by Laura Kemp
With all of that going on, Kat had kept on drinking to drown it out. Mikey had matched her pint for pint, he was fine at first but then his layers fractured the more he sank.
He was supposed to be going to London to start a new job, the Apple place, she thinks he’d said, but he had to turn it down because he’s just found out his mother has ovarian cancer. He was feeling wretched, torn in two, wanting to leave home, fulfil his dream but unable to because his dad was throwing himself into the whisky. Orla was flying at uni so it was down to him. His mum’s in the hospital, recovering from a hysterectomy. His voice had splintered when he told her she’d collapsed in an office the other day with a duster in her hand.
A tear running into the pillow, Kat remembers the exact moment when she felt a surge of bitterness and anger, which she’d known would end her up where she was now. He’d cried, saying he’d missed Vicky so much and how he wished she was here with him: she’d understand. There was no way he could visit her now, but he couldn’t wait to see her when she got back in three weeks’ time.
Jealous and offended that he doted on Vee not her, she felt herself curdling. Then he began attacking Kat for wasting her opportunity – why was she getting so wrecked when she had a future ahead of her? He’d go straight to give anything to go. But he was trapped here. She was ‘a silly cow’, he’d said. Kat had back-pedalled then, claiming that maybe she did have mental health issues after all, that's how desperate she was for his sympathy. But he’d had hysterics. ‘Mental health issues? My arse. You know what your problem is? You don’t realize how lucky you are. You’ve got everything, but it’s not enough.’
She laughed it off but the spite took over. ‘Have you heard from Vicky then?’ she’d asked, imagining the letter in her bag burning to ash.
‘I’m waiting til she’s sorted in Cambodia. I’d rather speak to her over the phone if she can get a number for me to call her on. It’d be shit to say I can’t come on an email.’
‘She won’t mind,’ she’d said, with innocent eyes, ‘because when I left her last week she said she was going to catch up with this bloke, Conor. He’d tried it on with me and I tried to tell her but, you know…’
His head had jerked up then and he’d attempted to focus his eyes, to understand the implication.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh, she was obsessed with this guy. They were friends, really close…’ He breathed out, long and hard. ‘I’m sure she’s probably forgotten about you going anyway.’
‘But she was dying for me to visit…’ His eyes had gone like charcoal, all splintered and hard.
‘Yeah, well, I think she sort of changed while we were away. She was critical, like I’d be having the best night and she’d always want to go back early. Or I’d make friends and she’d get all insecure. I dunno why… She sort of betrayed me. I guess that makes two of us.’
He’d nodded slowly for a good few seconds and then got up, grabbing his coat. She’d followed suit, suggested chips, because she hadn’t eaten since, well, probably that morning. He’d shrugged but then let her slip his arm through his and they’d ended up back at his. Their mouths had bruised each other, their hands rough. Silent functional awful sex. Leaving only the taste of regret.
That memory makes her want to throw up: Kat needs to get away. She slides down the bed and grabs her clothes off the floor, slipping her mini-dress on first then picking up her bag to finish off getting dressed in the loo. Down the stairs, she creeps, unaware of the time, hoping it’s so early that no one is up.
But as she reaches the bottom of the shabby stairs, his dad calls out. He’s at the end of the corridor, in the lounge, in his seat which gives him the perfect view to catch her leaving.
‘Morning, Kat!’ It’s a cheery hello. Only one a father of a son could make. Like she’s proof he isn’t batting for the other side.
‘Oh, hi, I was just…’
‘There’s bacon going if you want a bap?’ he says, kindly. Christ, her parents would be chasing off the interloper if this was at their place.
‘No, no thanks. I’ve got to go. Thanks but…’ She gives him a weak smile then flees.
The rain battering her cheeks, she scrabbles around in her bag. The letter. She takes it out and watches the ink bleed. Then she throws it in the first bin she passes. She can’t go any lower. That is it – she’ll never be part of their lives again.
Chapter Sixteen
V
Cardiff City Centre, June
‘This place is mega fancy,’ Vee said, her nerves from eating out with Murphy numbed by her third drink, as she looked around the former bank vault, which had been converted into a restaurant below Cardiff’s city centre.
‘Lush though,’ she said, just to clarify that she wasn’t being judgey. Because Murphy had brought her here to The Potted Pig as a thank you for helping him out with his dad.
Bricks, low-hung lights and a bar dedicated to thirty varieties of gin could’ve meant it was a bit poncey, but the people didn’t seem overdressed. Maybe because it was a Wednesday night? Like her, they were in jeans, although theirs were probably not from Peacocks.
‘Nice atmos, amazing food – my belly pork is tender as – and this G&T, well, it’s so unusual, tastes all orangey, like a Terry’s Chocolate Orange. It has to be one of those artisanal creations.’
Mikey almost choked on his steak. And then he started to laugh his head off in giant gasps which shook his shoulders. Just like he used to. In school. Round hers. In pubs. A pang of the past slapped her cheeks and then the present gave her another for good measure.
‘What?’ she said, as he wheezed to a standstill, ‘what?’ She felt a bit worried then, that she’d let the side down with a mention of Chocolate Oranges, as if he was sneering at her because it was something ‘common people’ ate. A pang of antagonism struck, as if he was too urban for such talk. God, it was so annoying that she could walk around feeling like she wasn’t a bumpkin, that she’d lived a bit, but in his company he made her feel like a square. This was the trouble, this was why she had been reticent about coming to this place with him. She’d have been happy at Pizza Express. Their new friendship was like some complicated dance routine: she’d try her hardest not to tread on his toes, avoiding insights based on their past, and then he’d stamp on both of her feet.
‘Put your lip away!’ he spluttered, catching her defiance. ‘I’m not laughing at you,’ he said, getting his breath back, ‘I’m laughing because you pronounced it “artis-ANAL” not “arteeeesanal”. You’ve just stuck up two fingers at everyone stupid enough to go to cereal cafes and play centres for adults! You’re quite right!’
‘Well, I didn’t do it deliberately,’ she huffed. ‘Although I do know you say keen-wha not quin-oah.’
‘Who cares?’ he shrugged. ‘It’s brilliant. Artis-ANAL.’
Then it struck her. ‘I’ve been saying that at least a hundred times a day at the deli! It is quite funny, I suppose.’
‘Funny? It’s hilarious,’ he said, wiping his eyes which glistened like chocolate cheesecake, ‘I’m going to start saying it like that. It’s proper funny. God, I haven’t laughed like that since…’
Suddenly, his face crumpled into sadness then and he pushed his plate away. The strain of what had happened to his dad was plain to see. It was a hideous situation: the man who hadn’t given a shit about his son was now relying on him. Was this a good time to ask about him? She wondered because she didn’t have the right to intrude, not anymore, and while they were on good terms, they weren’t where they had been. He’d said his piece at the start: his dad was on the mend. Needed R&R but the stroke team was doing all it could to help with physio. Then he’d skirted it and she’d got the message. Yet she suspected there was no one else who understand the back story. If he didn’t want to open up, he’d let her know, she thought.
‘How’s it going then? With you?’ she gambled, cautiously.
He rubbed his face with his hands and sighed. He fixed his eyes
on her, looking as if he was debating whether to fob her off or not.
‘Pretty fucked up,’ he said, which didn’t tell her either way. ‘He’s had to move in for a bit.’
Right. Now she understood. Vee whistled a deep note through her lips. That was why he had bags under his eyes.
‘Yeah. It’s okay. He’s sleeping loads and he just watches telly and stuff. But he’s different. They call it emotionalization – changes in the brain. So I’d never seen him cry, not even at Mam’s funeral, he was like a slab of rock. But now he blubs at the drop of a hat.’
She didn’t interrupt, he seemed to be unloading, in the flow.
‘He’ll be able to go home at some point but not for a while. There was nowhere else he could go. He leaves taps running and forgets to eat. I think he’d just drink himself to death if he was left alone. I have to watch him like a hawk, he's still craving booze, I let him have a hot toddy before bed, but that’s it. I’ve got a carer coming in to help because I can’t be there all the time.’
‘Is that who’s there tonight?’
‘Yep. She’s good as gold. Does the showering and stuff.’
‘That must help. It must be hard when…’
‘…when he’s done fuck all for me. I know. Orla says it’s a chance to mend our relationship.’ He grimaced. ‘But I dunno. I feel so angry and resentful… and sorry for him.’
‘I guess that’s natural.’
The waiter appeared, offering pudding, but they both declined, and Vee felt a pang of disappointment the night was over when Murphy asked for the bill.
‘Shall we go on for a nightcap?’
Vee was briefly elated that he wanted to stay with her until she saw his face of desperation: it wasn’t her he wanted to hang out with per se, it was just because he didn't want to go home. He wanted to suspend time and delay reality. But she didn't blame him.
‘Go on then, but it’s my treat.’
‘Okay, well, how about we cab it over to Roath, then you’re near home?’
‘Deal,’ she said, grabbing her cardigan as they got up to climb the stairs back into the early summer twilight.
‘I feel quite pissed,’ she said as they walked to the taxi rank.
‘Yeah, I do too. I’ve had a good night, you’ve cheered me right up.’
Vee felt a squeeze in her heart: they’d got their footwork right after all.
‘It’s nice, isn’t it? That we can do this,’ she said, feeling it was okay to say it without fear.
He gave her a cynical look, one she knew of old, that said he completely agreed with her. She nudged him to show she got it. And then she remembered there was a Jarvis Cocker tribute act coming to Cardiff next week! He’d seen that too and she felt so comfy by now that she asked if he wanted to go. Without hesitation, he agreed, they’d go together. It felt so great to have a plan to go out because she was starting to get sofa sores from all the telly. What’s more, it was a perfect arrangement for the both of them, here under duress but that didn’t mean they had to suffer it before the rest of their life started again.
‘Are you missing Hackney?’ she asked, as they waited in line.
He scratched his chin. ‘I thought I would, actually, but nah, it’s good to get away every now and then…’
‘What about Orla, your mates, your girlfriend?’
‘Orla will be loving the place to herself. My mates, there’s not so many, just colleagues really, and Shell isn’t my girlfriend anymore. I was sort of seeing someone, Ruby, but we’ve let it go because I'm going to be up here for a while, I reckon.’
Vee felt a jolt of shock that he'd jumped from one girl to another in a matter of weeks then some satisfaction that he was single again. But why? It meant nothing to her. It must be because it made her feel less alone.
‘What about you? Do you miss Brighton?’
‘I did, massively, at first. It was home for years. But when I look back, I wanted to move to Hove anyway, it’s a little more gentrified. Less scabby. I think I’d grown out of Brighton. Or maybe got boring.’
‘What about your ex?’ He kicked at something on the floor – he wasn’t really interested, he was only asking out of politeness.
‘I miss being loved,’ she said. ‘Loving someone. Not him so much anymore. I can see now I was living according to his rules and I’d lost myself. If that makes sense…’
He gave an ambiguous nod – she doubted he’d ever had his head in the clouds when it came to a woman.
‘Anyway, it’s nearly us for the cab, so where do you want to go for a nightcap? How about The Heath? We can go outside, if you’re dying for a fag?’
‘I’m cutting down. Dad’s not a great advert for it, to be honest.’
‘Oh, that’s great. You do know no one smokes anymore?’
‘I do, Vee, I do. What about the Roath Park Pub? That’s not bad.’
That didn’t appeal to her, it was a bit chainy. Then it was their taxi. As she stepped inside, it dawned on her just where to go. She looked back, smiling, to him at the door, his body preparing to double up so he didn’t hit his head on the roof. He might be all buff and bang on trend, not to mention handsome, but he was still as gangly.
‘The Albany! she said, grinning. ‘Like old times! When you, me and Kate would make a pint last an evening!’
It felt fabulous to bring her up in his company – she’d never tell him about Kate’s baby, she’d barely got her head round that one: the misery she must’ve felt every day ever since she’d had to give up Griff. Vee hadn’t stopped thinking about what Kate had been through: it certainly explained the fleeting dark clouds which Vee had seen cross her face. She’d been texting her every other day to check on how she was doing and she’d come back with apologies that she’d dumped it on her and that she was fine, she was building up to telling Jack. Clearly she felt guilty at having shared her secret with Vee before him: how much she wanted to tell her that she hadn’t blamed her. It was easier to confess to someone unemotionally involved. Instead she had simply offered her the chance to talk any time. It struck her then – perhaps a night out with old friends would do the job? Because she never found out why those two lost touch. She could find out then!
‘Tell you what,’ she said to Murphy, ‘we’ll have to get Kate out one night – we see each other every now and then. She got me my job, actually, forgot to say.’
Murphy had been about to get in the cab, but she saw his body pause. She leaned across from her seat to look at his face but his relaxed expression had become ashen, like granite.
‘Actually,’ he said, ‘I’m… er… Look, I just feel knackered, it’s come on like a pile of bricks. I think I just need to go to bed.’
‘Oh, right,’ she said, unable to read his face because he was resting his arms on the frame and the door, his head out of sight.
She told herself off for feeling a bit disappointed although she too could do with going home.
‘Course, you must be with everything. No worries at all. See you, maybe, at the gig then next…’
But he’d shut the door. As the cab pulled away, she realized what she felt was foolishness. She’d misjudged the mood and she’d read things into his behaviour: as if they had promise. It reminded her of those feelings she’d had when she’d been away, when she’d felt a glow from just thinking about him. When she’d almost certainly been on the way to telling him she wanted to be together. He’d obviously pulled out from going on to the pub with her because it had been too much too soon: they’d had a nice meal and that was that.
She could see she’d read it wrong by the torturous look on his face as he stared at her until the car had turned the corner.
Chapter Seventeen
K
Penllyn just outside Cowbridge
With every step she took in the cool shaded woodland, she counted down to the end.
The end of her love story with Jack, their blissful home, their easy peace; the end of life as she knew it.
Through the vertic
al blind of trees, there was a glade of meadow where the sun shone down in its full glory. For Kate, it represented where she had to go: to leave what on the surface was a safe and blessed twilight and emerge into a naked clearing where she would be at the elements’ mercy.
Yet this cocoon with Jack was built on deception: she had not been truthful to him about the most important thing in her life - that the son she gave up was Griff. By admitting she had not been honest, even though it was for good reasons, for Griffy’s sake, it would cast doubt on her. She would not be the person he thought she was.
Beyond, there would be pain and consequences but at least she would not be lying anymore – her conscience would be almost clean. Because it was unbearable: once it had come out with Vee, then she had felt it at her surface for every second since. Fighting to be free.
It could’ve have been so easy for a second eruption, but she needed the right time, the right place to tell him: she wanted to kill him kindly, give him space to react – to pace and stamp and cry. He could do that here below the thick canopy of leaves beyond the stile which led into their cottage garden. Oh, what she would’ve once done to stop this from barging in on them: he’d given her everything she’d never had: love without judgement. But if she kept the secret, it would slowly asphyxiate her and ruin their relationship anyway.
