What Have I Done?

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘I know. I did, however, manage to resist. Although to be honest, Tash, even if it had been Mr Clooney himself with whitebait for two I’d have said no. I’ve got enough to think about.’

  ‘Did you get his number?’

  ‘NO! I’ve told you, not interested.’

  ‘Not for you, you dozy cow, for me!’

  The two laughed as they mopped coffee into paper towels and retrieved the scattered slivers of china. Kate thought how lovely it was to break a mug without breaking sweat, knowing that she would not be ‘punished’ later for this accidental misdemeanour.

  The kitchen door opened to reveal Tanya with a flush to her cheeks and her hair perfectly tousled. She looked beautiful.

  ‘Hello you, what was that mighty roar? Have you been on a motorbike? If yes, I hope you wore a proper hat thing.’

  Kate was aware that her tone was a little too censorial, but it was difficult. She wanted Tanya to hook up with a boy who would do the right thing, treat her properly. Anyone who would roar off without seeing her safely through the door or introducing himself was already falling short of Kate’s exacting standards. It was difficult for her not to apply Mountbriers etiquette.

  Kate felt a huge sense of responsibility towards all the residents who had come under her care; her biggest battle was to remain objective. She could only look at Tanya’s new beau in clichéd terms: an unsuitable boy, a member of the wrong crowd, trouble waiting to happen.

  ‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl, Kate. I’ve told him to get me a helmet.’ She rolled her eyes skywards.

  ‘Oh good. It’s just that apart from being illegal not to wear a helmet, the roads around here are winding and unpredictable. I want you to be safe.’

  ‘Yes. Winding and unpredictable, understood. Can I go now?’

  ‘Of course you can go, Tanya. I’m only trying to show you how dangerous it is and to take an interest in your new friend. It would be good if he came in to say hello next time he collected or dropped you off.’

  ‘Err… don’t think so, that would be too weird!’

  ‘I worry about you, Tanya. This is all new for you and I want you to take things slowly.’

  ‘No, that’s not what you mean at all, Kate. You don’t want me to be happy. You want me to sit around feeing miserable and still broken like Tracey or whatever her bloody name is, so that you can be the great fixer and feel slightly better about your shitty life. That’s why you do this, isn’t it?’

  Kate’s response was measured.

  ‘Oh, Tanya, I wish that were true. I wish that by helping you and the others I could heal myself, but sadly, no, it doesn’t quite work like that.’

  Tanya covered her face with her palms, speaking through the gaps in her slender fingers.

  ‘Oh God, Kate, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it!’

  ‘Tanya, it’s okay. I am really rather chuffed that you can say exactly what you think. Goodness me, when you arrived a few weeks ago, you would have nodded and agreed to just about anything. You’ve come a long way in a very short space of time.’

  ‘It’s just that I’m not used to anyone being nice to me and I think any comment is going to lead to a fight, so I tend to get my side in first.’

  ‘I understand, Tanya. Don’t worry. I don’t want it mentioned again.’

  Tanya looked thoughtful and a little sheepish as she trod the stairs to her room.

  Natasha had been silently observing from behind the breakfast bar.

  ‘You are remarkable, do you know that?’

  Kate raised an eyebrow by way of reply, wishing beyond wish that it was Lydia she had been reprimanding.

  * * *

  It was Kate’s turn to cook while Tom held court in the Lobster Pot, as he did every Tuesday evening, the open mic night providing an excuse for him to play to an unpaying crowd. Natasha had gone to a fine art and sculpture seminar in Truro and Kate served dinner to the girls. She dug the spoon deep into the fish pie. Steam rose from the fractured brown crust of buttery mashed potatoes.

  Tanya wrinkled her nose.

  ‘You don’t know that you don’t like it until you try it, Tanya.’

  ‘I didn’t say a bloody word!’

  ‘You didn’t have to.’ Kate laughed. ‘You did your nose-wrinkling thing.’

  ‘Well I think it looks lovely, Kate,’ Stacey piped up.

  Kate smiled at her, always sweet, gracious and positive.

  ‘Okay, Mrs Suck-Up! God, you’d eat poop pie if Kate made it!’

  Tanya’s retort was biting and predictable.

  Kate didn’t comment. She had enough experience to know that interrupting warring youths was never a good idea. A pang of grief scraped at her chest and spread throughout her body. She used to think you could only grieve for people long gone, but she now knew that it was possible to grieve for a time long gone, more specifically a moment in time, when her own children had been under her wing, squabbling at her table.

  She missed cooking for the kids; there was something quite primal in the preparing and cooking of food for your offspring. It was one of a thousand comforting daily rituals that had marked her life for so many years. Sometimes she would recall a chubby hand resting in her palm, a sticky face lifted skywards awaiting a kiss, or the smell of a fragrant bay-scented scalp, and her tears would pool. Her babies, long gone. The role she fulfilled for these girls was multi-faceted: she was counsellor, protector and guardian, but never mother, even when the barriers were down and hope was at its strongest. Having never had children, Natasha would smile across the table when these tense exchanges occurred; it was the closest she came to living in a challenging family environment.

  Tanya forked a mouthful of the pie into her mouth and now felt fully qualified to talk with authority.

  ‘I don’t like fish pie.’

  She folded her arms across her chest like a petulant toddler.

  Kate looked at her stern face.

  ‘Well that’s fine, Tanya,’ she sang, as she removed Tanya’s plate from in front of her and deposited the contents into the pedal bin. ‘You can jolly well starve.’

  Kate was happy to wave the girls off for the evening, Stacey to a movie in the village hall and Tanya to the pub, to mock Tom’s vocal efforts no doubt. It was a luxury to have the house to herself. She poured a large glass of plonk and turned on the sitting room lamps. Cosy. She was alone and happy with the idea of an uninterrupted few hours, a chance to gather her thoughts. When Mark was alive, evenings had been the worst part of the day as the threat of bedtime loomed ever closer. Now, however, it was her time, and the thrill of knowing that a peaceful night lay ahead had not lessened over the years.

  Down at the pub, at the clanging of the bell and the gathering of swilled glasses, the bar had gone from crowded to empty in a matter of minutes. Drunken revellers had been cast into the real world, where the air still carried the lingering warmth of a blissful summer day. It was one of those days when night would never truly fall. A light glow persisted, offering a peek at the morning that hovered in the distance.

  Tom had been in full flow, his mouth organ twittering out shanties and tunes. Even those not native to Penmarin, who didn’t know the ancient rhymes and lyrics, had participated through foot stomping and clapping. It had been a golden night, one to remember.

  Tanya loitered at the end of the bar. Her red hair fell over her shoulder as her head lolled to one side. She gripped the motorbike helmet under her arm, the biker’s first and last present to her. She was ready for her ride home.

  Rodney grinned at her as he gulped the remains of his single malt. She was gorgeous and for once it wasn’t his beer goggles that gave her that irresistible edge; she had been drawing his gaze since he first saw her. If he was being honest, he liked the idea of the rough diamond that wouldn’t be looking for romance and whispered exchanges. He would take a guess that her usual beau was sparing with the chocolates, corsages and Moët. This would be easy.

  ‘A good night?
’

  ‘I’ve had better.’ She smiled.

  He liked her confident banter, not like some of the dozy tarts who hung around, laughing at his every word, dreaming of living in the big house or at the very least hoping for a day trip on his yacht. Her cutting repartee told him all he needed to know: this was no-strings fun. He had let the pot boy and barmaid go early, almost as if clearing the stage for this long awaited performance. Perfect.

  ‘Where you going with that?’ He grinned and pointed at the helmet.

  ‘Dunno, any suggestions?’

  Her retort might have been sexy were it not for the sad familiarity with which the words dripped from her glossed lips, and the Lolita-like pose that she had been perfecting for a while. It was how she got things done, reeled them in, gave them what they wanted, felt loved.

  Rodney sauntered across to where she stood and slowly pulled her behind the bar. She giggled, but didn’t find any of it funny. It was a laugh that they expected, a laugh that gave them permission: it’s okay to carry on, just a bit of harmless fun.

  Gripping her from behind, he breathed into the back of her neck, inhaling the scent of her young body. Slipping his hand under the thin material of her T-Shirt, flat-palmed against white skin, he drew small circles that warmed the space they touched. Tanya turned around slowly until she faced the man that would seduce her. He was old. She studied the creases and lines that traversed his sagging face and noted the coarse hair that sprouted in trimmed clumps.

  She smirked at his inexpert kissing. She’d assumed that an older lover would have mastered the art, but apparently not. He felt huge against her tiny frame, a giant that she would fell. His impatience amused her; fumbling at belts and snatching at buttons, he grabbed and pawed, his need urgent. She smirked in recognition of the fact that they were all the same when it came right down to it, aged twenty, thirty, forty or fifty… At this point, it was all about a need, a longing and an ache that she could satisfy. With her eyes closed, all her lovers past and present were remarkably similar.

  The mismatched pair slid down onto the sticky red linoleum behind the bar. The smell of beer and the sugary scent of spilt wine was overwhelming. There were no words of seduction, no affection or intimacies of love. This was an act of pure physicality, animalistic, verging on aggressive.

  Tanya laughed into his plaid-clad, middle-aged shoulder, which had long since lost its definition. She enjoyed the brief power, it was always this way. This was the moment when she felt supreme. She radiated at the thrall in which she held the local big-wig, he of powerful car and fat cigar, a connoisseur of life’s finer things. For a few seconds this union would make her too feel like a finer thing.

  She wanted the pace to be slow; she hoped for a few words of tenderness. She got neither.

  Her spike of elation was not to last. All too quickly the pair were restoring clothing, tucking in hems and patting down wilful hair. This aftermath was conducted in silence, not the awkward variety, but, judging by Rodney’s expression, a hush born of disgust.

  Tanya’s sense of omnipotence was immediately and forcibly replaced with a deep self-loathing, a feeling that was more comfortable, familiar.

  Rodney jangled the keys in her direction, informing her it was home time. Her humiliation was complete; he wasn’t wasting any words on her. The best he could manage was an action, the rattling of chunks of metal to coerce her, in the way one might distract a baby or quiet a rowdy pet. As he reached over, she hoped to feel the caress of his palm against her face; it would have helped. Instead, he pinched her cheek, in the way one might a naughty nephew, or as if he were a cane-wielding schoolmaster.

  He dropped her off at the bottom of the driveway. She had barely placed her feet on the ground when the Kawasaki roared off into the night. The honey glow of Kate’s carefully positioned lamps shone through the windows of Prospect House. Tanya eased her key into the lock.

  Kate was on the sofa, blanket bound and reading.

  ‘Hello, love. Good evening?’

  ‘Yeah, not bad. If shagging on the bar floor is your idea of a good evening.’

  She wanted to shock, transfer some of the tension to this woman who was easy prey.

  Kate sat up, The Time Traveler’s Wife suddenly of less interest than the topic in hand.

  ‘Actually, no, it isn’t. I’m a bit old-fashioned like that, preferring at least a mattress, a decent courtship or a bag of chips first, but that’s just me.’

  Kate refused to take the bait. She’d seen it all before, heard it all before. She suppressed the many questions that danced on her tongue. Who is he? Why are you doing this? Are you okay? Hurt? Happy?

  Kate unwrapped the blanket from her legs and closed her book. Henry DeTamble would just have to stay missing somewhere in time until she could pick up his trail again. She knew he would understand, given that he was always having to suffer the inconvenience of disappearing at the most crucial moments.

  ‘Well, as long as you are home safe and sound, I think I’ll turn my toes in.’

  Tanya stumbled forward and sat down on the sofa next to Kate. Her tears fell quietly, snaking their way into her open mouth. She was not usually given to mournful reflection, but it was as if by being in this wonderful place, she expected her life to be different, she expected to be different. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t. Whether with the old gang trying to score a hit or here in this picture-postcard village by the sea, it would always be her that gave the boys what they wanted, her that only knew how to seduce, but not how to love.

  ‘Oh Kate, Kate…’

  ‘It’s okay, lovey, you are home and you are safe.’

  She cradled the girl’s slight frame against her own and spoke into her scalp.

  ‘It will all feel a bit better in the morning, you wait and see. It’ll pass, everything does.’

  Kate smiled as she regurgitated the advice a good friend had once given her.

  The two sat until Tanya drifted into sleep. Kate extricated herself, taking care not to wake her. She needed the escape that sleep offered. Kate tucked the pale pink lambswool blanket around her charge’s slender shoulders and pushed a cushion under her cheek. Tanya was calm, for now.

  * * *

  ‘Morning all!’

  Tom was in good spirits.

  ‘Just seen Rodney on the deck of his boat looking like a right plonker! God, if he’s not racing around on that ridiculous bloody motorbike, he’s poncing about on that boat!’

  Kate seized the moment. She popped on her trainers, snuck out of the back door and trotted off down the lane. She tried to calm her rising pulse, tried not to jump to any conclusions. It wasn’t often she knew where to find Rodney, and this was just the opportunity she’d been looking for.

  She found him on the deck of Lady of Penmarin, his rather ostentatious yacht, wearing a naff sailing hat with gold braiding and a large anchor embroidered on the front, the kind of cap you could pick up at any of the local gift shops for a few quid. He was busy coiling rope, which even though she was a novice sailor, Kate could tell was a futile chore, designed so that he could show off in full view on the deck. Tom had phrased it perfectly: a right plonker.

  ‘Rodney, hi!’

  Kate waved from the pontoon.

  ‘It’s Cap’n Rodney when I am on my seafaring maiden!’

  ‘Righto. I was wondering if I might have a word?’

  Kate ignored his joviality; she was in no mood for high jinks.

  ‘Yes of course, come aboard!’

  ‘Urgh, I was afraid you’d say that.’

  Kate groaned. She was an ungainly yachtswoman, clinging to rigging and placing each foot hesitantly for fear of ending up in the drink.

  ‘What a lovely surprise, Kate! Come into my lair…’

  Rodney indicated the cabin steps and twitched his rather unkempt eyebrows like the classic caricature lech.

  ‘I’d rather not. I’d prefer to just say my piece and then go.’

  ‘Oh, that sounds ominous.’


  ‘I want to talk to you about Tanya.’

  ‘Ah, the delightful Tanya – talk away!’

  ‘This isn’t funny, Rodney, far from it. In fact I’ve come to ask you to stay away from her.’

  Rodney laughed and shook his head slightly as though in disbelief.

  ‘I don’t know what tales of wrongdoing she’s been running up the hill with, but let me assure you that she was more than—’

  ‘She hasn’t mentioned you, not once.’ Kate interrupted him. ‘It’s me that has the problem, not her. Any relationship you might envisage having with her can only do her harm in the long run and I care enormously about Tanya, about all the girls.’

  ‘Relationship? Good God! I think you are rather jumping the gun there.’

  Rodney laughed loudly at the very idea.

  ‘I see. Well, that says it all really. Do you know, Rodney, you are an arsehole and a bastard and an arsehole!’

  ‘You already said arsehole.’

  ‘I know, but I’m not very good at swearing in public and it’s all I could think of twice.’

  ‘Is there something else going on here, Kate, old girl? Is that a little bit of the green-eyed monster I detect? Maybe it’s not fair because Kate is a lonely girl?’

  He winked at her.

  ‘Oh, please! You make me sick, Rodney. Let me ask you a question: how did you become the person you are? How did your unfortunate personality take shape?’

  He stared at her, unsure whether she was expecting an answer or not. She wasn’t.

  Kate continued.

  ‘I bet if you were anything like me, it was because of the people you met, places you went, your education, holidays you took, foreign travel, chatting to people from different backgrounds, races, religions.’

  ‘I guess.’

  He shrugged and scratched at his scalp under his hat. His grip on the topic was somewhat loose; he wished she would get to the point.

  ‘Well, Tanya has had none of those opportunities, not yet. She may look like a grown-up and even sound like one at times, but she is anything but. I want you to leave her alone and give her the chance to experience life without being lassoed by someone old enough to be her father, if not grandfather! I am asking you to stay away from her because she is fragile and I am not about to look the other way and watch her get damaged further by your little dalliance.’