12. House of Chaos

HOUSE OF CHAOS

R osie stood in her kitchen, surveying the chaos that had overtaken her once-peaceful home. Dishes were piled high in the sink, mismatched shoes littered the floor, and the dining table had disappeared under a mountain of magazines, makeup, and what appeared to be half of Mary's wardrobe. Her daughter had only come round to collect Elvis, but seemed to have brought most of the contacts of her house with her.

Upstairs she could hear Maria pottering around, tidying up.

"How on earth did I end up running a halfway house for the displaced?" she muttered to herself, reaching for the kettle. If ever there was a time for a strong cup of tea, this was it.

Just as the kettle began to whistle, a crash from upstairs made Rosie wince.

"Everything's fine!" a voice called out, not quite masking the note of panic. "Just a small...accident!"

"Be careful, Mary," shouted Rosie.

"I'm here, don't worry," shouted Maria.

Rosie closed her eyes, counted to ten, and poured her tea. It had been three days since Maria had shown up on her doorstep, suitcase in hand, mascara streaking her cheeks.

"Maria? Goodness, what's happened?" Rosie had asked, alarmed by her friend's red-rimmed eyes and trembling chin.

Maria opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Without a word, Rosie pulled her into a tight embrace, ushering her inside and kicking the door shut behind them.

"There, there," Rosie soothed, patting Maria's back as she continued to shake with silent sobs. "Let's get you settled, and then you can tell me all about it. How does a nice cuppa sound?"

Maria nodded weakly against Rosie's shoulder, allowing herself to be led into the cosy living room. Rosie deposited her gently on the sofa, tucking a soft throw around her shoulders before bustling off to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

When she returned a few minutes later, armed with a tray of tea and biscuits, Maria had managed to compose herself somewhat. Her eyes were still puffy, and her usually immaculate hair was a mess, but she'd stopped crying at least.

"Now then," Rosie said gently, pressing a warm mug into Maria's hands. "What's all this about? Has something happened with David?"

At the mention of her husband's name, Maria's face crumpled again. "Oh, Rosie," she whispered, her voice raw with pain. "He's... he's been having an affair."

Rosie felt her heart drop. "Oh, Maria. I'm so sorry. Are you certain?"

Maria nodded miserably. "You know when we saw them together in the park? David and this... this girl. She can't be more than thirty-five. At first, I thought there must be some explanation. Perhaps she was a colleague or a friend's daughter. But the way he was looking at her..." She trailed off, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks.

Rosie reached out and squeezed Maria's hand. "What happened then? Did you confront him?"

"I couldn't bear to," Maria admitted. "I went home and waited for him, pretending everything was normal. But he must have sensed something was off because he kept asking if I was alright. And then... and then he just blurted it out."

She took a shaky breath, staring down into her tea as if it held the answers to the universe. "He said he was sorry, that he never meant for it to happen. And then he told me... oh, Rosie, it wasn't just this one. There have been others."

Rosie felt a flare of anger towards David. How dare he hurt Maria like this? Sweet, kind Maria who colour-coded her spice rack and always remembered everyone's birthdays.

"Oh, my dear," Rosie murmured, pulling Maria into another hug. "I can't imagine how you must be feeling."

Maria clung to her, her words muffled against Rosie's shoulder. "I don't know how to go on, Rosie. I love him so much. We've been together for thirty years. How could he throw all that away?"

As Maria's sobs subside, she pulled back, wiping her eyes with a tissue. "You should have been there at our twenty-fifth anniversary party," she said, a wistful smile flickering across her face. "He surprised me with a second honeymoon. Two weeks in Italy, just like when we were first married. It was magical, Rosie. We walked hand in hand through the streets of Rome, ate gelato by the Trevi Fountain, danced under the stars in Venice..." Her voice cracked. "How could he do this to us? It was all a lie. It was a horrible, mean lie."

"Perhaps it wasn't all a lie," Rosie said gently. "The good times you shared, the love you felt – that was real, Maria. David's actions now don't negate all those years of happiness."

Maria shook her head, her expression hardening. "But how can I trust any of it now? How do I know he wasn't thinking of someone else every time he told me he loved me?"

Rosie sighed, wishing she had the right words to ease her friend's pain. "I don't have all the answers. But I do know that you're stronger than you think. You'll get through this, one day at a time. And you won't have to do it alone."

Maria looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Rosie said, straightening up with determination, "for starters, you're staying here tonight. No arguments. I won't have you going back to that house, not when the wounds are so fresh."

"Oh, Rosie, I couldn't possibly impose?—"

"Nonsense," Rosie cut her off firmly. "What are friends for if not for providing a shoulder to cry on and a spare room in times of crisis? Besides," she added with a wry smile, "we can stay up late, eat too much ice cream, and plot our revenge on all the men who've ever wronged us."

That startled a watery chuckle out of Maria. "I'm not sure I'm up for revenge plotting just yet."

"Fair enough," Rosie conceded. "How about we start with some mindless telly and a large glass of wine instead? I think I've got a bottle of that Rioja you like squirrelled away somewhere."

As Rosie bustled about, fetching wine and fluffing pillows, she kept a watchful eye on Maria. Her friend still looked shell-shocked and devastated, but there was a tiny spark of something in her eyes now. Determination, perhaps. Or the first flickering of hope.

Later that evening, as they sat side by side on the sofa, wine glasses in hand and some ridiculous reality show playing in the background, Maria turned to Rosie.

"Thank you," she said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you. Without all of you," she added, no doubt thinking of Emma, Lisa, and the others.

Rosie smiled, reaching out to squeeze Maria's hand. "That's what the Sensational Sixties Squad is for, love. We've weathered our fair share of storms, you and I. We'll weather this one too."

Maria nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "I suppose we will. Though I'm not feeling particularly sensational at the moment."

"Give it time," Rosie assured her. "Before you know it, you'll be out there painting the town red with the rest of us. But for now, it's okay to not be okay. You take all the time you need to grieve and heal. We'll be right here beside you every step of the way."

As Maria leaned her head on Rosie's shoulder, both women fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. Rosie's mind wandered to her own failed marriage, to the pain and betrayal she'd felt when Derek left. She'd never imagined she'd find happiness again, let alone the kind of deep, abiding friendship she now shared.

Life had a funny way of surprising you. Just when you thought it was all over, that there were no more adventures to be had, it threw you a curveball. Sometimes those curveballs hurt like hell, but they could also lead you to unexpected joys.

She glanced down at Maria, who had dozed off, her face finally peaceful in sleep.

With a contented sigh, Rosie settled back into the sofa, letting the gentle drone of the television wash over her. Tomorrow would bring its own trials, but for now, this was enough – this quiet moment of friendship, of shared pain and shared strength. In the morning, they would rally the troops, plan their next move. But tonight, they would simply be: two friends, supporting each other through the storms of life, one cup of tea and one glass of wine at a time.