by Mel Sparke
Of course, there were plenty of other reasons for Eddie Osgood to have the shakes. But the fact that Ollie had whispered that he’d seen him knock back a straight vodka at the bar before he rejoined his daughter, clutching an innocent-looking mineral water, definitely seemed to point to some kind of alcohol-related problem.
“Poor Cat!” he muttered. “I wonder if she knows.” He felt quite anxious about how it would all turn out for his friend.
He and Cat had clashed in the past-sometimes spectacularly, especially during and after their legendary break-up-but the last thing he’d wish on her was the heartache caused by a parent. Matt’s less-than-close relationship with his mother was proof of the hurt that could cause.
But his mind’s eye was already slipping away from Cat and focusing instead on the sight of Peter sitting next to Anna.
From the mixing desk, he’d watched Sonja manoeuvring to get the two of them together-fussing and moving the stools around as soon as he and the other lads had moved off to start the gig. The realisation that Sonja was trying to engineer something between her brother and Anna had depressed him totally.
Matt had messed up the boys’ sound at the start of the first number, reducing Ollie’s vocals to a whisper with one wrong flick of a fader. He’d tried to tell himself that he was imagining it, but Sonja’s face said it all. She spent the whole time till Cat’s appearance staring and giggling with Kerry over what was happening further around the table.
Then, when the band had finally finished their last number and he was free to go and join the others, it had only got worse. Close up, he could see without the faintest, tiniest, minutest shadow of a doubt that Peter was in full flirt mode.
“You’re into aromatherapy? Wow, that sounds interesting…”, “I can tell you’re the sensitive type, Anna…”, “Hey, you’ve got amazing hands, so delicate…”, “If you’re looking for a volunteer for a massage, I’m your man!” were just some of the lines Matt heard Peter gush in Anna’s direction.
In fact, Peter was oozing so much charm that Matt felt almost squeamish. Even if it did remind him uncomfortably of some of the crawly chat-up lines he’d used himself on girls in the past…
But the true slap in the face came later. It was closing time and everyone was getting ready to leave, apart from Matt and the boys, who had to get the equipment moved. Matt’s heart had lurched as he saw Peter help Anna on with her jacket.
“Hey, Matt!” Peter had suddenly said, looking over in his direction.
“Yeah?” answered Matt, hoping his dislike of the blond lad wasn’t written all over his face.
“Anna was telling me you’re skint. She says you have to sell your car to pay for some gear you trashed or something.”
Matt flickered his eyes across at Anna, who gave him what looked like a wobbly smile and a small shrug. Matt almost felt like she’d betrayed him. Since that moment in the launderette, he’d been overcome by how much he cared about her. Anna, on the other hand, obviously didn’t give two hoots about him.
He shrugged in response to Peter’s comment.
“I might be interested in taking it off your hands. Depends on the condition of course. I couldn’t take any old rubbish…”
“Oh,” Matt muttered darkly, unable to fake any enthusiasm in the light of Peter’s tactless comments.
“I’ll phone you tomorrow, yeah? Fix up a time to come and check it out-OK?”
Matt looked into Peter’s cool blue eyes. “Sure,” was the only answer he could mumble.
I’d rather smash the windows with a baseball bat and set fire to the thing than sell it to you, you smug git, he thought.
“Anyway,” said Peter, pulling on an expensive-looking leather jacket, “I’ll be seeing you on Sunday. Sonja’s persuaded me to come to this birthday do of yours.”
“Mmm,” Matt had half growled, feeling as if another of his so-called mates had betrayed him.
“Jeez!” In the darkened kitchen, Matt gasped as cold milk spurted out of the carton and splashed on to his belly and legs.
At the memory of Peter’s smarmy smile, he’d gripped the carton just that bit too hard, imagining his hand round Peter’s neck and not just round a pint of semi-skimmed.
He grabbed at the dishcloth that hung by the sink and was about to run it under the tap when he suddenly became aware of someone crying in the living room.
Wait, that’s not the telly… he realised, hearing the quiet murmur of his father’s voice.
Slowly, he crept out into the hall, stopping just at the chink of the living room door.
“It’s OK; everything’ll be OK,” he heard his father intone soothingly.
“But that’s the trouble, Matthew! How-how can it be all right?” a woman’s voice sobbed. “He made me so unhappy. He made me change… before I married him, I used to be so easy-going, so trusting. Till he made me realise that the people you love the most can hurt you the most!”
“What-you mean by leaving you both the way he did?”
“Oh no, he made me miserable long before that. Frittering away all the money we’d struggled to save; spending it on stupid schemes that never worked, then on booze to drown his sorrows. Then he’d tell me lies upon lies to cover his tracks. That’s when he changed my whole personality, Matthew-he made me into the cynical, hard cow my daughter accuses me of being!”
“Shush! You’re not like that! I know that!”
“But that’s it; you’re the first person in years I can finally relax with, finally feel like my old self with, and now that I seem to be getting my life together, he’s-he’s come back to spoil it all!”
“But how can he spoil it?” Matthew Ryan Snr countered gently. “You’re being really strong. How can he hurt you?”
“Through Catrina! He’ll h-hurt her like he did me and I can’t stand to see that happen to my daughter-I love her so much! B-but it will happen, and I can’t do a thing about it, b-because she h-hates me…”
Holding his breath, Matt moved silently away from the doorway and sank back into the darkness of the hall. He didn’t need to spy into the living room to know that it was Sylvia Osgood his father was comforting.
And while Matt would never claim to be a genius, it didn’t take one to realise that Cat’s cold-as-ice mother had a heart after all-and one that was breaking.
CHAPTER 14
VERA’S LITTLE THANK YOU
Anna smothered a yawn and glanced at her watch. Still another couple of hours till they closed for the night.
She hoped the Friday night trade would pick up a little or else the time would really drag. Another yawn came and she wished she could crawl on to her sofa and doze off in front of some movie or other.
It wasn’t last night in the Railway Tavern that had tired her out-she’d left at eleven and it wasn’t as if it was far to walk, living practically next door as she did.
Anna had been finding it hard to sleep all week. Although the incident in the launderette hadn’t really upset her that much, her subconscious seemed to be making a big fuss about it, waking her up with mad dreams and strange images just as she was dropping off.
In the early hours of this morning, she’d been startled awake by the oddest nightmare: she’d been running along the high street with everyone staring and laughing at her… In her dream, she’d looked down and realised why-she was completely naked.
Lying breathless and sweating in her bed, Anna had tried to think about something else-anything to take her mind off the images of her nightmare. But all that had come to mind was the business with Peter.
And the unfinished business with Matt.
“Anna! Hello, dear!”
It was Mad Vera, struggling in through the door of the End, wrapped up in a big tweed coat, one arm bandaged close to her chest and the other dragging something behind her.
“Vera!” exclaimed Anna, rushing over to hold open the door. “How are you?”
“Fine, dear, don’t you worry,” smiled the old woman. “Had a lovely few days wi
th my feet up, watching that lovely Richard and Judy-ooh, he’s a handsome man! I’ll be back to work tomorrow, right as rain!”
“You’re not rushing it, are you? You are properly better?” Anna asked with concern.
“Oh, yes!” Vera assured her, patting her on the arm. “I’ve been getting a bit bored to tell you the truth-can’t wait to get going again!”
The regular customers at the End-of-the-Line café couldn’t wait for Vera to get back to work either; she was a real character and everyone loved idly gazing across the street and watching her tap-dancing or jiving or foxtrotting along to whatever was blasting out of the little tinny radio she always had playing.
“But shouldn’t you leave it till your arm’s out of that sling?” Anna nodded at the triangle of cloth binding the old woman’s arm to her body.
“Oooo, no! I can still mop and clean perfectly well with my good arm. And look, I can still dance and sing…!”
Vera did a little twirl on the tiled floor of the café, warbling a snatch of ABBA’s Dancing Queen, sounding scarily like Minnie Mouse. Anna winced at the high-pitched whining, but managed an enthusiastic smile by the time the old lady had twirled back to face her.
“Oh, by the way, Anna dear,” Vera said, somewhat breathlessly, “thank you so much for the beautiful flowers! I had to borrow a vase from my neighbour-I didn’t have one big enough! You’re such a kind, thoughtful girl!”
“They were from the customers and everyone here, Vera, not just from me,” Anna was quick to correct. Everyone’s fondness for Vera meant that the empty coffee jar on the counter filled up with donations very quickly after news of her attack filtered through. Anna had been able to send a huge bouquet of spring flowers to the old lady’s flat.
“Still, you’re a wonderful girl and no one can tell me different,” Vera smiled warmly. “Which is why I’ve brought you this, as a thank you!”
Anna glanced down at the huge, newspaper-wrapped parcel that was lassoed on to Vera’s faded, tartan shopping trolley with what looked like nylon washing line.
“I don’t need a present, Vera! You shouldn’t have—” Anna tried to protest, wondering what the gift could possibly be.
“You deserve it. You’re a very special girl, who did a very brave thing, saving me like that. So this…” she patted the odd parcel “…is for you. And I won’t take no for an answer!”
OIlie took the can out of the fridge and tossed it in the air.
It twirled twice before he expertly caught it in his hand. Without pausing, he flicked it behind his back, throwing it up over his head with one deft move… and caught it as it came down in front of him.
“There you go!” he said, chucking it to Joe, who was perched on the dishwasher by the back door of the café.
“Thanks,” said Joe, pulling open the ring pull of the Coke can without thinking. He rolled his eyes as the fountain of foam exploded over him, his friend’s laughter ringing in his ears.
“Gotcha!” grinned Ollie, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Never thought you’d be daft enough to open a shaken can!”
“Too dazzled by your barman skills, that’s my problem. Anyway, I don’t know what you’re laughing at,” said Joe, licking a drip of Coke off the end of his nose, “you’re the one who’s going to have to clean all this up before your Uncle Nick sees it!”
Joe slipped off the dishwasher and shook himself like a wet dog.
“It was worth it,” said Ollie, already grabbing the floor mop, “just to see your face!”
Apart from the fizzy puddle around Joe, the café kitchen was spotless. Recent customers had only wanted coffees and cold drinks, so Ollie had been able to tidy everything up early. At least it would mean he and Anna could close on time, unless a busload of hungry rugby players rolled up and demanded a three-course dinner-which wasn’t exactly likely to happen.
“Where is Nick tonight then?” asked Joe, who’d taken advantage of the boss’s absence and come through to the kitchen to chat to his best mate.
“Hot date, I think. He nipped out to the chemist to get a new bottle of aftershave earlier.”
“Ooh, lucky girl! Do you think he’ll put a clean T-shirt on too?” joked Joe.
“Yeah, maybe even shave off some of that designer stubble!”
“But that’s what drives the laydeez wild, isn’t it?”
“According to Nick, yeah,” nodded Ollie. “Trouble is, the only time designer stubble drove laydeez wild was back in 1980!”
The two lads were still cackling away when Anna walked through into the kitchen. Eventually, they realised they had company and struggled to get their breath back.
“Anna,” said Ollie, his eyes transfixed by what she was holding. “What… I mean, why…?”
“Exactly,” Anna said, her arms already aching with the weight of her present.
“It looks,” said Joe dubiously, “like some kind of vase…”
“Yeah-for Godzilla’s house,” added Ollie sarcastically. “I mean, it’s the size of an eight-year-old kid!”
“A very round eight-year-old kid…” shrugged Joe, staring at the bulbous vase.
“What kind of plant,” continued OIlie, “could you put in a fat, eight-year-old kid-sized flower vase?”
“A triffid?” suggested Joe, remembering a corny old horror film he and OIlie had been obsessed with when they were younger. The man-killing plant had grown to epic proportions and demolished everything-and everyone-in its path.
“My flat’s so small,” said Anna, straining to hold her present upright, “that if this thing moves in, I’m going to have to move out!”
CHAPTER 15
MATT TRIES-AND FAILS
Matt was doing something he’d never done on a Friday night ever. Come to think of it, he’d never done it any night-ever.
He was strolling around the garden with his dad.
Matt had approached his dad as soon as he’d come in from work. Hearing Sylvia Osgood’s distress the night before hadn’t helped Matt’s sleep problem, and he felt he had to ask his father the whole story. Luckily, Matthew Snr seemed happy to have someone to share it with.
“She’s worried out of her mind, Matt,” said his father, gazing absently at rows of pruned roses.
“Has she told Cat that? Has she explained what she’s thinking?”
“Sylvia’s too scared to. She says that any time she’s ever tried to put Cat off something that’s bad for her, it just pushes her into doing it all the more,” Matthew Snr sighed. “All Sylvia can do is hope Eddie’ll show his true colours, just enough for Cat to see sense, but not get hurt.”
Cat was stubborn all right, Matt knew that for sure. He could see Sylvia Osgood’s point of view and that was a bit of a shock.
“What’s so bad about Cat’s dad anyway?” he asked, trying to get his head round the situation.
“Well, Sylvia’s never wanted to make this common knowledge, but in the circumstances, I think you should know. It might make it easier for you to help your friend Cat out, if you’ve got an idea what went on…”
“Don’t be engaged… don’t be engaged…” Matt muttered.
He was sitting on a throw-covered sofa in his den, gazing around at the freshly painted walls, waiting for Cat to answer her mobile. The bare 100-watt bulb above his head made the large room feel cold and unfriendly. It would still need a lot of work on Matt’s part to get the den anywhere near as atmospheric and relaxed a hang-out as it had been before the fire.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Cat? It’s me-Matt,” he said down the phone, feeling strangely nervous. He knew he was in danger of having his friend accuse him of lecturing, but after what his father had just told him, he felt he had to try and urge Cat to be cautious.
“Hi, Matt! Listen, I’m kind of busy just now-I’m with Dad. Can I call you back another time?”
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Matt mumbled. In his mind’s eye, he could picture Eddie Osgood in the Railway Tavern, his hands shaking in that tell-tale way.
It now totally added up with what he’d overheard Sylvia saying last night and what his own father had spelt out for him. “I just… oh, it doesn’t matter.”
“No, what? What’s up?” Now Cat was intrigued.
“Nothing. It’s just… your mum. She’s pretty upset. About everything. She told my dad…”
Matt knew he wasn’t doing very well, but he’d been thrown off guard knowing that Cat’s father was within earshot of the call. He wished he hadn’t started.
“Matt, she doesn’t care what I think and she doesn’t care what my dad’s been through. She only cares about one person-herself! I’m sorry, but I don’t want to hear any more.”
Cut off, Matt stared down at the silent phone then launched it into the wastepaper bin in disgust.
“Couldn’t have handled that worse if you’d tried, Matty boy,” he muttered darkly to himself.
“Trouble with your mum?”
“No, not really. It was one of my friends trying to stick his nose into my business.”
Cat’s father patted her hand and, once again, she noticed the slight tremble. She’d thought it was caused by nerves before, but surely it couldn’t be that now-not now they were so comfortable together.
The bus station café that they were sitting in was quite dingy-a place Cat would normally never have been seen dead in-but, as her father said, with his new business to get off the ground, he couldn’t afford to splash out on Luigi’s every night.
“So, Dad,” she smiled at him, feeling self-conscious and happy to be calling someone that after all this time. “Have you decided yet? How long you’re staying in Winstead, I mean?”
“Well, that depends on you, sweetheart.”
“Me? How come?”
“I need your help, Catrina,” he said, gazing earnestly at his daughter. “I need you to persuade your mother to see me on her own. She keeps putting me off everytime I call, saying she’s too busy.”