Rosie Goes to War

by Alison Knight

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘She stole her man,’ Great-aunt Eleanor points at Gran.

  Gran laughs. ‘Oh, God help us. She did me a favour. Besides, it was seventy-odd years ago, Nell. It’s all water under the bridge. Here, Rosie, nip up and bring that suitcase down, love. We’ll have a look.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  I run upstairs for the suitcase. As I go into the bedroom to get it, the walls start doing their funny stuff again. The bedcover is dark red now, and there’s brown lino on the floor instead of the beige carpet. But the case is still there on the bed, so I grab it. I nearly fall down the stairs rushing to get back to Gran and normality.

  Great-aunt Eleanor opens the case. Inside are clothes, shoes, a gas mask, and some old notebooks. Gran picks up a buff-coloured booklet.

  ‘Ooh, look! It’s an old ration book. I don’t miss the food from them days, do you, Nelly? There was hardly anything nice in the shops, and what you got wasn’t enough to keep a mouse fed. We had no trouble keeping our figures, did we?’ She pats her belly. ‘Now we can eat what we like, we always have to watch the scales.’

  ‘You’re not fat, Gran,’ I laugh. I hope I’ll be like Gran, but it’s not likely, worse luck. I’m already taller than her. I’ll probably end up more like Mum’s side of the family. They’re what Dad calls ‘substantial women’.

  ‘I’m not as skinny as I used to be, our Rosie. Like a stick insect, I was. No curves, just straight up and down.’

  ‘And what you lacked in inches, you made up for in chatter,’ says Eleanor. ‘What else have you got there, May?’ She rummages in the suitcase and finds some papers. I reckon that woman needs to chill out. Doesn’t she ever smile?

  The papers don’t look very interesting. I’d rather look at the clothes. They’re all neatly folded, and some of them are wrapped in tissue paper.

  I take out a pretty blue cardigan. I’m careful, because I’m worried it might fall to bits since it’s been in that suitcase for so long. It was obviously hand-knitted, and has some lovely pearl buttons. It feels so soft, but it smells so horrible it makes me cough.

  ‘Eeoogh, that stinks!’

  ‘Mothballs,’ says Great-aunt Eleanor, still looking at the papers.

  ‘They keep the bugs out, love,’ says Gran. ‘These are good quality clothes and mothballs keep ’em safe. Otherwise the moths’ll eat their way through this lot.’

  I shiver at the thought of insects crawling around in the suitcase

  ‘Right. Nice.’

  I lay the cardigan carefully over the back of a chair, and pick up the next thing – an old-fashioned cotton nightdress. It’s white, with tiny flowers embroidered in pinks and purples around the neckline. It stinks as well, but I turn my head away, and take a deep breath before I hold it up against me. It covers me from neck to toe.

  ‘Oh, wow! Did people really wear stuff like this?’ I ask.

  Gran smiles and nods. ‘Ah, that’s lovely,’ she says. ‘And cosy too. We didn’t have no central heating back then. A nice long nighty was just the thing to keep your bum from getting frostbite.’

  ‘Gran!’ I laugh. What is she like?

  ‘Well, it’s true. Blooming freezing, this old house was. We had big candlewick dressing gowns too, and bed socks. Didn’t we, Nell?’

  ‘Mmm?’ Great-aunt Eleanor was busy studying the papers, but looked up when Gran said her name. ‘Bed socks. Yes.’

  She’s staring at me again. I feel cold all of a sudden. I turn round and stuff the nightdress back into the case.

  Gran tuts. ‘No, come here, Rosie. Don’t do it like that, love. Let me fold it proper.’ She picks it up and sorts it out. But before she puts it back she gets all the other stuff out. ‘You should try some of these on.’ She picks up a tweed skirt, shakes the creases out and passes it to me. ‘I reckon they’re about your size.’

  I hold the skirt against me. It’s a lot longer than I usually wear, ending below my knees.

  ‘An excellent idea,’ says Great-aunt Eleanor. ‘I believe the fashion these days is for “retro.”’ She makes quote marks in the air. ‘Your grandmother will be able to style your hair as well.’

  Gran nods, clapping her hands together. ‘Ooh, yes! I used to love hairdressing, didn’t I, Nelly? With all that long dark hair, I can give you some really fancy do’s. It’ll be fun.’

  I’m not so sure. This feels freaky. ‘Actually, it’s vintage.’ I say. ‘And it’s not my sort of thing, thanks.’

  Gran looks disappointed, making me feel mean. I really don’t want to play dressing up with a load of old clothes. But I don’t want to upset Gran either. Great-aunt Eleanor just looks annoyed.

  ‘Nonsense,’ she says. ‘Just about everything you young girls wear these days is a copy of fashions your mothers wore in the 60s and 70s. You might at least try these on.’

  I want to stick my tongue out at her for real now, but don’t dare. Instead, I bite my lip. It just feels wrong, that’s all.

  ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to, love,’ says Gran, making me feel even worse. What else can I do?

  ‘Oh, all right,’ I say. ‘I’ll give it a go.’

  Immediately, Gran cheers up, and old Nelly nods, satisfied. I pick up a pale pink blouse to go with the skirt. With any luck they won’t fit.

  The skirt and blouse do fit, perfectly. I can’t believe it. I go and show the old women, trying not to gag as I get a waft of Eau de Mothballs as I move. They’re in the kitchen, brewing more tea. Gran fusses over me, while Great-aunt Eleanor watches, all narrow-eyed. I pretend not to notice, because she’s freaking me out again. The sooner I can get my jeans back on, the better.

  ‘Come on then,’ says Gran, ‘Let’s do your hair. It’s a shame I got rid of me old curlers. I could’ve made you look like a film star.’

  I sit on the kitchen chair that Gran has put in the middle of the room and let her fuss. Her hands are a lot stronger than I expect, and I can’t help yelping in pain as she yanks a comb through my hair and sticks it with a shed-load of pins.

  ‘Sorry, love. Nearly there.’

  ‘Here,’ says Great-aunt Eleanor. ‘Put these on.’ She kneels down, quite flexible considering how old she is, and slides some shoes onto my feet. Again, a perfect fit. I shiver and the walls of the kitchen wobble for a second then go back to normal. This is getting really weird. Or maybe Gran’s been overdoing the hair pulling a bit and my eyes have gone wonky. I lift up my feet to get a look at the shoes. Black leather, plain like a court shoe, chunky heel. Not my usual style.

  At last Gran is satisfied, and I’m allowed to stand up. The heels on the shoes are quite high, and I wobble a bit as I walk into the hall to look at myself in the big mirror on the coat stand. The silky lining of the skirt rustles against my legs as I move, and the heels make me walk differently. It feels quite sexy.

  The old women follow me. I smile as I imagine walking down a catwalk, with loads of people watching and thinking how gorgeous I am. Yeah, right.

  ‘Wow!’ I look like someone out of a black-and-white film! My hair, which is usually frizzy as anything, looks great. I put a hand up and feel how smooth it is.

  ‘That’s a French pleat,’ says Gran. ‘Very elegant.’

  The clothes, which still smell of those awful mothballs, give me some curves. I look about twenty-five, in a vintage, Paloma Faith kind of way.

  Gran and Great-aunt Eleanor crowd behind me at the mirror. But when I look at our reflection, I don’t see two old women. Instead there are two girls, one blonde, one dark, and both are dressed like me. My mouth drops open, I can feel my heart start to race. It’s impossible. It’s like looking through a window, except I can still see myself clearly reflected, right between them.

  ‘You need a bit of red lipstick,’ says the dark girl.

  I blink. The girls disappear, and Gran’s smiling at me in the mirror where the dark girl stood. Great-aunt Eleanor is glaring at me from where the blonde was. I blink again and for a split second the gi
rls are there, and I want to scream but I can’t, and before I can do anything they morph back into Gran and Eleanor.

  ‘Ooh, don’t you look lovely!’ Gran coos.

  I’m too shocked to say anything at first, then I just blurt out, ‘Red lipstick?’

  ‘Yes, love. I used to have a lovely one from Max Factor,’ says Gran. ‘It would’ve been perfect.’

  Great-aunt Eleanor jumps, like she’s had electric shock or something.

  ‘That’s it!’ says Great-aunt Eleanor. ‘Of course!’

  ‘Ooh, that’s a good idea,’ says Gran. ‘I might still have some somewhere.’

  I look sideways at Gran. She can’t be serious. I doubt if she’s worn red lipstick in my lifetime. I dread to think what sort of bacteria might be growing on some old tube she’s had for years.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ I say.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure?’ she says. ‘I could probably find it.’

  ‘For goodness sake, May,’ Great-aunt Eleanor snaps.

  I look at her reflection, relieved she’s not gone blonde again. Did Eleanor see the girls as well? Before I get a chance to ask her, she gets a hard look in her eyes and pokes me in the back.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Nelly!’ Gran looks shocked.

  ‘I knew it,’ says Great-aunt Eleanor. ‘So you’re back, are you? I don’t know how you did it, but you’ve got a lot of explaining to do, young lady.’

  I shake my head, unable to speak as my throat has closed up. I’m feeling dizzy and think I’m going to pass out. I’m too frightened to blink again in case those girls come back, so I must be looking a bit googly-eyed but I can’t help myself.

  ‘What are you on about, Nelly?’ asks Gran. ‘You’re not making sense, love.’

  ‘Can’t you see?’ Eleanor grabs my chin and shakes it. I watch the reflection of my head wobble from side to side. ‘This is Queenie.’

  I get a funny feeling in my stomach. What is she on about?

  ‘Of course it isn’t. This is Rosie, Nelly, and you know it. Don’t go saying daft things like that.’ She prises Eleanor’s fingers off my chin. I rub my jaw; I’m sure she’s left a bruise.

  ‘I know who we think she is, May, but look at her. Just look!’ Eleanor waves a hand in my direction and I duck out of the way before she can attack me again. ‘The clothes, the hair. All she needs is a coat of your Max Factor red lipstick and we have Queenie standing here again.’

  I feel sick at the mention of the lipstick.

  I look in the mirror again. Both of the old women are glaring at each other. However crazy they are, I prefer them to those strange girls. I don’t know where they came from, or who they are, and I hope I never see them again. What is it about this house that makes everything so flipping weird?

  Gran lays a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. ‘Even if she does look a bit like her, it’s not Queenie, Nelly. If she was here, she’d be old like us now, wouldn’t she? This is my grand-daughter, Rosie, remember?’

  ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot. I know exactly who this is. But as you clearly won’t see what’s in front of your own eyes, we must agree to disagree.’ Great-aunt Eleanor is glaring at Gran who huffs a bit but doesn’t argue. Eleanor turns to look at me again. I want to squirm, but don’t dare. ‘Queenie caused a lot of upset in this house, and then disappeared without trace. Everyone said she was dead, but I wasn’t so sure. And you, young lady, look remarkably like her.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Gran shaking her head and looking upset.

  ‘I can’t help how I look,’ I say, my voice squeaking because Great-aunt Eleanor is so much like old Mrs Sparks when I haven’t done my History homework right. She’s always glaring at me over her glasses like Eleanor’s doing now. It’s so not fair. ‘You two dressed me up like this.’ I look back as calmly as I can. I’m still too frightened to blink. That seems to annoy Eleanor even more.

  ‘Yes we did.’ She turns away. ‘Has that kettle boiled yet, May? A woman can die of thirst around here waiting to be offered another cup of tea.’

  As Great-aunt Eleanor stalks down the hall to the kitchen; Gran touches my cheek. ‘Don’t worry, love. Nelly’s feeling her age a bit.’ I nod. She must be right. Great-aunt Eleanor is even older than Gran. ‘She gets confused sometimes,’ Gran goes on. ‘I think seeing you in that get-up made her think she was still a girl. I suppose Queenie did look a bit like you, but she’s long gone.’ Gran shakes her head. ‘So sad.’

  I follow Gran into the kitchen, wondering what’s ‘so sad’ – what happened to the girl, or the fact that her sister has probably got dementia or something? Maybe I’m going mad too. I have no idea what just happened out there. Did I really see two girls where Gran and Eleanor should have been? If I was anywhere else but Gran’s house, I’d have said someone had was playing some sick joke with a trick mirror. But not here.

  I feel shaky as I sit down at the kitchen table. The smell coming from the clothes doesn’t help. I hope I’m not going to throw up.

  ‘You all right, darlin’?’ asks Gran.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK,’ I say, waving a hand in front of my face. ‘Mothballs. They’re making me feel a bit sick.’

  ‘I never did like that pong,’ says Gran with a sympathetic smile. ‘But you get used to it.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s all?’ asks Great-aunt Eleanor, eyeing me with distrust. ‘You’re looking decidedly peaky.’

  I swallow hard, resisting the urge to blurt out what I think I’ve just seen. It’s all so freaky, I feel like crying. If I tell them about all the weird things that happen to me in this house, like the wallpaper and the mirror and stuff, they’ll probably think I’m on drugs or something.

  ‘I think I just need some fresh air,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to buy a phone charger anyway, so I’ll head over to Oxford Street.’

  ‘Good idea, love. You can get the bus from the end of the road. Takes you straight there.’

  ‘I’d better get changed,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to get these clothes dirty.’ And I don’t want to be seen in them in public. What if I see someone fit?

  I head for the stairs, trying not to look in the hall-stand mirror as I pass. Big mistake. I’m so busy avoiding the mirror, I forget to breathe through my mouth and inhale a huge lungful of that awful mothball smell. I sneeze, hard, and then I can’t stop. With streaming eyes, I stumble and catch the heel of my shoe on something. The next thing I know my head’s slammed against the hall stand. I don’t have a chance to call out before everything goes black.

  CHAPTER THREE

  What is going on?

  I remember the smell of mothballs got so bad I started sneezing, and then I lost my balance in those stupid shoes. My head really hurts. Did I knock myself out? How stupid am I?

  I open my eyes, but nothing happens. Seriously, everything is black. I can’t see a thing. Oh my God – am I blind? How will I get my make-up right? I could end up looking like a panda and I wouldn’t know. No, wait – I put a hand out. I’m caught in something. It feels rough, like a horse blanket, and it smells like one too. Ugh! It’s revolting. Where the hell did that come from? I’ve got to get it off before I vomit. I start to pull it away from me and see a chink of light.

  ‘Oi, you. Stay still,’ a female voice orders. ‘Ain’t you done enough damage?’

  I don’t care, I’m getting this thing shifted at last! Yes! Result! But hang on a minute, who said that?

  It’s definitely not Gran or Great-aunt Eleanor. It’s a girl’s voice. How did she get in here? Did she chuck this over me? Maybe I didn’t fall. Maybe she sneaked up and caught me by surprise. But now I’m on to her I can take another girl, I reckon. If I have to. And if she’s thinking of hurting my Gran, then I definitely will have to. And where is Gran? I’ve got to make sure she’s OK.

  I pull harder. I’ve got to get this thing off me. I don’t know who she is, but I’m ready for a fight. Gran’s put the radio on in the kitchen, and obviously hasn’t heard a thing. I could be b
eing attacked at her own front door and the stupid old bat hasn’t even noticed.

  ‘I said stay still.’ The girl thumps me on the back. ‘For God’s sake, you’ll rip it.’

  As if I bloody care. I move again and there’s a tearing sound, then I’m blinking in the light. There’s spots in front of my eyes and I can’t see clearly at first. A stranger in a dressing-gown is standing over me. Yeah, I know – a dressing gown? Definitely a crazy person. She’s angry, but I don’t care, because I’m furious.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask her. ‘You leave my gran alone!’

  She glares down at me, and I realise she’s got the advantage as she’s standing up and I’m still in a heap on the floor. I push the torn blanket away and get up. Whoa, dizzy! I’ve got to take these shoes off in a minute, they’re downright flipping dangerous. But right now they make me taller than her, so I stand up straight and glare back.

  She ignores my question and points a scarlet-tipped finger at me. ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’

  Oh. My. God. She’s the blonde from the mirror. She’s right here in front of me. Did she come out of the mirror? No, that’s a stupid idea. It’s not possible. But wasn’t seeing her and the other girl in the mirror impossible too? I feel like my head’s going to explode.

  I take a step back and my shoe makes a clicking sound on the floor. I look down. I’m standing on a sea of brown lino. It can’t be, or I have seriously lost my mind. Where’s the carpet gone? And the walls – the colour’s different, a sort of cat’s poo yellow at the bottom and a nasty beige at the top. And where did that old glass light fitting come from? What happened to Gran’s uplighter? The only thing that’s still here is the old hall stand with the mirror.

  I feel sick. I’ve seen Gran’s hall like this before, but only for a nanosecond, before it disappeared again. It was like a dream. But this looks solid, permanent. I take another step back, because I can tell you I am seriously freaked now. Did she pull me through the mirror? No, that’s ridiculous.