Be Careful What You Wish For: Three women, three men, three deaths (Kitty Thomas)

by Sue Nicholls

  Arrivals are seated, and Daisy flits between tables, delivering flutes of Cava. Soon the room is murmuring, and guests are perusing their menus.

  In the hot kitchen Millie feeds carefully laid trays of food onto gleaming chrome oven shelves and sets a timer. Under her instructions, plates are laid along worktops, garnishes applied and soon the first hot samples are on the way to tables.

  The evening is a roller coaster of mistakes and triumphs. In the kitchen voices rise, more in panic than anger, then Daisy’s frightened face bursts in at the door. ‘Help. I can’t manage,’ and Liz runs to help.

  Guests smile - in the main, although some have waited longer than Millie had hoped.

  At last desserts are served, and Millie emerges, red faced but triumphant, into the restaurant. The kitchen is piled with debris and Fee and Liz scuttle to and fro, organising its clearance.

  Wandering from table to table Millie asks, ‘Did you enjoy your meal?’

  ‘Fabulous.’

  ‘Delicious.’

  ‘Fantastic.’

  With a huge smile Millie chirps, ‘I’m so glad. I hope you’ll come again.’

  One couple, somewhat blotto, insist she share their wine, and she sits for a while, high before taking a sip.

  When the work is over and the last guests have departed, the women hug and sit amid the tables with their shoeless feet on chairs, remembering significant moments and congratulating one another. Liz makes mugs of tea and they drink, lapsing into comfortable silence.

  ‘Well, that’s day one,’ says Millie. ‘Now the work begins.’

  They look at her in horror.

  ‘You need more staff.’ Fee leans forward to massage an aching foot, and Millie nods.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Daisy, have you got any friends who might be interested?’

  Daisy grins. ‘Definitely. No problem.’

  ‘That’s sorted then.’ Millie arches her back in the chair. ‘Let’s go home.’

  Chapter 33

  Paul rubs a paper napkin across his lips and gathers the remaining bits of his meal, stuffing them into a cardboard carton bearing the unmistakable golden arches logo. Opposite, at the high bar where they sit, Kitty is picking up fries, one at a time and dipping them into her corrugated cup of ketchup. Beneath the table her legs swing backwards and forwards, while her eyes scan the rest of the diners.

  ‘There are three families with only a daddy,’ she says.

  ‘It’s quite common now for dads to be alone with their children.’

  Kitty dips a chip into her ketchup. ‘I miss our old house.’

  ‘Me too, Pops, but we can’t go back.’ He makes his voice positive. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted a video?’

  ‘And felt tips,’ she looks expectantly at Paul, ‘please?’ She crumples her napkin and stuffs it, mimicking Paul, into the box of her Happy Meal, then the two of them head for the door leaving their tray where it lies.

  Later, gripping shiny carrier-bags, they climb the bare stairs to Paul’s flat. The loud thud, thud of Heavy Metal or Alt Rock (who knows the difference?) makes the stair treads vibrate. Topsy’s yaps are just discernible over the racket. This is not the first time Paul’s neighbour has demonstrated his indifference to the peace of the building. Paul has been forced to buy earplugs or turn up the volume of his television on a couple of occasions.

  On the landing, the noise is mind-numbing. Paul drops his bags to unlock the front door while Kitty screws up her face in disapproval. They burst into the hall and shut the door to muffle the sound but the walls of the little flat are inadequate. Kitty presses her palm against the wall. ‘I can feel the music.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ Paul’s hands shake, and so does the floor.

  ‘Poor Topsy.’ Kitty stoops to stroke the cringing creature. ‘Come on girl, this way.’

  The pup follows with her ears down and tail between her legs as they take their shopping into the living room and dump it on a sofa, then Kitty unpacks her treasures.

  ‘Please may I watch this?’ She waves the video tape at Paul.

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to hear it Pops.’ He is controlling his face with difficulty. ‘I’ll go and have a word with the man next door. See if he’ll turn his music down.’ He barrels from the room leaving Kitty standing in the middle of the carpet and Topsy cowering behind an armchair.

  If this were a cartoon, the door of the flat opposite would bulge with each beat. Paul smacks the palm of his hand loudly on the door and waits. The drumming drills on and he thumps again, this time with his fist. Still nothing. In fury he steps back from the door and raises a foot, aiming its heel at the flimsy plywood. It flies open and crashes into the wall inside.

  The smell of stale fat and unwashed clothes hits him. The stink, combined with the throbbing base notes, confuse and blind him with fury. He leaps the couple of paces across a short hall and bursts into the front room. A youth leaps from a stained settee, and another fellow, pale faced and dazed, remains slumped on greasy cushions. On a packing case in front of him lie tin foil and a candle.

  Paul flies to the source of the music and pulls the plug from the wall.

  ‘Hey! We were listening to that.’

  ‘Yeah,’ mutters the slumping youth. ‘Yeah.’ His eyelids droop.

  ‘I don’t give a fucking toss what you were listening to. My kid wants to watch a video and we can’t hear a bloody thing.’

  The youth holds up his palms, weakly. ‘Calm down mate.’

  Paul glares and stalks out.

  Back in his flat, he watches as Kitty slots the shiny new tape into the machine then he takes the food shopping to the kitchen. Trailers for forthcoming Disney films drift in from the other room as he puts away their purchases, and soon he hears the familiar When you wish upon a star tune, announcing the start of the film.

  Boom boom, boom. The racket starts again. Paul slams a cupboard door and marches past Kitty and out of the flat.

  The door of the neighbouring apartment is still ajar, and at his entrance the youths repeat their former routine, one rises, and the other slumps. But this time Paul’s behaviour is different. With speed that gives the swaying lad in front of him no time to react, he slams his knuckles into his pallid chin. The boy collapses backwards onto the seat beside his, now wide-eyed, companion. Once again Paul snatches the plug from the wall but this time, he picks up the ghetto blaster and strides from the flat giving it a mighty lunge down the stairs. It cartwheels from tread to tread, exploding shards of black plastic, and crashes to the floor at the bottom.

  Back in his living room, Kitty hugs the puppy and looks fearfully at Paul. Her face brings him back from the blind, red room in his head.

  ‘It’s OK Kitty. Don’t worry.’ He sits wearily in an armchair and pulls the little girl and the dog onto his knee. Kitty clings to him, her body trembling. On the television screen, Tigger bounces with indecent enthusiasm. In a small voice she says, ‘I want to go home, Daddy.’

  ‘Come on Pops, it’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s watch Tigger.’

  ‘But the man. Did you hurt him?’

  ‘I just stopped him making a noise. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘He won’t come and get us?’ Kitty’s voice quivers.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’d never let that happen.’

  They sit for a while watching the film, then Paul stiffens. In the street, the wail of approaching police sirens infiltrates their hard-won tranquillity. Shit. Not again. He extricates himself from Kitty. ‘I think you’re going to have to go home after all baby.’

  They gather Kitty’s belongings into a carrier bag. Heavy footsteps clump on the stairs and voices murmur on the landing then fade into the flat opposite. Nobody knocks on Paul’s door, so he pulls Kitty silently out and down the stairs. The smashed music player still lies in the middle of the foot well and they skirt it to get to the street.

  With Kitty bundled in her car-seat Paul starts the engine, just in time to glimpse the dark form of a policeman running towar
ds them across the pavement.

  ***

  ‘So, you made a run for it?’ The imperturbable Max looks almost impressed.

  Paul takes a gulp from his tumbler. ‘Not precisely a run for it. I needed to get Kitty out of there before she got even more scared. I did report to the police station afterwards. Thought it might help my case.’

  ‘How did Fee take it - when you told her what had happened?’

  ‘I sent Kitty up the path on her own, what with Twitch being there. Fee came to the door and whipped Kitty inside.’ Paul pictures Kitty sobbing out the details of this latest debacle to a stiff faced Fee. ‘Once Kitty’s had time to get over her shock it’ll seem like an adventure.’

  ‘So, will you to be around to complete your course of anger management or should I visit you in prison?’ Max raises his eyebrows and Paul shrugs.

  ‘The solicitor says there are mitigating circumstances. He was impressed when I told him I was seeing you, said it showed the right attitude.’

  ‘But it’s the second incident of A.B.H. in a few weeks, Paul. How do you view that?’

  Paul raises his shoulders again. ‘We’ll have to wait and see.’

  ‘Have you written in the book?’

  Paul nods and passes the small pad to Max.

  Max parts the pages and reads, ‘Fee rang.’ He looks at Paul. ‘What did she say to make you angry?’

  ‘Hello.’ Paul gives a small smile.

  ‘Have you looked at this, Paul?’ Max flaps the little booklet at him like a fan.

  Paul shakes his head.

  ‘It looks clear cut but tell me if I’m wrong. I’d say you’re annoyed by two things: anti-social behaviour and your ex-wife. Would you agree?’

  Paul shrugs again.

  Max asks about the symptoms that preceded Paul’s latest episodes. ‘People tend to experience a rise in adrenalin.’

  Paul cannot remember his physical reactions, apart from the punches.

  ‘Also, you can take avoiding action. Walk away from gangs of lads horsing around, before you have a chance to be annoyed,’

  This makes sense.

  ‘Let’s imagine an unpleasant conversation with Fee.’ Max watches him. ‘What might occur?’

  Paul’s fists clench. ‘She might tell me I can’t see Kitty again.’

  The counsellor’s head tips to one side and his hair flops onto his brow. He sweeps his fingers backwards through the fringe. ‘And what might you say and do in that circumstance?’

  Paul’s pulse throbs in his ears and his head is a red room. His hands begin to shake.

  Max raises a palm. ‘OK. Calm down. Paul.’

  ***

  ‘She doesn’t want to come.’ Fee’s voice is stony down the line.

  Paul stands in his hall with his eyes closed and the telephone pressed to the side of his head. The corner of the notebook in his pocket is worn to a flat stump by his thumb. He listens to the pounding in his ears and takes in air. One elephant, two… ‘Can I speak to her?’

  ‘She’s not ready for that yet, Paul.’

  He stops massaging the book and lets his back slide down the wall to the floor. His legs press against his chest and he wraps his arm round them to rest his head on top of his knees. A tear runs from the corner of his eye and onto his jeans. Another crosses the bridge of his nose.

  Topsy pushes her nose at his face, licking the tears that now flow, silent and unhindered. His knuckles ache from their slippery grip on the handset and he terminates the conversation with a thumb.

  ***

  From behind the Laurel bush, Paul cranes to see past the backs of Mick and Maurice, who stand side by side in Fee’s porch.

  The door opens to the extent of the chain, then wider and Twitch’s smiling face comes into view. After a brief conversation, the men turn, and with their attention focussed on their children, lead them away.

  The front door shuts and Paul stares at the stern façade of the house. His eyes strain to see through the black windows, then he catches sight of something. An upstairs casement opens, and Kitty’s face hangs out. She waves sadly to the departing children. Unthinking, Paul bobs his head up above of the tops of the shrubs and Kitty turns her head. Their eyes lock, and Kitty’s face crumples. Her head vanishes inside and the window slams.

  Bad to worse, bad to worse. Back on his bike Paul chants the words over and over in his head, while the white lines on the road blur past in his peripheral vision.

  Chapter 34

  ‘Why didn’t you come today?’ Olivia looks accusingly at Kitty. ‘I was the only girl. It was boring.’

  ‘I didn’t want to.’ Kitty hides her face in one of Fee’s pillows. ‘I hate my daddy and I don’t want to see him.’

  In the cramped bedroom, Olivia hauls herself onto the bed and gawks at the back of Kitty’s head.

  ‘You mustn’t hate him. Why do you?’

  Kitty’s voice is muffled by the pillow. ‘He gets angry and hits people.’

  ‘Hits who?’ Olivia takes a bounce closer to Kitty and lays her head beside Kitty’s on the pillow.

  ‘Nasty people.’ Kitty turns her head, her nose inches from Olivia’s.

  Olivia frowns. ‘That’s not bad. Hitting nasty people.’ She puts her arm round Kitty.

  ‘But he was scary. He frightened me.’

  ‘Well he’s your dad. Why were you frightened?’

  ‘He shouted.’

  ‘At you?’

  ‘No, at the men next door. I could hear him through the wall. Then we ran away.’

  Olivia is quiet for a while. The situation Kitty describes is beyond her experience. She has always been envious of Kitty, whose dad bought her a puppy. He does exciting stuff, takes her for motorbike rides and gets on his hands and knees to give her rides on his back. To Olivia Paul is a swaggering hero, like a prince or a pirate. ‘Do you miss your puppy?’ she asks.

  ‘Yes.’ Kitty squeezes her eyelids together. ‘And,’ her voices is timid, ‘I miss Daddy.’

  Olivia sits up. ‘Well that’s all right then.’ She thumps off the bed making bottles clink on the chest of drawers. ‘Come on.’

  Kitty pushes her body upright. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To tell Aunty Fee.’

  ***

  Paul picks up the phone.

  ‘Paul. Hi.’

  ‘Hello Fee.’ He waits, staring at his office wall. What now?

  ‘I’ve got someone here who wants to talk to you.’ There is a short pause.

  ‘Daddy?’

  He smiles at the wall and wipes a hand across his eyes. ‘Hello Pops. How are you?’

  ‘I’m OK. Can you come and see me?’

  ‘Course I can. I’d love to. Does Mummy say it’s OK?’

  ‘Mummy doesn’t mind but we have to stay here.’

  His happy balloon springs a small leak. ‘How about Aunty Twitch and Aunty Millie, are they OK for me to come over?’

  ‘They’re going out for a walk. Aunty Twitch thought we should have some time alone.’

  ‘Put Mummy back on.’

  Fee’s voice is off hand, but she is co-operative - she was always fair. They agree a time.

  ***

  The time comes. Paul sits on Fee’s

  bed beside Kitty and pulls her to him. ‘I’m sorry Pops. I promise I’ll never get angry like that again.’

  ‘I was scared. You frightened me.’ Kitty’s voice is muffled by Paul’s jacket.

  He releases her and looks into her eyes. ‘I know. I’m a bad dad, but it won’t happen again.

  ‘Why were you hiding in the bushes?’

  Paul’s back stiffens but he keeps his tone light. ‘I was missing you so much. I wanted to see you.’ He gives the child a squeeze. ‘What did Mummy think when you told her I was hiding?’

  ‘I didn’t tell her. I forgot.’

  ‘Well, everything’s fine now. No need to tell Mummy about it. She might not want you to see me if she knows.’

  Kitty nods. ‘OK.’

&n
bsp; THE DYING

  Chapter 35

  As soon as she unlocks the door to Feast the familiar aroma of wine and spices fills Millie’s head. It is still a thrill to walk into her own restaurant, especially now that it has become so popular. She locks the door behind her and weaves between empty tables to the stairs, humming a song they listened to last night, Jambalaya, crawfish pie and fillet gumbo, 'Cause tonight I'm gonna see my cher amio. Hauling a sack of potatoes down from the stockroom, her notes become grunts as she hoists the half hundredweight bag from tread to tread.

  ‘Need a hand there?’ Millie jumps as a voice booms from the top of the stairs. ‘I’d forgotten you were here,’ she said to Paul, ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ She grips the corners of the bag and hefts it to the bottom. ‘How are you getting on up there?’

  Paul comes down the stairs two at a time and takes the bag. ‘Not bad. I’ve been up in the attic sorting out the electrics. I think I’ve worked out which wires are which.’

  Millie is beginning to convert part of her first floor to seating, and Paul has agreed to help when time permits. This was Kitty’s idea. Neither Fee nor Millie were keen, but the child went ahead and asked him when he came to collect her, and when he said yes, rushed back up to the house dancing with pleasure that she had been able to contribute to the adult world of work.

  ‘I appreciate your help Paul. It’s good to know there’s someone I can call on, who’s not going to rip me off.’

  ‘Well, I’ll get back upstairs and take a few measurements. You sure it’s OK for me to carry on while you’re serving?’

  ‘Of course. The only thing that worries me is if you need to come through the restaurant in your scruff.

  Don’t worry. I brought a change of clothes. Just knock on the bottom stair before you come up.’ He grins, and she smiles back. He is a good bloke really. Not right for Fee – at all, but… She stops herself before contemplating an inappropriate thought about Paul and scoots off to the kitchen.

  Peeling the spuds, she thinks again of the night before - more cooking but she doesn’t mind that. Over dinner Fee had described a client whose nostrils kept flaring as he talked, distracting her so much that she frequently needed to ask him to repeat what he had said. To make matters worse she worried that he was going to ask her on a date and was wondering how to turn him down without risking the contract. Millie and Twitch had teased her madly. Helped by a bottle of Chianti, the pair had screamed with laughter, flaring their nostrils, and insisting she owed it to the company to go out with him. Millie smiles at the memory.