Rose Unexpected

(this story was one of the first things I ever wrote; 1982)

Rose pushed with all her might. The tiger’s eye of the oak door opened just wide enough for her to slip through before it slammed shut. The hallway within was tall and thin. Dust beams of airless light leaned down from the windows above the door. Rose brushed a curl of blonde hair from her eyes and stared up the staircase into the darkness.

 

Now would be a good time to open the shoebox and find out what lay within, she thought. Her mother had sealed the box tightly with red ribbon and issued a dire warning to deliver the package unopened. But here Rose realised that she was hidden from her mother and the rushing city centre traffic. She could sit on this bottom stair, pluck open the lid and perhaps this whole, strange adventure might begin to make some sense. But as she stood contemplating this wicked idea, she felt eyes watching her from the down the short, black corridor and the silence began to gather in her head like a thunder cloud, ready to burst. She decided not to open the box and hurried up the stairs instead.

 

She was fiercely aware that this was the first time she had come here by herself. In the past, Granddad would take her, stopping at a few pubs along the way. He would take his time and always halt half way up the stairs to let his breath catch up with him, as he put it. She missed those bright, rainy Sundays. On the way home, he would sit on a bench near the bridge in the park and she would toss bread to the ducks while the sun sank behind the cold, high buildings across the road and the sky turned red with blood and the trees black with shadows. But today she was on her own.

 

She felt ghosts breathing on her neck as she climbed further away from the pools of sunlight below. The wallpaper under her hand was yellow and brittle. Greasy spots climbed like spider webs in the corners near the ceiling.

 

She stopped near the top and glanced back down. The sunlight from the street outside made a square patch of gold on the carpet miles below and the distance made her head dizzy. She almost fell backwards before grabbing a stair rod and clambering onto the landing.

 

The hallway was cold, like walking down a well. She wanted her coat. She felt the darkness follow her, looming behind like an avalanche. By the time she got to Mr. McNally’s office, she was rushing and could not bring herself to look behind her.

 

She knocked and a voice called her in. Moist and almost soft, the doorknob slipped from her grasp. She pressed the shoebox to the door with her belly and took the handle with both fists. Groaning with relief, she fell through the door, grabbing the shoebox before it hit the floor.

 

The office within was warm and stuffy, like returning to a duvet in the morning. Paper and books clutched the walls like lichen. The ceiling was stained and grey with an enormous chandelier in the middle, full of diamonds. The wide-open window was white and roared with traffic. Thin clouds slipped into the room like shadows, stinking of garages and gasoline.

 

‘Rose? I didn’t expect you so soon!’ A balding man called to her from behind an enormous desk that was thrown like a dead horse near the far wall. He was round and smooth, like an uncooked bun, with wisps of black hair sticking up.

 

‘Welcome. Do you have something for me?’ His eyes, black pinholes hidden at random in the folds of his face, shone like ink as his leaned over her. His breath, stale and bitter, made her step back. ‘Are you here on business or pleasure?’

 

‘Mr. McNally. My Mammy told me to give you this because my Granddad couldn’t bring it.’ She handed him the shoebox. ‘He’s gone away.’

 

McNally became very grave. ‘Yes, he has. Do you not remember me at your house last Sunday?’

 

‘No. I was sent to bed early, but there were lots of people there. I heard them all night.’ It had been a strange day. Rose had not been allowed into the living room. Early in the morning, her Auntie Angus from Tralee had dressed in her church clothes. After a long Mass, she was brought home. The house was empty and she rattled around in her room, forgotten. Dozens of people came to visit. They filled the house like flotsam in a flooded river, floating between the kitchen and the living room and swirling around in the hallway. Later, she had watched from the landing as a teeming but aimless pool of people gazed through the door into the living room. The house filled with a steady droning mutter, like the way you speak in the back of the church, before Jesus can see you and you have to stop talking altogether. Total strangers would answer the door and allow other strangers into the house. Rose had spotted Jimmy McGiven, the butcher, walking around, but almost did not recognise him. He looked different, dressed in a black suit instead of his usual red, white and blood. Everyone walked around with black pints in their hands. It had been an extraordinary day and Rose had got sleepy very early. That night, she had dreamt of singing, but she knew her mother never allowed it in the house.

 

Mr NcNally had returned to his seat. ‘Yes,’ he said, emptying the contents of the box onto the blotter. ‘Yes, it was quite a send off. Now, what do we have here?’

 

The traffic lights changed on the street below and another cloud of smoke rolled into the room. Rose walked to the window, climbed up onto a stool and slammed the window shut, cutting off the roar and breath of the city. The old man watched in silence as she marched to the door and used the stool to prop it wide open. Fresh air began to circulate into the room.

 

‘Ah. Good girl, Rose. Good thinking.’

 

Rose gripped the edge of the desk and stood on her tiptoes. Several bundles of tissue paper were lying there. She watched his fingers unwrap them. Three rings, two gold and one silver, fell out from the first one. Rose was amazed. It was like watching a magic trick.

 

Mr McNally produced a magnifying glass shaped like a thimble and squeezed it into his eye. Before today, she had never stood this close to McNally. Rose watched his face, fascinated by the folds and tucks. She supposed he looked kind and he had always smiled with Granddad, talking as they did their business. For some reason, she had expected him to ask her questions, but he ignored her completely. Instead, he slid the desk lamp closer and the green glass head joined his to study the jewellery in silence.

 

After a while, he turned to the next package and picked it open. A gold pocket watch toppled out and her eyes grew wide with recognition. ‘That’s Granddad’s watch, ‘ she whispered, amazed. It was the last thing she had expected to see.

 

‘Indeed it is.’ McNally did not look up. His fingers were short and piggy but proved to be surprisingly nimble as he plucked open the case. ‘Well, it used to be his, Rose,’ he said as he idly examined the face. ‘Your Mammy wants me to have it now. He doesn’t need it anymore.’

 

‘But he’ll want it when he comes back.’ She insisted. After a moment, McNally looked at her and smiled with pain. She could see his eye through the glass, white and soft with veins of red.

 

‘Perhaps. But that will not be for a long time, Rose. Now shush.’ He put the watch aside and reached for the last item. Two pea-sized nuggets of yellow tiptoed across the blotter. They looked like teeth.

 

McNally froze. ‘My goodness,’ he whispered, smiling this time in a completely different way. ‘How’d she get her hands on these?’ He leaned closer and rolled the strange objects with his little finger. He laughed and they winked back at him from under the light. Rose did not notice; she was staring at the watch.

 

‘Granddad said I could have his watch. I swear, one day in the park. He was teaching me the time.’

 

‘Shush girl. Do not interrupt.’

 

‘But why do you get to keep it? Why can’t I have it? He said…’ She felt her eyes sting and she remembered how much she missed her Granddad. She felt her tummy flip over to reveal a green underbelly of sick.

 

McNally was rooting in another drawer. ‘Quiet girl. Now I’m going to give your mother a good price for these, but you have to go straight home. Don’t stop at your friends and don’t show anyone the envelope. Do you understand?’

 

‘May I keep the watch, Mr. McNally? There’s been a mistake. My Granddad wanted me to mind it for him until he comes home.’ She felt her voice crack and she felt dry, like a bone in the yard left by the dogs.

 

‘Stop it, girl.’ The sudden sharp edge to his voice made her blink. ‘You can’t have it. Your mother needs the money and it is not your place to interfere.’ He waved a finger at her, getting angry and uncomfortable.

 

She felt her toes curl and she could not think of anything to say. Tears grew and she looked away. McNally shook his head. ‘Family of miscreants.’ He began counting notes out onto the desk.

 

‘Please, Mr. McNally. Granddad will be gone for a long time, Mammy says. Please let me have it.’

 

Rose felt panic rise in her chest, hot and barbed. But she could see that he was ignoring her. His lips moved silently in the shadow above the lamp, still counting the money.

 

An impulse gripped Rose. She felt her body move beneath her as if someone had tied puppet strings to her legs and arms. Leaping up across the table, her feet dangling, she reached across the blotter and grabbed the watch. The chain dripped from her hand and her arm rose as she slid backwards. McNally’s face formed a round silent O as her elbow hit the desk lamp. It joined Rose as she fell back, tilting over the side and smashing like a puddle on the floor.

 

McNally was rising from his chair, exploding, his face red, his eyes bulging out like ripe fruit. With a flock of wild birds hammering in her chest, Rose turned on her heels and raced out the open door and down the hallway. She stopped at the stairs and looked back into the office. It looked like a tiny cage of light. McNally was struggling to get out from behind the desk. The plangent roaring of his voice carried her down the stairs and out into the glorious sunshine.