Retrieval

Rose is watching the television intently, curled into the edge of the sofa and nibbling at the holes in the cuff of her green sweatshirt. She likes the quirky, business-focussed documentaries that are on channel 4 in the mornings. Valerie could never have predicted that about her grand-daughter.

Valerie and Andrew are in their usual corner of the flat, standing behind the desk; Valerie tucked under the ornaments shelf, because she is small enough. Every day she takes down the rounded little owl, brown and orange, that had once belonged to her, and gives it a bit of a wipe with her sleeve, or with the edge of Andrew's leather waistcoat. He knows this daily ritual gives her an edge of secret pleasure.

Although they are related through marriage, they had somehow never met while they were both still alive. Valerie is Rosie's maternal grandmother and it wasn't often that the two sides of the family got together. There was once a holiday, double grandmothers, Rosie and her sister sharing their beds on a farm with goats. But Andrew wasn't close family; being a London uncle, he didn't come. Andrew never had children, something he didn't think about while he was alive, but has now in death become significant. He is not sure why. Maybe because he has followed Rosie for all these years, since she was twelve, maybe because now Rosie spends a great deal of her time talking about how much she wants a family of her own. Perhaps he didn't realise when he should have because he was too busy going to places where children never went, to goldy, shiny, blurry Marbella instead of a farm in Devon where goats wandered up to the windows.

Andrew and Valerie are united in their common desire: to watch over Rosie. They both know, have discussed the trials, that it ends there - they cannot protect her because it is impossible to step into life again. They have tried, many times. For the first year, Valerie was desperate, craving some acknowledgement of her presence from her grand-daughter, especially since Rosie was only seven then. Children that age are supposed to be intuitive. And Valerie heard Rose tell a dozen times that year the story of how she remembered flying down the stairs as a toddler. Rosie could fly, but she could not feel her grandmother's hand flutter across her cheek or squeeze her arm. Valerie even pinched her once, before Andrew came along, tentatively at first, because she knew she could never forgive herself if she caused the child pain. When nothing happened, she pinched again, harder, with some anger, and then broke away, clenched and sobbing. The worst, the very hardest times, were when Rosie, at intervals throughout her life, wished that her grandmother was there. Sometimes Valerie would watch her take down the little owl to hold in her hand until it was smoothly warm, something Rosie had done since she was a child. On several occasions Valerie has sat, white-faced and upright, next to Rosie as she gulped back tears in fear or in loneliness and begged aloud for a sign from her nanny, something to know she was being looked out for, that she wasn't really alone. Valerie has always found it hard to watch her cherished first grand-daughter through a veil of sadness. Incredibly hard, but then, necessary to her, and she doesn't have a choice anyway. She often wonders what will happen to her and Andrew when Rosie passes. Hopes that it won't be the real end - even though this life, or afterlife, is hard, it's always better to be given a second chance. Rosie shouts at one of the women on screen, tells her not to be so much of a twat, and Valerie smiles.

Andrew finds it easier to be slightly detached, thinks Valerie. She's fond of him. She likes him better than Rosie's father. He is funnier, better-tempered, more of a good-timer. Andrew enjoys the meetings Rose has with her father considerably more than Valerie does. These times, boxed in a restaurant or coffee shop, Valerie watches Andrew yearn, is patient through these quietest of times, always gives him the seat next to Mike if there is one. She has always wondered why he ended up with Rosie and not Mike, but intuition tells her not to mention it. Valerie is incredibly sensitive to Andrew about his loss of the brother who was his best friend, but suspects that Andrew has always known: Valerie will never forgive Mike for the way he betrayed Rosie's mum.

Valerie and Andrew spend a great deal of their days together discussing how things were, and how things have come to be. Their talk is mostly focussed on Rosie, because she is the centre of their world, but sometimes they talk about the family, or past holidays, or how they once felt about things that used to matter. They both agree that they are proud of the way Rosie has turned out, how pretty and alive. How she'll become a famous artist, because she's a special one and so talented. They swap stories about her early artistic tendencies, how she made birthday cards from fuzzy felt, pressed flowers and made them into little flower people, made ponchos for all her barbies. There is something perfect about standing in the room with Rosie and singing her praises unheard. Valerie feels it helps Rosie, makes her stronger, that although she cannot hear the words somehow their essence bleeds in through her skin and gives her heart an extra energy. Having Rosie helps Andrew and Valerie both, at least in easing the pain they feel over missing everyone else they have loved. And they help each other, too. Valerie remembers the awful loneliness in the five years before Andrew came. Thinks back to one occasion, sitting in someone else's kitchen on a birthday, watching Andrew with Rosie squirming on his lap as he tickled her, when he was still breathing, still living it up. Although she remembers he was fond of a drink, she would never have picked him out as the next one, let alone someone who would join her in this vigil. He died too young, and Valerie thinks sometimes that she is like a mother figure for him, someone to reassure and take care, someone who knows what's what. She doesn't mind that, knows that to her he is really the son she never had. And company is so satisfying in death. It's cosy, sometimes.

Rosie stirs on the sofa and, after a moment, gets up to wander through to the kitchen. Tea, thinks Valerie. And probably more of those biscuits she can't stop eating. Andrew nudges her and she turns quickly. He is looking away from her, and she sees what he is looking at.

Someone is there who was not there before. A man, pony-tailed and mid-thirties, in the opposite corner by the front door. He is not watching them but is facing the wall, idly nudging it with the toe of his trainer. Valerie recognises him with dismay. She and Andrew speak in unison.

Bryan.

He doesn't look up, his head still hanging, but gives a jerky nod. Valerie cries out in disbelief, horrified. She turns to Andrew, speaks in a loud whisper, her eyes wide.

He heard us, Andrew. That means he's¦ died. He's¦

She falters, cannot think any further. It is too new and too awful.

Bryan seems amused by the whole situation, turns his attention to the other foot, scuffs that against the wall. Valerie gives Andrew a poke in the ribs, hisses in a whisper.

What are we going to do?

Andrew shrugs, unable to take his eyes off the intruder. Bryan looks much the same, although somewhat older and greyer now. He takes a chance.

So, Bryan. We know you, though you don't know us.

Valerie shudders at his side and Bryan looks up, finally engaged. Andrew continues in a sharper tone.

I'm Andrew, Rosie's uncle. This is her grandmother Valerie.

Bryan shrugs again and goes back to shuffling his feet.

Please tell us - how did you go? What can you remember?

A nasty little smile appears on Bryan's face. He faces them fully, defiant.

Bad skag. I s'pose she was important enough to be the last thing I thought of. Where is she, then?

Valerie shakes her head, unable to keep quiet any longer, spits her words.

In the kitchen, and you bloody leave her alone, do you hear me? Just you stay in that corner and keep quiet and leave us all alone.

Bryan is one of the parts of Rosie's past that Valerie doesn't understand at all. When Rosie met him, going underage in the nightclub, Valerie knew he was trouble instantly. He was wearing a t-shirt with a picture of Charles Manson on it, and he took Rosie's hand like he was going to kiss it and then licked it at the last moment. Valerie was sickened, but teenage rebellion Rosie had loved it. When Rosie found out after that he was thirty-one, and on the dole, she tried to stay away from him. But Valerie and Andrew could both see how misty-eyed she was, how much she wanted to be the kind of girl who had a man for a boyfriend. And what could they do? The night Rosie lost his virginity to him in the attic of the house where he lived with his parents, Valerie wept and Andrew put his arm around her. He had no prospects, was an ex-heroin addict and took all kind of drugs, and he was almost completely grey, and balding with his stupid little ponytail. Every day after, Valerie wished that Rosie would wake up to it, praying this would happen before she got pregnant. It happened sooner than any of them thought. Rosie felt that he suffocated her, wouldn't stop holding her all the time. She said he was emotionally less mature than her. Andrew and Valerie kept whooping and cheering from the corner on the day that Rosie broke up with him.

Rose comes through with a mug and the chocolate biscuits. Valerie keeps an eye on Bryan. Rosie stops by the coffee table and just stands there, her eyes distant, though fixed on the carpet. After a few seconds, she drops the full mug and it breaks, splashing her trouser-legs with hot tea. She remains vacant for a while, and then sits in a fluid movement, gathering herself into a hedgehog ball, still holding the biscuits.

Valerie is increasingly jittery. She points at Bryan.

What have you done? What's wrong with her?

Bryan is triumphant.

You saw me, I didn't do nothing. Come on mate, Andy, you saw me. Have I moved?

Andrew, like Valerie, remains unconvinced. They turn away from Bryan and huddle to talk. Valerie will not be swayed.

It's him, something about him that's bad. She's never been like that, like she's in a blackout. What do they call them? Fugues?

Valerie glances over at her silent grand-daughter. Rosie is shivering slightly.

It's him Andrew, I'm telling you, he's upset things, I think she can feel him here and everything's different, he-

Val love, calm down a bit.

Andrew has her by the shoulders. His grip is comforting and she relaxes momentarily, lets him hold her up. Then she sees he is looking over her head, at something behind. She spins to see for herself. Bryan is draped right over Rosie, as if they were lovers sitting together. Rosie is upright and white-faced, her eyes shut, as Bryan runs his hands over her face and hair and twines himself around her. He croons, Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie Rosie. He doesn't stop.

Valerie and Andrew are beside themselves, don't know what to do, how to change what has begun. Valerie starts to advance, babbling at Bryan, while Andrew is transfixed. Rosie stands then, grabs her wallet, runs for the door. After a stunned moment, they all follow, like they always have to.

Rosie takes a bus. All three of them are quiet, musing, thinking, shocked. Valerie takes Andrew's arm as usual on the bus, but remains silent. They act like Bryan isn't sitting behind them on an old lady's lap. When Rosie, translucent and pale as ever but now with a slight red blush to her cheeks, gets off the bus, they all follow at a respectable distance. Still no-one says anything. She walks for ten minutes, getting deeper into the curving twists of residential streets, before stopping outside a squat tan house. She puts a hand on the small iron gate. Valerie and Andrew have seen this house several times before, have made this journey with Rosie, but she always just stands outside the house for a few minutes and then leaves. They have tried to work out between them who lives there, suggesting names from their shared memories of life and death, but to no avail. They once agreed not to pry, not to look over her shoulder too much.

Rosie squeaks the gate open and closes it with a metallic click behind her, walks up to the door and presses the doorbell. Bryan hops over the garden fence and so the others follow immediately, Andrew helping to lift Valerie up and over. Valerie keeps her eyes on Bryan, warily working him out. She's over the initial panic, and now her mind is travelling out on lots of little threads, trying to find the best way to cope with him.

After a few moments, the door is opened by a short and rounded middle-aged woman with closely cropped hair. She looks at Rosie calmly, without surprise.

Hi, my name is Rose Singleton? I've spoken to you, on the phone before? I'm really sorry to turn up unannounced like this, I know it's not normally how it's done, but I wondered if you might just have five minutes? It's urgent, I think.

The woman is blank for a few moments and then her face sweetens into a wide smile.

Sure, Rose. Maybe I can help you.

She opens the door and they are all inside. Valerie can't help marvelling at the lovely inside of such an ugly house - everything is light, sparkles, has been polished. Although it's not to her taste, far too minimal, she feels quite comfortable here. She turns to let Bryan go in front of her. Better to keep him where she can see him.

She stands with Andrew in the doorway of a living room with sliding glass doors that look out into a garden full of shades of purple. Rose is seated in one of two fawn armchairs, saying,

I don't want to take up too much of your time. And I've got money.

The woman shushes her.

We'll sort that out another time. What's bothering you right now, Rose?

Rosie hesitates. Valerie can see that she feels stupid, and trembles a little for her grand-daughter, wishing strength on her.

I've been feeling for a while that I wanted to come and see you. I've always believed in this. But something happened this morning, something really odd, and I just - I don't know, I feel like maybe there's someone with me at the moment?

She ventures the last words slowly, as if she is ashamed. Valerie clutches at Andrew. It's not womanly to feel envy, but she can't believe that Bryan's presence has affected Rose so quickly. She can't have really been in love with him, she was only seventeen at the time. Andrew pats her arm and nods towards Rosie and the woman. Bryan has retreated to the corner, looking sullen.

Rose, I think there is someone with you. Would you like me to talk to them? Try and find out who it is?

Rose bites gently on a knuckle and nods slowly, keeping it in her mouth. The woman closes her eyes and begins to breathe louder, slow and precise. The room is static with tension. Valerie can't watch, puts her face into Andrew's arm, smells the leather. When she looks up again, the woman has opened her eyes and is staring straight at them.

The three of them stay like that for a long time while Rose shifts uncomfortably in her chair. Bryan is forgotten. Valerie is too frightened to speak, too frightened to try.

What's your name, love? Don't be afraid. Just tell me your name, that's all I need. Don't be scared.

When the woman speaks, that earlier sweetness comes out of her mouth and seems to fill up the entire room. Valerie has frozen. She can see the back of Rosie's head at the edge of her vision. She shuts her eyes, and says it.

Valerie.

Andrew squeezes her arm. She opens one eye cautiously and the woman is nodding, so she opens the other. Some kind of feeling begins to spread across her, but her mind is too busy to think what it is.

I can tell that you're afraid love, but don't be afraid, I know this is new for you but bear with me, okay love?

She turns her attention, finally, to Rosie. Valerie and Andrew take a few steps into the room together, to see better. Rosie whispers.

Who is it?

The woman takes her hand.

It's Valerie, sweetheart. Does that name mean anything to you? Valerie?

Rose nods dumbly, her eyes spilling tears. The woman grips her hand.

That's my nan.

Hold on then, and I'll see if she wants to say anything to you. She's with a gentleman, you know. Hold on.

Valerie's weeping now. Even Andrew is openly teary, his face blotching. She leaves the shadow of his space and steps out, closer to Rose now, nearer all the time. There's so much to say and she's got to boil it all down to these few seconds. It's then that the pressure lifts.

Just tell her we're watching over her, me and her uncle Andy, and we're so proud of her, and we love her so very much.

Valerie steps back, feeling fuller, as the woman repeats the words to Rose, who starts to cry in a hard happy way. She twists in her chair and looks at the empty room in wonder, tries to look through it, feels a new peace.

Valerie suddenly remembers Bryan. She nudges Andrew. Bryan is slumped in the corner of the room, wedged like he wants to get right into it, his head on his knees, like a child.