Just Between Us Read Free

they met, half-astonishing people who thought that Tara was destined for unconventionality and liable to run off with a rock star if the mood took her.
    And as for Holly, the baby of the family at twenty-seven, Rose knew that beneath her youngest daughter’s gentle exterior there was a vulnerable, fiercely passionate heart. But while Tara and Stella had the courage to fight for what they believed in, Holly didn’t. The secret fear that Rose carried round with her, was that Holly lacked self-confidence because of Rose and because of what she had or hadn’t done.Somehow, Rose felt, she had failed her beloved youngest daughter. But the thought was too painful, and Rose Miller, known for facing all kinds of problems with calm resilience, blocked it out. She wouldn’t, couldn’t think about it.
    Today was the dreaded Kinvarra Charity Committee and as Rose parked her car outside Minnie Wilson’s sedate semidetached house, she had a sudden desire to take off on a mad shopping spree and forget all about the meeting. Instead, she did what was expected of a sensible Kinvarra matron; she checked her lipstick in the mirror, re-pinned a wayward strand of her greying dark hair back into its elegant knot and carried a home-made lemon cake up the path.
    ‘Rose, is that the time? I’m all at sixes and sevens, I’m not a bit organised!’ wailed Minnie when she answered the door.
    Rose gritted her teeth into a smile and walked in. Minnie had to be at least Rose’s age, round the sixty mark, but had the manner of a dizzy young girl and got flustered at the slightest provocation. Minnie was one of the people who’d worried so much about the type size on the charity lunch menus. She’d moved to Kinvarra three years ago when her husband retired and she’d thrown herself so frenetically into local affairs, it felt as if she’d been part of the community for years.
    ‘Don’t worry, Minnie, I’ll help,’ Rose said automatically. ‘What do you want me to do?’
    ‘Well…’ said Minnie anxiously. ‘The kettle’s boiled but I haven’t got the cups out. And look at my hair…’
    Hang-gliding, definitely. It had to be more fun than this, Rose reflected. ‘Why don’t you go and fix your hair, Minnie,’ she said calmly, ‘while I sort out the tea.’
    Minnie fluttered off upstairs and Rose grimly thought that the group’s chosen charities would be better served if its members all just sent a cheque every year to the charity of their choice. They’d save money spent on endless tea mornings where at least half the time was spent on the process of sorting everyone out with seats, cups and plates of cake.
    Rose briskly organised the tea, her mind elsewhere. She often wondered how had she ended up in this life. She’d never wanted to be a pillar of the community and a leading light of every local concern going. When she was eighteen, she’d wanted to work in a modern office in the city, where people addressed her respectfully as Miss Riordain and where a wage packet with the anticipated amount of money was put into her hand every week without fail. The respect and the unchanging wage packet were important. On her father’s tiny farm, income fluctuated wildly, resulting in lean times and very lean times. Nobody felt the need to show particular respect to the beautiful and clever daughter of a small farmer and Rose had grown up deeply aware of the nuances of how people treated the daughters of the local doctor and the big landowners. One of her ambitions was to receive such respect. A good, settled job and a pay packet that came every week would give her freedom. She’d got her foot on the ladder all right, with the junior secretarial job in a construction company. Efficient and eager to learn, she’d dedicated herself to self-improvement. She’d battled with an elderly typewriter until her nails broke and she watched the senior secretary for hints on how she should dress. And then she’d met Hugh, the dashing young lawyer