Ten Things My Cat Hates About You

by Lottie Lucas

  “Mummy doesn’t let me have crisps,” Oscar pronounces worthily. “She says they’re bad for you.”

  I struggle to keep a straight face. What a hypocrite! I’ve seen Heather polish off an entire tube of sour cream and onion Pringles by herself in a single sitting.

  “I’m sure she’s right,” I say diplomatically, closing the cupboard door which I’ve just opened to discover four bags of hand-cut crisps. On the highest shelf too. Ah, well, her secret’s safe with me.

  I tidy up the kitchen while Oscar picks at his sandwich, chattering away all the while. He tells me every detail of his morning in minute detail, and I’m glad of the opportunity to do nothing more taxing than nod at the appropriate moments. I’m absolutely exhausted already, and I’ve only been in his company for … I sneak a look at the kitchen clock … fifty minutes. How do people do this all the time?

  I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s adorable and all of that, but he never stops. Whilst I can feel myself getting older and more withered with every passing minute.

  “I’ve finished, Auntie Clara,” he chirps, and I start. Already?

  “You ate all of that?” I walk around the island and, sure enough, the plate’s empty.

  “I even ate my crusts,” he says, and he looks so proud of himself that my heart swells.

  Okay, so perhaps I can sort of see why people want to do this. I rest a hand on his downy head.

  “Would you like some pudding?”

  His eyes automatically go to the fruit bowl. I want to roll my eyes.

  “Proper pudding. Here—” I pick up my handbag and feel around for the packet which I know is in there “—what about some chocolate?”

  He stares at it in awe.

  “These are Uncle Freddie’s favourite.” I open the bag of chocolate buttons and hold them out to him. “I had to hide these from him so he didn’t eat them all.”

  “I saw Uncle Freddie yesterday,” Oscar says, popping a button in his mouth.

  “Did you?” I smile. “Where?”

  Oscar probably knows more about my brother’s whereabouts than I do. Lord only knows where he keeps going, but a part of me has begun to wonder if he might actually be avoiding me. He’s certainly less chatty when we do cross paths. My sense of unease is growing with each passing day. Next time I see him, I promise myself now, I’ll pin him down and find out what’s going on once and for all.

  “In the bookshop.” Oscar’s voice is getting vaguer; he’s far more interested in the chocolate than the conversation. “Mummy and I went to look at the train. Uncle Freddie was there.”

  The thought of Freddie browsing for books in his spare time is surprising enough, but I know the wooden train Oscar’s talking about; it’s in the children’s section of the bookshop. What would Freddie be doing there? There must be some mistake.

  “Are you sure it was Uncle Freddie?” I ask gently. “Not just someone who looked like him?”

  Oscar looks at me unwaveringly, as though affronted that I would call his testimony to account.

  “It was Uncle Freddie.” He licks chocolate off his fingers. “He was looking at a book with a baby on the front.”

  Before I can reply, the front door opens and Heather bustles in, her pale blue mac dripping with water.

  “I’m back! It didn’t take too long, thank God. They were able to see her straight away. Got caught in the most dreadful shower on the way home, though. It came out of nowhere.” She shrugs off her coat, hanging it on the hook to dry. “Is everything all right? Did you manage?”

  Anyone would think she’d expected to walk in and find utter mayhem. Or, more likely, both of us dead from starvation on the floor.

  “We’re fine. Oscar’s just had some lunch.”

  Oscar chooses that moment to wave the chocolate wrapper in the air. “Mummy! I had buttons!”

  Heather momentarily freezes in horror, then her face relaxes. “Well, it is a special day.” She picks him up and carries him over to the sink to wash his hands. “Did you have a nice time with Auntie Clara?”

  She looks at me properly for the first time then, and I see gratitude in her eyes. Tentatively, I smile at her.

  “Why don’t you get some of your trains, Oscar?” she asks suddenly, setting him down on the floor. “Your track’s still set up in the living room.”

  As he scampers off on his quest, she puts the towel she was using to dry Oscar’s hands back on the rail and leans against the counter, arms folded.

  “How have you been?” She still sounds guarded, but not as cold as before. I give an internal sigh of relief.

  “Okay.” I shrug, tracing circles with a spilled droplet of water on the work surface. “I’m … actually, no, that’s a lie. I’m not okay really.”

  The next twenty minutes are best glossed over. There’s crying on both sides. There’s Heather exclaiming, “What a bastard!” before clamping a hand over her mouth as Oscar appears in the doorway. Luckily, he’s too excited by his trains to pay much attention. There’s plenty of self-recrimination, and not just from me.

  “I should have been there that night,” Heather says furiously, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “I knew I should have been there. I felt something was wrong. But I was just too bloody stubborn …”

  “You tried to tell me.” I shake my head sadly. “But I wouldn’t listen. Instead I just flung accusations at you. I’m so sorry about that. I had no right to say those things.”

  “You didn’t say anything which isn’t true.” Heather sinks onto a bar stool, looking defeated. “We both know that.”

  “What? No!” I grab her hand, making her look at me. “Don’t set any store by what I said. I was just angry, that’s all. You and Dominic …”

  “Are hardly love’s young dream,” she concludes with a twist of the lips. “Let’s not deny the obvious. We’re more of a partnership than a marriage. But we have Oscar …” Her head turns towards the living room, from where the sound of whirring wheels on track drifts through the doorway. “And so that’s had to be enough. But that doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes think about it.”

  “About what?” I ask, although I already know the answer.

  “About what might have been.” There’s a tremor in her voice, and she pauses to compose herself. “If things had gone differently. I envy you, you know.”

  My eyes widen. “Me?”

  Why on earth would Heather envy me? I mean, our lives … the comparison … Well, it’s not even worth spelling out. There’s just no contest.

  “Yes, you.” She raises an eyebrow. “I look at you, with your career and your carefree single life … It looks like a lot of fun to someone stuck at home with a three-year-old, you know.” She looks weary all of a sudden. “Sometimes I feel like my life has just ground to a halt. All I ever think about are practical things: running the house, organising our lives … and I think, what happened to me? I used to be so vibrant, so full of zest. Everything was exciting. I had so many plans. And now look; I’m twenty-five and I feel more like forty-five most of the time. All of the opportunities I thought I’d have, they’re just not there any more. And while I know that if I actually had the choice I wouldn’t change a thing, it still doesn’t make it easier to accept.”

  I have the distinct sense of the ground shifting beneath me. Heather’s always been so constant, so straightforward. Or, at least, so I’d thought. How did I not realise she felt like this? How could I have missed it, for all of these years?

  “You know, I envy you sometimes too,” I say haltingly. Perhaps it’s time that both of us were completely honest. “With your big house, and your marriage … and most of the time my life just feels so chaotic; I don’t have a handle on anything. I feel like I should be so together by now …”

  “No one’s ‘together’, Clara,” Heather interrupts. “And you’re doing better than you think, believe me.”

  Adam told me pretty much the same thing on Friday night. Perhaps it’s time I started to listen.

  �
��Maybe we both are,” I venture.

  She gives a quivering smile, squeezing my hand. “Maybe we are.”

  Chapter 26

  By the time I set off for home later that afternoon, it’s almost teatime. My head’s pounding and my eyes are sore from crying; I feel totally wrung out, but at the same time so much lighter, like something I didn’t even know I’d been carrying around has been lifted from my shoulders.

  Heather and I … we’re okay. I think. We’ve learned a lot from one another this afternoon, at any rate.

  Maybe things aren’t perfect for either of us. But Heather has Oscar and, no matter what she might say about Dominic, I know that he’s her rock. She needs that stability, someone who’s always there. She might think my life looks fun but, in reality, she wouldn’t be able to hack it at all. She’d be wailing for her 1,000 thread count sheets within a week. And if she had to live with Casper, with everything that entails …

  I allow myself a smirk. Actually, I’d pay to watch that. It’d be hilarious.

  But, anyway, what I really mean is that, no matter how she might feel sometimes, she’s in the right place. I hope she can see that now.

  A bus trundles towards me and I stick out my hand. Normally, I like the walk, but I feel like I’ve been put through an emotional mangle this afternoon. I think that justifies the bus fare.

  I snag myself a window seat and prop my chin on my hand, gazing out at the street. A handsome college frontage rises up in front of me, smothered in vivid red Virginia creeper which seems to glow in the low sunlight. In the doorway, a couple are posing for photographs. She’s wearing an Edwardian-looking wedding dress, he’s in a tartan waistcoat, and they both look unutterably happy. A bridesmaid throws confetti into the air and it flutters away on the wind, filling the sky all around. A piece of it sticks to the window, which is still damp from the earlier rain. It’s a pink heart and, as I press my finger to the glass behind it, the breeze tugs it away, off on its next adventure. I hope it lands on someone who really needs it, who’ll cherish it as a sign that life can be beautiful.

  Or, at the very least, someone who’ll notice it. On the pavement, people are scurrying past, heads down, totally oblivious. I wonder if they even know what they’re missing. How much there is to see if we just stop and look around us properly.

  I’ve been as guilty of that as anyone, I have to admit as the bus pulls away. The couple are out of sight now, just another memory. I mean, haven’t I been walking around my life with my head down? Metaphorically, at least. There’s so much I’ve missed, so much I didn’t see, either because I didn’t want to, or because my attention was elsewhere.

  If the whole sorry situation of the last few days has produced anything positive, it’s a new awareness of what’s really important in my life. The truth is that while losing Josh might have been mildly painful, the prospect of losing my job, Heather, even Adam … that was so much worse. Josh was a fairy tale, a dream of what I thought I wanted. But all of those other things … they’re real. They make my life what it is. And what it is … all told, it’s pretty wonderful.

  I’m ashamed to think that I almost risked all of it for a fantasy. Especially when the truth is that I never needed that fantasy in the first place. Adam was right after all; everything I ever thought I needed or wanted from a relationship, I already have. I wanted to be treasured, and I am. I wanted to be supported, and I am. I wanted to be loved … Well, I don’t even need to finish that sentence, do I?

  I’m not saying that I’m going to give up on relationships altogether. I’ll always be the dreamer who believes that magic and romance is out there somewhere. But, all of a sudden, I’m not in such a hurry. It’ll find me when it’s ready.

  In the meantime, there’s quite enough magic in my life as it is.

  That last sentence makes me wince. I’m getting increasingly mawkish these days.

  Just then I see a familiar unruly blond head out of the window, and I stab at the ‘stop’ button. The driver slams on the brakes, veering into the bus stop we were just about to pass with a bitten-off curse.

  “Sorry,” I say sheepishly, as I sidle past him.

  He just mutters something about punters who can’t make up their minds in time and pulls off sharply, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

  “Freddie!” I gasp, chasing him down the road. He starts to turn and, on impulse, I fling my arms around him. Someone else I’ve been taking for granted, I think guiltily. I’ve hardly spent any proper time with him in the few weeks he’s been here; bar that day on the river, it’s just been snatched conversations in the kitchen. And who knows when I’ll next see him after this? They’ll be off travelling, on the other side of the world. I probably won’t be able to get in contact with him for days or weeks at a time.

  There and then, I resolve to be a better sister. I’ll clear my schedule from now until whenever he leaves. We’ll spend time together, like we used to. We can even go—

  “What’s up with you?” he says grumpily. “Has that new boyfriend of yours proposed, or something?”

  Of course, Freddie doesn’t know about what happened with Josh yet. I scan his face, trying to be surreptitious about it. He doesn’t look good, I have to say. There are dark smudges under his eyes, and his cheeks look oddly sunken.

  Oh, no, I think, with a spike of alarm. Please don’t tell me that he’s on drugs, or an alcoholic, or …

  All right, stay calm, Clara. Don’t overreact. He’s probably just tired, that’s all.

  “No, nothing like that,” I say mildly, trying to keep my voice normal. “I just … wanted you to know that I love you. That’s all. And that I’m here.”

  We never say this stuff to one another. It’s kind of a golden rule between siblings. But today, I’m breaking it, I think for the first time since our parents’ funeral. I don’t care that it’s not the done thing. I’m tired of the rules, tired of maintaining an indifferent facade.

  To my surprise, he doesn’t look appalled. Instead, he hangs his head, covering his face with his hands.

  “Oh, God. You know, don’t you?”

  “Er …” I’m taken aback.

  “I should have known you’d work it out.” He sighs, and it sounds defeated. “I can’t get anything past you.”

  I feel a fresh stab of confusion, my elated mood fast evaporating. What the hell is he talking about? Please don’t say I was right about him being an alcoholic.

  “Wait … What?” I grab the sleeve of his jacket, urging him to look at me. “Freddie, what are you …?” I trail off. Our house has come into sight, and there’s someone standing on the doorstep. Someone in a green coat. I’d know that coat anywhere.

  “It’s Jess!” I exclaim. I didn’t know she was coming. Why does Freddie never tell me anything? I turn my head to ask him that very question, only for the words to die upon my lips. He’s frozen to the spot, staring at the figure in the distance with a look of total dread.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I hiss, elbowing him in the ribs. He doesn’t move and, with an exasperated huff, I advance towards the gate, leaving him standing there uselessly on the pavement. Whatever’s going on here, Jess will hopefully be able to shed some light upon it all. She always knows how to deal with Freddie.

  “Jess!” I call, and as she spins around it’s suddenly my turn to freeze to the spot. She doesn’t look her usual polished self either; her hair has lost its lustre, and her nails are bare. Jess always paints her nails, it’s just one of her things. But that’s not what I’m staring at. Her coat is open, and beneath her jumper …

  “Sorry to intrude, Clara,” she says softly, then swallows nervously. She cradles the curve of her stomach. “But you see, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  ***

  The next thing I know, I’m sitting on the sofa in the living room with them both peering down at me, concern etched upon their faces.

  “Are you all right?” Jess is pressing a glass of water into my hand, her brow
crinkled with worry.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” I say, a bit embarrassed to be the cause of such fuss. “I just …”

  “You swooned,” Freddie says bluntly.

  “I did not swoon!” I snap, although I can feel my face growing hot. All right, so I did kind of swoon. Not properly, but just … a bit.

  To be fair to me, I had just had the most almighty bombshell dropped upon my head. I think anyone could be excused a small swoon under the circumstances.

  Freddie and Jess exchange knowing looks. I see Jess mouth, “Shock,” at him, and he nods sagely.

  “I am here, you know,” I say tetchily. Honestly. They’ve already got the whole patronising parent thing down to a tee, at least. They’ll have no trouble …

  I can feel myself growing pale. Parents. Oh, my God. They’re going to be parents.

  My little brother is going to be a father. The same little brother who can’t seem to pick his own socks up off the floor is going to be in charge of a fragile new life.

  Just as that thought hits me, another, even more disturbing, one follows on its heels.

  “The baby,” I say, gesturing to Jess’s bump, which looks even more protruding now she’s taken her coat off. “It is … er … well, it is …?”

  “Clara!” Freddie all but bellows, looking outraged. “Of course it’s mine. Who else’s would it be?”

  “Sorry.” Now I really do feel hot. But I had to ask. “Sorry, Jess. No offence. It’s just … he’s been moping around here and …” I narrow my eyes at Freddie. “Wait … you don’t seem surprised. How long have you known about this?”

  “I told him the same day I found out myself,” Jess supplies quietly. She’s settled herself upon the edge of the sofa. Despite her growing bump, she looks more frail and bird-like than I’ve ever seen her. “Five weeks ago.”

  “And you’ve been here?” I yell, swivelling round to face him. “What, did you think you could just hide from it and hope it would all go away?”

  I can’t take this in. It’s too much.

  “I couldn’t face it!” he blurts out. “It was just … It was never the plan, okay?” He turns to Jess, his eyes pleading. “It was never part of our plan. There was so much we wanted to do. And now …”