones under her bed and loved to lay in the dark underneath and chew on his prized possessions.

Moving further inside, after she closed the door, she pulled open the long envelope, dumping her other mail on the table in the hall and revealing a cream, elegant invitation with gold and brown scroll. It was announcing the event at Munro manor and was very classy. She frowned at the name Robert Munro under the Laird title and sighed, hoping to god the matchmaking wouldn’t continue at a public event as she had no desire to date an older man at all, and judging by memory, this one had to be in his late sixties by now.

The event was to raise funds for a local charity. They wanted to help build a new hospital wing and extend the children’s ward to include long-term care rooms for children with more serious illnesses. How could Rose refuse that?

She put it on the top of the fridge, lightly running her fingers over the luxurious paper and mentally going through the dresses in her wardrobe. She had never been to a dance that was so formal sounding before; she wondered if she would have anything at all to wear that wouldn’t look out of place in that big house.

She picked up a mirror and looked over her appearance almost automatically, still mulling it over and shaking her head. Sweaty and mucky, dirty fingernails and hair piled on her head in a haphazard mess.

This wouldn’t do for a town trip.

She turned, dropped the mirror, and headed to the bathroom to run a bubble bath to remove the sweaty smell of desperation. A little spruce up and a trip to town to meet her new neighbours would help. If she played it cool and mingled, they might not even notice that she was trying to find some new friends before it became obvious that she had none.

You know, make the first move, meet the locals. No longer be the stranger at the dance, but someone familiar. Less likely to get stared at.

Her internal pep talk was helping to quell the tight knot of apprehension at putting herself out there for the first time in years. Hopefully, it would not even need to exist by the time she came home.