A Year of New Adventures

by Maddie Please

  Kitty pursed her lips at me thoughtfully.

  ‘I smoke.’

  ‘I know.’

  I could tell that from the stains on the first two fingers of her right hand. And the faint nicotine smell that permeated the air around her.

  She raised her chin and glared. ‘Aren’t you going to tut and forbid me and send me to the end of the garden?’

  ‘Not unless you feel the need. They are your lungs. Just not in the kitchen.’

  The answer pleased her and she nodded. ‘True. Right, I’m going to unpack. I’ll see you at seven. Oliver warned me you make a lot of noise. Let’s not do that hmm?’

  She heaved herself to her feet and went upstairs. After a few minutes I heard the door to her writing room close and I tiptoed out to the kitchen. And very quietly opened the back door to let the smell of her cigarettes out of the house. Not My Cat was sitting on the doorstep and it looked up at me with its silent meow until I fetched it some Kat Treatz.

  ‘You don’t know how lucky you are, cat,’ I said. ‘All you do is sleep and wait for someone to spoil you.’

  By the time two uneventful days had passed I began to relax. Kitty Ford-Wilson, despite her fearsome reputation, was no trouble at all. Mind you, I came to suspect she might have been borderline alcoholic and she never seemed to wear anything other than the housecoat and slippers, but she ate everything I put in front of her, and didn’t once complain about any noise as I tiptoed around downstairs, cooking in an exaggeratedly quiet manner.

  On day three, like a rather cumbersome poltergeist she unexpectedly wandered downstairs, obviously wanting company. She poured herself her customary G&T sat silently at the kitchen table watching me cooking. It was rather unnerving, but I wasn’t going to start the conversation unprompted.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said at last.

  ‘Making scones.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I like them and I thought you might too. I was going to give you a cream tea. When you have your afternoon break.’

  ‘I’ve never had that,’ Kitty said.

  ‘Never? You’ve never had a scone with cream and jam? Never?’

  ‘No, too fattening. I have a problem with my weight do you see?’

  ‘Do you? Why?’

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why do you have a problem with your weight?’ I said.

  ‘Isn’t it bloody obvious? I’m greedy. I’m fat.’

  ‘No you’re not.’

  Kitty flared her nostrils at me. ‘I think I’ll be the judge of that.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ I said.

  I affected a casual air but inside I was quaking.

  She patted the pockets of her dressing gown and drew out a cigarette packet and a lighter.

  ‘So now then, Oliver,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’ I said carefully not looking at her.

  ‘Was he all right? I mean when you saw him?’

  Was he all right? Well, apart from being rude and patronizing?

  ‘I suppose so, he had an injured leg. I don’t think that made him any more cheery,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes, he fell off my stepladder.’

  I frowned. ‘I thought he came off his motorbike?’

  Kitty gave a throaty laugh and slapped the table with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Ollie? On a motorbike? Don’t make me laugh. He can’t ride a pushbike let alone a motorbike! No, he was trying to get my cat out of a tree and he fell off the stepladder. Hahaha! Ollie on a motorbike? Hahaha!’

  She was one of those people who actually do say ‘Ha Ha’ when they laugh too. It was very unexpected after two and a half days of near silence.

  ‘I’ll never forget the time my brother had a unicycle and Ollie tried to ride it—’

  Kitty almost choked with laughter and wiped tears from her eyes. ‘He ended up in the hedge and the girls were hysterical.’

  The thought of this was so far removed from the man I knew that I couldn’t process it.

  Kitty sparked up her lighter and I frowned at her.

  ‘Oh all right, I’ll stand outside,’ she grumbled. Not My Cat came and wound itself around her feet. She nudged it away but not unkindly.

  ‘So how long have you been doing this malarkey?’ she said.

  ‘A couple of years,’ I said, patting out the scones.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘What do you mean why?’

  It was like having a six-year-old child to stay.

  ‘Well no one grows up wanting to run writing retreats for bad-tempered writers like me,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ I said carefully.

  ‘So you do think I’m bad tempered?’

  ‘Kitty, will you stop it? And stop blowing your cigarette smoke in here.’

  ‘Tetchy aren’t we?’ She moved a few steps away. ‘Why aren’t you asking me questions?’

  ‘Because I was told you wanted peace and quiet.’

  ‘Yes, but people usually ask some questions. Or they want a book signed for their mother. Do you want me to sign any books?’

  ‘Well not at the moment, thanks.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Kitty, will you stop going on?’

  ‘I don’t do any cooking. Jeff does it all,’ she said. She stubbed out her cigarette on the wall and looked around for a bin. When she couldn’t find one she chucked the stub into the hedge.

  ‘Don’t do that!’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t chuck your fag ends around my garden.’

  Kitty huffed and went to pick it up. ‘Ollie was right – you’re bloody bossy,’ she said.

  I couldn’t resist it. ‘What else did Ollie say? Did he say anything about me?’

  Kitty smirked. ‘Did Ollie say anything about me? I guessed as much,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Never mind. I’m never wrong with these things. I said as much to Jeff.’

  ‘Said what?’

  ‘Ha ha,’ she said wagging an annoying finger at me.

  I put the scones onto a baking tray and put them into the oven. Kitty watched me.

  ‘I won’t eat those you know,’ she said.

  ‘OK, that’s fine,’ I replied.

  I think I was getting the measure of her. She was so used to people walking on eggshells around her that she seemed to enjoy a little bit of normality. Even so I was wise enough to know I could push her so far and no further.

  She lit another cigarette and watched me through the door as I cleared up the kitchen and set the tea tray with some pretty china, strawberry jam, and a small bowl of clotted cream.

  ‘Why aren’t you married?’ Kitty said. ‘You seem nice – you’re domesticated and friendly. You’d be quite pretty if you made a bit of an effort.’

  ‘Well thanks,’ I said, trying not to laugh.

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant why isn’t someone like you attached to someone?’ She peered at me. ‘You’re supposed to have two distinct eyebrows and your top lip needs waxing.’

  ‘OK, thanks – perhaps I’ll do that.’

  ‘Are you a lesbian?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You don’t mind me asking?’

  I shrugged. ‘No.’

  ‘No boyfriend?’

  ‘Not at the moment; I had one but he dumped me for someone with a chest measurement larger than her IQ.’

  It was true too; Dee was what you might call over-blessed in the chestal department and was thick as a brick. I wonder what the bra fitter would have thought of her? Perhaps she would just have brought out two of those pop-up tents people take to the beach and can never wrestle back into the covers. Still, if she made Matt happy…

  Kitty snorted. ‘I might use that one in my next book if you’ve no objection?’

  ‘Feel free.’

  ‘And you write?’

  ‘I have done but I don’t think I’ve got what it takes to be a successful writer. I get distracted.’

  The oven timer pinged and I went t
o get the scones out of the oven. The smell was fantastic and Kitty inhaled with delight, her eyes closed.

  ‘Maybe just one small one?’ she said.

  We ate our cream tea out in the garden with Not My Cat meowing silently for cream under the table. Two scones later and after a heated discussion about the need for butter, and whether the cream should go on top or under the jam, Kitty went back upstairs to carry on writing.

  As I was putting the last plates away my mobile rang.

  ‘It’s me,’ Helena said. ‘Have you got a minute?’

  I hadn’t heard from her for a few days. ‘Yes of course, what’s up?’

  ‘How is the famous writer? Is she as awful as she sounded?’

  ‘No actually, she’s a bit prickly but she’s growing on me.’

  ‘Can I come and meet her?’

  I hesitated. There was no way Kitty was going to hold court to random visitors in her housecoat and slippers.

  ‘I’ll ask,’ I said.

  ‘I’ve got one of her books for Mum’s birthday present. Do you think she would sign it?’

  ‘I’ll ask,’ I said again, not entirely sure what Kitty’s reaction to this would be. I’d heard enough to know she didn’t enjoy that sort of thing.

  ‘I know we have the retreat to do in June, but it will work if Nick and I go to Barcelona in September won’t it?’ Helena said.

  NickandI had become an entity all of its own these days, almost as if they were one person. And I suppose they were come to think of it. NickandI were together every weekend and some weekday evenings too.

  ‘Yes of course, fine. Sounds fun,’ I said. ‘D’you know, Kitty says Oliver is a great laugh. And he didn’t fall off a motorbike; he was trying to rescue Kitty’s cat from a tree and fell off a stepladder.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s a different Oliver?’

  ‘Hang on, I can hear Kitty coming down the stairs. I’d better go.’

  ‘I need some fresh air,’ Kitty said when she came into the kitchen, almost as though she was expecting me to produce some for her. She was at least dressed though in an aggressively floral shift dress that made her bosom look like a shelf. ‘I think perhaps a walk to the shops? You’d better show me the way.’

  It was less than half a mile down a straight road, but I nodded obediently and went to get my purse.

  ‘I could take you in to see my Uncle Peter,’ I said as we reached the high street.

  ‘The one who owns the bookshop? I’m not doing any signings or reading or anything,’ Kitty said rather defensively.

  ‘No one wants you to,’ I said, ‘but it’s near the newsagent’s and I suspect that’s where you want to go for more cigarettes?’

  Kitty snorted and didn’t reply.

  I was right though. She went and stocked up on cigarettes and then, still grumbling about the price, followed me warily back down the street and into the bookshop. Godfrey was wandering about with a pile of paperbacks and he came over to say hello.

  ‘And this must be Mrs Ford-Wilson? How delightful to meet you. Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘No, just had one,’ Kitty said. ‘And scones. Billie forced me.’

  ‘Yes, she is a bit of a feeder isn’t she? I hope she’s looking after you?’

  Kitty gave me a sideways look. ‘Adequate,’ she said with the suspicions of a twinkle in her eye.

  ‘Peter will be sorry to have missed you. He’s gone to the doctor for his prescription. I hope the writing is going well?’ he said.

  ‘Surprisingly so,’ Kitty said. ‘Funny how a change of scene can do that. A friend of mine recommended her.’ She noticed the empty bookshelves at the end of the room. ‘This is a charming little shop, but what’s happened here then?’

  ‘Oh we had a flood. I’m afraid the chap doing the refurb is a tad unreliable. But we’re getting there. Bookshops like ours are getting to be a rarity these days. We’re not cash rich even if we do stock literary treasure.’

  Kitty sniffed her disapproval at the state of the world. ‘So do you have any of my books you want signing? They generally go pretty well.’

  I looked at her in astonishment. ‘You said you wouldn’t.’

  Kitty flared her nostrils at me. ‘When did I say that? Utter nonsense.’

  Godfrey pulled out half a dozen copies of Kitty’s books and she signed them with a flourish. She picked one up and flicked through it.

  ‘Not in Your Size, Madam. My God if I had a pound for every time I’ve heard that.’

  ‘Ditto,’ I said.

  ‘You? You’re a twig. Don’t be ridiculous!’ Kitty snorted.

  ‘Ah but my generation are supposed to be thin, voluptuous, ripped, sculpted, muscular, feminine, and androgynous all in the same week. You can’t win. It’s like Dressing Up Dolly. The many faces of the modern woman.’

  Kitty looked pensive as she handed the books back to Godfrey, and then she shook herself.

  ‘That’s a very interesting thought, Billie. A very, very interesting thought. Look, I can’t hang about here. I have work to do,’ she said. And she sailed out of the shop and back up the road to my house without another word.

  When we got home she scooted upstairs, returning five minutes later in her housecoat and slippers and an empty glass.

  ‘Gin,’ she said. ‘Stiff. Plotting.’

  *

  Kitty barely spoke to me for the rest of the week. I even had to nudge her gently to come down for her meals. She was up in her writing room typing fit to burst, the air thick with cigarette smoke and gin fumes. I’d never get the reek out but of course it was too late now to change the house rules. Kitty came downstairs on the last day, dressed in her trademark red jacket, her face carefully made up for the first time since she’d arrived.

  ‘Right, I’ve packed my bags. Jeff should be here later on to pick them up.’ She checked through her handbag and looked up, satisfied.

  ‘I have all my things; I’ll be off. It’s been real.’

  ‘Real?’

  ‘I mean fine. Great. Excellent. I’m going to recommend you to a couple of friends of mine. Thank you for … You’ll be hearing from me.’

  With a cheque I hope, I thought as I waved her off. I waited until the Maserati was out of sight and went back in to open all the windows. I might have to shampoo the carpets in her room. I’d certainly have to wash the curtains.

  Jeff Ford-Wilson arrived half an hour later.

  ‘So she’s fine?’ he said. He looked like a different man from the one who had dropped Kitty off a week previously. From his suntan I guessed he’d been out in the fresh air for most of the week. He was wearing some disreputable old shorts and a sweatshirt that was covered in grass stains.

  ‘Yes I think so – she didn’t say much,’ I said.

  Jeff smiled. ‘That’s an excellent sign. I couldn’t be more pleased.’

  He swung her bags into the boot of his car and handed me an envelope.

  ‘From Kitty. Thank you,’ he said. ‘I mean really, thank you. I can tell she’s been smoking like a chimney in there. You might need the extra for – well you know.’

  After he’d gone I opened the envelope to look at the cheque. Bloody hell! She must have been pleased!

  *

  The following day found me having another sort of adventure, on the fourth floor of our local department store, lying on a paper-lined couch while someone called Jools smeared hot wax over my brows and top lip. There was soothing whale music playing in the background, which might have soothed any whale lying on the couch but didn’t do much for me.

  I’d avoided doing this for years but if Kitty Ford-Wilson thought it was a good idea, who was I to argue?

  ‘Will this hurt?’ I said.

  It was rather too late to ask this if you think about it.

  ‘Oh no,’ Jools said airily, adding another layer and some gauze and humming along.

  She was quite blessed in the chestal department too; her boobs
kept banging up against the top of my head. I almost felt like slipping her my bra fitter’s card. I wondered if she wore a sports bra. Perhaps it was time to try mine out? I needed to find something sporty to do that was free. So no point joining a gym or a tennis club. Apart from anything else I can’t play tennis, have no interest in learning, and have the upper body strength of Pingu.

  ‘Going anywhere nice on your holidays?’ she said airily.

  It should have set off alarm bells that she was up to something.

  ‘Not really, I went to America earlier this year.’

  ‘Oooh lovely.’

  She gave an almighty tug at one of the eyebrow things and I yodelled in pain.

  ‘Oooh you’re such a baby!’ she said, ripping the other one off while I was distracted and trying to climb off the table. ‘Now then, last thing and then we’re all done.’

  The wax on my top lip was yanked off with complete disregard for my yelps.

  ‘Oooh look at that,’ Jools said holding the gauze out so I could see. ‘That’s brilliant! Come and look at this one, Hayley!’

  I had apparently been growing a small badger under my nose without noticing.

  ‘You could come and have something else done if you like,’ Jools said. ‘Second visit you get fifty per cent off. Special offer on at the moment.’

  She handed me a leaflet describing how she might introduce me to a landing strip somewhere in Brazil. I handed it back with a whimper and fell away, a broken woman.

  I staggered as far as the overheated shoe department on the third floor and suddenly felt the need to sit down. Of course you can’t do that in a shoe department without someone homing in on you. At least there was a sale on.

  ‘Can I help?’

  It was a tall, very thin girl in a black jumpsuit accessorized with blue hair so I knew I was in uncharted territory. Should I dye my hair blue? I’d considered it. Maybe not, up close it looked a bit weird.

  ‘Something adventurous!’ I said, casting my fate to the winds.

  Half an hour later I had been persuaded into some shoes that would do perfectly if I was ever invited to a Gladiator Fetish party. They had the highest heels I’ve ever worn, and several rather complicated suede straps that went up my legs to the knee. The whole thing was accentuated with the sort of studs normally only seen on Rottweiler’s collars. They weren’t as uncomfortable as I thought they would be and the best thing about them was they were reduced by seventy-five per cent. I wondered why.