Rose Malone is a native of Kildare, Ireland, and a writer of short stories and, occasionally, poetry. Her writing explores the complexities of human experience, with a particular interest in the small moments and encounters that can reveal something deeper about our lives. She is currently wrestling with a novel, a new venture that allows her to explore character and story on a broader canvas.

Her short fiction has appeared in a number of literary publications, including New Square, The Galway Review, Channel, Drawn to the Light Press and Howl. Two of her prizewinning stories have also been published in the Kildare Annual, produced by the Leinster Leader, bringing her work to readers in her home county and beyond.

Heartfelt

By Rose Malone

It had been a long day. The interview panel had been in session since nine o’clock that morning, attempting to select a Teaching Development Officer for the university. The Registrar, who was deputising for the Deputy President, kept glancing surreptitiously (she believed) at her watch. Throughout the short January day, they had interrogated a sequence of candidates, all dressed in their best, delivering technically competent presentations, involving multiple PowerPoint slides of unvarying tedium. Now, at four o’clock, her energy was flagging, together with the fading light and she struggled to stay awake. She began to think about the celebratory meal that she had planned for that evening. Five of her women friends were coming to a potluck supper to mark Nollaig na mBan – the women’s Christmas. She was somewhat unclear about who was bringing what. Sabrina had elected to bring the main course, but she was the least reliable of the group and might turn up late or not at all. Or, even worse, with dessert and wine instead of the promised casserole. Maybe it would be wise to get a quiche in the delicatessen on the way home, just in case.

She was recalled to the present by the Chairperson, the Head of English, who was clearly in summing up mode. The young man they had just interviewed gathered his papers and stowed them in his briefcase. He dropped a page and hastily stooped to pick it up with trembling hands. The Head of Human Resources, always sympathetic to young men, smiled consolingly at him. “Don’t forget your memory stick” she prompted and ushered him out. The chairperson suggested a stretch break, although the Head of Human Resources reminded him that there was only one more candidate remaining. Nevertheless, the two other members of the panel agreed with some alacrity to take a break and stood up from the table. The Registrar muttered under her breath, before walking over to the window. She wondered whether she might phone Sabrina and establish what, if anything, she planned to bring, but was joined by the eminent External Expert who had flown in from England that morning.

‘Some excellent candidates you have there’, he said. ‘That was a fine young man, very promising.’

The Registrar struggled with the crushing weight of boredom and fatigue.

‘Mmm’, she said. ‘I think he’s one of our graduates.’

She fixed her attention on the large tree outside the first floor window. A thick blue cable, bearing Christmas lights, curled among its branches like a sleeping snake. The lights had begun to glow in the winter dusk. She looked at her watch again, openly. They were joined by the Head of Human Resources, who pointed censoriously at the lights.

 ‘That should have been taken down today’, she complained. ‘It’s Epiphany.’

‘Kill me now before I die of boredom’, thought the Registrar, but felt compelled to add ‘It’s Nollaig na mBan, and I have five people coming to dinner.’ The External Expert looked puzzled but no one enlightened him. The Registrar felt intense relief when the Head of English began to shepherd them back to the table.

‘Whom have we next?’ he asked, emphasising his grammatical point and assuming once again the mantle of Chairperson. 

‘The little teacher’, replied the Head of Human Resources. Ms. Melanie Connolly. She’s the last.’

‘A euphonious name, poetic in fact, but difficult to say quickly’, opined the Head of English. ‘One must be careful not to say Melanie Colony.’

‘I wish you hadn’t said that’, complained the Head of Chemistry, ‘now it’s stuck in my mind.’

 They resumed their seats and shuffled their papers.

‘I suppose she thinks she knows all about teaching in a university’, muttered the Head of Chemistry. 

‘She’s almost completed a PhD’, said the External Expert, in a tone of mild surprise. 

‘Mm, in education’, said the Head of English. 

The Registrar’s death wish became acute. She lifted her whole arm to look ostentatiously at her watch. The panel members continued to remark on the candidate’s application documents, with a marked lack of urgency.

‘A somewhat chequered career’, remarked the Head of Chemistry.  ‘Teacher, researcher, systems analyst, part-time lecturer.  Is she married? Any children? Is she likely to have a sprog and leave us high and dry?’

‘You know we’re not allowed to ask that anymore’, replied the Head of Human Resources, ‘nor anything about religion or sexual orientation.’  She sounded regretful.

‘Perhaps you’d show her in, Nuala’, the Chairperson said, displaying disapproval of his colleague’s turn of phrase and, to the Registrar’s relief, some sense of wishing to expedite the business. The Head of Human Resources left the room and returned with a tall woman, probably in her forties.   

‘Ha! Little teacher indeed’, thought the Registrar. She found herself becoming slightly interested in the proceedings. The candidate wore a formal suit which had not adjusted itself to the contours of her body. Her blonde hair was pinned in an elegant chignon. She had no briefcase, but carried a tiny, shining handbag. The Head of Human Resources and the Head of Chemistry exchanged interrogatory glances.

‘Do take a seat, Ms. … er … Connolly’, said the Chairperson, glancing down at the paper in front of him. The candidate walked across the expanse of polished floor, stumbling slightly, twice, as her ankle turned outwards.

‘She’s not used to those shoes’, thought the Registrar and smiled at her encouragingly. She decided to think of the woman as Melanie, rather than the candidate, in an effort to become more engaged. Melanie sat down, smoothed her skirt, and placed her handbag on the table beside her. She raised a hand to reassure herself that her hair was still in place and clasped her hands in her lap to still their trembling.  She twisted a ring on the third finger of her right hand.

‘Now, perhaps you will take us through your Curriculum Vitae and tell us why you have applied for the position of Teaching Development Officer’, said the Chairperson, after he had briefly introduced the members of the panel by name and title.  She seemed to warm a little to his silver hair and mildly avuncular manner and began her prepared speech. All the members of the panel leaned forward slightly. The External Expert began to draw a grid and fill in numbers in the squares. Melanie began to describe her career, beginning with her experience of teaching young offenders in a secure facility. The Registrar found her concentration ebbing away again. She openly looked at her watch and sighed. The External Expert added some more numbers and began to write notes below the grid. His writing was tiny and indecipherable. A slight restlessness grew among the panel members. The Registrar glanced at her watch again and was surprised to note that Melanie had been speaking for barely five minutes. Melanie stopped speaking and an awkward silence grew in the room. The Registrar thought she might ask a question to keep things moving, but was forestalled by the Chairperson.

‘When might we expect to address you as Doctor Connolly?’ he asked.

‘I’ve submitted my final draft and have a viva voce examination in three weeks’ time’, she replied.

‘I’m delighted you used the proper term’, said the Chairperson. ‘So many people nowadays just say ‘viva’: an adjective in search of a noun’. He smiled.  The Head of Chemistry looked out the window. The Registrar looked at her watch again and stirred restlessly in her chair. Melanie attempted a neutral smile. Encouraged by this, the Chairperson warmed to his topic.

 ‘And I like the way you pronounce it. I dislike that Anglicised pronunciation of “viva”.  Sounds rather Protestant, I always think.’ The External Expert looked up sharply.

‘Dear God, take me now’, thought the Registrar.

The Head of Human Resources put her face in her hands, in despair. 

“Do you have a presentation for us, Ms. Col … Connolly?” cut in the Head of Chemistry. She appeared startled and somewhat shaken by the brusqueness of his manner. The Chairperson glared at the Head of Chemistry, failing to conceal his annoyance at having his position usurped by one so much younger than himself, and returned his attentive smile to the candidate.

 “Do you need a laptop, Ms. Connolly, or did you bring your own?” he asked, restoring some urbanity to the proceedings.  “These things are not always compatible, I believe”, he added, obviously proud of his own command of the jargon.  The Head of Chemistry smiled sarcastically in the direction of the External Expert and gestured at the tiny handbag. The Expert was once again absorbed in his grid and did not respond.

“No, I don’t need one”, replied Melanie. She sat very upright in her chair and began, very slowly, to open the buttons of her jacket. The Registrar’s sharp intake of breath was echoed by the other panel members. The Head of Human Resources put a hand to her throat. The External Expert kept writing. Melanie’s elegant jacket with pin tucks on the shoulders fell open to reveal a tightly buttoned, high-necked blouse.

“I believe”, she said very quietly, “that I should speak from the heart.” 

She quickly thrust her hand between the buttons of her blouse and seemed to push her fingers right in through the wall of her chest and the bones of her ribcage. She drew out a dark, bloody, pulsating object from which various tubes depended.  She placed it on the table in front of her.

“My heart”, she whispered.  The Chairperson averted his gaze and stared fixedly at a point on the opposite wall. The candidate slipped a blood-stained hand into her pocket and produced a scalpel. The Registrar thought about calling for College security and half rose from her seat. It seemed that her death wish might be granted, all too literally. She subsided at a glance from the Chairperson. She looked around the table at her colleagues, whose expressions were frozen in attitudes of horror, with the exception of the External Expert, who  continued to write.  Melanie made an incision into the heart.

 ‘See the four chambers’, she continued in her sibilant whisper. ‘See the aortic arch. See the valves. I believe with all my heart that I am the best candidate for this position. If you appoint me, I will devote myself, heart and soul to my students, to my research and to this university.’ Her whispered words became weaker and quieter until they faded away. Both her hands were now slick with blood. The panel members looked from each other to the mangled heart, which they regarded with awful fascination.  Melanie cleared her throat and made as if to reach for a glass of water. After some awkward shuffling, it was established that there was no glass available for her. 

‘Take mine. I haven’t used it’, said the Head of Human Resources. Melanie thanked her and took the glass, leaving smears of blood on its sides. She drank deeply.  There was a collective easing of breath. The Registrar looked at her watch. The room had now grown almost completely dark.

‘Now, about the position in question, that of Teaching Development Officer, can you expatiate a little on how you might see yourself in that role?’ asked the Chairperson.

‘Expatiate!’ thought the Registrar.

‘Willingly’, Melanie replied. She mirrored his sharkish smile.  ‘I can assure you that my approach to the position will be a whole-hearted one.’ 

She spoke about an audit of learning needs, about international best practice, about a possible pilot programme, about her awareness of existing models of excellence, about the importance of the publications of the External Expert. 

‘Especially his most recent publication, his 1979 book’, thought the Registrar, who now took off her watch and laid it on the table in front of her.  The Head of Chemistry drew a diagram of the haemoglobin molecule. The Head of Human Resources made a careful study of the toe of her black patent shoe and surreptitiously rubbed it on her opposite trouser leg. The External Expert continued to write, looking up sharply when his own name was mentioned.  Melanie stopped speaking and took another drink of water, leaving blood stains on the carafe.

The Head of Human Resources looked up.  The Registrar looked at her expectantly. 

‘Get on with it, woman. Ask the usual question’, she said, internally.

‘Ms. Connolly’, she said “should we offer you the position, where would you envisage that we would place you on the salary scale?”

“In view of the breadth of my experience and of my whole-hearted commitment, I would respectfully suggest the seventh point.”

The Chairperson took a sip of water.

‘Thank you very much, Ms. Connolly’, he said.  ‘That was interesting, most interesting … and challenging.  Very intense, if I may say so and …  and deeply felt.  Now if none of my colleagues has any further questions…’

His glance swept over the panel, challenging them to interrupt. Melanie buttoned her jacket and picked up her handbag.  Nuala, the Head of Human Resources ushered her out. 

‘We’ll let you know in about two weeks’, Nuala said as she opened the door. 

The panel members stirred in their seats and began to gather their papers. They looked expectantly at the Chairperson.

‘I think in view of the late hour and, as some of us may have social commitments …’

He looked at the Registrar over the rim of his spectacles.  ‘Perhaps we can postpone our decision-making until the morning. Your flight is not until tomorrow evening, I think, Graham?’, he said to the External Expert, who nodded. The Registrar stood up stiffly and looked around the room at her colleagues. Everyone was quietly putting papers into briefcases, unplugging laptops, replacing chairs.

‘Maybe ..’ she thought. ‘Did I …? Did everyone see …?’ She looked at their calm faces.

The Head of Chemistry stood up and walked around the table. ‘I’m not sure what we can do about the bloodstains’, he said.