I run to the door in time to see the cat scrambling to her feet, having landed against the leg of the table. She scoots out of the cat flap with her tail high and her fur standing proud.
Dawn kicks the box across the flap to block it.
‘I guess that answers my question why the cat is so scared of the hall.’
‘Shut up.’
‘No. You shut up!’ I am surprised by the strength in my voice. ‘What was all that about? I was only stroking her, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Why are you so sure you know best all the bloody time?’
‘It has nothing to do with knowing best. You just lost it with an innocent animal for stepping over a line that only you can see.’
‘I didn’t lose it.’
‘Yes, you bloody did,’ I mutter. ‘You’re insane.’
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘If you must know – though why you should need every bloody thing explained to you isn’t clear to me – it’s because I don’t want it near Mum. If she gets ill it takes her weeks to recover and though I’m sure the cat won’t give her anything, I don’t want to risk it. And actually, it’s not just me that can see the line, the cat knows it’s there too. The only time it has ever crossed it was when you stuck your nose in.’
We stare at each other.
‘Well, you didn’t need to throw her like that.’
‘I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t made the thing come out here.’
I open my mouth, then shut it without reply.
‘Stop trying to change everything.’
If only it were possible to change everything, I think.
‘I’m sorry about the cat,’ I say, and then I turn on my heel and leave. I don’t want to get into a fight with Dawn. I don’t want us to say things to each other that we might regret.
I walk back down to St Ives and up onto the cliffs overlooking the wide expanse of Porthmeor beach. There isn’t even the faintest of breezes and the sea is dead calm, like glass. Families patchwork the beach with their areas of sand staked out with rainbow windbreaks. I envy them, these people at ease with each other, happy in their company. So different to the strange new group of people I am tied to in blood.
I allow myself to imagine a time in the future when all this is in the past. When we don’t have to tiptoe around each other anymore. When everything is settled and the three of us can come to the beach and sit and chat, and eat a picnic we prepared together, giggling and laughing as we buttered bread, cut ham and chunks of cheese, and wrapped slices of fruitcake in tinfoil.
FIFTY-EIGHT
I don’t want to go back to the flat straight away. The thought of the stale air soaked with Dawn’s anger and the smell of bleach and soup turns my stomach. Anyway, we both need some time to cool down, so after my morning chat with Phil, I set off on a long walk along the cliffs. I take my time, breathe in the bracing air and search each of the secluded coves below me for seals or dolphins. I meet a twitcher, his binoculars hanging about his neck, his special twitcher’s hat pulled low on his head.
‘You just missed a kestrel,’ he says. ‘It was a beauty.’
‘That’s a shame,’ I reply, and carry on walking.
It’s the afternoon before I finally get to the flat. I let myself in and find Dawn, her hair scraped back in an unforgiving ponytail, peering anxiously out of the kitchen door.
‘Did you see the cat on your way up?’ she asks. ‘I forgot to unblock the cat flap yesterday.’
‘I didn’t, but it’s unblocked now?’
‘Yes,’ she says, turning to peer out of the kitchen window. ‘I did it as soon as I realised.’
‘I wouldn’t look so worried. Cats often go walkabout and she hasn’t been gone long.’
‘She never misses her tea. Never.’ Dawn opens the back door. ‘Cat! It’s tea! Come on. Cat!’ There’s a tangible fear in her voice that tugs at me.
‘She’ll be fine,’ I say. ‘It’s only a night—’
‘It’s been nearly twenty-four hours.’
I bite my tongue to stop myself from pointing out that maybe if she hadn’t slung it against a table and scared it half to death, it might not have gone. ‘It’s warm and dry out there,’ I say instead. ‘She’s probably having a whale of a time, chasing mice and flirting with Toms.’
Dawn says nothing.
‘Honestly, she’ll be back in her own time. Our cat often went missing for a day or two and always came home.’
Our cat.
I swallow. The hairs on my arms prickle. I am caught unawares by Bella’s life, her cat and her home, and her mother calling out of the back door for him to come in for his supper. I reach for the back of the chair to steady myself as my knees threaten to buckle.
‘This is your fault, you know,’ Dawn says quietly.
‘Hmm?’ I look at her, my hand gripping the chair hard as my head spins. ‘Did you say it’s my fault? What do you mean?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She’s hovering at the back door, craning her neck left and right, her hands wringing.
FIFTY-NINE
‘Is the cat back?’ I ask when I arrive the next morning.
‘Yes,’ Dawn says. She opens the fridge and gets out a carton of milk.
‘I told you she’d be fine.’
‘She’s not that good, actually.’ Dawn hands me a cup of tea and gestures to the box on the floor by the back door.
When I look inside, my stomach heaves.
‘Oh my God.’ I bend down, resting both hands on the box and gag twice.
The cat is on her side, eyes open only a fraction, her breathing shallow. There’s a deep cut on her hindquarters that runs from her tail to what’s left of her shin. The fur around the cut is soaked with old blood and new. And there are maggots, about twenty of them, no bigger than a grain of rice, writhing aggressively in and out of the torn fur and flesh. A waft of some foul smell hits my nose and I lift my hand to my block it.
‘She needs a vet.’
‘I don’t know any vets. She’ll be fine though. She needs to rest, but she’ll be better in a couple of days. I’ve been giving her little teaspoons of water and picking those things off her with tweezers. I didn’t get all of them but I’ll have another go after my tea.’
I stand up and face her, fighting to keep my tears of shock and anger at bay. ‘If this animal doesn’t see a vet she’ll die.’
‘I told you, I don’t know where the vet is and I can’t afford one anyway.’
‘I’ll pay for it! Jesus, I said you didn’t need to worry about money anymore. There’s no way she’ll get better. She needs antibiotics or she’ll get gangrene or blood poisoning or … or … I don’t know, but she needs a vet.’ I bend down again and watch the maggots burrowing themselves around her wound. I reach out and pick a few off and retch as I do. ‘If money is that much of an issue, you should have asked.’
‘I don’t need your bloody charity.’
I snap round to face her. ‘It’s not charity! I don’t understand what goes on in your head, Dawn. The cat needs a vet. If you can’t afford to pay it then I will. It’s not charity, it’s your responsibility to look after your cat.’
‘It’s not my cat, it just—’
‘I know!’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘It showed up out of nowhere. But you feed her, she thinks she lives here, you were calling for her all yesterday. You should have taken her to the vet as soon as you found her.’
‘I wasn’t sure how long it would take. And I can’t leave Mum that long.’ Dawn’s face is strained, but the set of her mouth is stubborn. ‘Mum is my priority. And anyway, the vet would probably put her down. That’s what they do. The cat’s best chance is to stay here where she can rest and sleep. That’s what she needs.’
‘That’s what she needs? That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Everything will be alright as long as nobody leaves this flat. First Mum and now the cat?’ I pick up the box. ‘Look at her,’ I say, pushing it
towards Dawn. ‘Look. At. Her!’
Dawn turns her head away.
I breathe heavily, anger welling over. I put the box on the table. ‘This is mad, Dawn. You know that?’ I put my jacket back on, then grab hold of the box again. ‘The cat needs the vet and I’m taking her.’
‘Put the box down,’ Dawn’s green eyes are ablaze. ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
She walks over to me and places both hands on the box. ‘The cat is mine. I don’t want the vet to put her down. I haven’t got the money to give to a vet and I didn’t want to leave Mum to go and find a vet. So don’t you waltz in here like some know-it-all princess and tell me what to do.’
Neither of us takes our hands off the box.
‘You’ve got some front,’ I say. ‘I haven’t waltzed in anywhere. I came here looking for my family. You act so bloody hard done-by all the time, but it’s me that’s done without. Me that had no mother—’ Something catches me there, an image of Elaine Campbell, clear-skinned and smiling, warmth spreading out of her like rays from the sun. I pause, tears choking me. ‘Actually,’ I whisper. ‘It’s worse than that. I did have a mother. I had a woman who for all her insanities was my mother. And that was ripped away. It was a charade. Everything I thought I knew, the peculiar life I was happy with, all of it vanished in an instant.’ Dawn glances up at the ceiling, her mouth pursed tightly. ‘Every memory I have means nothing. It’s all a lie. Do you have any concept of what that might be like?’
‘I have more of a concept than you could ever know. I know exactly what it feels like to lose someone. To have your heart torn out. To give up something you love. It’s you that doesn’t have a clue. You and your buckets of cash and your never having had a worry in the bloody world. Drawn curtains and locked doors are the worst of it? Get over yourself. You know nothing about what it’s like to be me. Nothing about living in the real world. You know nothing at all.’
‘Well, you know nothing about me either and who’s fault is that? You think you’ve taken any interest in finding out about me? About my life? And if I don’t know anything about you there’s only one person to blame. You. You haven’t opened up to me once. You haven’t told me anything about your life. How on earth could I possibly know about you? I wouldn’t be surprised if you still don’t believe me. If you’re expecting me to suddenly announce I’m lying, because that’s the only reason I can think of to explain why you’re so closed off all the time. It’s like you hate me.’
Tears are gathered in her eyes.
‘And that’s the real tragedy,’ I continue. ‘Because this family was ripped apart by the most God-awful happening, but we were given a second chance. I found you. I came home and you should have seen it as a miracle. But you didn’t. You don’t. To you we’re just two strangers linked by circumstance; you’ve got no feelings for me at all. You’d be happier if I’d never shown up. Admit it! That way you could have kept Alice where you want her, shovelled soup into her three times a day, kept her mouldering in a box like this poor cat, dying and hopeless, but at least you’d have her all to yourself.’
I shake my head and give a bitter laugh as I let my hands fall from the box. ‘God, how angry you must have been when I knocked on the door and ruined it all? I bet you never thought about me once, did you? You let me walk away on that campsite and never gave me a second thought. Maybe our father was right? Maybe it was your fault I went. Maybe you did it on purpose because you always hated me!’
My heart feels as if it’s melted, dissolved by my acid-words. I turn and start to walk out of the kitchen.
‘Don’t you dare leave!’ she screams from behind me. ‘You’re not running away like you always do, out of that front door at the first sign of trouble! You should listen to yourself. I’m sorry you were taken, I really am, but you weren’t hurt or raped or abused. You were taken to a big house and had a comfortable life with people you still miss. I was left with nothing. You think I didn’t want to go to university? I was clever at school. Got good marks and I could have gone. But I had to stay here.’ Dawn swings her arms wildly around the kitchen. ‘Living with the ghost of a sister I could hardly remember, a dad who drank a bottle of whisky before lunchtime then belted me from here to hell and back, and a mother who did nothing but cry until one day she shut up altogether.’ She laughs through her tears. ‘You know why she shut up? Because dad had me up against a wall with a broken beer bottle at my neck. She thought he was going to kill me. She was screaming and then went silent, like someone had switched her off, and after that she never said another word. And then when I was thirteen years old, Nan died and Granddad went six months later, so that was it. I was a carer. Looking after Mum day and night. No hours off, no weekend, no breaks. Bathing her, feeding her, doing all the housework. Worrying about everything, about having enough money to eat, about keeping her with me, and then … and …’ Dawn was struggling to talk, her words coming now in breathless snatches. ‘I had to … give up the one person who could have…’
Her hands cover her face and she takes a couple of deep breaths and then looks at me again.
‘And do I regret the things I did?’ Her eyes bore into me. ‘No, Morveren, I don’t because looking after Mum is my job. My duty. It was my duty, my responsibility, to clear up the mess your blink-and-miss-it existence in my family left. And you know what makes it all worse?’
I stare numbly at her, as if I’ve been hit by a lorry, winded, damaged irreparably.
‘That now you’re back, she doesn’t even need me. I have no purpose. I might as well be dead.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That day on the beach I couldn’t help her. But you could.’
‘No, Dawn, it’s not—’
But I don’t get to finish.
Her watch beeps. She turns off the alarm and stares at me for a moment or two.
I shake my head, but she reaches for the volume switch on the television.
I step forward and grab her wrist. ‘Don’t.’
‘Get off me.’ She yanks her arm free and turns on the sound.
‘We need to talk.’
She pulls out her chair and sits down.
‘Turn the television off.’ She doesn’t look at me, but leans forward and turns the volume up so high the sound becomes distorted.
‘For goodness’ sake, Dawn! We need to talk.’
She is silent. I look at the television. One of the five women, neat hairstyle, shiny lips, and singsong voice magnified to a ridiculous level, is introducing the show’s guest.
‘Turn it off!’ I shout above the bellowing television.
No response.
I reach to switch it off myself but she throws her body over it, protecting it from me.
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ I grab her shoulder and pull her backwards, and as she moves, she brings the television with her. It falls and the deafening sound of the applauding audience is silenced in the shattering of glass.
We both look at the broken television lying on the floor between us.
‘You’re right,’ she says then, her head lifting slowly, her voice scarily quiet. ‘My life was fine before you came back. My whole life was looking after Mum and now she doesn’t need me. I’ve looked after her for years and got nothing from her. You come back and within weeks she smiles and talks and eats fucking rice.’ Her face is wracked with pain. ‘So, tell me, what do you think I should do now, Morveren? Caring for her was all I had. Twenty-five years ago you took her from me when you went away, and now you’ve come back and taken her all over again.’ Her hands clench at her sides. ‘And that’s what’s screwed up, I should be happy that she’s getting better, shouldn’t I? But I’m not. Look at me, I’m not happy. I’m selfish and bad. Dad was right all along. I’ve got this life because I deserve it. And you’re—’ She breaks into tears again. ‘—you’re right. I wish you’d never come back.’
And then I turn my back on her. I leave her standing in her spotless kit
chen with the shattered television, and the dying cat in the box with the maggots, and our mother in her dingy bedroom. I leave her with her grief and her pain and her ruined, wretched life, and I slam the door on all of it.
SIXTY
The air is muggy, thick with the promise of Phil’s hager-awal, the sky filled with deep-purple clouds. I walk out onto the sea wall that projects into the water, separating the harbour on one side from the ocean on the other. The waves are choppy within the harbour and angry beyond, crashing ferociously against the wall, bursting high into the air like briny fireworks. My vision blurs with tears of anger, self-pity and regret as Dawn’s hateful, hurtful words echo around me.
You weren’t hurt, or raped, or abused.
You took her from me when you went away, and now you’ve come back and taken her all over again.
I wish you’d never come back.
I bang my hands down hard on the wet railings. Scream as loud as I can into the oncoming weather, my words whipped away from me by the raging wind.
‘Are you alright?’ There is a man with silver-white hair standing beside me. He looks worried, his snowy eyebrows are hooded over soft brown eyes. His hand rests on the top of my arm, and his voice is gentle, like one of those policemen trained to coax jumpers from Mark Tremayne’s bridge in Bristol.
I look at him but it’s as if he isn’t real, as if he is a character in a film, as if I am watching him but unable to interact. I pull my arm away from him and run along the harbour wall and back through the meandering tourists, back up to the hostel, the only place I have left to go. I fling open the door and run inside, crashing so hard into someone coming the other way, it knocks the wind out of me.
‘Steady!’
It’s Greg.
His face breaks into a wide smile. ‘Hey, Tori.’
Hearing her name stings like iodine.
‘What’s up? You’re crying?’
The sympathy in his voice breaks me in two and I fall into him, wracked with fresh tears.
In Her Wake Page 27
