Sometimes Rose didn’t like Chris. He was very bossy with her. Do this do that, put this on, take that off, sign this, don’t go out, sign that, wear this. Sometimes she wished he would go away. Like now. Bossy little boy. She wanted to take the ankle bracelet off and he wouldn’t let her. She’d have to wait till he left and cut it with scissors. His mother should have set some boundaries when he was younger. She should not have given him everything he wanted. ‘Where’s your mother?’
‘She lives in London, you remember?’
She did remember. Of course she did. What did he think – that she’d lost her mind?
‘You can’t keep running away, Gran. They can’t keep fetching you.’
Ooh, this kind of talk really peeved her. She was a grown-up woman, very grown-up. She would bloody well run away if she wanted to. She didn’t have children to care for any more. She earned her own living. She could run away any time she wanted, and it wouldn’t be running away, it would just be going somewhere. She could go somewhere now, if she chose to, even if she didn’t know why or where to.
Rose was glad when she saw the dull girl walk past her room. ‘Hey! You! Come here. Tell my grandson to go home.’
The girl seemed sad. She walked in, reluctantly. ‘Go home, Chris! You heard the woman.’
‘Right, I will then, Gran. I’ll be back tomorrow.’ He kissed her on the forehead, then kissed the dull girl on the cheek, and left.
Sometimes Rose really couldn’t stand him, you know. He reminded her of a guinea pig. Scratchy and jittery, always wanting human food: gimme, gimme.
Rose opened her bedside cabinet and retrieved a toilet bag. ‘They’ve taken my nail scissors! Jesus Christ, what’s going on here? They can’t just take my things. Have you got some scissors?’ Rose tugged at the contraption on her ankle. ‘I cannot work out the latch on this ugly thing.’ The girl was crying. ‘You’re not allowed to cry. You work here.’
The girl flicked through her drawings, nervous, worried. ‘What was your latest drawing? You were taking it to the police.’
‘Oh I don’t know. Stupid. I’m ashamed of it.’ Rose picked it up and read with a mocking tone:
‘“After intermission, blah, blah, blah.” What is that? My career is over.’
The girl looked at the page and smiled. ‘Nah, you just need to keep working on it.’
‘True indeed! Writing is rewriting. Maybe you’re not so dumb after all.’
‘You thought I was dumb?’
‘More dull than dumb, actually. I thought there was nothing to you.’ The girl was very on edge. Maybe Rose shouldn’t have said that. She always said things she shouldn’t. People didn’t need to know every little thought in her head. But being a famous writer had required spontaneous over-sharing. The books were the thoughts in her head, after all. And the newspaper, magazine and radio interviewers all asked her about the little thoughts in her head. For years, all she did was talk about herself, and the thoughts in her head. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No, you’re right.’ She crossed her arms and scratched at her shoulder. ‘My mum’s moved in next door. I just found out she has a brain tumour.’
Like it or not, then, the girl would be forced into depth. Rose felt compelled to hug her. Right now, she reminded her of Margie, so like Margie. Was it her eyes?
‘I need to go talk to her. I kind of ran off.’
But she wasn’t going. She was sobbing again. Rose took her in her arms and held her until she calmed. ‘Sit here for a few minutes before you go in. Sit down and tell me about your mum. What’s she like?’
‘She hates men and motherhood, a feminist. I was a mistake.’
‘I love men and motherhood and I’m a feminist.’
‘Well she doesn’t love or need either. She brought me up to be the same.’
‘I can understand. I did the same for my girls to a certain extent. It was hard to get a balance. One of my daughters, Elena, doesn’t need them at all – she’s a lesbian, doesn’t hate them, mind; just doesn’t need cock.’
The girl stared.
‘What was I saying? My other daughter, Chris’s mum, hates her husband so much she often wants to murder him and I wouldn’t object if she did. She and her husband move invisible money around for a living. Makes no sense to me, but it means they’re able to buy loads of stuff. All the stuff in the world, yet they never have anything interesting to say.’
The girl laughed. She had a lovely laugh. ‘I’d better go. Mum’s next door, like I said.’
‘Okay. Hey, don’t let this take over.’
‘What?’
‘That she’s dying. Remember that she’s living.’
‘Thanks, Rose. I’ll pop in on you later.’
‘Oh, and, girl!’
‘Yeah?’
‘Can you get me some scissors?’