Inglorious (7 page)

‘No need,’ said Rosa, her mouth full of toast.

‘Now, Rosa,’ said Jess. ‘I mean it. Have a holiday. Take a break. Go on, go and see Will and Judy. You said they invited you the other week. Go for some brisk walks, get some country air. I’ll lend you some money, if you need it’ – and Rosa said, ‘No thanks’ – and Jess made a pishing noise as if to say that they would argue about this later. ‘So why not go off for a while and then we’ll see if you don’t come back full of gusto. Give them a call later.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Rosa. ‘Quite enough gusto. Thanks for the suggestion.’

‘Why not consider it at least. It’s easy to get trapped in a way of thinking about things. You’d find it’d give you some distance. Look, I’ll square it.’

Rosa was about to say
no thanks
, but then she realised she wasn’t sure if Jess meant her holiday or her brunch. The holiday she could turn down with dignity, but she was hoping Jess might expense brunch. Playing for time, she said, ‘Jess, you’ve been really saintly. As soon as I regain my poise’ – at this Jess kept a straight face and said nothing – ‘I will definitely take your advice. But for the moment, I don’t want to leave the city when everything is so indeterminate. I have to get a job. I can’t just borrow money from you.’

Jess greased her lips with spittle. She said, ‘As long as you know the offer stands. The other thing is, well, I think it might be time for you to move on.’

‘Move on from what?’ said Rosa, with a heightened sense of foreboding. There was a pregnant pause while Jess seized her coffee and drank it down. When she had finished she said, quite calmly, ‘From my flat.’

‘You want me to move out?’

‘In short, yes.’

That was a blow, though far from surprising. Really, Rosa agreed. She was an imposition. However penitent she was, she was still there in Jess’s flat all day, scattering books and scraps of paper across her stripped pine floorboards, violating the sanctity of the bathroom, leaving stains on the coffee cups. She was intrusive and the offer had originally only been for a few weeks. Besides, Jess and Neil were settling down. They wanted to start a family, Jess was explaining. ‘At thirty-four,’ she said, ‘we think it’s high time. We just want a bit more space. You know, so we can sort things out and really get on to the next stage.’

The logic was irrefutable. The next stage was beckoning and who was Rosa to stand in the way? Jess was eager for her next
part, ready and willing to play it. The argument was done and dusted by the time Jess had unfurled a few reasonable sentences. It was a pedestrian moment but it left Rosa with the awkward question of where she would go. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘I understand.’ She squinted at the table. ‘I can go as soon as you want.’

‘No no, just as soon as you can,’ said Jess, suggesting that it would be physically impossible for Rosa to go as soon as she wanted. ‘I don’t want to sling you out completely. Let’s just work towards you going as soon as possible. Think about it today and tell me how soon you think that will be, and then I’ll make plans around that.’

That was pretty brutal, and Rosa thought about launching a protest.
Jess, if I may beg you?! I understand, you have been
generous, toweringly generous, far more than you needed to be.
In honesty, we were never close friends, you and I. Cordial with
each other, part of a bonded group, but there was no particular
tie between us. Which makes your patience still more commendable.
But perhaps you are being hasty? After all, I’ve been
here only two months and in that time I have made good
progress. I have read some of Euripides, a bit of Seneca, a few
poems by Catullus, a little (though tentatively and in some confusion)
of Plotinus, and, in my leisure hours, some
Wordsworth, a lot of Blake, a number of sonnets by Donne. I
have really cracked on with ancient philosophy. While doing
this, I have managed nonetheless to pay rent every month. I
understand, you gave me a good rate on the room, minimal
compared to the market rate, I can hardly complain.
Nonetheless, Sharkbreath will tell you, that money was sucked
out of my account each month. Eventually it was sucked from
my debt. I have not been tidy, I know, but I have never been late
with a payment!
And she thought of the hours she had spent pacing the streets, or sitting in cinemas and bars, trying to avoid going back to Jess’s flat, giving her evenings on her own and evenings with Neil and disappearing when Jess had guests over – as if she was merely a sponging interloper, the recipient of charity. Still it was hard to construct a case. There was no
way she could justify herself. Instead she said ‘Of course’ in a weak voice. ‘Thanks so much for letting me stay for so long. I know it hasn’t been ideal for you.’ She sipped her coffee and thought,
Now what will you do?
There was a pause, while Rosa considered the question and Jess looked eagerly for the waiter.

‘I still think you should just get away,’ said Jess. ‘I’m really happy to lend you the money. Let me know. And if I can help you in any other way.’

‘Oh no, that’s fine. You’ve really helped already,’ said Rosa. ‘It’s not your fault at all. I’m sorry if I’ve been inconsiderate.’

Jess shook her head, impatiently.

‘In truth, Jess,’ said Rosa, ‘these months have been a trifle hard.’ A trifle trying, she thought, these last few months. ‘I feel – well, frankly, I feel as if I am presiding over a small tranche of chaos, my own, but completely beyond my control. It’s a sort of self-consciousness I feel. I’m watching the descent. Like a novice skier, I am flying down the slope, without a sense of direction.’ Jess looked unimpressed.
The wind is whipping at my ears. Someone! Slow me down!
The wind is really chasing
me along. I can see a few faces, a few spectators, but they can’t
stop me. It’s a following wind, following me along, gusting me
into what can only be a crevasse. A great gaping chasm. I don’t
want to plunge in, I want to turn the skis around, or at least fall
to the side into an accommodating snowdrift, but the snow is
too pacey and slithery and I’m gathering speed, hurtling faster
and faster and now I can see the blackness opening up before
me, do you understand? I should be screaming at these people
standing around on the slopes. I should be screaming HELP
ME! SAVE ME! But I’m worried they might have other things
to do, better things to do, so I’m skiing along, smiling at them,
trying to look like I know what I’m doing. It’s trenchant, the
darkness. Black and compelling. Here we are, faster and faster
and here’s the hole! Here’s the damn dark hole! Ahead! Ahead!

Jess asked for the bill. When it came she said, ‘I’ll get it’, and slapped her credit card on the table. Rosa let her pay.

Later she and Jess went their separate ways: Jess to the tube with a spring of plain relief in her step and Rosa back to the flat, her own personal sword of Damocles dangling above. At the flat, she checked the post and wrote a few petitions, attempts to placate the fates. She wrote a letter to the Flower Shop, applying for a job tying bows round bouquets.
Dear Sir
or Madam, I would be delighted to be considered for this position.
As a child, I was quite good at playing the piano and the
violin. I have always enjoyed using my fingers. Really, though
my training was in journalism I have long felt that flowers
were my true metier
. She could imagine herself there, tying up a bouquet, one hand to her temple, the other struggling with a piece of ribbon. ‘Fancy a batch of lilies, sir, quite your nicest funeral flower?’ ‘There’s Rosemary, that’s for remembrance. And there are pansies, that’s for thoughts. There’s rue for you. There’s a daisy. Thanks so much. Come again soon. For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.’ She wrote,

She had wandered around with her mouth open. She had often imagined going to Egypt, sitting at the edge of the pyramids watching the sun set across the sands, with the age-blasted head of the Sphinx above her.
I would be so honoured to help
you with such a fascinating project. Yours ever, Rosa Lane
.

She tore that out. ‘Impractical,’ she said aloud. She was still racking her brains.

She took the paper and circled jobs. She smiled as she went. Here she was, rushing towards a blank wall with little in her pockets, and there were thousands of opportunities out there, marvellous jobs, well paid and with associated perks, company cars and the rest, presenting the perfect prospect of fulfilment. She only had to tick the boxes, marshal herself.

Wanted, she read. European Sales and Marketing manager.
London-based Design and Product Distribution company
seeks an experienced Sales and Marketing manager for
Europe.

Can you focus on the detail while keeping sight of the big
picture?
No, thought Rosa. No, she wasn’t sure she could.

Leading London-based media measurement agency seeks go-getting grads with excellent writing and analytical skills.

She shook her head.
Communications Coordinator,
she read.
Excellent opportunity!
Depending on how you look at it.
Marketing office administrator. This could be the job for you!
Do you want to be part of the fastest growing Communications
agency in the UK?

No, thought Rosa. No, she didn’t.
Wanted, a secretary for a
busy London company. She or he will be stylish and efficient,
ready for the thrust and parry of office life, and great at dealing
with people. Starting salary of
– but Rosa had flicked over the page.
Do you long for opportunities to travel? If so, this
job is for you! Personal assistant to head of company, always
on the move, needs efficient person to manage his meetings
and schedules. Degree preferred. Apply to
…

Do you long for the peace that passes understanding.
Apply to
… – but she couldn’t find an advert that said that. Instead, she began scribbling words.
Wanted Customer
Manager for bright bubbly company in Vauxhall. Wanted
Director of communications for a small dynamic company in
Angel. Wanted spawn of Satan for a saucy company in
Stockwell. Wanted brethren of Beelzebub for a blazing bubbling
cauldron in Bow.

Her lists were creative acts in themselves. Initially she had written with the bold idea that she would actually achieve the things set out on them, but after a few days she realised that wasn’t going to happen. They represented what was required of her, with a few extras thrown in that were plain unlikely. But she couldn’t get through the entries, unlikely or otherwise. It was pure catharsis, writing them out.

She drank her tea. She took a slice of bread and put it in the toaster. ‘But come now,’ she said to herself, standing with the lemon walls around her staring at the kettle and thinking she might pilfer some more tea. Really, she was reminding herself, things weren’t that bad! If she could just get the furniture sold then she would feel much better. If Liam would only sell it, she would have money for a month or two. But he was clinging onto it, the hankering hand-me-down swine. Why he wanted to guard the shiny black sofa and the stained dining table, she didn’t know. A month or two seemed like a long time, the way things were. It would tide her over. Though to what? And where would it wash her up? She wasn’t taking any chances. At 4 p.m., she would go and see Mrs Brazier about the job. A few weeks ago, she had written a little advert and walked around putting it up in shops.
Intelligent
– in theory –
and
qualified. Can teach English and History to children up to the
age of twelve. Also the piano up to grade five. Flexible hours.
Good references on request.
No one had answered for weeks, and the advert started to droop and fade and generally look like a symbol of her inner blah, until Mrs Brazier rang her the other day.