Mattie will be home in a minute. She was right, he admits to himself. Everything she said was right. He knows it in his bones. He can’t stay hidden in his sister’s spare room for ever. All those weeks with the covers pulled over his face, not helping Mattie or doing anything useful, just feeling sorry for himself, listening to sad love songs on his Walkman. It’s anger that’s building inside him now. He visualises Cat’s wide cheeks, her gappy smile, her long, silky honey hair. And then he rubs his hands over his face so hard that it hurts, as if he could erase the image, wipe himself clean of her memory.
NINETEEN
Cat, June 1983
I don’t get further than the screen door before I’m aware of a difference in atmosphere. The house feels alive. And there’s a strong smell of tobacco. For a second, I think Dad’s home. But I find a stranger in the kitchen, he and Mom deep in conversation. He’s silver-haired, with a generous moustache, sitting at our table looking quite at home, one ankle balanced on his other knee like a much younger man, a cigar between his fingers. I’m pretty certain he doesn’t come from this neighbourhood, not in that tailored linen suit and those fancy brogues.
‘Mom?’
She turns to me, and the animation in her face makes me catch my breath. I haven’t seen her look like this for years. Maybe not ever.
‘Why, there she is!’ she exclaims, getting up and coming over to me. ‘My daughter, Catrin.’
I stand, awkward, confused, while the silver-haired man appraises me thoughtfully, nodding as if he’s delighted by what he sees.
‘Catrin, say hello to your uncle. This is my brother, Daniel.’
‘Daniel?’ I shake my head. ‘Holy shit. You came.’
‘Soon as I got your letter.’ He climbs to his feet, extends his hand to take mine. ‘I’ve been waiting for this. Knew Lydia would need us eventually. That man – excuse me, I know he’s your daddy – he was always gonna end up in the gutter.’ His grip is warm and firm. ‘No gentleman runs off into the night with his bride-to-be. No, ma’am. Broke our mother’s heart.’ He kisses the back of my hand and releases me.
‘Now, Daniel, don’t you say another word, or I’ll start crying again.’ Mom flutters her hands like two broken wings.
‘Don’t fret, Lydia.’ Daniel pats her arm. He turns to me and clears his throat. His eyes are the exact same colour as Mom’s. ‘I’ve come to tell you that you have a home with me back in South Carolina. My wife died three years ago and I live alone. We never were blessed with children. I’d be happy and proud to have you both come live with me.’
Mom sits down, skirts settling in folds. She dabs at the corners of her eyes with a hanky rustled up from a pocket. ‘Think of it! I’m going home,’ she murmurs. ‘After all these years.’
‘What about Dad?’ Things are moving so fast, I feel dizzy. I drop into a chair next to her.
She recoils at the mention of him. ‘You know I can’t visit him in that place. I won’t.’ A note of hysteria has entered her voice.
‘There, there, darlin’. Nobody’s gonna make you.’ Daniel pats her arm again. He looks at me, concern etched into his elegant, aged face. ‘No lady should have to enter a penitentiary.’
‘Why did you never come before?’ I ask him. ‘All this time. Not a word.’
‘It’s a sad waste of years, Catrin.’ He inclines his head, closes his eyes briefly. ‘After Lydia ran off, our daddy wouldn’t have her name spoken in the house. Forbade us from mentioning her again. But now that he’s dead, God rest his soul, and your daddy incarcerated, we can be a family again.’
‘I don’t understand.’ I lean across and whisper to Mom. ‘Are you leaving Dad?’
She gives a short, high-pitched laugh. ‘I stood by him our whole marriage. Lord knows it was hard. He broke my heart a long time ago. Now,’ she lifts her large eyes to the ceiling, ‘I have nothing left to give him.’
‘But he’ll be counting on you being here when he gets out.’
She presses her lips together, narrows her eyes. ‘I can’t be his wife any longer.’ The muscles in her neck pull tight. ‘I made a mistake, Catrin. All those years ago. I should have listened to my daddy. He knew better. Always did.’
We have supper together. The first meal Mom’s cooked since Dad’s arrest: baked sweet potatoes and fried catfish. As we eat, we snatch stunned glances at each other. Mom and her brother talk about people I’ve never heard of, pull out old memories, examining them. Mom breaks down in tears, and next minute she’s laughing. Daniel tells us about his house and garden, the magnolia trees outside the veranda, a pond full of snapping turtles. He says there’s a grand piano waiting for Mom in the parlour. Explains what bedrooms he plans each of us to have. Mom listens with shining eyes.
‘Oh, you’ll love it there, Cat,’ she tells me. ‘The South is in your blood.’
Uncle Daniel is staying in my room, tidied in a hurry. I’m on the couch. I can’t sleep for thinking about the evening – about how different Mom was with her brother – and the planned move to South Carolina. I fidget on the narrow cushions, rearranging the pillow under my cheek, thinking of Dad, and how he doesn’t know his marriage is over. The one time I visited, he seemed reduced by his surroundings, older and smaller than I’d remembered. I don’t want to have to tell him about Mom, but I don’t have a choice. He needs to know. I don’t blame her. He betrayed her; lied to her every day. She lost respect for him – there’s no hope for love after that. I curl around my sadness, hugging it close. There’s no denying, though, that Daniel’s offer is the best thing that could have happened. It’s like I can breathe again.
It’s barely past dawn when I sit up on the lumpy cushions, heart racing. The idea came to me at a slant. Or maybe Frank whispered it while I was sleeping. Come on, Cat, you know South Carolina isn’t your destiny. If I’m not mistaken, there’s another place calling your name. You’ve been dreaming of going as long as I can remember, and now you’ve a reason. Find a way, Cat. Find Sam. You know you can if you want to. Get to London. Get to Hampstead. Leo Dunn lives there, remember? The widower from the funeral. Isn’t that where Sam lives too? There’s the bench on the Heath he told you about – find it, and you’ll find him. There’s nothing to stop you any more.
I stumble up, pulling on my clothes from the night before, panic making me gasp, because I have no idea if I’m in time to catch Leo Dunn and his daughter, Grace, before they leave Atlantic City.
TWENTY
Sam, June 1983
Cat, my love,
I’m sitting on the bench on Hampstead Heath I told you about. Being here makes me feel closer to you, and I wonder if you might even read this on your bench on the boardwalk. Can you feel me sitting beside you? I haven’t given up hoping that you’ll forgive me for lying about my parents, and Lucinda. Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep giving excuses like a broken record – I’ve said it all in my other letters. It’s over with Lucinda. The writing was on the wall months before I even met you.
I love you, Cat. That’s what’s really important, isn’t it? Because I think you love me too. We had so many plans and dreams, and I still want to share them with you. Just write back, my love. Even if you’re angry. Please. This silence is unbearable. The truth is you’ve unlocked something inside me. When I’m with you, I’m the best of myself. And the music – because of you, the songs keep flowing. Every one of them about you. For you. You are my touchstone, my soul. And I want to do the same for you. I want to support your plans, help you make them a reality. I loved your story. It gave me a shiver down my spine reading your words. You’re that rare thing – a real story-teller.
I’m enclosing a song for you. I wrote it in Atlantic City, but didn’t have the guts to show you. It’s called ‘Ocean Blue’, and it says exactly what I feel. I hope I can sing it to you soon.
First time I saw you,
Beside the ocean blue,
I just knew you were
Someone to be close to.
I stood in the dark
/> While you splashed in the sea.
You always were braver than me.
But darling, remember us
Kissing slow on the Avenue,
Talking ’bout our past.
God, I wanted it to last.
I can do what it takes, babe,
I can be me,
But only with you, only with you.
Yeah, I can be me, but only with you.
Always for ever in our ocean blue.
It’s your smile that makes me brave,
Your voice that holds me close,
Whispering all I am, all I need to do.
And those dreams, baby,
I want to share them with you.
’Cause it’s not just me alone,
It’s the sweetness of two.
When I’m with you,
I’m always at home.
So stay with me, lay with me,
Sweet girl of mine, with breath like the sea.
I can do what it takes, babe,
I can be me,
But only with you, baby, only with you.
Yeah, we can be us, but only with you.
Always together in our ocean blue.
Always for ever, in our ocean blue, blue, blue.
Sam slips the envelope into the first postbox he finds on his way back to south London. He stops off to buy supper ingredients in Mattie’s local supermarket: fresh tomatoes, pungent basil, and a good bottle of Merlot. Mattie and River are out for the day and Sam wants to have the meal ready before they’re back. He hums the tune for ‘Ocean Blue’ as he queues at the checkout, buoyant with hope. He wishes he could play it for her, but including the lyrics in the letter was his best effort yet at explaining his feelings. She’ll reply this time. He’s sure of it.
In the high street, carrier bags straining from both hands, he notices a hearse crawl past. He glimpses the coffin inside, a wreath of purple and white flowers on the side that says MUM in capital letters.
Suddenly he’s swaying, his mind loud as a clanging bell. The funeral home! He should have rung the funeral home. Why didn’t he think of it before? Urgency ignites, firing through his muscles. He’s running, his feet smacking the pavement hard at every stride.
He dashes into the hallway, grabbing up Mattie’s phone to dial international directory enquiries. But then he stops with a shock. What’s the name? He can picture it clearly: the yellow-painted clapboard, the shuttered windows. The fir tree standing sentinel at the bottom of the path. He wipes his hand over his brow, balls it into a fist and thumps his forehead. Think. Think. There was a colour, he seems to remember. A colour in the name. Blue. Red. He sees the tree again, silhouetted against the street light, feels Cat’s hand in his, glimpses her smile over her shoulder as they mounted the steps to the door. The sign was there, next to the entrance. It comes to him suddenly: Greenacres.
The phone rings and rings. A man’s voice answers. ‘Greenacres Funeral Home.’
‘Hello,’ Sam shouts down the crackly line. ‘Can I speak to Cat? Catrin Goforth?’ He pauses. ‘It’s … it’s urgent.’
There’s silence, and he hears the echo of time and space rushing to meet him. He sits down hard on the edge of a chair, gripping the receiver. ‘Hello?’ he repeats. ‘Did you hear me?’
‘Catrin’s not here,’ the voice tells him, slow words dropping through the wire.
‘When will she be back? Can you tell her I called—’
‘She’s left,’ the voice cuts in. ‘She doesn’t work here any more.’
‘What do you mean?’ His racing heart stutters in his chest. ‘Where can I reach her?’
‘I can’t help you with that, I’m afraid.’
‘Wait!’ he yells. ‘Just tell me. Is she working in another funeral parlour in Atlantic City?’
There’s an audible sigh. ‘To my knowledge, she’s no longer in Atlantic City.’
‘What? Where’s she gone?’
The line is dead. Sam lets the receiver drop; it falls, dangling by its curling cord.
Sam serves up pasta with tomato sauce onto three plates. He’s amazed that he can stand, let alone make a meal. Since the phone call, he feels strung out, and at the same time numb and strangely detached. She’s gone. He’ll never see her again.
River is in bed, and Mattie sits with bare feet up on another chair, a large glass of red wine in her hand. Luke, back from the City – from whatever mysterious job he has there – is slumped opposite his wife, his tie loosened around his neck, sleeves pushed to the elbow.
Mattie rolls a cigarette so meagre it’s hardly fatter than a blade of grass. She blows out a long stream of smoke. ‘God, this is the best time of the day.’
‘I wanted to thank you,’ Sam tells them. ‘Both of you. I know I’ve outstayed my welcome and been a terrible guest.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Mattie puts her head on one side and pouts. ‘You know you can stay as long as you like. I didn’t mean what I said before.’ Then she looks at him hard. ‘Has something happened? You’ve been very quiet since I got back.’
‘Nothing’s happened.’ Sam prods at his pasta with his fork. ‘I’ve just realised I’ve been selfish, that’s all. Selfish and stupid. Moping over …’ he struggles to say her name, ‘over Cat. I need to pull myself together. I’ve made a decision to focus on my music, so I need to get on with it. I’ll stay with Ben while I figure out how to get a singing career started.’
‘Well, that’s good news, Jack,’ Luke says. Then he pauses, frowning theatrically, ‘Sorry, you’re Sam now, aren’t you? Or maybe there’s another name you’ve decided on? I can’t keep up.’
‘Luke!’ Mattie says sharply. ‘Leave it.’
Sam puts his fork down and looks at his brother-in-law. ‘It’s not that hard to understand,’ he says. ‘I’ve changed my name. People do it all the time.’
‘It’s ridiculous.’ Luke lifts his lip in a sneer. ‘Mattie thinks so too. She’s known you as Jack all her life. She just doesn’t want to tell you the truth because you’re so bloody fragile right now. Apparently.’
Mattie glares at him and shakes her head. ‘Ignore him. My real worry is what’s going on with you and our parents. Can’t you forgive them?’ She places her fingers together as if she’s measuring them against each other, and leans forward. ‘Dad and Mum are human too. They made mistakes—’
‘Mistakes!’ Sam sits back in his chair, pushing himself away from the table so the legs scrape against the floor. ‘I wouldn’t call any of it a mistake. He knew perfectly well what he was doing. It went on for years. A fucking lifetime of deceit. The lies he told. He’s … he’s a psychopath, and a hypocrite. And all the time … God!’ His jaw grinds against itself. ‘I’m glad you can forgive them.’ He swallows. ‘But it’s a mystery to me how you’ve managed it. Maybe it’s the yoga. Or being a mother. Or just being a better person than me.’
He catches Mattie and Luke giving each other glances under raised eyebrows. He ignores them, sloshes more wine into all their glasses with unsteady fingers. A sudden thought comes to him and he puts the bottle down with a thud. ‘You haven’t seen him, have you?’ he asks.
‘Who? Dad?’
Sam makes a dismissive sweeping gesture with his hand. ‘No. Him. George, or whatever he’s called.’
‘I haven’t seen him since that day, no.’ Mattie places her arms on the table and pillows her head there. Her voice is quiet. ‘Your anger is exhausting. I think I liked it better when you were moping over that girl.’
Sam arranges his fork and spoon neatly on his red-smeared plate and gets up from the table. ‘I’ve been stupid about a lot of things – especially Cat. And I regret hurting Lucinda. But what happened with Dad is different. It changed everything. I’ve burnt my bridges with Lucinda and the law firm – not that I want my old life back. I need to go forwards, make things happen with my music.’
Mattie nods. ‘At least think about contacting Mum. She’s a victim in this as much as the rest of us.’
He
sighs, relenting.
She comes around the table and puts her arms around his waist. He rests his chin on her head. ‘Don’t worry about Cat,’ she says. ‘Or Lucinda. You two were never really right for each other. Plenty more girls out there. Especially if you’re a rock god.’ She steps back and grins, a quick Mattie flash of wickedness.
He nods. But his mind isn’t focused on what she’s saying any more. He’s trying not to remember a dark beach in Atlantic City, Cat close beside him, their arms entwined, ankles tethered, their hearts thundering with the same rhythm as they flew across the sand into the night, running as if they were one person.
Part Two
TWENTY-ONE
Cat, February 1984
These days I wake in a white Gothic house on a tree-lined London street. If I turn right out of the house and walk up the hill, within ten minutes I’m in the open spaces of the Heath, and it’s like Sam said, a kind of wild park with woods and lakes. I found the bench. It took a while. I went to every single one, reading the inscriptions engraved in the wood. Ever since I found it, I’ve gone there each day, hoping to see him. I left a note once. When I went back, it had gone, but someone could have taken it, or the wind, or the rain. I’m not giving up. One day he’ll come.
Leo’s house is tall and narrow, with battlements and fairy-tale windows. The rooms have working fireplaces and old-fashioned mouldings like piped frosting. There are paintings hanging on the walls, modernist swirls of thick paint, and everywhere bookcases are jammed with novels. My footsteps padding across oak boards sound as if I’m walking across the shiny surface of my own dreams.
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