How to Fall in Love Again: Kitty's Story

by Amanda Prowse

  ‘And I do.’ He nodded.

  ‘You don’t say it.’

  ‘What?’

  Kitty licked her lips and chose her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was to be arriving at Darraghfield with the fog of a row hanging around them. ‘You tell me I am loved, but you never say, “I love you” – not those three little words.’

  Angus shifted in his seat. ‘I don’t see the difference.’ He lifted his chin and looked out of the window, and her heart raced. She had expected him to immediately say it back to her or at least deny that he never said it. His cool dismissal caused a small void to form in the base of her stomach; she hoped she could fill it before they waltzed up the aisle together.

  As the taxi rounded the bend and her family home came into sight, her face broke into a smile. She reached into her handbag to pay the driver. Angus patted her arm. ‘Just a mo,’ she replied, mildly irritated. Whatever it was he wanted could surely wait.

  ‘Kitty!’

  Again she ignored him, ferreting inside the cavernous soft leather pouch for her purse. ‘Just a sec, please, Angus! You can see I’m trying to pay the man.’

  ‘For the love of God…’ He raised his voice. ‘Will you just look up!’

  She regretted the actual huff that came through her nose as she turned her head towards the front lawn.

  Her breath caught in her throat and her tears pooled instantly. ‘Oh!’ she managed, swiping her tears from her cheeks and smiling through her jumble of thoughts.

  She’s come home! The monster has gone away, and my mumma has come home.

  Fenella Montrose was standing on the grass in jeans, wellington boots and an old sweatshirt that Kitty thought she’d thrown out years ago. Her hair was neat, clean and pulled into a loose ponytail, and she was bending forward with a wide rake in her hand, pulling bundles of shiny copper-coloured leaves into fat parcels before depositing them into the waiting wheelbarrow. There were only a few seconds before her mum spotted them, but Kitty quickly took in the glow to her mum’s rounded cheeks and the contours of her bust, which had all but returned. Most heartening was how fast she was moving; gone was the floating grey spectre of a woman who was barely present. The thing that brought Kitty the most joy was her mum’s expression; the fear had disappeared from behind her eyes, the wrinkles of distress and confusion on her brow had smoothed, and she smiled as she worked, as if all was right with her world.

  Kitty stepped from the cab and made her way slowly around the car and towards her mum. Fenella laid down her rake and the two women stared at each other, each revelling in the familiar image of the person they loved and the person they had missed so very much. Fenella broke into a little trot and wrapped her girl in her arms, holding her tightly; gone was the fragility that meant Kitty held back, instead she felt the wonderful shape of her mum against her chest.

  It was some seconds before Kitty spoke the words that, unrehearsed, came naturally. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  The sound of her mum’s quiet sob was enough to trigger her own.

  ‘I’ve missed you too. And I’ve missed me and I’ve missed Daddy. I’ve missed a lot.’

  Kitty pulled away, still happy to look at her mum in her returned state. ‘But you are feeling better?’ She hardly dared ask.

  Fenella nodded. ‘I am. I don’t really know why, but a few weeks ago I just woke up feeling different. I didn’t want Dad to tell you, in case it was a false dawn – there’ve been a couple – but here I am today! Not a hundred per cent, but miles away from where I was.’ She smiled.

  Timbuktu – a long, long way away.

  ‘Now, how about a cup of tea? Marjorie has made cake of course.’ Her mum half covered her mouth and spoke sideways. ‘She might not remember where she left it, but she definitely made one.’ Fenella pulled a face. ‘Come on, Angus, bring the bag!’

  Kitty was happy to let her mum direct proceedings, her assertiveness reminiscent of the mum she’d known as a child. The two linked arms and made their way inside.

  The house looked the same but felt different, or maybe it was simply reflecting the happiness of its inhabitants. Even Champ had a new waggle to his tail and extra mischievousness in his scamper. Marjorie seemed a little conflicted by the reappearance of her employer in the kitchen, which until a couple of weeks ago had been solely her domain. Kitty understood that it couldn’t have been easy: Marjorie had been the object of her mum’s paranoia for no good reason and now there they were, standing side by side at the sink. It was her dad, however, who fascinated Kitty. He looked younger. He looked happy. He stared at his wife continually, with a smile hovering on his lips. He monitored her every move, pulling out chairs, placing down cups and removing potential obstacles, as though she were a visiting queen made of glass and he was responsible for keeping her intact. His expression was one of disbelief, as if he was afraid that if he looked away, she might disappear altogether.

  ‘Your journalism course sounds wonderful,’ her mum called over her shoulder as she poured tea. ‘I picture you like a modern-day Lois Lane, running everywhere with your notepad, hunting out a scoop!’

  They all laughed – this was the old Fenella.

  ‘It is wonderful, but I’m not quite at the Lois Lane scoop-hunting level yet.’ She smiled at this image of herself. ‘You know I’ve always loved writing, but learning how to make everything succinct yet informative, which is the difference, I guess, between producing prose and producing copy – I’m really enjoying that.’

  ‘You always used to write diaries!’ her mum remembered.

  ‘I did, and I still do, actually, but not as frequently. I only write down the really important stuff. I read some of them recently – they’re quite dull!’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure – you have the dullest life!’ her mum joked, before instantly looking soulful, as if aware that large parts of her Kitty’s life had been marred by her own illness. That was not something Fenella would want diarised; it would make less than pleasant reading and she knew would have been even harder for her child to write down.

  ‘So, Angus…’ Stephen patted him on the back, changing the subject, as was his skill. ‘Kitty tells me you have a job lined up after graduation?’

  ‘Yes, in the City. Derivatives.’

  ‘Good. Good. Splendid.’ Her dad nodded and she could tell by his lack of further enquiry that, like her, he didn’t have a clue what that actually meant. ‘And have you seen the boys?’ He was always eager to hear any snippets about the nephews he loved as his own.

  ‘Yes, Hamish and I met for a beer before the match at Twickenham. He was on good form, but then, as tradition dictates, he went to sit with the Blues and I stayed with the Whites.’

  Stephen laughed loudly and banged the tabletop. Champ pricked up his ears. ‘Shame on you, Angus! We’ll make a Scot of you yet.’

  ‘And I’m happy to report that both boys are going to be in France at the same time as me in the new year for a ski trip. We’re off to Val d’Isère.’

  ‘Oh, smashing!’ Her dad seemed glad to hear they were doing nice things; she suspected he lived vicariously through the hijinks of the boys.

  ‘Would you like to come too, Stephen?’ Angus asked with a steady voice.

  ‘Skiing? In France? With you boys?’ Her dad looked towards his wife, and Kitty could see that no matter how flattered he might have been by the invitation, the thought of leaving her was inconceivable. ‘If it was the Cairngorms, I might be tempted, but all the way over to France…? I think I’ll have to pass and wait to hear what shenanigans you all get up to when you get back; I doubt I could keep up with you young bucks, but thanks for asking me.’

  ‘It’s more than just a ski trip, actually.’ Angus coughed.

  Kitty felt the flutter of nerves, unsure of what might come next but knowing where he was heading.

  ‘It’s to celebrate our engagement.’ He beamed. ‘At least, I hope that’ll be the case – if you give your blessing for me to marry Kitty. If not, it’ll be a rather
drunken holiday to commiserate!’

  ‘Really?’ Her dad grinned.

  Angus nodded, a little sheepish.

  ‘Kitty! Oh my word!’ Her mum abandoned the tea-making and rushed over to embrace her daughter before moving along the table and holding her future son-in-law in a tight squeeze. It warmed Kitty’s heart to see her fiancé’s head squashed against her mum’s cheek – a lovely, unabashed act of closeness.

  ‘I don’t think it’s my blessing you need, son. It’s Kitty’s,’ her dad said while reaching for the handkerchief secreted in his trouser pocket. ‘Are you happy, Kitty?’ he asked with a warble to his voice.

  She nodded and looked at her parents a little shyly. It was such a grown-up thing. ‘Yes, Dad, I’m really happy.’

  He reached across the table and shook Angus’s hand warmly in both of his, seemingly at a loss for words.

  ‘Do you have a ring?’ her mum asked.

  Kitty shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She saw the knowing look exchanged between her parents. ‘Angus wants me to have his grandmother’s ring, so we’ll collect it when we go to his parents’.’

  ‘Have you not met them yet?’ Fenella asked.

  ‘Not yet.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m nervous.’ She had to admit it was odd that after four years together she still hadn’t been introduced to Angus’s mum and dad. Early on, she’d tried to press him on the subject, wanting to find out more about his childhood, but he wouldn’t be drawn. He was dutiful when it came to phoning them every week, but to Kitty their conversations sounded stilted and overly polite, and she soon gave up listening in.

  ‘And I told you there’s no need,’ Angus chipped in, his eyes twinkling at Kitty. ‘What’s not to love about you?’

  Stephen smiled at the boy who was clearly echoing his own thoughts.

  ‘I think a cream dress might be nice.’ Kitty shrugged her shoulders with excitement. ‘I’d like a full skirt and puffy sleeves.’

  The sound of sniffling came from the range. ‘Cream? What a suggestion! You’ll be wanting white, surely!’

  Kitty jumped up and went to hug Marjorie. ‘Or maybe white, yes,’ she said in a conciliatory tone.

  ‘Oh, ignore me – you usually do! I mean, if you had ever listened to me, you wouldn’t be walking around with one wonky arm, would you now? Instead of gallivantin’ off, you’d have had a quiet night in front of the telly with a round of toast on your lap and that would have been that. But instead we ended up in the hospital!’

  ‘Oh, Marjorie!’ Fenella called out affectionately as they all remembered that terrible night more than ten years back.

  ‘And of course, Marjorie, it wouldn’t be my weddin’ without you making ma cake.’

  ‘Your wedding cake?’ she asked with a tremble to her lip.

  ‘Well, who else would I ask?’ She kissed the old woman on her florid cheek.

  ‘I’m not sure how well it’ll travel…’ Marjorie let this hang.

  Both Kitty’s parents seemed to hold their breath, waiting to hear where their daughter had chosen to celebrate her big day.

  ‘It’ll only need to go to the barn – I’m getting married here, of course!’

  Kitty would never forget her mum’s expression, which lit up her face as she beamed with happiness. Her dad wept openly, suddenly quite overcome with emotion, and Marjorie seemed to grow a couple of feet in height, proud beyond words that it was she who’d been asked to make the cake.

  *

  Kitty had got back from Darraghfield a few days ago and had invited Ruraigh round to her London digs to have a catch-up and fill him in on the good news about her mum. He sat back on her bed and laughed. ‘All this shite in your room! How can you stand it?’ He prodded a stack of magazines piled haphazardly on the desk that sat at the foot of her bed.

  ‘It’s not shite, it’s my stuff.’

  ‘Yes, but do you need so much stuff?’

  ‘Apparently I do, or it wouldn’t be here, would it?’ She cast her eyes over the disarray of make-up and bottles of lotions, potions and scent. Her counter was littered with textbooks, notebooks, her trusty Olivetti typewriter and tens of cassettes with a unique array of music ranging from Depeche Mode and Barclay James Harvest to Guns N’ Roses.

  ‘Kitty, I live in a one-bed flat and I have less than half the junk you’ve crammed into this room.’ Ruraigh laughed.

  ‘I’ve told you, it’s not junk!’ She turned and closed her eyes in mock disgust at her annoying cousin. In truth, though, she was happy at the new closeness that had taken hold since they’d all left school. She enjoyed his company, even if they didn’t get to see each so much now they were all doing different things. ‘So, where are you taking me? Somewhere nice, I hope?’ She hunched her shoulders with excitement as she slid her arms into the cardigan she’d retrieved from the floor, shaking out the creases and dust before putting it on.

  ‘No, somewhere cheap.’

  ‘God, Ruraigh, you’re so tight! Let’s go get a fancy dinner – steak and chips!’ she yelled.

  ‘No way! I’m saving. A kebab will do you just fine.’

  ‘What are you saving for?’

  ‘I’m saving for fancy dinners with girls who are not my cousin. And for my future.’

  Kitty roared her laughter – he had a point. ‘Your future? What are you, middle-aged?’

  ‘No, but I need a buffer. You never know, do you? It’s not like I can call up my dad and ask for help.’ He shook his head and she sighed, this their mutual acknowledgement at just how useless his parents had proved to be over the years.

  ‘Have you heard from them?’ She was unsure where his parents were currently stationed.

  ‘I got a postcard from Mum last week. Hong Kong.’

  ‘Nice.’ She saw the flicker of upset on her cousin’s face, aware that no matter how old he got, it must still hurt to know that he and his brother came second or third in the pecking order – after a glamorous overseas job and a fancy social life. ‘You can always call Dad if you need anything – you know that.’

  ‘I do.’ He smiled fondly at the mention of his uncle and surrogate father.

  ‘Anyway, won’t you be taking over Darraghfield when you’re old enough?’

  ‘Really? Won’t that be you?’ He looked at her quizzically.

  She shrugged, suddenly aware that she couldn’t picture Angus at Darraghfield, not for any period longer than a holiday. She gave a brief smile. ‘I think I might have a different future… So, what do you think of our news?’ It was more than a little irritating that it had fallen to her to raise the subject.

  ‘You mean the engagement?’ He blinked.

  ‘Yes! Of course that!’ She tutted. ‘What else?’

  He looked up at her and hesitated. ‘I suppose good… Yes, good – if it’s what you want.’

  Kitty had been about to drag a brush through her hair, still knotty from her swim earlier at the public baths. In her eagerness to dive in, she’d forgotten to braid it, but now she paused and turned to face her cousin. ‘Is that it, Ruraigh? Is that all you can say?’ She swallowed the emotion that gathered at the back of her throat, a combination of anger and bitter, bitter disappointment. ‘Angus is your friend and I’m your cousin and I would have thought you’d be over the moon!’

  ‘I…’ He moved his mouth, words failing him.

  ‘No, don’t bother trying to make good now! What is it with you?’

  ‘I’m happy if you’re happy, Kitty. I just…’

  ‘You just what?’ she yelled, facing him with her arms folded across her chest.

  ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘Well, I don’t know either! God, to think we’ve all been trying to work out the best part you and Hamish can play at the wedding, and right now I don’t even know if I want you there. How can you be that indifferent?’ Her tears sprang at the unthinkable possibility that the boys she so loved might not be in attendance.

  Ruraigh sat forward on the bed. ‘It just all seems a bit rushed.’

 
She laughed. ‘You are kidding? I’ve known him since I was fourteen! I’ve practically grown up with him, and unlike you and Hamish, he never treated me like an unwanted guest, he never sidelined me for Patrick’s sons or, worse, ignored me!’

  ‘Kitty, you’re my cousin! And we were kids…’ He stood up and hovered awkwardly by the bed. ‘I suppose it’s just that I’m used to you and Angus being friends, part of a gang, and the thought of you setting up home together—’

  ‘For God’s sake, Ruraigh! What are you trying to say, that I’m not mature or sophisticated enough to be his wife? God, what is it with you lot, always trying to make me feel small…’ She turned to face him, incensed now but also suddenly worried. ‘Has Angus said something to you? Has he, Ruraigh? Or to Hamish? Is there someone…’ She gulped, made herself be brave. ‘If you’ve got something to tell me, either spit it out or get the fuck out of here!’

  ‘I… I don’t know anything.’ He spoke with his shoulders raised and his palms upturned. ‘I just… Angus is a top bloke, but…’

  ‘But what?’ she roared.

  ‘He hangs around with a weird crowd these days. That Thomas Paderfield, I don’t like the cut of his jib. I hardly get to see Angus any more—’

  Kitty was properly livid now. ‘God, Ruraigh, I expected better of you – though Christ knows why. What, you’re jealous of Angus’s new friends? Worried he might have grown out of all that schoolboy bravado and be maturing into someone a bit more sensitive?’ Her heart raced. She’d probably gone too far with that. But what the hell, Ruraigh had it coming.

  Ruraigh blanched and looked taken aback. ‘I… I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘Christ, Ruraigh, you can cause a hell of a lot of damage with your “probably nothing” rumours.’

  ‘I don’t want to fall out with you, Kitty.’ He spoke softly.

  ‘Well, maybe that decision isn’t yours to make!’

  Ruraigh sighed. ‘Let’s just go out for supper and we can—’

  ‘Supper?’ She interrupted him. ‘You must be kidding! I wouldn’t go out for supper with you if I was starving!’