Rat Catchers

Tunnels

Her father was braced against his desk with his back to the door, holding onto the edges with white knuckles; like he was a boy waiting for a caning from the headmaster.

The office wasn't the mess she'd expected.

The lounge had been shoved aside a little and one of the chairs was on its side and there was some paper on the floor, but only a couple of sheets. Her father's shoes lay abandoned in the middle of the rug. There was a bottle on the mantle and another on the desk and another on the small round table by the lounge.

Rose silently closed the door behind her, took two steps into the room, picked up her father's shoes, took one in each hand and whacked the leather soles together as hard as she could.

A crack rang through the room, astonishingly loud, very much the sound she'd hoped for.

Tommy dropped; one arm around his face, the other over his head.

Rose took a step closer and banged the shoes again, watching him flinch, watching him bury his face deeper into the crook of his arm.

She took another step, clapped again. And again. Step. Clap. Step. Clap. Until she was standing right over him.

She lowered her arms until the shoes were only inches from his head and slammed them together one more time, with everything she had.

Her father shot up backwards. Crouched down and shaking, he stared at her. Rose held his stare until she saw comprehension creep across his face.

"Boo," she said softly.

She spread her arms slowly, watching him watch her, clapped one last time and let the shoes drop.

Tommy was upon her before the shoes even hit the floor, gripping her by the arms, his face white, his eyes dark with rage. Rose felt her feet lift off the ground, as he brought her face so close to his she could have bitten it. Or kissed it.

He hurled her across the room.

She landed on the rug in front of the lounge, scrambled to her feet, took the bottle from the little round table and threw it at him. It shattered against the edge of the desk.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" Tommy roared.

"You made up the fucking game," Rose roared back. "D'you want to play again?"

Both of them were glaring daggers now.

"Don't fucking test me, girl..."

"You're a sore loser, aren't you?" she snarled.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?"

Tommy's fists were clenched, Rose's were, too.

"Hide-and-seek," she shouted. "The longest game in fuckin' hist'ry and you're just mad 'cause I found you out first."

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Yes!" Rose screamed. "It's bloody lost and so's yours - so stop fucking about with the drink and help look for them!"

He crumpled as if he'd been punched in the guts; like he'd been punched in the guts by a giant even. Rose managed to stay upright, even though her legs were shaking and her breath ragged.

"It's orright..." her father's hands were covering his mouth but she could hear him anyway. "You're orright, Rosie. I'm orright... it'll be orright."

"No it isn't," she said. "I'm broken. You're broken. And it's all fucked."

"Ah, Rosie." Tommy leaned back against the desk, his shoulders slumping. "I know."

She felt lightheaded suddenly and let herself slide backwards onto the lounge, watching her father attempt to pull himself together. Reassemble the body around the man. It wasn't going very well. His hands were trembling, maybe because they'd nothing to hold onto, not a glass or a cigarette or a gun or some woman. His breaths sounded like rain clouds in a barrel.