Joanna Kavenna - Inglorious

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,

Dear Mr Pennington, Thanks for your time the other day. Just to emphasise, I really am very interested in the culture of Ancient Egypt. I know we didn’t get on so well, but I’m never at my best under pressure. And you were a funny old man, not my kind of person at all. But Ancient Egypt — it’s been a fascination of mine ever since I saw the sarcophagi at the British Museum as a child. We went on a school trip, all the way from Bristol. We were eleven or twelve. The tube train stopped in a tunnel and we all screamed. Then we saw the gold cases with their inscriptions — I remember wondering if there were still bodies inside.

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 .

Dear Mr Sharkbreath, Thank you for your letter dated whenever of whenever threatening to send bailiffs round to my address if I don’t pay the interest on the loan you gave me in August. You are of course welcome to drop round, but Jess might be angry. Jess owns the flat I live in, and all the furniture. I am afraid that in recent months I have given most of my things away, or sold them. There are a few things I could offer you: one smart suit in cream (more like oyster, really), a pair of jeans and a jumper, two shirts, my small collection of undergarments, four pairs of socks, a very warm grey coat, and a couple of second-hand books. If you feel any of this would help then do come and get it. Yours ever, Rosa Lane.

Dear Viracocha, Buddha, Osiris, Isis, Zeus, Allah, Jehovah, Shiva, Humbaba, Yabalon and the rest,

What is it that you want me to do? Just what is it? Yours expectantly, Rosa.

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.