Read Online The Denniston Rose by Jenny Pattrick - Free Book Online
Authors: Jenny Pattrick
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outside in Lord Percy’s vegetable garden, laughing and throwing lumps of coal down into the gully, and sometimes they went to Red Minifie’s up by the Bins and she and her mother had a quiet night until someone came banging on their door to say, ‘Red Minifie says come and get Jimmy because his friends are too drunk to carry him and no one else can get near him.’
‘If you can bring the message you could have brought the man,’ says her mother, but she would put on her coat and go up anyway and Rose would wait in the dark house, humming songs under the blanket until her mother dragged Jimmy home and put him to bed without saying anything more. She said a lot, though, in the mornings when he wouldn’t go to work. Then she would go outside and bang hard on the nails of the chicken house she was building against the cliff behind the house. Rose would hold the nails ready for her mother, or she would go up to play with Michael, or see if Mrs C. Rasmussen, in the house made of tree-trunks, needed help with her baking.
Mrs C. Rasmussen was the fattest lady Rose had known. If Rose put her head against Mrs C. Rasmussen’s apron it went right in like soft cotton wool, and the big woman would laugh, wobbling her stomach, and hug the child and say she was only like that because she couldn’t be bothered wearing her stays today, but not to tell anyone because proper ladies always wore stays.
‘Can I look at the stays, then?’ asked Rose.
Mrs Rasmussen laughed. Her laugh rolled out thick like treacle. ‘Ah well, now, Rosie, my bedroom is another secret.’
The secret bedroom was pink. A handsome prince should live in it. Rose stroked the pink velvet curtains, which were softer than a cat. A cover on the bed was woven with coloured birds. Mrs C. Rasmussen’s stays were inside a dark carved wardrobe. They hung there like another bony woman with long ribbons trailing down to the floor. Rose thought of her own mother, who looked thinner now, even though a baby was growing inside. Bonier even than the stays. She imagined her mother hanging beside the stays in this wardrobe, which smelt of summer flowers and other stranger things.
‘Don’t be frightened, Rose,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen. ‘Stays won’t bite you.’ And she smiled and hugged the child again and asked could she keep a secret.
‘I’m already keeping the stays a secret, and the bedroom a secret, and I can keep lots more,’ said Rose.
So Mrs C. Rasmussen pulled back the stays and other long, coloured dresses, and showed Rose a red jacket hanging right at the back. The jacket had gold shoulders and gold cords with tassels and a silver and blue star pinned to the jacket pocket.
‘Your uncle Con the Brake used to wear this,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen, and held Rose up so she could touch the gold. Rose looked at Mrs C. Rasmussen and supposed that if Con the Brake were a handsome prince in disguise, this woman might be a beautiful princess in disguise. Or the queen. When she had her stays on.
After that, Rose called in quite often and if Mrs C. Rasmussen wasn’t too busy they would go into the prince’s bedroom and dress up in silk scarves and hats and would dance and sing.
‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen in a sharp voice, and Rose said the ladies where her mother worked before they were at the beach taught her.
‘It is not a dance for Denniston,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen, but then she laughed and said, ‘Rose, Rose, we are birds of a feather and it is a good dance, for all that, and we shall dance it together in here, but it will have to be yet another secret.’
‘It’s a good thing I can remember a lot of things,’ said Rose.
‘It is,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen, and laughed and kicked her fat white legs high in the air.
One time when Rose and Mrs C. Rasmussen had a pile of glass beads and jet and amber necklaces and a tiny pair of gold earrings on the bed and they were pretending it was Aladdin’s treasure in
‘If you can bring the message you could have brought the man,’ says her mother, but she would put on her coat and go up anyway and Rose would wait in the dark house, humming songs under the blanket until her mother dragged Jimmy home and put him to bed without saying anything more. She said a lot, though, in the mornings when he wouldn’t go to work. Then she would go outside and bang hard on the nails of the chicken house she was building against the cliff behind the house. Rose would hold the nails ready for her mother, or she would go up to play with Michael, or see if Mrs C. Rasmussen, in the house made of tree-trunks, needed help with her baking.
Mrs C. Rasmussen was the fattest lady Rose had known. If Rose put her head against Mrs C. Rasmussen’s apron it went right in like soft cotton wool, and the big woman would laugh, wobbling her stomach, and hug the child and say she was only like that because she couldn’t be bothered wearing her stays today, but not to tell anyone because proper ladies always wore stays.
‘Can I look at the stays, then?’ asked Rose.
Mrs Rasmussen laughed. Her laugh rolled out thick like treacle. ‘Ah well, now, Rosie, my bedroom is another secret.’
The secret bedroom was pink. A handsome prince should live in it. Rose stroked the pink velvet curtains, which were softer than a cat. A cover on the bed was woven with coloured birds. Mrs C. Rasmussen’s stays were inside a dark carved wardrobe. They hung there like another bony woman with long ribbons trailing down to the floor. Rose thought of her own mother, who looked thinner now, even though a baby was growing inside. Bonier even than the stays. She imagined her mother hanging beside the stays in this wardrobe, which smelt of summer flowers and other stranger things.
‘Don’t be frightened, Rose,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen. ‘Stays won’t bite you.’ And she smiled and hugged the child again and asked could she keep a secret.
‘I’m already keeping the stays a secret, and the bedroom a secret, and I can keep lots more,’ said Rose.
So Mrs C. Rasmussen pulled back the stays and other long, coloured dresses, and showed Rose a red jacket hanging right at the back. The jacket had gold shoulders and gold cords with tassels and a silver and blue star pinned to the jacket pocket.
‘Your uncle Con the Brake used to wear this,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen, and held Rose up so she could touch the gold. Rose looked at Mrs C. Rasmussen and supposed that if Con the Brake were a handsome prince in disguise, this woman might be a beautiful princess in disguise. Or the queen. When she had her stays on.
After that, Rose called in quite often and if Mrs C. Rasmussen wasn’t too busy they would go into the prince’s bedroom and dress up in silk scarves and hats and would dance and sing.
‘Where did you learn to dance like that?’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen in a sharp voice, and Rose said the ladies where her mother worked before they were at the beach taught her.
‘It is not a dance for Denniston,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen, but then she laughed and said, ‘Rose, Rose, we are birds of a feather and it is a good dance, for all that, and we shall dance it together in here, but it will have to be yet another secret.’
‘It’s a good thing I can remember a lot of things,’ said Rose.
‘It is,’ said Mrs C. Rasmussen, and laughed and kicked her fat white legs high in the air.
One time when Rose and Mrs C. Rasmussen had a pile of glass beads and jet and amber necklaces and a tiny pair of gold earrings on the bed and they were pretending it was Aladdin’s treasure in
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