Magic Sometimes Happens Part 21

'No, why would she insist?'

'She had a moral duty to insist and to make sure that you were brought up Catholic, as well.'

'She and Granny Ca.s.sie sometimes snuck me into church at Christmas and at Easter does that count?'

'I doubt it.' Patrick shrugged. 'I can see your mother must be more relaxed than mine.'

'It's not that she's relaxed. It's all down to my dad. n.o.body, and I mean n.o.body, is allowed to argue with my father. Pat, why don't you tell me all your secrets?'

'I don't have any secrets.'

'Okay, tell me serious stuff and trivial stuff, like what you have for breakfast, what you do when you're not working, why your ancestors went to America, when and how you met your wife and when you fell in love.'

'I eat cereal for breakfast. When I'm not in college, I do stuff with Joe and Polly. Mornings, I go running. Nights, I try to get some sleep. My ancestors were Irish and Italian peasants who came to America back in the nineteenth century, escaping poverty or even famines, hoping for a better life. Lex and I, we dated all through high school, missed each other all through college, married when we graduated.'

'So you had no other girlfriends? Pat, that's positively mediaeval.'

'Yeah, Ben often says he can't believe that I'm for real. I must be an alien, he reckons, not a human being with ordinary human wants and needs.'

'You're no alien, Dr Riley.'

'How can you be sure?'

'I suppose I shouldn't make a.s.sumptions? There might be room for doubt? Maybe I should do some simple tests to make quite certain?'

'Yeah, I guess you should. I think you'll find the scientific method is usually the best.'

'The scientific method?'

'Okay, you ask your question. You do a little research. You work out a hypothesis. You set up your experiment-'

'I like to learn through play.' I rolled on top of him and started talking dirty and I soon a.s.sured myself that Patrick Riley was all human being.

Afterwards, I slept.

But then of course the nightmares came. Mum was sobbing, telling Dad it was his fault if Charlie was in h.e.l.l, and adding she was sure he'd go there, too. Dad said that was fine by him. He'd probably meet some interesting people. He didn't want to go to heaven anyway, especially if it was full of bores and saints like Mum.

I know my parents love each other. They're devoted, always have been and I'm sure they always will be. Dad would die a thousand deaths for Mum and she would walk through fire for him.

But when people are bereaved and when their hearts are broken, they say some awful things. Charlie dying didn't just divide our lives into before and after. It stopped us saying what we should have said, from comforting each other when we needed comfort most.

I don't know why.

PATRICK.

I never knew that you could learn so much through play. Rosie was such fun, so clever, so inventive. I never met a girl or anyone with such a great imagination. She was so focused and intent. She made me feel the world belonged to us and only us.

She was also beautiful. The tiny imperfections her not-quite-California-straight front teeth, the puckered seam from an appendix surgery across her flat, pale stomach, the gravel marks on both her knees from when she must have fallen off her bike when she was just a kid they made me love her more.

The street light shone into the room so I could watch her while she slept. She lay so still it seemed like she was dead. I touched her arm, her forehead once or twice to make sure she was warm. I listened hard to hear she was still breathing.

Did she always sleep so deeply? Once or twice her eyelids fluttered and she kind of whimpered. Then she was quiet again. I guessed I'd never tire of watching Rosie. Perhaps I'd never get another chance to watch her while she slept?

I figured I would stay awake all night.

ROSIE.

When I woke up again, it was still early. So early that the everlasting buzz and hum of London were still hushed, still muted, and what sounds there were seemed m.u.f.fled and apologetic, reluctant to disturb the city's slumber.

The street light shone into the bedroom, leaching everything of colour, turning everything to monochrome, like we were in a 1950s film. Pat was sleeping, lying on his stomach, both arms underneath his pillow, head turned to one side, long, black lashes lying on his cheeks, which lower down were rough and dark with early morning stubble.

I kissed and stroked him until he woke up, too.

'Hey, Rosie.'

'h.e.l.lo, Pat.'

'Why did you wake me up?' He smiled and kissed me. 'Do you want to play?'

'Maybe you could go and put the kettle on?' I said an hour later.

'You go put the kettle on,' he said. 'While you're in the kitchen, you could fix my breakfast, too.'

'Why can't you do that?'

'I'm tired,' he said. 'You wore me out.' He kissed me on my mouth, my neck, my throat. He ran his fingers through my hair. 'Coffee, cereal and toast with some of your delicious British marmalade,' he added. 'Do you have Cooper's Oxford?'

'No,' I said. 'Patrick, do you know that you are nothing but a knuckle-dragging, Neolithic throwback?'

'I love it when you're sweet to me.' Then he grabbed my wrists and pushed me back against the pillows. 'Rosie, do you know that you are funny, clever, s.e.xy, beautiful the pinnacle of evolution?'

'You're a.s.suming flattery will get you everywhere?'

'I kind of hope it might.' He kissed my nose. 'While you're fixing coffee, maybe you could also fix some brownies, m.u.f.fins, croissants, jelly doughnuts?'

'Or maybe you could just make do with cornflakes and with me?'

He had to leave for work an hour later. I did, too. While Professor Riley went to do whatever clever stuff IT professors did, I'd go to meet the woman who made shampoos, conditioners and deodorants for dogs. Then I had to find some upscale shops who'd stock these things.

'So shall I see you on the weekend?' he enquired as he ate his cornflakes and swallowed scalding coffee.

'It's already Friday morning,' I reminded him.

'Then I'll meet you after work this evening, shall I?' He was smiling now and with that stubble he looked very, very s.e.xy. 'Show you a good time?'

'What about the children don't you want to see your children?'

'Yeah, but the kids and Lex are going someplace. York, I think she said. Something to do with Vikings, would it be?'

'So you won't be busy?'

'No and even if I was I'd change my plans.'

He kissed me one last time and then he went to find a taxi to take him back to his hotel so he could shave and change his clothes before he went to college.

I missed him already.

PATRICK.

It was the best weekend. Yeah, she kind of showed me London, but I didn't see it. All I saw was Rosie and, although it drizzled constantly and the sky was stained a miserable British grey, she was always bathed in golden light.

'Let's go out,' she said on Sat.u.r.day as we ate breakfast.

'Where shall we go?' I asked.

'What sort of thing appeals to you?'

A ton of stuff but most of all I want to stay in bed with you, I thought and was about to say. But then I decided that perhaps I ought to make a little effort to ride the tourist trail? Be an interested and appreciative guest here in this foreign country?

'Do I need to see the Tower of London?'

'You need to see all sorts of things. The Shard, Madame Tussauds, the London Eye they're on almost everybody's list. Or we could go on a river trip to Hampton Court?'

'You call your Thames a river?'

'What else would it be?'

'A creek?'

'I know it doesn't rival your mighty Mississippi. But it's wide enough for rowing boats and coracles. So, Professor Riley, do you row?'

'I rowed for college one time. Okay, we'll hire a rowboat or a coracle and go to Hampton Court. Then shall we check out the London Eye, go up the Shard?'

She lied about the coracle. She sent me to the tourist information place to ask where I could hire a tandem coracle to row to Hampton Court. The guys there laughed at me and then directed me toward the pleasure cruiser by the pier.

ROSIE.

He was just the tiniest bit annoyed about the tandem coracle.

'You're a minx,' he told me as we leaned against the pleasure cruiser's rail and watched the Surrey scenery drift past.

'You're a gullible American.'

'But I never even heard of coracles before!'

'G.o.d gave us Google, didn't he? You have a mobile phone? You know how to look stuff up online?'

'I guess,' he said, and then he glanced down at the foaming, dark brown water being churned up by the river cruiser. 'You like to swim?' he asked. 'If you should fall into this creek, you think you'd make it to the bank?'

'Of course I have webbed feet.'

'I didn't notice.'

'I can't say I'm surprised. You were busy checking out some other parts of me.'

'Maybe I should check them out again?'

He took me in his arms and kissed me not with pa.s.sion, but with little teasing kisses, ones that made me tingle from my head down to my toes.

He made me happy happy, happy, happy. I knew it couldn't last, that unlike sadness happiness is transitory. It's just an illusion. But, while I was with Patrick, I felt so warm and comforted, as if I were wrapped up in cotton wool. No, make that cashmere.

Alexis Riley did he love her still? I wouldn't, couldn't ask him because he might say yes. There was so much I didn't know and was afraid to know. I often wondered about him and his children, if I would get to meet them, or if he would want to keep that part of him a secret, if ...

'Hey, earth to Rosie do you want to get a cappuccino?'

'What?'

'You were a zillion miles away, in some yet-undiscovered galaxy.' He glanced towards the cafe where white-ap.r.o.ned waitresses were serving drinks and snacks. 'It must be time for coffee?'

PATRICK.

On Monday morning, we both overslept.

I woke to hear somebody knocking on the door of the apartment. Someone turned a key, walked in and came into the living room. Glancing at my cell, I saw that it was nine o'clock.

'Rosie? Rosie darling, are you there?' The somebody tapped on the bedroom door. 'Sweetheart, are you up? May I come in?'

'Ruddy h.e.l.l, it's Mum! We're going to see an exhibition at the Tate. I'd totally forgotten.' Rosie jumped out of the bed, threw on her towelling robe and tied the belt. 'Mummy, could you go into the living room?' she called. 'I'll be with you in a minute, tops!'

'Your mother won't be mad at you?' I whispered. 'I mean, because of me?'

'I think she's twigged I mean she's figured out I'm old enough to have a s.e.x life. Please could you get dressed? Then keep her occupied while I have a quick shower and wash my hair? Patrick, are you listening to me?'

'Okay, okay, calm down I'll handle Mom.' I pulled on my jeans and T-s.h.i.+rt, raked my fingers through my hair, then went into the living room to meet with Rosie's mother.

'This is Pat,' said Rosie. 'Or I should say, Professor Patrick Riley.'

'h.e.l.lo, Mrs Denham.'

I'd learned to say h.e.l.lo to British people. They seemed to kind of like it. Or anyway, they say it all the time. h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo.

'Good morning, Mr Riley.' Mrs Denham looked me up and down and clearly found me wanting. 'I don't believe we've met before?' she added frostily.

'Pat's from Minneapolis, Mummy. It's in Minnesota in the USA you know?'

'I've heard of Minnesota, darling.'

Just like Rosie, Mrs Denham sounded like she had escaped from Downton Abbey. But her tone was cold and tart, not warm and sweet like Rosie's. It was nothing like her daughter's soft black velvet voice.