Wishful Thinking (a journey that will change lives forever) (17 page)

“What?  But I – ”

“I don’t eat bloody steak, I don’t eat bloody
meat
!” His nose wrinkled in disgust, his expression the same as if he had just come across an open sewer, David marched into the room and began roughly opening the kitchen windows as far as they could go. 

Rosie watched him, bewildered.

“What are you talking about, David?  You love steak, isn’t it your favourite?”

“It might have been my favourite when I was too young to know any better, but it’s been years since I’ve eaten that stuff!  I’m a vegetarian, Mum, I thought you knew that!” David brushed right past where his mother stood, shocked, in the hallway.  

A
vegetarian
?  Rosie didn’t know that, had never heard anything about it.  When had this happened?  Yes, he had mentioned once that the meat in England wasn’t as nice but … Come to think of it, no wonder he looked so drawn and pale – obviously he wasn’t eating the right foods.  And all that lovely dinner that she had so painstakingly prepared in order to get everything just right …

“I’m so sorry David, I really didn’t know that,” she said to him, feeling very uneasy all of a sudden.  This wasn’t exactly the homecoming she’d imagined.  “But you’ll eat the potatoes and broccoli, won’t you? And the mushrooms and onions should be fine so – ”

“But you’ve probably cooked them all in the same frying pan as the meat, so of course they won’t be fine!” Clearly agitated – considerably more agitated than the situation merited, Rosie thought – David ran a hand through his hair.   “I’ll bring my stuff in, and then I’ll go down the town and get something,” he said. “Hopefully the stink will be gone by the time I get back.”

With that, he strode out the front door while Rosie just stood there immobile and in disbelief.

Who was this angry person?  It certainly wasn’t her David, the well-behaved and well-intentioned David she and Martin had so lovingly raised until he left to make his own way in the world.  Why was he so annoyed with her?  Yes, she could maybe understand him being angry about the steak, especially if he thought she knew that he was a vegetarian, but surely he wouldn’t think she’d done this on purpose?  Why would she do that, why would
anyone
do that? 

Trying to calm herself, and also to stay out of David’s way while he brought in his luggage, Rosie went into the kitchen and sat down by the window.  Her head spun and she felt icy cold.  By now, the cold air coming in through the open windows had begun to diffuse the earlier cosy warmth of the room, but the chill Rosie was feeling wasn’t as a result of the room temperature. 

She tried to get a grip on things.  In fairness, it was inevitable that this wasn’t going to be easy for him, wasn’t it?  The end of a marriage was no picnic for anyone; so really, she had been a bit stupid to expect this grand homecoming, whereby she and her son would sit having dinner and chatting as if nothing was wrong.  Of course it was going to be difficult, and as David’s mother, she really should have understood that.  But she supposed she just couldn’t see past her delight at having him home and looking after him again. 

So, she should just give him a few minutes to calm down, and maybe then he’d realise that he was out of order.  David had always been good like that, and while he was never one to shy away from confrontation – he and Sophie having had a right few barneys when they were younger – he was also never afraid to admit a fault and offer an apology when he was in the wrong. 

So, she’d just give him a bit of time to calm down. Yes, it was a bad start, but they’d sort it out.  They’d have to, wouldn’t they?

A few minutes later, Rosie heard the front door slam again, the sound reverberating loudly through hallway.  She remained sitting there for some time, stunned and motionless with Twix in her lap, the little dog having sensed Rosie’s anxious demeanour and jumped up in an attempt to cheer her up.

David had gone out to get something to eat – gone out without a word, an apology, nothing.

Who was this person?  What had happened to her son?

******

“The little so-and-so!” Sheila was apoplectic. “He lost the rag at you – all because
he
’s turned into an oddball?”

Rosie nodded, a little ashamed at admitting what had happened.  “A vegetarian. But I suppose I should have asked really –”

“Nonsense! It’s bad enough him coming home and landing himself on top of you – let alone looking for special menus!”

In a way Rosie was sorry she’d said anything to Sheila, but in the last day or two since David’s return, she’d been beside herself with worry.  After the outburst that evening, he’d later returned to the house, having picked up some odd-smelling takeaway somewhere.  Brushing off Rosie’s apologies and feeble attempts at smoothing things over, he eventually went upstairs to unpack, dashing her hopes of a nice one-to-one chat. 

Rosie had barely seen him since.  Early the following morning, he had taken off somewhere in his car, and as he didn’t yet have a house key; she had stayed in all day not wanting to leave him locked out.  Of course, she hadn’t been able to put her nose into the kitchen without Twix whimpering and rolling over, begging to be brought for a walk.  But Rosie was afraid to nip out even for a half an hour – thinking that typically it would be just the time David
would
come back.  As it turned out, he didn’t return until much later that evening, but she was heartened to find that there was a slight improvement in his manner when she offered him her spare key. 

“I suppose he’s just trying to re-familiarise himself with everything,” she said to Sheila. “The place has changed a lot in the ten or so years he’s been away.  It can’t be easy for him.”

“It can’t be easy for you either, but he doesn’t seem to think of that, does he? ‘Stink’ my foot! What a lovely way to greet your mother!” She shook her head disbelievingly. “God, I’d choke him if I had him – who does he think he is?”

Rosie sighed.  “He’s a newly separated man, Sheila, and I think that could be part of the problem.  It’s hard to blame him for acting a bit odd. Any of us would be the same.”  That had to be it.  David was acting all strange and standoffish because he was suffering deeply over his marriage break-up.  All she had to do was give him a little bit of space and some time to adjust, and then everything should work out all right.

Sheila harrumphed.  “I still think you shouldn’t let him get away with being rude to you like that.”

“It’s just David’s way,” she replied softly. “I’m sure he’ll get over it, but in the meantime, I have to make allowances.”

“Let
him
make allowances! If I were you, I’d start laying down some ground rules.  And let him know that he can’t just swan in and out of the place whenever he feels like it!”

“He’s a grown man, Sheila, not a wayward child,” she replied, faintly amused at the thought of treating David the way she did when he was a teenager.  But in all honesty, he had been a well-behaved teenager.  Sophie had been the one that was difficult to control and, in a way, she thought with a faint smile, she still was.  But of course, Martin never let either of them away with much and David had always …

Then it hit her. Of course! That had to be part of it.  Not only was David grieving the loss of his marriage, chances were he was still grieving his father too. Returning home to live in the same house would probably aggravate that grief.  She didn’t know why she hadn’t considered that before.  It wasn’t all that long ago since Martin died, and he and David had been very close, so that must be it.  Rosie wished she could ask him, or talk to him about it, but he was so withdrawn at the moment that she didn’t really want to chance saying anything. 

“Nevertheless, you’re entitled to a bit of respect,” Sheila went on. “I know that he might be going through a bit of a bad patch now but, don’t forget, you’re the one who came to his rescue by letting him run back home to you.”

“‘Run back home?’ Saying something like that is really going to endear me to him, isn’t it?” she said wryly.

“Oh, you know what I mean.  But don’t be afraid to show a bit of backbone!  Princess Sophie might have you wrapped around her little finger, but the Rosie I know doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

Rosie’s eyes widened theatrically. “Are you calling
my son
a fool?” she said, affecting her most pretentious tone, and Sheila laughed, this being a long-standing joke between them.  Both women had raised their families in the same estate, and greatly amused by the petty competitiveness of some of their neighbours when boasting about their children, they often joked amongst themselves about ‘my David’ and ‘my Gillian’.  Although much to Sheila’s amusement, ‘my Gillian’ had turned out to be just as boastful when it came to her own children.

“No, but at the moment, his mother is starting to look a bit like one,” Sheila retorted crabbily. “Now go home and sort him out – let him know that he won’t get away with that carry-on.”

Sheila was only teasing but at the same time Rosie knew that there was real concern behind her friend’s words.  But she had no need to be worried, she thought, her spirits lifting enormously now that she’d cottoned onto what might be wrong with ‘her’ David.  Suddenly things didn’t seem so troubling.  In a way, the realisation was a bit of relief, as in the day or two since his return she had wondered if she was somehow at fault. Granted serving medium-rare steak to a vegetarian had been a bad start, she thought wryly, but things could only get better from here on in. 

No, Rosie decided, feeling much more upbeat and positive on the train journey back to Wicklow, David would be fine.

And in all honesty, things certainly couldn’t get much worse, could they?

******

Later, laden down with heavy shopping bags, Rosie struggled up the path towards her front door. Through the window, she spotted the television blinking in the living-room.  Good, David must be home then.

She’d go in and start the dinner, the right kind of dinner this time – Rosie had picked up lots of vegetables down the town – and maybe afterwards, the two of them could sit down and watch one of those crime programmes that seemed so popular these days.  She was sure David would love those. 

Like herself, he had always been an avid reader, but instead of the light, cheery romances Rosie read, David was mad into those ‘find the serial killer’ type stories.  Rosie shuddered as she put the key in the door.  She’d picked one up once when she was stuck for something to read, and couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to read stories about people being stabbed and chopped up and the like.  But the crime programmes on the telly weren’t that graphic, and she’d sit through them if it meant that the two of them could spend a bit of time together.

“Hello, love,” Rosie called a tentative greeting as she came into the hallway.

“Hi, Mum,” David replied, in what could be considered a relatively cheerful tone, and Rosie realised then that, up until his response, she had actually been holding her breath.  Feeling silly, she hung up her coat and went into the front room.

“How’s everything?” she asked conversationally.  “Are you sleeping OK? Is the bed comfortable?”

“Everything’s fine, Mum, thanks,” he replied with an easygoing smile.

Rosie’s relief was almost palpable. Today he looked and sounded much more like the real David.  She held up her shopping bags. “I did a bit of shopping on the way for the dinner, and I thought I’d make –”

David waved her away, his gaze fixed on the television. “Nothing for me.  I got something earlier.”

Her face fell. “Are you sure?  I bought a lovely selection of vegetables and –”

“Honestly, Mum, I’m fine.  And look, don’t worry about cooking for me.  I’ll do my own thing.”

“Oh.” For reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, Rosie felt injured.  Granted, she’d made a mess of it first time round, but there was no reason for David to feel he had to cook for himself.   Earlier, before going out to visit Sheila, she’d bought a book on vegetarian cooking to read on the train, and had this evening planned on doing one of those vegetable stir-fries for him.  She wouldn’t touch it herself, of course – no, Rosie couldn’t miss out on a bit of meat at dinnertime.  But because she didn’t want David to be affected
by the smell of cooked meat, she’d bought one of those pre-cooked chickens – something she’d never done in her life.  It probably wouldn’t taste half as nice as a fresh one, but sure, if she didn’t like it, then it would do for Twix.

“Well, then, let me know what time you want to eat tomorrow evening, and I’ll do you a stir-fry.”

“Mum, seriously, I’ll do my own thing,” David repeated, this time with a slight edge to his tone.  Then he turned to look at her. “Look, like yourself I’m used to my own routine.  There’s no reason why you should have to change things round to suit me.  You just eat when you normally eat, and I’ll do the same.  Honestly,” he added, when Rosie looked unsure.  “I really don’t want to put you out.”

“But you wouldn’t be putting me out at all.  I enjoy cooking for you, and it makes no difference to me when I eat.”

But it was a losing battle, and Rosie knew it.  David was obviously used to his independence and didn’t want his mammy running around after him.  Which was fair enough, she supposed.