Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,78

and start looking after yourself.’

I don’t rise to the bait. I don’t have the energy, and right now I feel like crying tears of self-pity. Five minutes later, Patrick returns and I struggle to swallow two paracetamol.

‘Can you take the kids to school this morning?’ It hurts to talk.

He looks at his watch. ‘It’s going to be bloody tight. I’ve got to be in Guildford at 9.30 a.m. for a meeting with Began Fire Extinguishers.’

‘Please, Patrick.’

His jaw tightens, and then he disappears to the bathroom.

Some time later, Oliver comes into the bedroom carrying a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. I heave myself into a sitting position.

‘Patrick said you’re sick.’

‘Yes, I’ve got some bug. Thank you, darling.’

He places them on my bedside table. ‘You’re going to be ok, aren’t you?’

‘Of course. At worst, it’s the flu. At best, it’s a heavy cold. Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘If you’re sure,’ he says, hovering at the end of my bed.

‘I promise you, Ollie. I’ll be fine. You need to hurry, though; otherwise you’ll be late for school.’

‘Ok, Mum.’

Mia appears in the doorway, her coat on and her rucksack over her shoulder. Evidently, she responds better to Patrick’s chivvying her along than me. She still thinks he’s amazing. I suppose I should be pleased about that.

‘Hope you feel better soon, Mum.’ She throws me a weak smile.

‘Come along, kids. We’ll be late,’ Patrick shouts up the stairs. ‘You’ll be ok, won’t you, Lydia?’

I croak, ‘Yes,’ but I doubt he can hear me. I wave the kids away and listen to their thudding footsteps and the slamming of the front door. Then the house falls totally quiet and I feel very alone. I am rational enough to know I’m feeling down because I’m sick, but I had hoped Patrick might have come up to say goodbye, that he might have asked me if I needed a jug of juice or some food. But perhaps that’s asking too much. Adam wouldn’t have been any better.

After calling Nicky to tell her I won’t be in the office today, I close my eyes and drift into a deep sleep.

I hate daytime sleeps. When I awake, it’s light and I am totally disoriented. It’s as if I’m being tugged from a dark abyss. Something has woken me. I strain my ears and then the sound comes again. It’s the doorbell.

I pull myself out of bed and the room spins. I lean against the wall, and when the bedroom stops swirling, I reach for my dressing gown and wrap it around me. The doorbell sounds again. I grab my house keys from my handbag.

‘I’m coming,’ I croak, but I know whoever it is won’t be able to hear me. My legs feel leaden as I stumble down the staircase. I glance at myself in the hall mirror. I look dreadful, with deep rings under my eyes, a red nose and pale, almost grey skin. I run my fingers through my bed hair and unlock the door, keeping the chain on as I open it. I expect it to be the postman delivering a package.

It’s not.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I have an offer for you for the business.’ Ajay holds up a white envelope.

‘I’m sick. Can you pass it to me?’

‘No. We need to talk, Lydia. Properly talk about us and the future of Cracking Crafts.’

‘Not now, Ajay. I’m feeling crap. Just leave me the letter.’

‘Please, Lydia. Open the door and let me in. I’ll make you a cup of tea, and we can talk for a few minutes. Nicky told me you were at home today.’

And suddenly I feel very, very vulnerable. I’m alone in the house and Ajay wants to come in. It would be easy enough for him to break the chain on the door. He is looking at me with a strange expression, his eyes questioning, his mouth slightly lopsided, almost as if he can read something from my expression that I’m not aware of myself.

‘For God’s sake, Lydia! We’ve known each other for half our lifetimes. All I want to do is have a civilised conversation with you.’

I shake my head. I think he can sense my fear. ‘I don’t want to sell.’

‘You can make that decision when you know what my offer is.’

‘Just give me the envelope,’ I say, putting my hand out. I’m shivering now, partly through cold, but mainly because of the fever. My head feels fuzzy and my bones ache. ‘I’m really not well.’

‘I’m sorry you’re not well,