Authors: Sharon Sant
‘Right, then.’
I leave the ward and I don’t look back.
After the bath has been filled as full as I can get away with I slide in. I can’t deny that the warmth of the water makes me feel light and calmer than I have been for ages. The bubble bath smells like roses. The scent drags me back in time – a festival weekend, arriving home mud-spattered and cold to my bones and Mum running me a bath that smells like this. The bottle is almost empty and I can’t decide whether I want to replace it or not. I’ve used it sparingly. It’s like it still has Mum’s imprint on the bottle – her intentions when she bought it, the way she chose it, the thoughts that ran through her head when she poured it into a bath for me, like a piece of her is still here. When I feel the loneliest, that’s when I use it. The smell, while it comforts me with the memories it brings, sets me yearning for something I can never get back. Perhaps it’s time to let the bottle run out after all.
I know I shouldn’t have lost my temper with Gran. She’s old and ill and all I have. I should have gone to find that doctor to tell me what’s wrong before I stormed out. Sometimes, when I get the rage, it fogs everything up. Ten minutes in the cold air walking home and it had cleared, but the dark night was coming and it was too late to go back.
I hold my breath and slip below the surface and the sounds of the boiler chugging away are immediately muffled. It feels like a cocoon and I stay there as long as I can, eyes closed; the water as intimate as anything can be until it almost becomes me. When I need to breathe I break the surface and gasp, rubbing droplets from my eyes and refocus on the room. I lie still, staring at the steam as it wreathes away from me and for a precious moment I’m at peace.
The moment is broken as the phone starts to ring downstairs. It could be the hospital or the home, I suppose. But it’s more likely to be him. My mobile is out on the landing, I can see it through the open door, lying with my dirty clothes.
The phone downstairs rings off. I wait. My mobile doesn’t make a sound. Not the hospital or Meadowview, then. I duck my head back under the water again.
A crash from the back of the house wakes me. I bolt up on the sofa. The TV is still murmuring quietly in the corner of the room, some old black and white Dracula film playing. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep but the house is in darkness and the heating must have clicked off because I’m suddenly aware of goose bumps erupting all over my skin. Waking on the sofa like this is nothing new. The noise from outside is, though. An alleyway runs along the back of this row of houses, and the walls of the gardens are pretty high to stop users of the alleyway looking in. So whatever has just made that row outside has pitched a real effort to scale mine.
I scramble up and pull my cardigan tight, running to the kitchen to grab a knife. It’s probably nothing, but I can’t go out there with no means of defending myself. I could just hide upstairs; the house is all locked up tight and it would be pretty hard for anyone to get in. But what if a chunk of the roof has fallen off the back of the house? Or something dangerous has happened that I need to warn neighbours about? Or… some guy has fallen out of a crane fixing a lamppost or something? Sounds unlikely, I know, but I have to check it out; I’d never forgive myself if something bad happened to someone and I could have helped.
Back in the old days, I would have snuggled into Mum on the sofa while Dad did his hero thing and went to investigate. Not that he could have done much if he had come across a mad axe murderer; Dad’s strength lay in his ability to construct a database like nobody else, not in his ninja powers, but he would have gone anyway. That was the old days. Now there’s just me.
I turn the key in the lock of the back door as quietly as I can and open it a crack to peer outside.
The cold air bites into my face immediately. Frost glints along the wall. All is still. I stick my head out further and scan our tiny garden. The shadows are dark pools and I strain my eyes to pierce the gloom, but I can’t see anything. Then something leaps up from behind the bin onto the wall. I stagger backwards, until I look again and see a cat eyeing me warily from its new vantage point. Cats are always wandering in and out of the garden, and they all make a quick getaway whenever I come out to them. Not this one, though. It sits and holds me in a penetrating gaze.
‘I thought cats weren’t supposed to be able to stare you out,’ I say to it in a low voice.
The cat doesn’t move. In the dim light from the streetlamps I can see it’s a ginger tabby. It looks small and very skinny – kind of wiry and tough. I can’t help but smile. If I was a cat it’s probably exactly what I’d look like. I think it’s pretty young and, judging by how thin it is and the mess of its tangled fur, it’s hungry. I step out into the garden and walk slowly over to reach up. The cat stands, poised for escape as it watches me. It starts to back away from my outstretched hand. Then, as I get closer, it takes a swipe at me with a warning yowl, raking its claws across the back of my hand.
‘Ow, you little bastard!’ I yell. And then I can’t help the small laugh that erupts from my throat. This is definitely some feline version of me.
It doesn’t run, even though I just shouted, but it continues to watch me carefully.
‘Stay there. I have goodies…’
I duck back into the house, dump the knife in the block, silently chiding myself for being such a paranoid wuss, and run to the kitchen cupboard. I don’t have cat food – in fact, I don’t have a lot to eat full stop – but I do have some old tins of tuna. I rifle in the drawer for a can opener and tip some of the tuna out into a shallow bowl.
When I go outside with my fishy gift the cat is still sitting on the wall, unblinking eyes watching me as I emerge from the house. I think it wants to make friends but it’s scared to. I wonder what cruelty it has endured to make it that way, what misfortunes life has thrown at it.
‘Come on then,’ I whisper as I set the dish of tuna down on the ground. ‘This is Sainsbury’s finest; you won’t get anything this good from the bins around here.’
The cat doesn’t move, but carries on watching me. Absently, I rub a finger along the scratches on my hand. It looks like it’s going to take a bit of gentle persuasion, and what’s a few more scratches amongst friends? I bend down and smear a bit of tuna on my fingertips before reaching out again to the cat. Slowly, I move closer and the cat sniffs the air before cautiously edging forward and licking my fingers. Its rough tongue tickles me, and a low purr issues forth, forcing a genuine grin from me, something that is rare these days. A strange rush of affection takes me and suddenly I don’t know whether I want to laugh or cry.
‘There’s more… down here,’ I say as I lower my hand to the bowl to show it where the rest is.’
The cat hesitates for a moment before leaping with surprising grace for such a mangy looking specimen, down to the ground. In a second it’s gnawing at the flakes of tuna in the bowl, purring loudly. I sit on the doorstep to watch. It only takes a minute to polish off the food and then it prowls over to me. For a moment its gaze connects with mine, and then it starts to thread itself around my legs, rubbing against me and purring. I stroke the top of its head, half expecting to get another swipe of its claws, but it carries on purring.
‘You want some more fish?’ I ask before I roll my eyes heavenwards. Like the cat is going to answer me.
I’m starting to feel the cold now so I collect the bowl to take back inside. If kitty wants more, then kitty is going to have to take a chance and come into the warm for a bit. It watches for a moment as I go in, but when I turn around to see, it’s already following me in. I close the back door only slightly, so it can see there’s an escape route, and crack open another tin while it sits on my kitchen floor waiting patiently.
The second tin is eaten almost as soon as it hits the floor, and then I put down a bowl of water which is lapped up in the same way. Then the cat looks at me, at the open back door, and then back at me before making its way into the living room. I smile and lock the back door. It looks like I’ll have company tonight after all.
When I wake up the cat is sleeping on the end of my bed. I grimace as I realise in the stark light of day just how dirty it is. And I swear I can see the tiny black dots of fleas hopping in its fur. But I don’t have the heart to kick it off the bed so I lie back for a while staring at the ceiling as I give myself and my visitor a chance to wake properly. Mum would have fed it too, had she been here, but one sign of a flea and it would have been out of the house in a flash, or possibly in a bowl of disinfectant.
I suppose I ought to ask around, find out if it belongs to someone. I don’t recall seeing a missing poster, but then I don’t always take that much notice when I’m hurrying from place to place, intent on getting to my destination with the minimum of social interaction so I don’t have to see the stares in my direction. But first I have to go and see Gran. I’m not sure I should be locking the cat up though, I think as it stretches and then stalks up the bed towards me for a fuss. Maybe I’ll leave a kitchen window open so it can get out if it wants to. If I come home and it’s gone, then it was meant to be. But if I come home and it’s still here, then I guess I have some work to
do and possibly a new cat. I smile to myself as the cat pushes its head into my hand and I give it a gentle scratch behind the ears. I’m kind of hoping nobody claims it.
‘Twice in one week. I must be very ill.’ Gran pushes herself up as I drag a seat over. ‘And you’ve finally washed your hair.’
I frown. ‘Do you want me to stay or not?’
‘Whenever did I stop commanding respect with you?’ she says as I sit down and shrug off my coat.
‘When I realised that you were a spiky old thing with a tongue coated in acid.’
She smiles faintly. ‘You should have seen me in my prime. I could have wiped the floor with any foreman on the factory.’
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you today or are we going to play guess the malady again?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with me. I should be going home soon. They’re waiting for test results and a doctor to come and give me the all-clear.’
‘When will that be?’
‘They’re short staffed. When someone is available, I suppose. I hope it’s today, I can’t stand this place. Do you know what time they make me go to bed?’
I exhale slowly, feeling the tension drain. One less journey to worry about. ‘No, what time?’
‘Nine o’clock. Who goes to bed at nine? What am I, ten years old?’
‘You have a TV, though, that you can watch in bed?’
She grunts. ‘For what it’s worth. A screen the size of a postage stamp and no decent channels. Don’t even get me started on the earphones they make you use.’ She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment before she speaks again. ‘Did you walk here?’
I shoot her a withering look but she doesn’t baulk under it. ‘You know I walked. Let’s not get into that conversation again.’
‘I don’t like you walking everywhere like that.’
‘Gran, it’s the middle of the day. What do you think is going to happen to me?’
‘People get snatched off the streets all the time in the middle of the day and then turn up dead. How about that girl on the news the other day?’
‘That girl was probably hanging around dodgy waste ground and either got collared by some druggie or a peeved ex-boyfriend.’
‘How do you know that?’
I shrug. I don’t really have a reply for her because she’s probably right. But part of me just doesn’t care enough to be scared.
‘I’m only saying that I wish you’d be a bit more careful.’
‘I am careful. I promise.’
‘That’s why you keep ignoring Gail when she phones.’
‘I’m just fine; I don’t need Gail to keep tabs on me.’
‘So you
are
ignoring her calls?’
‘No…’ A pause. A sigh. ‘Yes. I don’t feel like talking sometimes, ok?’
‘All I ask is that you keep me informed of where you are and how you’re doing. It’s not too much to indulge an old woman, is it?’
‘It’s not that easy. I’m busy.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Ok, I’m not.’
‘Why do you keep doing that?’
‘What?’
‘Lying to me, avoiding the real issue.’
‘There is no issue.’
‘See… that’s where we end up every time I ask.’
‘Then why keep asking if you know you’ll get the answer you don’t like?’
‘I thought one day you’d surprise me by giving me a different one.’
‘Yeah? One day you might surprise me by not asking.’
‘Touché. Really, I think the job I did handing out the spiky, acid-tongued gene was a bit too good.’
I can’t help a tight smile.
‘When do you see your counsellor woman again?’ she asks.
‘Next week.’
‘Do you think it’s helping?’ There’s no irony in her expression this time, no mocking, just concern and a need to understand. It catches me off guard.
‘I… I don’t know. Not yet, but I hope it will.’
‘Perhaps if you had more frequent sessions?’
‘The one I get a week is NHS. The rest I’d have to pay for.’
‘You need money? I could give you some.’
I suddenly feel the need for contact. I reach for her hand. She doesn’t move it away but looks at me with a silent question.
‘No. If I paid I would have to go and see someone else and I’m only just getting used to Helen.’ I withdraw my hand again and fiddle with the buttons on my coat.
‘You are trying to get better, aren’t you, Cassie?’
I shake my head. ‘I honestly don’t know that I am. I don’t feel like I deserve to get better.’
‘Could you do it for me?’ she asks with a pleading look I’ve never seen before. I don’t answer straight away. She suddenly looks very old and tired, like a photograph fading in the sun. I’m doing that to her.
‘Maybe. I’ll do my best.’
I open the front door and the cat runs down the hall towards me, as if in greeting. My heart skips a little that it decided to stay. I think it must be the first thing in my life since the accident that decided to stick around with no guilt complex attached. I bend down to give it a fuss and it purrs softly, weaving around my legs.