OK this has been an unforgiveably long time between my last update and finally completing the fic and I'm SO sorry. Basically, I wrote most of it my last year of pharmacy school, and then I started my postdoc which was a crazy amount of work. I got pregnant around the same time, and it was a super busy couple of years. After that ... it had been so long, I just wasn't feeling it anymore =( And then! last year my husband got Noel Clarke (Mickey) of all people to do a Cameo for me specifically asking for Spring Conditions by name and requesting I finish it - my husband read every chapter and always encouraged me to finish it through the years. Anyway, so getting asked to finish a fic by one of the actors in the show was both one of the coolest and most humiliating things ever XD Anyway ... so I started working on the last couple of chapters, and today - coincidentally, the day I brought my daughter on a ski trip, talk about thematic lol - I finished. I want to apologize again and thank everyone for reading. And I will never ever ever post a WIP again lol. I will complete everything before posting - life lesson learned. Hugs to all! I hope you enjoy the conclusion.
He stares at the small metal speaker as Tricia's words sink in. Part of him wants to dial her flat right back, confront her, demand that she explain herself and what in hell she meant by insulting Rose like that—but he doesn't. Tricia doesn't matter, she never has… but Rose. He swallows. What does Tricia mean that she 'doesn't live here anymore'? Where the hell is she—why hasn't he been able to reach her? It's too late in the evening for her to still be in class. Perhaps she's out with Jimmy? But no… there was something in Tricia's tone, something in her horrid, sarcastic little laugh, that makes John doubt that very, very much. With shaking hands he pulls out his mobile, hitting Rose's contact number, his heart thudding in his ears as he waits for it to connect.
It doesn't even ring—instead going straight to voicemail. Damn it.
"You've reached Rose, leave a message!"
He scrunches his eyes closed and drums his fingers on the rough brick of the wall behind him, sighing impatiently in the second it takes for the system to prompt him with a beep. He doesn't say who it is, doesn't need to—hell he doesn't even think to. The words come out in a rush.
"Rose it's me. I stopped by your flat… please call me back. Please."
He hits the End button and stares at his phone, wishing—no, needing to be doing something other than standing here so bloody uselessly while Rose is God-knows-where. Impatient, he clicks his phone to connect to a different number—one he knows by heart.
It rings twice before a voice—a voice he knows well, but not her voice—picks up.
"Prentice B&B ... how may I help you?"
John closes his eyes and sighs in relief. He thunks the back of his head against the rough brick of the building. It stings, but he barely notices.
"Wilf, it's me… is Rose there? I-I can't find her. I came by her flat and—"
He hears Wilf sigh into the phone, like he's exhaling the weight of the world on his shoulders through the line. John presses his eyes closed again as guilt floods over him. Shit. He and Rose have been worried about Wilf for days if not weeks now, and what's the first thing John does given the opportunity? Calls him up first thing—causing the older man stress when that had been one of the main things he and Rose had both wanted to avoid.
"She's not here right now."
"Do—do you know where she is? Because Tricia—"
"She's teaching a lesson now, I believe."
"Here? London I mean?" he hadn't even thought about the ice arena—perhaps she could be there.
"No… here. Weardale."
John's eyes snap open in surprise.
"But…"
Wilf sighs again into the phone, and from the sheer defeat in his voice John can imagine all too well his friend's slumped posture.
"She left school. Left the flat. Packed up everything in storage she said, and took the train back up here Monday night."
John feels his heart sink down to his knees. She'd left? After all that she'd been through to come to school—come to London? And without saying anything to him—not a word? He'd thought—he'd hoped—that they were repairing their relationship. Building something new and better, even … his heart races trying to make sense of it.
And even if something went wrong with Tricia, why didn't she call him? He would have gladly let her stay at his flat if she were in need of a place.
"But she just came down here Monday…" he splutters.
"I know…" Wilf says sadly.
John is suddenly struck with an even more horrible thought.
"Is it because—well… are you alright?"
Wilf sighs, and John can hear the older man's impatience through the phone, clear as day. "We've been through this John, I'm fine."
"I'm coming up," John says, the words leaving his mouth before he's even had a chance to think about what he's saying. But the words feel right, they feel like they fit, and as soon as he says them he knows it's exactly what he needs to do for Rose.
"John, you don't need to — and don't you have classes this week?"
John shakes his head as he stalks to his car, heedless of the fact the older man can't see him on the other end of the phone.
"It doesn't matter. Rose is more important."
Wilf sighs. "I know, John." His words are soft and gentle, but there's a heaviness, an understanding in Wilf's tone that makes John's step falter.
"I—I have to. I have to see her. I have to know she's OK, why she left — she didn't tell me, Wilf, and I don't know if she left 'cause I'm—"
"John — I promise she didn't leave because of you. It's her story to tell but … I do think she could use a shoulder right now."
John nods, eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. Yeah … okay. I'll be there in a few hours. Erm … can I have my usual room?"
Wilf laughs. "John, it's your room. You know you never need to ask."
—
The drive up to Weardale feels endless, and with every kilometer the thoughts spin inside John's head. Rose never texts him back, and he supposes she's still in her lessons … but their recent estrangement looms large in his mind. What if John's presence wouldn't be welcome? What if Rose had changed her mind about their friendship?
No. He shakes his head. She wouldn't do that … she would tell him. Of course she would.
Another thought hits him — perhaps this has to do with Jimmy? He hadn't thought to ask Wilf if Jimmy had accompanied Rose back up to Weardale or not — perhaps that's why Rose hadn't mentioned anything about the trip.
When John finally pulls into the B&B parking lot, it's well past dark. He can't see if Rose is back from her lessons yet — normally on a weekday evening she would be, but there is nothing normal at all about today. He nearly slips on the slush getting out of his car — he'll have to shovel tomorrow to make the place ready for any guests over the weekend.
Heedless of small patches of snow and slush seeping through his trainers, he bounds across the parking lot and up the stairs, opening the door to the B&B in one fluid movement.
Rose is sitting alone at the table, staring down into a cup clutched between her hands. She blinks up at him and offers a tired smile.
Ah. Not surprised, then. Wilf must have alerted her that John was on his way, although the older man is nowhere to be seen, both the kitchen and living room dark.
Hesitating only long enough to reassure himself she seems pleased by his presence and not put out, John makes his way over to her, kneeling beside her chair and gently pulling Rose into his arms. He lets out a relieved sigh as she relaxes into his embrace, her head fitting into his collarbone like a missing puzzle piece. John lets out a deep breath, and rests his cheek against her hair.
"John…"
"What happened? Tricia said—"
Rose gives a bitter chuckle. "Yeah I can imagine what she said."
He sighs, letting his head loll forward, pressing it even more closely into Rose's own, holding her just a little tighter.
After a moment she continues. "I'm sorry. I… I should have called you. I meant to, I just—I just needed to get away from there."
Thoughts swirl in his head—of course she would have had somewhere to go, didn't she know that? She could have called him, come to him… stayed with him, if she wanted to. He presses his lips together, not wanting to push the point.
"And especially with Gramps feeling poor. I don't believe him, John, he's so stubborn. I know he doesn't want to say anything but—"
And he wants her to continue, of course he does—and he certainly wants to hear about Wilf—but he knows her well enough to know that she's steering the topic away from herself and he needs to know what happened.
"What happened, Rose—with you and with Wilf?"
There's a pause, and she sucks in a long, tired breath.
"Came home Monday night like I'd planned, ya know?" she says, her voice flat and dull. "They knew I'd be home then too."
He doesn't even need to ask who they are—Tricia and Jimmy, clearly.
"I found them… in Tricia's bed."
His eyes widen and he almost — almost — pulls away to look at her. His shock at the thought that anyone could possibly cheat on someone as beautiful and giving and wonderful as Rose is balanced only by the confirmation that if anyone could be such a complete arse, it would be Jimmy Bloody Stone.
In that moment, he hates Jimmy more than he ever has—not just because he hurt Rose—but because Rose had cared enough about the stupid tosser to let him hurt her in the first place.
Rose tucks her head even closer into John's shoulder, nearly burrowing into him. "But that wasn't even the worst of it, you know?" she says, her voice faltering at the end of the sentence.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, closing his eyes again and putting as much emotion into the words as he can. He hates that she's so clearly hurting—god of course he hates that, it's not even a question—but he can't hate the fact that she and Jimmy are over. He tries not to let himself think about how truly sorry he really isn't about it… she needs him right now—properly needs him—and he'll do that for her. Even if it means listening to her hurt over another man.
"Told Tricia I was moving out, she could keep her stupid room—and Jimmy was yelling at me about it. That I couldn't… couldn't just leave Tricia like that. He said Tricia couldn't afford the flat on her own and that I'd promised." She gives a half-laugh then. "Well he made me some promises too, ya know? And look where those ended up."
She cuts herself off then, ending the flood of words abruptly as if she'd said too much. Her chest heaves, her breaths ragged and angry, and he rocks her gently in his arms for a silent minute as she calms down into slower breaths.
Then he said —"
Rose cuts herself off, shaking her head.
"What did he say?" John prompts gently, after a moment.
"He said… some things about you and me. About… us. Our relationship."
John thinks back to Jimmy's constant frostiness, to Tricia's snideness, to Bev's sudden coldness, and squeezes his eyes shut once more.
"He doesn't know you at all, then… you'd never do that to him," he murmurs.
Her only response is a teary sniff and a slight shake of her head that John would have missed if he hadn't been holding her so closely. He sways with her in his arms for another moment before Rose continues.
"I packed up that night. Most of my stuff is in the basement, the super let me keep it there… but it wasn't until I got home that I realized—" her voice trails off again, a pure sob this time, and he shushes her, rocking her gently from side to side, rubbing soothing circles on her back and ignoring the pain in his knees as he stays kneeled on the hardwood floor.
"My chequebook was gone."
"What?" John asks, pausing in his ministrations. His own voice is unrecognizable to his ears and a chill as cold as ice slinks through his veins.
"He withdrew 800 pounds… I-I saw a copy of the cheque online. He forged my name, John—I recognize his signature. The note said it was for two months' rent. Like I should be paying for Tricia and him to be shagging behind my back like that."
"He … he took your money?" Eight hundred pounds is a lot - a lot for John, who works full time, let alone a lot for Rose, who only makes part-time wages.
"Yeah," Rose finishes in a whisper. She gives another watery sniff. "Just about cleaned me out."
John feels a rage boil up within him, white hot and seething. He pulls back from Rose, jaw tight, gripping her shoulders and trying to catch her gaze, though her eyes remain downcast on the floor.
"He can't do that to you! I won't let him — I'll —"
"John! I reported it to the bank but they say there's not much to be done. It's his word against mine, and the signatures look really close. They said I should have kept a closer eye on my chequebook — I just never thought I'd have to worry about trusting him around it. That's the worst part — I've known him my whole life, I never thought he'd do anything like that. I feel so stupid."
John embraces her again, stroking her hair as if the action could soothe away all the hurt he knows she must be feeling.
"You're not stupid, Rose — you're loving, and trusting, and he is a complete bastard. This isn't your fault."
She huffs out a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "It'll be OK," she says. "The patent check will cover it. It'll be like Jimmy didn't take anything at all, yeah?"
"But — but that money was supposed to be for your savings, for school —"
Rose exhales a slow breath and shrugs. She shakes her head and relaxes into John's arms for a moment more before pulling back.
"Doesn't matter. But … How about you? Where's your bags?"
John huffs a laugh, running a hand through his hair. His cheeks color as embarrassment floods his face. "I … er … didn't bring them. Came here straight from work as soon as … well, as soon as I found out you were here."
Rose gives him another watery, apologetic half-smile. "I should have called you — I'm really sorry —"
"Don't be. I would have come up regardless," he says. I'd do anything for you stays unspoken.
"I know, John," she says, burrowing back into his arms, as if she'd heard his thoughts. "I know."
