According to YES (12 page)

Everything about this room tells you not to mess with anyone in it. Rosie looks at the boys who are sitting bolt upright with their hands in their laps, eyes as wide as saucepan lids, taking it all in like sonic radar.

Above them hang two giant upturned-dish-like opaque glass chandeliers. In the lowest part of the hanging dish, but still very high up, Rosie notices lots of elastic bands. How did they
get there? Rosie looks around the room at all the official people; policemen and guards in blue shirts and badges, clerks in drab suits, sitting at computers, various random self-important people in grey flicking through box-files, assistants and their assistants. Who, out of all these, chooses to wait until the room is empty to have an elastic-band-pinging competition? Perhaps that's the kind of levity which makes working here more bearable?

A tall bullet-headed man with a deep voice announces that ‘Court is back in session.' There is a bit of fussing around the door at the rear of the court and eventually, two court marshalls escort a young black man in. He is in his own baggy clothes and attempts to swagger with attitude. He is small in comparison to the large guards either side of him. Mr Purple Shirt goes to be at his side in front of the judge, who immediately instructs him firmly to ‘Take your hands out of your pockets please, Mr West.' Mr West does as he is told, and in an instant, all swagger is vanquished. Mr West, who would love everyone to believe he is a powerful and scary gangsta man, is in fact a naughty boy who can't fake it in front of the judge before him, and even worse, his momma behind.

The prosecutor reads out the accusation. It would appear that his warrant relates to a firearm found in his possession, which he has stolen.

His mother's soft gasps can be heard as she cries, ‘No, Keiron, not a gun. Not you. With a gun, Keiron? You coulda hurt y'sself,
son.' The rest of the family try to mollify the distraught Mom, who can see nothing but the fact that her baby boy has put himself in harm's way.

The attorney attempts to mitigate the accusation, with snatches of background information about the boy, which he hopes will help his defence. ‘He works at a coffee shop … eighteen years old … no previous criminal record … in with the wrong crowd … his father just passed away last month …' As he references each point about Keiron West, the boy hangs his head further, unable to look anyone in the eye.

The judge is matter of fact, ‘I am going to adjourn, the court date is pending, and the bail is set at three thousand dollars. Thank you.'

Keiron West looks back over his shoulder at his mother as he is led off by the marshals, and with tear-filled eyes he mouths ‘I'm sorry.' To which his mother mouths ‘I love you,' which she so clearly does.

Rosie, Red and Three have watched the whole interaction between them. In such a public place, they have been privy to an intensely private moment. Three has tears on his face, and his brother comforts him, ‘It's OK dude, he's gonna be OK', to which Three replies, ‘It's not him, it's the mom I feel sorry for. She's so … disappointed.'

All of them shuffle out of the seats and out of the courtroom, and home.

Job done.

Glenn sits alone in her usual place at the table in the dining room for supper. The places are set but the people are not here, and she appears to be the Queen of no kingdom. She is on the verge of letting her feelings be known, when she hears the sound of sneakers running up the corridor outside. She sits still and listens out. A door opens. And shuts. More footsteps pass the dining room. Glenn is growing increasingly uneasy.

Suddenly Thomas pokes his head around the door, ‘Barbeque on the roof. My surprise.'

Glenn smiles a weak smile. ‘Oh, Tommy, I'm just not that hungry.'

‘Please try, Glenn. C'mon, it'll be fun …?' Thomas winks at her and leaves.

She stares at her table setting. She hears laughter in the distance … exactly what she didn't need while she's hunkered down into a nicely familiar irritable mood. She doesn't want
to have to adjust herself in any way. Especially not if it involves ‘fun'. She pauses, takes a deep breath, slowly stands up, and smoothes herself down.

When Glenn opens the door to the roof, she sees the garden for the first time. It's half finished, but it's already pretty impressive. Rosie has slung up more fairy lights, and strings of multi-coloured bulbs around the seating area, and in the dwindling light, it's very cheerful.

There is a barbeque well underway and Thomas is in charge, with Iva flitting around as his sous chef, ably assisted by waiters Red and Three. Thomas's long fingers are covered with gooey red barbeque sauce from all the meat he's presiding over. Teddy bites into some succulent ribs and drips sauce down his chin and on to his t-shirt. Rosie attempts to wipe it off with a paper napkin and only succeeds in making even more mess. She herself has a red blob of ketchup on her cheek which he in turn tries to remove, with both of them sniggering.

Glenn clocks that all these people are comfortable in each other's company and she wonders how they can have gotten to know each other so well in such a short time. She isn't this relaxed with folk she has known for fifty years.

Red and Three are having a corn-on-the-cob nibbling competition, and have the butteryest faces in Butterville, USA. They are laughing loudly, until they catch sight of Glenn watching them. They still sting from the earlier telling-off, so they quieten down. Rosie notices the awkwardness for both
the boys and for Glenn, whose first time it is on the roof after all, seeing the new garden. She quickly spears a frankfurter with the barbeque fork, places it in the bun, and offers it to Glenn. ‘Sausage for you, Mrs W. B. '

Glenn stares at the greasy meat being proffered, and at Rosie. They are both equally repulsive to her, so she shakes her head and she glides off to where Kemble is sitting, scoffing some ribs. Glenn first wipes the surface of the garden chair with her handkerchief, then sits herself down.

Kemble stops eating with his fingers and immediately starts to use his knife and fork.

Glenn surveys the scene, and somewhere deep inside her grudging self there is the whisper of a wish that she would love to take part, but she can't possibly do that, because she lives inside the invisible fence of her deep-rooted anxiety. She has come to respect its boundaries and dutifully remains within, held tight by its familiar restraint. She won't be shifting anytime soon, thank you, and she certainly won't be giving over any time to contemplating when exactly the moment was that her life became terrifying.

Red and Three approach her.

‘Granma,' Three says, ‘I want you to have this.' He reaches into his pocket, and brings out a complicated-looking piece of plastic. He hands it to her gingerly.

She takes it reluctantly, ‘What is this?'

‘It's the pen,' he explains, ‘it's a Transformer pen. No-one
stole it, it was given as a gift by Sammy Klein. He got a Transformer watch back for it, but he's forgotten to tell that bit. So here's his pen, you can give it to Principal Taylor. We don't want it anymore anyway.'

‘I see. Thank you, Thomas, I respect your honesty for owning up and taking the correct responsibility.' And with this, she shakes his hand formally, as if she has just done business with a mini insurance man.

As the boys retreat, Red pats Three on the back and whispers to him, ‘Thanks bro, I owe you, OK?'

‘No prob,' replies the heroic little chap, and they return to the infinitely preferable Rosie, and the barbeque, and their grandfather, and the lovely fragrant sweet fried onions.

Thomas senior has delegated meat duty to Teddy, and he directs the rookie from the sidelines as he sits in his apron and plucks away at his guitar, still no better at ‘Johnny B Goode' but loving the sound of the strings in the open air. Rosie claps along with Thomas's faltering attempts, which only serves to put him under further pressure and so he plays even worse, which renders him helpless with laughter. As it does her.

Glenn sees this shared delight, and although she can't possibly know the truthful depth of it, it bothers her. Her face sets in its old, cold mask. Kemble clocks his mother's attitude and to court her approval, snorts his derision at the happy scene. For a brief moment, the tribes are clearly marked, which gives
Glenn and Kemble a fleeting sense of shared loyalty in their grumpy clan. Then Teddy starts to strut his stuff across the roof to Thomas's chords, throwing down some of his best Mick Jagger moves.

Kemble watches his son and despite himself, he laughs. One wilting look from Glenn wipes that smile off his face in the next heartbeat. Glenn will not abide any betrayal, and boy, does Kemble know it.

‘Granpop,' pipes up Red, happy and relieved now that the pen debacle is over, ‘we do this thing with Rosie where we listen to noises or thinkings in our heads which make words pop up. Wanna try?'

‘OK,' says Thomas, ‘but you go first, so's I can see how to do it.'

Red – ‘Umm, OK, umm, …'

Three jumps in – ‘Stones, sky, heart …'

Red – ‘Yeah, yeah, hot-dogs, happy,' then he whispers, ‘Hermione.'

Teddy – ‘Girls, music, girls …'

Rosie – ‘Love love love. Sorry, bit gooey, but that's what I see and feel up here.'

Thomas – ‘Yes, and apparently, all you need is love.'

Rosie – ‘Well, yes, that and cake. And cotton bedlinen. And a head massage. So all you really need is love, cake, cotton and a head massage.'

Thomas – ‘Right.'

Rosie – ‘And a pony. Just one tiny pony, then that's it …'

Three – ‘Stop being so greedy, Rosie! C'mon Grandad, what are yours, really?'

Thomas – ‘Shadows. Light. Future. Grandsons.'

Teddy – ‘Go granpop! Awesome.'

Kemble has heard all this, and he notes that Thomas skips a generation, straight to ‘grandson', when he is summoning his key words. No surprise. What would his own words about himself be, he wonders? Perhaps ‘Idiot. Moron. Failure. Wuss.' Yeah, that's about right.

Glenn sips her glass of water and looks out over Manhattan to distract herself from thinking of any pertinent words whatsoever. Hopefully, this irritating jollity will be over soon.

Later on, when everyone has gone in, Iva takes a moment whilst she is cleaning up to sit down. She pulls a packet of cigarettes out of her apron pocket, along with a lighter. She puts fire to the tobacco and sits back to suck in a long long drag of the deadly delicious smoke, pauses to let the vapour fill up her lungs, then she slowly releases her smokey breath into the night sky. She finishes off the half-left bottle of beer on the table next to her, which Teddy has forgotten. She sits and she thinks, ‘This family is different recently. It's better in some ways, but Mrs W. B. is on edge, more than usual.'

This woman Rosie … yes, Iva likes her … but there's something … what was it she said to Iva in the kitchen that night? Oh yes.

‘I'm here for the boys …'

Hmmmm.

They are back in room 610. Their room. Thomas and Rosie have found a kind of heaven in the huge bath together. His head is by her feet and vice versa, except he is much longer, so his feet and head are much further out. Rosie is virtually submerged beneath the mountain of bubbles, which are swirling around while she attempts to squeeze a tune out of her clasped hands which fart bubbles upwards. Phhht, phht, phht, phht phht phht,

‘Come on, it's so obvious …' she challenges him.

‘Do I definitely know it?'

‘YES. YOU. DO! Unless you're dead. Which you're not … yet. Honestly, everyone knows it.'

‘Do it again, then.'

She starts at the beginning again, spurting the water, phhht phht phht …

‘Nope. Got no idea,' he puts his hands in the air.

‘Give in?'

‘Yep. Surrender.'

‘You are going to kick yourself and find it hard to hold your head up ever again you'll feel such a fool.'

‘OK, OK, enough with the torture, what was it?'

‘ “God Save the Queen”. HA!'

‘Ah, well, no, that ain't fair, lady, because it's not “God Save the Queen” to me. For any American, that tune is “My Country 'Tis of Thee …” '

‘What?!'

‘Yep,' he sings it to the same tune, “My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.” See?'

‘Oh, that's such a cheat. How come you stole our national anthem? And anyway, you should still have recognized the tune …'

‘I guess I just don't speak bubble … come here …' he reaches out to pull her over to him and as she moves towards him, she rises out of the water, covered in foam.

‘Look at you,' he says, ‘my frothy Venus.'

She scrapes some of the bubbles from her hips and her belly, and shapes them into a beard on his face, then sits back on her haunches to look at him with his white whiskers,

‘Rip Van Winkle. He he he.'

‘Hey! Mind you, I do feel like I've been asleep for years,' he reaches for her hands, ‘and you've woken me up. You're a marvel, Rosie. Truly.'

Rosie kneels astride his lap and clasps his big head in her
hands, pulling his face upwards. She takes her time to really look at him. She is positioned slightly above him, and she likes the fact that she is in control of how, and how long, she can be there. It's so clear that Rosie isn't the kind of woman who needs to assert her power in any kind of overt way ordinarily, but like all women comfortable in their skin, occasionally she enjoys flexing her confidence. How else do you know where the edges of it are? In this oily bath, perched on top of Thomas, Rosie decides to take charge. Thomas senses the shift, and is very happy to comply. He is warm and wet and willing. He can see that her face changes from a tender gaze to something more serious. Her eyes focus on him in an entirely different, carnal way. She starts to press herself down on him and she rocks gently back and forth, never once taking her eyes off his. The honesty and the audacity of her is utterly thrilling, and his jaw sets as he feels the first twitches of arousal. Rosie is tuned in to him, and she perfectly knows how to grind against him for best effect. The slosh of the water making way for their rhythms adds to the sensory whirl, and Rosie starts to make low moans as she feels her own desire well up. She breathes deep and hard, synchronizing with the strokes of her movements. Thomas can tell that although Rosie is looking directly at him, the place she is ascending to is singular. This is the mystery of sex, a curious and complicated dance, where in order to be truly together, it's vital to be selfish. Thomas knows this is her moment to take, to take herself far inside her head, where her real sex
lives. Rubbing and kissing and licking and murmurs have their glorious part to play of course, but the real juice comes from the pit of her, her inmost place, her animal mind. That's where prehistory takes over, and dictates it all.

Thomas slips his hand under the water, underneath her, and deftly finds the nub of her. His other hand steadies his erect penis ready for her to slide down onto. When she does, she tips her head back as if to make her whole body into an even longer channel for him. She closes her eyes and sees colours on the inside of her lids, flashing reds and purples as she gives in to instinct.

Thomas rolls with her heaves and twists, fast and slow, as he watches her fleshy body ripple and writhe above him. She's a human thunderstorm, she's a tornado, unstoppable. His temples are pounding as she gathers him up in her vortex and for a short wonderful while, they flow together, rotating on the same axis, towards a splendid inevitability. He loves how the water holds them, how she is orchestrating it. She arches her body, trembling. The exquisite judder sucks the cum out of helpless him, and for one short shot moment, they are both suspended as they hold their breath and pulsate into the stillness … It's lovely. It's lovely. It's bloody lovely …

THEN.

‘You OK?'

‘Sure,' he pants, ‘you did all the work, toots. I just tried to keep up with the carnival. Old man dancing.'

She sits back on his lap and looks at him, then leans in to kiss his lovely mouth. He hugs her close and they stay like this for a while, listening to each other's heartbeats gradually slowing to normal.

‘Thank you my love,' he whispers, ‘for letting me in to this happiness. It's rare.'

They hold each other very tight, lest one of them might fall back into cold reality. They really don't want that. Just yet.