My Name Is Rose (2 page)

‘Mama?' Rose allowed a whisper to escape, before she realised that this person had straight, mousy-brown hair. Esme's hair was thick and black and wild. Esme's hair tumbled down her back when she freed it from its beaded clasp. Her mother complained about the rogue white strands that she discovered from time to time, and laughingly blamed her children for causing them, but Rose had never noticed them.

‘Are you feeling better now?'

Rose looked the other way. A woman was sitting in a chair by the bed. She had a large plaster across her forehead and another on the back of her hand, which was clutching a white handkerchief. She had been crying, Rose thought, because her eyes were red and puffy. She was pale too, her thin face framed by unnaturally yellow blonde curls. She was dressed in a severe navy suit, the sort Rose had seen when they rode the wagon through towns once in a while.

‘You've been asleep for a very long time. I was worried about you,' she said.

Rose frowned. Why should this woman – a gadje she had never met before – be worried about her? Gadje people didn't concern themselves with Romani folk. The woman spoke the language of their country fluently, yet with a strange accent.

‘Who are you?' Rose asked.

‘I'm a friend,' the woman replied. ‘A friend who wants to help you.'

Rose saw tears welling up in her eyes and wondered why she was upset, but she didn't want to share her sadness, whatever it was.

‘I want Mama,' she said simply. ‘Where is she? And Papa and Rani?'

Rose looked beyond the strange woman to where a large, grey-haired woman was issuing orders to a young nurse. She recognised Sister Orta, who turned, saw that she was awake and came striding over.

‘Are you ready to tell us who you are now?' Sister Orta asked.

‘Where are my parents?'

Sister Orta stared at her. The strange woman shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

‘I told you,' the nurse said firmly. ‘They died. In the accident. You're the lucky one. You escaped.'

Chapter 4

Rose didn't speak after that. She couldn't. There was nothing to say. Words no longer seemed to have any meaning; not those spoken by the strangers who came to her bedside once in a while, nor those that scrambled themselves together in her head or fled to far corners of her brain and refused to reassemble.

She lay in her bed and stared at the ceiling, at the cold, white light that stripped the world of colour. It made little difference when it was switched off at night. Rose could still feel the shadows flitting between the beds, checking for life and death. She could hear the hushed voices, the hum of monitors, the shuffling of papers. Occasionally, a harsh cough or a sharp cry penetrated the barriers she had built around herself and threatened to haul her back to reality, but mostly she resisted their assault. She preferred to keep her eyes open, even when it was dark, because when she closed them, her mind seized the moment to catapult her through a tunnel of harrowing images that repeated themselves over and over again. She slept only when exhaustion took control.

Rose had no idea how long she remained in the hospital ward. It became her home, despite its bleakness, despite Sister Orta's increasing animosity. It changed from the place she loathed with all her might when she first found herself there, to the place where she found strange comfort in the daily routine that played out around her but left her largely untouched.

As she regained some of her strength, she was made to leave her bed to visit the bathroom. Sometimes, though she was warned not to, she would wander along the grim, grey corridors and peer without much interest into rooms where nurses were gathered or where other patients were being treated. While her bed was being remade, she would sit in the chair at the side and stare at the opposite wall. She made no attempt to look at the books and magazines that one of the young nurses brought her from time to time.

It was a shock, therefore, when one day Sister Orta pulled the curtain round her bed, gave Rose her clothes, freshly washed and ironed, and told her to get herself dressed because the doctors had pronounced her well enough to go home.

But I don't have a home
, Rose wanted to protest, and then she wondered if Aunt Mirela and Uncle Aleksandar had come to fetch her at last.
Is it them? Am I going home with them?
She could hardly contain herself in her desire to find out
.
I knew they'd find me eventually
.

Early that afternoon, her bed was suddenly surrounded by a group of people and she was lifted into a wheelchair. The woman with the blonde hair and the navy suit, who had already introduced herself as Mrs Luca, fussed over her and tried to hold her hand, her sickly sweet perfume mixing unhappily with the bleached air Rose had grown used to. A tall man with a moustache – her husband – hovered behind the woman, immaculately dressed but curiously hunched, his lips pursed. He looked everywhere except at Rose. Rose stared at him and saw that he was supporting himself on a walking stick.
Is he in pain?
she wondered.
Is that why he seems angry?

Rose quickly understood that she was being taken away from the hospital by Mrs Luca and her husband, though she had no idea why.
Where are Aunt Mirela and Uncle Aleksandar? They need to know what's happening to me. They need to know where to find me!
She had a brief, powerful urge to resist, but in her weakened state she couldn't summon up enough energy. Her fate had been decided for her, and she felt that there was absolutely nothing she could do about it. Sister Orta stood close by, issuing instructions, glad to be rid of such a troublesome patient, Rose could tell.

‘We'll be staying in our hotel, just for tonight,' the woman in the suit was saying. ‘I've bought you some clothes. Nice clothes. The sort I'd buy my own daughter, Victoria. She can't wait to meet you – I've told her a lot about you.'

‘Goodbye, then, child,' said Sister Orta. ‘You've certainly landed on your feet and no mistake. Mr and Mrs Luca have been able to arrange papers for you so that you can live with them. Try to return their kindness and stop this stubborn refusal to speak.'

Rose stared at her with loathing.
Have you even tried to find my family?

‘She'll be just fine.' Mrs Luca smiled indulgently at Rose. ‘The poor thing has been through such a lot.'

‘Spoil her at your peril,' Sister Orta warned. ‘Personally, I think what you're doing is madness. We've had her type in here before. They're born trouble.'

‘I'll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself,' Mrs Luca said shortly.

‘Can we just get on?' Mr Luca growled at his wife. ‘This leg's killing me.'

Mrs Luca signalled to a man in a blue uniform and a peaked cap to take hold of the wheelchair.

Again, Rose wanted to stop what was happening. She leant forward in the chair, trying to stand up, but Mrs Luca took her by the shoulders and eased her back.

‘We don't want you falling out.' The woman chuckled nervously. ‘You've done yourself enough damage already.'

Rose found herself being wheeled along the grim, grey corridors she knew so well, away from the ward. Mrs Luca tottered alongside in red high heels, while Mr Luca followed behind, huffing and puffing, his walking stick clunking on the concrete floor. When they reached the doors and pushed through to the outside world, Rose flinched as though someone had thrown a punch in her direction, and squeezed her eyes shut.

If only Papa hadn't been so independent. If only he hadn't insisted that we go off on our own after the carnival.

‘It's a little bright, isn't it?' said Mrs Luca. ‘It must be a bit of a shock for you after spending so long in hospital.'

Rose hoped she would go on to say how long it had been, but Mr Luca interrupted her.

‘Too hot, if you ask me,' he said. ‘Especially if you've got bandages all the way up your leg. Itchy, they are too.'

‘We'll soon be on our way home, dear,' said Mrs Luca.

‘Not before time.' Her husband snorted. ‘I can't wait to get out of this awful place.'

Rose was panic-stricken.
Where are they taking me? Who are these people anyway? Why are they concerning themselves with me?
She didn't even like them, this woman with her saccharine voice, this man with his hostile glare. She wanted to cry out, but couldn't. It was too agonising. She shrank back in the wheelchair as Mrs Luca ordered the chauffeur to make his way across a busy car park.

They stopped by a large black estate car.

‘Here we are,' said Mrs Luca. She opened one of the back doors. ‘Now, Petr, please lift the child gently on to the back seat.'

Rose thought about beating the chauffeur with her fists as he put his arms round her. She had had enough of being handled by gadje strangers.
Keep away from me!

‘Keep away from gadje,' Nicu had warned her. ‘They're different from us. They have their ways and we have ours. The two don't mix.'

She had never been in a car, however, and curiosity took over. She had often wondered what it would feel like to sit inside and look out as the landscape sped by. For a brief moment, her mind tricked her into thinking she was sitting on the bench of a horse-drawn wagon, but it quickly threw her back to the present, where Mr Luca was groaning loudly as he manoeuvered himself into the front seat and cursed the absence of his own car.

Mrs Luca climbed in next to Rose and patted her on the hand. ‘I expect this feels like a big adventure, doesn't it?' she said. ‘There's no need to be scared, though.'

Rose bit her lip and felt her stomach lurch as Petr switched on the engine and drove out of the car park.
I don't want to be in here
. Fear took over from curiosity.
Let me out!
She turned to Mrs Luca and noticed that she, too, looked anxious. Her new guardian forced a smile when she saw Rose's face and began a running commentary about the sights they were passing. Rose turned back to the window and gazed at the people going about their business; some were striding purposefully in smart suits, briefcases in hand, others were strolling casually in the warm sunshine, stopping to gaze at grandiose buildings or to peer into shop windows filled with glamorous fashions and glitzy items for the home. None of them would have cared that she was being taken away against her will.

Where is this place?
Rose wondered as they crossed a bridge over a wide and winding river.

‘We come back here every year,' she heard Mrs Luca saying. ‘It's our favourite city in the world. It's a pity it has one of the worst hospitals in the country, but we weren't able to move you to a better one.'

Rose knew of the big cities in her country, but she had no idea which one this was.

‘Have you been here before?' Mrs Luca asked.

Rose shook her head. They had travelled through small towns, but her father preferred to take a long route rather than attempt to ride through a city.

‘Cities aren't for the likes of us,' he used to say. ‘You can lose your soul in a city. In fact, you can lose your
life
in a city and nobody would care.'

Her mother had laughed and told him he exaggerated. ‘People are people,' she said. ‘We're lucky we have such freedom, but not everyone is so lucky. If you're forced to live like a caged animal, you might behave like a caged animal.'

‘Ha!' scoffed Nicu. ‘People make their own choices.'

People are people
. Rose's lips sketched the words, her mother's voice echoing softly from somewhere deep inside.

‘Are you trying to speak? Darling, the child is trying to speak!'

Mrs Luca leant over and tried to attract her husband's attention. At the same time, the driver pushed his horn and the car screeched to a halt.

‘Idiot!' Mr Luca yelled at the car in front, which had pulled up without warning. He clutched his leg and groaned theatrically.

Mrs Luca slumped back in her seat and let out a low moan. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably. Rose tried not to look at her. She stared out of the window, frightened and puzzled, but relieved that the spotlight had turned away from her. Petr apologised to his employers and accelerated again as the road ahead cleared. They continued in silence.

At last the car turned into a private forecourt.

‘Ah, here we are,' Mrs Luca said with forced brightness. She straightened her skirt and sat forward in her seat as the car pulled up outside a tall, glass-fronted building. ‘The first stop in our journey home.'

Chapter 5

Home. Rose pondered the meaning of the word as she stretched out on the deep, soft mattress of her temporary bed. Its sumptuous quilt was kicked unceremoniously to the floor. It was too hot in the room!
How do people sleep in such heat?
Mrs Luca had set the temperature before wishing Rose goodnight, kissing her on the forehead and disappearing into her own room next door. Rose grimaced at the thought of the kiss and the waft of sickly perfume that accompanied it. She listened to the low rumble of someone snoring next door that the walls of the prestigious hotel failed to stifle. Sometime earlier, she had heard raised voices, though she couldn't decipher what was being said, nor even what language it was being said in. Silence had fallen briefly, before the rumble had commenced and settled into a rhythm.