November 1945
"Did you find everything you were looking for?" Rose asked the elderly woman in front of her as she surveyed her pile of books.
"Yes thank you dear, you were ever so helpful. You're an asset to this place!" she enthused.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that..." Rose said modestly.
"Well I think they're very lucky to have you!" the older woman insisted, to which Rose smiled politely.
Once the woman's books were stamped and she went on her way, Rose glanced at her watch and realised it was time for her to close the village library for the day.
"You go home. I can close up, it's no bother," Rose insisted to the young woman she worked with.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "I was hoping to go to the pictures later, and I could use the extra time to get ready," she said with some excitement before reigning in her enthusiasm. "That's if you're sure of course..."
"Go, have fun!" Rose smiled as she watched the girl joyfully bustle her way out of the door.
Books tidied from the counter and put neatly back into their places, Rose surveyed the small library that had been her place of work for the past three months. Deciding everything was as tidy as it was going to get, she proceeded to get her things and, keys in hand, headed to the door.
Once she was finished locking up, Rose hopped on her bike and rode the short distance to pick Kate up from a school friend's home.
She really couldn't have chosen a more picture perfect place to live in, Rose thought as she rode through the chocolate box village. Even the bare trees and damp, cold weather of November couldn't dull its beauty. While it may not have been the hive of activity she'd once longed for, Rose had become to enjoy elements of small town life in Moybeg, so moving somewhere like this seemed an obvious choice. The fact the village was a train ride from not only Vera in Shoreham, but also cultural excitement and stimulation in London, made it even more ideal.
"You're sure it's fine to take her again tomorrow? I wish I didn't have to stay late again, but we're down on staff this week," she regretfully told the mother of the friend whose house Kate had been staying at.
"It's fine, she a pleasure to have, such a well behaved girl!" the woman told Rose warmly.
"Thanks again!" Rose said as she turned to walk away with Kate.
The pair chatted about school, as Rose pushed her bike, and they made the two minute trip to their own home.
"I thought we'd have stew again for super," Rose told her daughter as they came through the door. "And," she drew out the word as she bent to meet the girl's eye line, "You were such a good girl that I think I might even have some rhubarb as a treat for dessert." Kate beamed. "Now, you go and start your homework and I'll get started in the kitchen."
As she was standing in the kitchen chopping vegetables, Rose heard a knock on the front door.
"Kate, can you answer that?" she called, stopping what she was doing to wash her hands. "Kate, who is it?" Rose asked as she rounded the corner and walked into the hallway, still drying her hands with a teatowel.
When she laid her eyes on the person standing at the front door, she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Hi," came an American voice Rose thought she'd only ever hear again in her dreams, and her stomach flipped reflexively at the sound.
"Hi," she replied with disbelief, her tone barely above a whisper.
As the bus travelled along the winding roads, Ron found himself begin to notice familiar sights and sounds that signalled he was soon to arrive in Moybeg.
Upon his arrival in the small village, it took him little time to find his way to the schoolhouse he'd so often mentally revisited in his memories of Rose.
Once inside, he silently ran over the speech he'd been practising (and re-wording) in his head for the entire journey one final time:
'Rose, I know this is a surprise, but I just had to see you to know if you still love me the way I do you.'
Straightening his clothes, he took a deep breath before knocking on the classroom door.
"Come in," a female voice called.
Upon entering, Ron was shocked to find a dark-haired woman in her mid-40s at the desk at which he'd expected to see Rose.
"I was wondering, is Mrs. Coyne here?" he asked surprised, questioning if he'd remembered the days of the week of which Rose worked there correctly.
"Mrs. Coyne doesn't work here anymore," the woman told him, glancing up from the pile of schoolbooks she was wading through with curiosity due to the sound of his accent. "Is there anything I can help you?"
"Erm, no.. Thank you," he stumbled over his words before hastily exiting the school building.
Standing outside, he watched the swarms of school children play while he assessed the situation. Maybe Rose had given up her work at the school, he reasoned, and if that were the case, she would likely be found in the shop.
After making the short walk to the site of the adjoining pub and shop, he was surprised to find the shop door, with its frosted glass marked 'Grocery - Hardware', firmly locked.
There was only one option left, he thought, he would have to call at the house. After all, he hadn't travelled to this place to come away without answers.
As he'd done before outside the classroom, Ron once again straightened his clothes and composed himself before knocking.
A dark haired woman answered the door, someone who he remembered to be the Coyne's housekeeper, Sally.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"I was wondering, could I speak with Mrs. Coyne?" Ron asked with an air of false confidence.
"I..." Sally stuttered awkwardly. "Mrs. Coyne doesn't live here anymore."
A cold panic set over Ron as visions of something terrible happening to Rose flooded his mind. The idea that he might never see her again, even if it were only to make some sort of amends, was devastating.
"I'll get Mr. Coyne, he'll be able to tell you more," Sally told him, clearly unsure of just how much information she should be giving to the American on the doorstep, especially given the whisperings of gossip she'd heard after the dissolution of her employers' marriage.
"That's-" Ron started to object, but she had already hurried from the door.
After some murmuring, Ron saw Michael walking slowly towards him. Once face-to-face, neither man offered the other any words of greeting.
As they stood looking at each other, Ron couldn't help but notice how Michael had aged since he'd last seen him. Not only was his hair was greying at the temples, but the lines around his eyes looked more pronounced. He was also sporting dark undereye circles which spoke of stress and exhaustion.
After weighing Ron up, Michael nodded slightly before speaking. "I thought it was you."
Ron feigned confusion. "I don't..."
"Ah c'mon now, I may just be from this backwards place, but that doesn't make me a fool," he told the American. "I expected you'd turn up one day, if I'm honest. I take it you're looking for Rose?"
Ron took a moment to respond, taken aback by Michael's directness. "I am," he finally said with a degree of reverence. "You should know, we tried, Rose tried… Neither of us went looking for anything, it just..." he attempted to explain remorsefully.
"I know," Michael sighed before grabbing a scrap of paper and he scribbling down Rose's address. "I just hope you can make her happy in a way I never could."
Ron looked at him for a moment moment before taking the paper. "Thank you."
Michael nodded, his face expressionless, before closing the door.
Knowing little more of the location of Rose's address than that it was in England, Ron was forced to find a map and look it up during the return ferry trip he took from Belfast to Liverpool. Knowledge gained, he continued to retrace his steps with the train to Bristol, only this time he then changed onto a train for Gomshall.
Rose, it turned out, had not moved back to Shoreham-on-Sea, but instead to a small village named Shere, which sat equidistant between there and London.
While Ron had thought Moybeg to be beautiful, he recognised that this place was beautiful too. During the mile or so walk from the railway station to Rose's address, he noticed that despite the seasonal November weather, it held more of a warmth than Moybeg and made for quite the idyll.
Locating Rose's address, he took a winding path that lead him to the quaint red brick cottage that sat in a neatly conjoined row with others of the same kind. After opening the gate and walking to the door, he smiled when he noticed what could only be Rose's bike leaning against the wall.
Once again, he found himself run through his mental routine. After another steadying breath, he knocked on the door. Standing slightly back, he waited.
"Kate, can you answer that?" he heard a familiar female voice call faintly from the other side. A few seconds, and some jiggling of the handle later, the door was opened by a small girl he vaguely recognised to be Rose's daughter.
Kate stood quietly and stared up at him with curious doe-eyes. Just as he was about to speak, he heard Rose.
"Kate, who is it?" she asked as she rounded the corner and came into view in the hallway. When her eyes laid on Ron, she stopped dead in her tracks.
"Hi," he said in a tone the belied his nerves.
"Hi," Rose answered back softly.