A Difficult Person

Youre impossible, George! Why are you so difficult? Why cant you just do what I ask for once?!

Rebecca, a striking young woman, is scolding her husband in the hotel room. Even now, her beauty turns headsa tall, elegant figure with long legs and deep sapphire eyes, her presence often drew stares from guests and passers-by in the hotels garden paths.

Her husband, George Williams, couldnt be more of a contrast. Nearly a head shorter than his wife and shaped like a barrel, he had lanky arms, stumpy legs, and a bald patch that had started creeping across his head years ago. The only truly handsome thing about him were his eyeslively, keen, and piercing, as though he could see right through people. Which made it all the more curious to see them as a couple: the capricious beauty and the man who seemed to understand her utterly.

They looked as odd as Hephaestus and Aphrodite, though instead of a hammer, George was usually found holding their little girl.

Their daughter, five-year-old Rosie, was the image of her fatherright down to her cheeky grin and wild red curls, inherited from Rebecca. No one ever questioned her parentage. Rebecca had given up trying to tame those ginger curls, so most days, Rosie flew down the hotel corridors like an orange comet, George trailing after her.

If you really want to go on that tour, you should go, George says calmly, holding their daughter a bit closer. I just think Rosies too little for something like that. Its a long journey, and with this heatshell get cranky, start crying, and ruin your trip. You remember what she was like last time.

And what about you, George? I came here with my husband! I cant take two steps without getting sideways glances from the other guests. Dont you care at all?

Rebeccas voice starts to shake, on the edge of tears, and Rosie hides her face in her fathers neck.

Sweetheart, of course I care, George says gently, stroking Rosies tangled hair. Look, how about we do something else? A boat ride, maybe? Or we could go diving. Whatever you want, you name it.

I want to see Stonehenge, and Im going! Rebecca snaps, turning away. You two just do as you like! Ill go by myself!

Rebecca storms off to the pool, ignoring George and Rosie completely. George is used to such dramatics; their marriage is much as most marriages in their circle. Hes wealthy and always busy, shes beautiful and young, enjoying the privileges of being adored.

George never quite understood how he ended up as a trophy husband. Women were always a mystery to him. It wasnt his lookshe simply struggled to connect, unless it was for work. With female colleagues, all was well: he was charming, courteous, and known for his dry wit. But as soon as affection appeared, George would clam up, unsure where to look, what to say, how to win her over. Over time, he stopped trying altogether. His routines revolved around work, visiting his mum in Oxford, and finally resigned himself to staying single.

Now and then, as his mother put it, he had the odd romantic interlude for ones health, but nothing serious.

If it werent for his mother, Iris, Georges solitary life might have gone on indefinitely. One afternoon, as he sat on the large terrace drinking tea with her jam, she announced her intentions:

George! Enough is enough. Youre never going to marry on your ownyou need a matchmaker!

A what? George splutters, nearly spilling tea down his suit.

Youve ruined your jacket Now listen, my boy. Youre intelligent, decent, successful. But who does that bring happiness to, other than me? Youve built the life others only dream of, but youre miserable. I see how you look at your cousin Lindas children. Shes hopeless in most respects, bless her, but shes a wonderful mother. I want you to experience genuine happinessyour own child in your arms! There is nothing better, George, nothing. This she gestures around the stately house, is all temporary. Walls crumble. But lifereal lifelasts. Feelings, memories, hope. Do you understand me?

I do, Mum. But must we involve a matchmaker?

Youre never going to find anyone yourself! I have to step in. Write down what youre looking for: hair colour, eyes, everything.

They stay up well into the night, and George, realising his mother wont let it go, gives in. To his surprise, things he hardly acknowledged in himself find their way onto the page.

Theres no such woman, George laughs as Iris tucks the list away.

Well see, she says briskly.

And she does find him a wife. Rebecca matches his list perfectlyon the outside. As for what lay within, George only finds that out after marriage.

Soon he realises their partnership is nothing more than a contract. This, he discovers, is not unusual. Rebecca has no intention of becoming a domestic goddess; shes consumed by her own life. They even sleep in separate bedroomshis snoring, apparently, is impossible. Whether he snores or not, George never asked. Hed have done anything for the woman who became his whole world.

Rebecca doesnt want children, but accepts that a child, too, is part of the contract. She negotiates a few years delay first.

Im young. I want to see the worldyoull make that happen for me, wont you darling?

George agrees. They travel, socialise, and become almost comfortable with one another.

Rosies arrival brings a brief peace. George is besotted, hurrying home in the evenings for playtime. But Rebecca is a mediocre mother at best.

Im not breastfeeding. Why ruin my figure just to go under the knife later? Find a nurse, or its formula. Loads of children are bottle-fed and theyre fine. Your own mother said you were, and look how you turned out! So, no problem.

Neither George nor Rebeccas mother can sway her. Rosie gurgles happily on her bottle, and George begins seeking a nanny.

Im going mad! Rebecca complains bitterly. Stuck with a screaming baby all day! Youre at work, off in another world while Im left here! Fancy bringing on a case of depression?

When Rebeccas mother, Dorothy, hears George is seeking a nanny, she objects sharply.

Why a nanny? Your mothers too busy, but I can help with my only grandchild. Why bring a stranger in?

George gratefully accepts. This causes their first real marital clash.

Why do you want my mother here? To criticise me? Youre not helping at all! George, why are you so hard to live with? You dont love me one bit!

I do love youand I love our daughter. Youre hardly involved. She needs someone else, apart from me, who loves her!

Here George is right; Rebecca shows little interest in her child. Rosie has fine toys, beautiful dresses, and a stylish nurserymostly as show for visiting friends. In truth, Rosie spends every night in her fathers room, her cot and treasures close by.

I love my child in my own way! Rebecca bursts into tears, but George shows little sympathy.

Your mother stays. Shell mind Rosie while Im away. Whenever you want to take over, say so, and well talk. Until thenits my decision.

Rebecca, weighing the options, decides peace is better than a storm, and her mother, after all, isnt the worst route to freedom.

So Dorothy moves in, and Rosie has a whole new world in her grandmother. Rebecca makes her obligatory ten-minute appearances, showing off Rosie to friends, but quickly slips away afterwards to her own interests. Rosie, meanwhile, bounds towards her father and grandmother, never doubting their love.

Rosie growsballet lessons, a private nursery school, mornings out with her grandmother, half the globe travelled with her parents. She takes it all in stride as long as her favourite people are there.

This trip is like any other, until Rosie suddenly develops a fever and complains of headaches.

Brilliant. The whole holiday ruined! Rebecca paces the hotel suite, waiting for the doctor George has called.

Rebecca, our daughter is unwell!

Its just a cold! Its your faultalways giving her ice cream! You indulge every whimnow look! Father of the Year. And now what?!

Wait for the doctor, George says quietly, and Rebecca, thrown by his tone, subsides.

The doctor finds nothing serious. Just tiredness. Rest, lots of sleep, shell be right as rain.

But as soon as the doctor leaves, George insists, Were going home.

Why? The doctor said shes fine!

Thats not enough for me. Somethings not rightchildren her age shouldnt get headaches like this. She tells us what she feels. No argumentpack up. Were leaving.

Back in London, tests show Georges instincts were right, and life pauses in its tracks.

Clinic after clinicno progress, but no decline either, which is something. George hands his affairs to trusted staff, living at Rosies side, home only to shower and change. Rebecca keeps vigil too, but as time passes, the doctors address their questions to GeorgeRebecca, pretty and polite as ever, knows very little about her child. People assume grief keeps her silent.

But truthfully, Rebeccas thoughts are elsewhere. She notices the immense effort being made, and, knowing she can do nothing, longs only for her lost freedom. She dislikes the hospital smell, even in the plush private clinics George can still afford.

Her patience snaps when she learns George is selling their house.

Why, George? Are we short of money?

Yes.

Her husbands certainty silences her.

Butwhy? I thought we

I had a lot of money. Is that why you stayed? Well, its gone. Our daughters treatment is expensiveshe needs an operation abroad. Well sell everythingall we haveif it helps her get well.

And me? What about me? she whispers, already guessing his reply.

You want outI see that. Im giving you your freedom. Youll have enoughyour own flat in the city, your car, and generous allowance. But you must visit Rosie at least twice a week, and when the hospital abroad is ready, youre coming too. Youre her mother, Rebecca. She needs you, no matter how selfish youve been. Find some compassion, if you have any, and show at least a little care for your daughter.

For the first time, George loses his temper, no longer sparing her feelings. Fear wracks himmessy, sweaty-palmed, choking fear. All that matters lies in the hospital cot, grasping her teddy, a drip in her tiny arm. In that moment, George knowshis only connection to Rebecca is their child.

Thats enough. Go clean yourself up. Dont frighten Rosie. She needs calm. Youll get whatever you want, but youll earn it now. Understood? Then act, Rebecca. Dont make me say things twice.

Something changes in George. If anyone asked, Rebecca would be at a loss for words. He seems to grow taller, broaderan immovable rock nobody could break. But for those sheltered behind that rock, theres nothing to fear.

She leaves to collect herself, not seeing George slip quietly into the ward. Rosies red curls shift on the pillow.

Daddy

Dorothy, sitting by her granddaughter, stands and quietly beckons George out to the corridor.

George, if youll let me stay

What do you mean, Dorothy? Of course you must stay! He hugs her. Thank youI dont know what Id have done without you.

Im so ashamed, George. I failed Rebecca. She was always so clever and composed, always knew how to please. But now, I barely recognise my own child. Or perhaps I was blind. Where did I go wrong?

If we only knew where wed stumble, wed lay straw Im not blameless either. I should have done things differently. Do you really think she doesnt care for Rosie at all? You were a wonderful mother; you set an example. I dont understand how its come to this How do I avoid making the same mistakes with Rosie?

Lay out the straw before you trip, my dear Enough of this, time for action. Rosie will pick up on our mood and run circles round us. She mustnt worry. Ill help her to bed now and you pop to the shopshe wanted ice cream, didnt she? Barely touched her lunch. And Georgedont do anything drastic with Rebecca just yet. Give it time. I cant believe she doesnt care at all. I dont want to believe it.

In a few months, Rosie has surgery. Iris quits her job and joins George abroad with her granddaughter.

Half a year later, Rosie returns home with her father and grandmothers. Rebecca stays in Europe.

Two years of recoveryhope that flares up and fades but never dies, until one day Rosies doctor, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, finally smiles.

You did it, George

Time stops, shifts direction, and resumeshesitant at first, and then steady, taking them forward again.

Rebecca reappears in Rosies life on her fifteenth birthday: as glamorous and poised as ever. She kisses Dorothy on the cheek, nods to George, and weaves her way through the guests to where Rosie stands surrounded by friends.

Darling

Rosies blue eyes, the same shade as Rebeccas, narrow ever so slightly as she studies her mothers face.

Mum

Rebecca hurries to explain, words tumbling out, but Rosie lifts a hand.

No rush. There will be time. Not now. Later.

But I wanted

I know. It can wait. Not today.

Rosie, please

Follow me.

Rosie nods to her guests, draws Rebecca into her fathers study, pulls back the heavy curtain and perches on the windowsill.

Im listening, she says.

Oh, how much you look like your father

Hard work, am I, Mum?

Thats not what I meant.

But its what I meant. Yes, Im difficult. But let me tell you something. The man you thought wasnt good enough, whom you belittled and left, never, not once, said a bad word about you. Do you understand? Not once. He never brought another woman homenot wanting to upset me. He didnt even divorce you. He repeated time and again, Your mother is still your mother, even if you were absent. Want to know something else?

What? Rebecca can hardly get the word out, staring at the young woman before herno longer a child, but as strong-willed as George in his sternest moments.

That impossible man taught me to forgive. He said theres no use holding onto bitterness. Im not sure how well I do it yet. But Im my fathers daughterand that means I see things through. Im not sure Ill manage this time. I barely remember you, and I dont feel any great need to have you in my life. I have Dad. I have my grandmothers. Theyve taught me everything I need to know. Im not lacking anything, Mum, do you get that? So I dont see much point in wasting my time. But for Dad, Ill try. For his sake, Ill give you a chance to be someone real.

And who was I before?

Whatever you likea doll, a picture-perfect frame, a heartless stranger Is that cruel? What did you expect? I may have been little, but I remember falling asleep in hospital to Grandmas lullabies, holding Dads hand, not yours. I remember when my hair fell out, how Grandma cried, and Grandma Iris brought that awful pink sunhat. We put it on my bald head and laughed so much I didnt make it to the loo in time. You werent there. I remember starting Year One, a year late, struggling to keep up while both grandmas helped with homework because Dad worked late. Grandma Dorothy made me a real tutu and bought me a swans crown, even though she knew Id never dance on stage as Id once dreamed. I danced for them at home, and their applause rivalled the Royal Ballets. I remember Grandma Iris bringing a huge box of paints, and wed paint until dawn. And I realisedI liked that. See? That paintings mine. I gave it to Dad for his birthday and it won first prize at the exhibition. You werent there.

Mum, youre here nowbut why?

I want to be close

Why dont I believe you? Rosie traces shapes on the windowpane, looking out at George standing beneath their window. She waves to him, then turns back. Dont know? Nor do I. So lets not worry about it. Prove to me I still need a mum, and maybe Ill consider forgiving you. For nowwelcome. Make yourself comfortable. The cake will be out in an hour. I should get back to my guests. Excuse me.

Rosie hops off the windowsill, straightens the curtains, and as she leaves, she glances back.

Tough to love, am I, Mum?

Rebecca stares at her daughter, afraid to breathe on the fragile hope between them.

Thats good! Must mean Im a lot like Dad. And thats brilliant! Thanks, Mumyou really couldnt have given me a finer compliment. Now, I think Im ready to consider things. See you later.

A flash of ginger curls vanishes as the door closes. Rebecca moves to the window, pressing her hand to the spot where Rosies fingertips traced a fleeting markhoping, waiting, wondering if the little flame inside her might at last come alight.