Rosa Lee

Bridgeton march 2007:-
‘The problem with Bridgeton-‘I start to say.
‘The problem with Bridgeton...’ Nikki starts to mock cruelly. ‘...the problem rests with you-’ she injects, cutting me down. I feel hurt by this, but I don’t say anything as she continues.
‘...Bridgeton’s lovely...’ she’s oblivious to me...lost to the town.
I stare at her sitting there, her mind on the road, and slowly start to compose:
Light shines from her... as ... as she smiles...I...I ...can see the sun shine reflect...refract... from her large oval brown eyes... she shines within...no that‘s shit... her soul... oh where is there a fucking thesaurus when you need one and why can’t there be internet access for an Itouch should have got an Iphone can’t afford a fucking Iphone and in this glow...my heart rests safe... this seems ok... write it down, write it down...in your head write it down.
My fingers trip gaily on the glass as I tap the miniature key-board; my mind however, is elsewhere. It’s in a class room thirty years ago.
As the sun reflects the light from out of the steamed car, I see Nikki throw her long blonde hair back slightly, with a delicate shake of her head. I feel warm inside... I haven’t felt like that for so long, so very long.
‘... it’s quaint, its rich, steeped in history-‘she continues, as we speed along; the flint lined walls of the high street become a grey blur. She is looking for somewhere to park; she is oblivious to my musing; and my slowly growing, heavily pounding, erection... I start to think about getting out of the car without it showing through my ochre coloured chord’s...but I know it’s going to.
‘-It’s where art teachers come to retire-‘I inject without trying to sound too caustic. I fail, because I see her tightly glance towards me in the mirror.
We are sitting in our battered pale blue Morris Minor that stinks of sour cracked shiny old leather, sickly old oil & sharp bitter electricity. I hate the car, but Nikki loves it, so I smile sweetly; hoping that the bloody thing will die soon; though its continuous growling, informs me that it still might have a few thousand miles in it yet.
We are pulling the car into a lay by, outside a large, pale blue antiques shop. It’s sandwiched between two tall Georgian shaped, flint-walled, town houses. I sigh deeply as I look up the street.
‘Patrick Mcgoohan would fit... really well here... trying to escape-‘
‘-Patrick who?’
‘-oh Forget it’ I sigh, as I recall that she has no interest in classic cult science fiction.
She smiles that sideways smile, that lovely, gorgeous knowing smile. it doesn’t help my erection.
‘Honestly darling, I don’t know why your so against the idea.’
We get out of the car. It’s cold...even for the middle of March; our breath spirals away from us in long warm waves, as I look up the street and absorb the scene.
I see and recall this place as if it were yesterday, for nothing much has changed since… since…my parents left… the Village green; porraceous in the early throws of spring; rests opposite the church. Next to that the library and a small haphazard collection of flint walled, thatched roofed shops, and quaint looking café’s or fashionably painted. bijou restaurants, that cater for the new breed of single atheist vegetarian; where discussions of faith, as well as large amounts of argumentative children are silently made to feel unwelcome. These are inter-mixed with large private Georgian properties that slowly centre in upon the Charlotte Arms inn… before trailing off once more in along a narrow lined road that rises slowly out of sight…yes everything is as it was, even the old newsagents It hasn’t changed since-
‘You’re just used to city... ‘She says dismissively, pulling me out of my day dream. I smile gently as she playfully takes my arm and we slowly walk up the road.
‘Well...’ I start, ‘...I feel safe in the City...’ In my reply I hear that I am defensive, but she just smiles gently. If she only knew how I felt every time she stared at me like that... I’m sure she’d run away. ‘...Besides -’ but I don’t want to finish what I’m saying. My emotions are all over the place, so I look down, I want to say ...that not everything here is as it seems... For I’ve been here before, a long, long time ago...
I don’t see the little old ladies descend like avenging harpies...out for blood... as they descend I start to think of the witches from Macbeth...and darkly wonder where the third one might be.
‘Well, if it isn’t little Johnny Smith...’ starts the lady on the right. She is small, just up to my chest; she has a narrow bird like face, shining blue buds for eyes and a long nose that curls about pale face which seems to me to be bones over thin cracked skin. She and is wearing a thick heavy, brown, warm looking winter coat; and slowly weaves from side to side.
Nikki looks up at me, surprised.
‘Hush now...Elspeth...You know he’s dead.’ says the other. There is something in her voice though; its’ as if she knows who I am, but she is not letting on. She is truly terrifying. Her glowing white cataracts pierce my soul. Her cracked, mottled skin, is full of slices and tears that hang from her set-square jaw, and cavernous mouth, where some blackened teeth wobble, then loosely clatter, like rotting bones.
She is wearing a large black coat, and a black hat. She looks like death, come for my soul... They both fill up the path, making it impossible for us to pass them. I can feel my stomach turning into dark knots of apprehension.
‘No...’ Insists the little woman in Brown, ‘... I know Its Johnny...Johnny’s come back...’ she answers warmly.
I smile tightly, trying to avoid their gaze. But they don’t let me past.
‘What’s going on Darling?’ asks Nikki. ‘I thought you never left London?’
‘She must have me confused.’ I lie badly and tightly, as in my mind I am trying to fight my way though them, not wanting to remember the house or Rosa-Lee. The blind woman’s claw like hand touches me. I scream. Rosa Lee Rosa Lee Rosa lee... her name races over the walls I’d built within my mind, threatening to tear me apart.
I spasm violently, the jolts are always unexpected, like lightening and surges from a sudden current, they come, displacing me changing everything I see taste and feel...
Time starts to slow down.
I catch a glimpse at Nikki. Her face has visibly paled in taught expectation... I can feel her arms knot tightly around my shoulders as she starts to carry me away from the old ladies and up the street. I feel that strange sense of separation... it occurs every so often and as It start to feel it; I sense the sweet- bitter odour of burning oranges.
I spasm once more and as I do, the world I perceive jumps out of place. I start feel separate disjointed, everything begins to shine brightly, as if it’s made of superimposed images. Nikki has pulled me into a black and gold signed bakery and cafe. My senses explode, at the pale tang of frying bacon, of deep rich crackling sausages, that interplay with the dewy odour of spitting eggs and rusting beans and burning oranges... there are people are all around me; murmuring. Screaming shouting.
There is another violent spasm. It feels close now, inevitable, like a tree falling. Like a train speeding through a station. Like a surging fucking sea that wants top rip my insides out, crack my skull open and smash my brain apart! Fucking metaphors I want to KILL! Darkness comes in waves. I see Nikki shaking as she hands me my tablets, I take one, two three.
Then I turn to my left I see her standing by the counter, next to a bluff overweight man in a red check shirt. Its Rosa lee... her face is oval... Her lips, full... Her hair, like her skin, dark brown... Her eyes, a frightening shade pale blue crystal. She is wearing the same school uniform she wore when... we… Oh God… is this it… is this the end… I’m not ready yet… not now… please God not now…she is standing by an overweight, flat faced man in a blue check shirt. He stares at me, his full face, sweaty and red; his eyes on stalks, he sees me, he knows me, and I know him. Its Stephen, I recognise the large heavy hands I cannot believe that he has changed so much in twenty years… He looks at the doorway, and he puts his hands to his mouth and his chest and start’s to scream as this little coloured girl she walks through the closed glass door. She turns and she smiles coldly at me with cold blue crystal eyes, as she takes this poor man’s hand.
Then darkness overwhelms me finally.
I awake to see Nikki smiling gently down at me.
‘Welcome back dear.’ She says warmly. I smile, but I find it hard, because I have bitten down hard on my tongue. And can feel a swollen agony and the sharp taste of Iron behind my teeth. I look about to see four men in the sharp lime and dark green of paramedic units. A young man with brown hair looks down gently at me, as Nikki explains that I have epilepsy, that this happens occasionally and that she’ll take me to the hospital. The other two men are standing by the counter. They are looking down at Stephen who lies heavy upon the floor. A look of dark terror is ripped across his face... People tut, murmur, and gasp in shock and as I lie back, partially listening to murmured conversations.
‘…He was overweight...’
‘…Heard he had heart problems...’
‘…Could have happened any time....’
‘…and long standing mental problems too…’
‘…poor Steven Blakemore…’
Steven Blakemore… now there’s a name I wanted to forget…
The memories washed over my mind like a rolling river, cascading towards the raging sea.

Bridgeton: March 1973:-
There were the six of us… Steven Blakemore, Carol Jenkins, Peter Reilly , Tommy Daily, Lucy Connor And Me... We were friends from Primary school, always out of each other’s houses… Rosa-lee changed all that. She came from America with her parents. Her father was unemployed, and at that time, they were living in the Northern Heights estate. Or poor-town as it was called. For some reason, she had taken a fancy to all of us. Steven was one of the first to resent it.
‘…my dad says that they should all go ‘ome.’ He started one day, as we were getting my train set out. His father was the local police constable, and well respected in the town. I could also see that eventually he would be getting his fair share of interest, with some of the other girls at the Grammar school.
‘-I don’t know why you’re so angry.’ I inject.
‘-she’s a man.’
‘ A what?’ I asked laughing at the strange alien word.
‘That’s what my dad says.’ Steven said excitedly. ‘ He said it over the tea table yesterday. “they’re mans and we don’t want them here.” Was what he said.’ We laughed at the way he made a reasonably funny imitation of his father.
I recalled the conversation Rose and I had together that day. And thought that she was alright. But Steven was not a boy to cross, being tall and heavy fisted. So I simply nodded, and carried on building my track. I thought nothing of it until Lucy grabbed my arm one playtime, a week later.
‘What d’you think of ‘er?’ she asked. Pointing at Rose.
‘Nothing.’ It was an honest answer. Because I had no feelings either way. It was hard having a new person at the school, and being so different did make things hard. But I didn’t resent her.
‘Well I am finding her annoying…’ She started. ‘Besides my mum has told me not to talk to her. Its really hard, when she’s always around like a rotten scab.’
I shrugged feeling upset by this, after all what would it feel like if it was the other way around.
‘Everyone’s upset by her. ‘
‘Oh…’
‘Carol suggested taking her to the old Moore house, as a joke; Steven thinks it might be a good laugh.’
‘The old Moore house?’I paused. Mum and Dad told me never to go there.
‘Do you really think it’s a good idea?’
‘yeah…‘ I looked nervously away.
Steven came over then.
‘Are you comin’ tonight?’ I could hear in his tone that this wasn’t a question. I looked at his heavy fists again. I looked down and nodded.
‘I’ll be comin’ over to pick you up.’ I recall that he had a strange smile upon lips; as he turned and ran back to the other side of the playground.

Bridgeton March: 2007:-
‘The old Moor house...’
We are sitting on the bench that in on the green directly opposite the church. I look up from the gravel path, littered with rubbish and turn left to see Nikki staring and smiling gently, ‘…you said the old Moor house.’
‘Did I?’ my childhood friends come rushing back to haunt me. So Steven’s dead now… that’s everyone… save one… Carol Jenkins, was the first; I read of her suicide… twelve years ago she drove her car into McGregor lake just on the outskirts of Bridgeton, and simply sat there as the water filled up around her. Then two years later, Peter Reilly, fell from the railway bridge at Horsham, apparently he was filmed standing on the iron railings, his arms open. He swan dived into a passing train. Two years later Tommy Daily, was admitted to Bridgeton general hospital mental health care unit, after going crazy one day in the middle of town spray painting Rosa-Lee in large ugly letters. Two years later Lucy Connor , was killed in an unexplained hit and run, and now, finally Stephen… two years separates each of us… two years…
‘It’s a place, where we used to play as kids.’
‘We?’
I smile coldly.
‘yeah… I lived here.’
‘But you said…’ I could hear the tone of curious betrayal, a lie… and if he lied about this what eles has he lied about, all those thoughts echoed in the tone of her voice.
‘-I lied.’
‘Why?’
I looked down, at that moment I wanted to tell her everything. How as children we played a cruel trick and that trick led to an accident and that led to the death of a child. I wanted to tell her that it was none of my fault, but that would have been a lie, because I was there, I took part, and I didn’t help her, when she called out.
‘ Because… because something happened here… Something bad.

Bridgeton March 1973:-
Stephen came as he promised at five and dragged me reluctantly away from the safety of the TV and my parents.
‘I don’t see why we have to do this.’ I started.
‘-we do.’ Steven began. ‘She needs to know her place here.’
‘-its not right.’
Steve grabbed my shoulder then, I could feel his heavy pinch upon my shoulder.
‘What did you say?’
I looked away. ‘nothing.’ I said coldly, fear and guilt filling me with ice.
We walked silently then, fifteen minutes it took to get to the rambling rotten wood house on the corner of witch hill.
It stood there in the shade of the burnt out old Oak tree, the grey wooden walls rotting, the paint blistering and flaking off in huge chunks like sun-burnt skin. It black windows now glassless and appearing like vacant staring black eyes, it’s front door hidden behind the shadow of a decaying porch gave the impression of a pair of blistered rotting lips around a rotting toothless mouth. We never came here, ever, this was a cruel thing to do, even by Steven’s standards.
‘I think we should go home.’ I said quietly.
‘But we just got here; an’ I’m not ‘fraid..’ Rose began before saying to no-one inparticular; ‘Why they call it witch hill?’
Lucy replied coldly. ‘Its ‘cause a witch was burned here. Long time ages past. They took her from her home and burned her by the old oak tree around the back. Then a family called Moor lived here, but, so the story goes, he went crazy one cold winter night and chopped his family up with an axe… no one lived here since.’
I stared at Lucy, even she had agreed with this. I could feel myself shaking my head.
‘Really?’ asked Rosa. Not looking my way. ‘I never seen a haunted house before.’
‘You have now.’ Said Steven.
There was a long pause.
‘do you wanna go in?’ He asked.
Rosa lee looked a little nervous then. We all stood around her, I could feel here eyes, black and mild stare into ours, her innocent smile and her gap tooth grin, around her narrow jaw and pig tails, made her look gawky and odd, I looked down, as Peter arrived.

Bridgeton March 2007:-
We sit there sitting in the cold sun, my sin of omission, guilt and shame marking me, clinging to my bones, eking from every pore of my skin. I rub my jaw, I couldn’t look Nikki in the eye; but despite looking down, I could still feel her eyes staring at me.
‘We took her there for a dare, it was a laugh, nothing more… we…’ I shook my head. I wanted to blame Steven, but that wouldn’t be right, Peter knew it was wrong, he wanted me to help.’
‘darling…’ she asked ‘tell me what happened.

Bridgeton March 1973
We slowly walk up the path of the old house, the green grass looks dark and scary, the house an open jawed mouth, is waiting to grind us up to powder, while crows fly darkly overhead, spiralling in circles and clicking and cawing. I can feel my heart beat, its ramming heavily in my chest as we cross the porch and enter through the broken wooden door. I can smell the dank rotten boards underfoot, and sense around these greasy damp grey vacant walls that something unpleasant is lurking, reaching from the dark, longing to take us and- suddenly there a screech and a scream. Lucy had trod on the tail of a large rat. It squeeled. She screamed. Rosa, let out a little giggle. And that made Lucy angry.
‘Hey,’ she said with a tone I hated, because I could hear the hidden cruelty. ‘Do you want to see where Old Moore put the bodies? ‘
Rosa shrugged.
‘its this way.’ She said, with that same sickly niceness I knew hid so much.
‘I think we better go.’ Said peter.
‘Y…yes’s.’ I stammer out. ‘its late, and we better get-’ But my words were lost in a scream as I saw Lucy take to Rosa the hall, had then push her down the black hole that was the gateway to the cellar. Peter and I rushed over and looked down to hear Rosa cry in pain and fear. I look around and see the smiles on the upon the faces of Steven, Lucy and Carol. But that was not the end. Because something down in the Cellar made a noise, and Rosa started to scream louder and louder and louder. Then there is a crack subtle and sickliy sounding. Followed by a numbing silence. Suddenly flames burst from the floor of the cellar, smoke starts to fill the room. And then there is chaos. Peter is screaming, and running for the door, and we all follow. Off into the night; spreading out and away from each other in a spiral of directions.

Bridgeton march 2007:-
I am talking, and I can’t believe its all coming out… and with it a relief, a sharing of the guilt.
‘Naturally we were all questioned. Steven’s dad, went hard on him publicly, as did all our parents, but we had no idea that those old tins of fuel were down there, or a spark from a metal bracket would light it all. We had no idea… But the Lee’s lost their little girl; and that... well they left town.’
I can see Nikki looking at me, she is hard to read.
‘You killed a girl.’
‘No-‘ I falter,
‘-John-‘
‘No, its not like that.’ I insist. Finding my feet on sand that is slowly slipping away from me.
I feel her hand slowly disengage, and with it pain starts to rise, I can feel her mistrust. We have changed, there isn’t the love in her eyes any more, she sees me as a murderer… or worse.
‘I don’t know what to think.’
‘I was a child.’
She shakes her head and gets up. The sun shines in her face, upon her golden hair, it gleans in her eyes, that betray her feelings only too well. She gets up and walks away, I get up and try to catch her up, she crosses the road, to get to the car. I have to wait because there is a lorry coming. The lorry passes.
Then... I see her standing by the car... that awful retro car...She is standing by it... Not only Nikki... Rosa Lee too... Her black hair in pony tails... her eyes, a cold, cruel ice blue crystal... her smile savage...fearful and vindictive... my just deserts.
I have no control, I feel myself walk slowly towards her, as she beckons, and as I walk I think of Peter of Steven, Lucy and Carol... I slowly call out as Rosa smiles and reaches out with her hand....I look left...I am in the middle of the road... I hear the scream of of a car horn… Nikki looks towards me wide eyed, and screams.