‘You don’t need to do anything, love.’ Her father had taken over the phone. ‘Just bring yourself.’
‘But you’re really going? In a couple of weeks?’
‘It’s time your mum and I had our adventure. Don’t fret. We’ll explain everything when we see you. Lots of love to you and your fella.’
‘Take care, darling,’ her mum called, and the line went dead.
Polly looked at Cat, and Cat stared back, her eyes filling with tears.
‘Oh gosh.’ Polly said. ‘I heard most of that.’
Cat nodded and forced a smile. ‘Let’s go and look at Christmas lights,’ she said. Getting up from the table, she wrapped her arm through her friend’s and, taking a final glance at Joe’s cartoon, left the room.
Chapter 3
Cat sat on her mum and dad’s squishy sofa and clinked glasses with them. It was half past two in the afternoon, but it was their Christmas day, and that meant prosecco with lunch. Cat was so happy for them, so excited about their adventure, but she was also feeling untethered. Her parents had always been close to her, no more than an hour away, apart from when she was at university. She’d been living her own life, and since moving to Primrose Terrace had gone a few months without seeing them, but had taken it for granted that she’d always be able to return to Brighton and knock on the door.
Their original January departure date had allowed her to put off thinking about it, to focus on more immediate things like Mark and dog protests and housemates. But now the date was rushing up to meet them, and Cat had spent the last week trying to get her head around it, making sure she had their presents ready while also getting news out in Primrose Terrace about the Christmas lights and dog fancy-dress competitions. She was exhausted.
‘Cheers,’ her dad said. ‘Here’s to new adventures for us all.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ Delia added.
‘Me too.’ Cat held her glass up and took a sip.
It was early November, just after fireworks night, the air full of smoke and blowing leaves, but in her parents’ living room, Christmas had well and truly arrived. Cards were strung around the wall – mostly her mother’s own designs, and a few that their friends had sent early once they’d been told the new plan – and paper chains decorated the mirrors and mantelpieces. An artificial tree took up one corner of the room, its branches pulsing with fibre optic light: blue, then red, then yellow, gold, pink, green. The room smelled of pinecones and roasting turkey, and Christmas carols played low in the background. It was like Santa’s grotto on a grey November day.
‘So this camper van,’ Cat said, ‘it’s definitely roadworthy? And you have to get it now?’
Peter nodded. ‘It’s in great nick. And the guy’s moving himself, so he needs to have it gone before the end of November. I doubt we’ll find another deal like this one, so we went ahead and snapped it up. We’re picking it up from Vancouver, and then it’s on the road we go!’ He pointed his arm up to the ceiling like Superman, and Cat’s mum grinned.
‘You can’t wait,’ Cat said softly.
‘It’s a dream come true,’ Delia said. ‘We’ve talked about it for years, but somehow never thought it was us. It wasn’t something we did, just pack up and go travelling. But then we thought – why not? What’s there to stop us? We’re biting the proverbial bullet.’
‘Which is what the turkey will be like if I don’t check on it.’ Her dad squeezed Cat’s shoulder as he left the room.
Cat gazed into her glass.
‘Are you all right about all this, darling?’ Delia swapped sofas, squashing up next to Cat, the soft fabric of her long, red dress brushing against Cat’s bare legs. Cat was wearing a short navy dress and leather boots, silver jewellery. It suddenly seemed over the top, despite the occasion. ‘You seem a bit down.’
‘I’m just trying to take it all in,’ Cat said. ‘That you’re going next week.’
Cat’s mum rubbed her back in small, circular motions, as if she was a baby that needed burping. ‘But you’ve known we were going for a while now. And it’s only a couple of weeks early. You’ve got Polly, and Mark. All your friends in Fairview.’
‘I know that,’ Cat said. ‘But you’ll be so far away.’
’Technology brings everything closer,’ Delia said, holding up her iPad. ‘We can do FaceTime now, send you our photos. Distance doesn’t count for anything if you don’t let it.’
Cat nodded, thinking how she hadn’t heard directly from Joe since he’d left. Over a month ago now, with only Curiosity Kitten to remind her he still existed. That and her thoughts. This week’s cartoon had been Curiosity Kitten walking to the beach – past an arrow-shaped sign saying The Cove – swinging a picnic hamper, then getting there to discover the sand was overrun with dogs of all different sizes and breeds. Needless to say, Curiosity Kitten had turned and run in the opposite direction, but Cat knew that word had reached him that their protest had been successful. A note under the cartoon strip reminded people of the council’s decision to continue to allow dogs at the cove.
Was Joe letting her know that he was thinking about her? Or was this latest cartoon something the paper had asked him to do to reinforce the news about the council decision? She wished she could talk to him. She was sure Polly would give her his email address, but at the same time she knew he wanted some space, and she had to respect that.
‘The turkey’s looking delicious.’ Her dad returned and topped up their glasses. ‘You’ll have to take lots of it back with you, there’s enough to feed a small army and we can’t take it with us.’
‘It’s a shame Mark couldn’t come today,’ Delia said gently. ‘It would have been lovely to meet him.’
‘I know,’ Cat said, ‘but he’s got lots on in the run-up to Christmas. I think he’s trying a really big push with his film. It got put on hold, and he wants to get it going again.’
‘A busy man,’ Peter said, nodding approvingly. ’It’s good that he’s ambitious.’
‘Oh yes,’ Cat said. ‘He’s really passionate about his films.’
Her parents exchanged a glance, and Cat took another sip of prosecco. She had asked Mark to come with her today, but he had insisted he couldn’t spare the time. Since the first meeting of the Christmas committee, she’d barely seen him. He’d been tied up with film negotiations, and Cat hadn’t pushed the issue, trying to deal with her own conflicted thoughts. She hadn’t expected him to come, and had never once pictured the four of them sharing an early Christmas together. In her head, it had always been her and Mum and Dad.
Cat understood that their relationship was relatively new, and that meeting parents was a big thing, but Mark knew that if he didn’t meet Peter and Delia now, it would probably be a year before he’d get another chance.
He’d also shown little enthusiasm in the Christmas lights competition, and had refused to dress Chips up in anything other than her usual lead and collar. Cat understood that not every dog owner was comfortable dressing their dogs up, and of course she respected that. But everyone else on Primrose Terrace was getting involved in the lights competition, if not the dog fancy dress.
She had gone over it again and again. Was she too demanding, expecting too much of him? After all, he had helped her with the protest, had been enthusiastic about it until Joe had upstaged him on the waves and then caused problems later.
It wasn’t that Mark wasn’t attentive – when they were together, he could make her feel like she was the only person in the world, so much that it was sometimes dizzying. But when he was engrossed in his work, either in Fairview or in London, it was as if Cat didn’t exist. She felt like she’d been put into a neat compartment in his life, not allowed to break free and spread out into all of it.
He didn’t talk to her openly about his films or his family unless she badgered him. He only expected that she be there to share a meal with, watch a film together, make love. It was nice, but was it enough? Shouldn’t they be interested in every part of each other’s lives, ch
allenging each other, exploring new things together?
‘You all right, love?’ Peter asked. ‘You’re awfully quiet.’
‘I’m fine,’ Cat said, ‘I’m just tired. Shall we open presents?’
‘Perfect plan.’ Delia knelt on the carpet and burrowed under the tree, pulling out beautifully wrapped packages, handing them out. Cat joined her mum on the floor, pushing thoughts of Mark to the back of her mind.
Her mum and dad had got her some new perfume and a beautiful leather journal, with a small, embossed dog in the corner of the front cover.
‘In case you want to write about your doggy exploits,’ her dad said. ‘This year’s a big one for you, love. Not everyone’s bold enough to start their own business, and it’s not easy to make a success of it. Don’t underestimate your achievements.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’ Cat breathed in the leather smell, ran her hand over the soft cover, the embossed dog. ‘It’s gorgeous.’ She used to write in diaries as a child, the kind with a lock and key that made you feel like your secrets were the biggest in the world, but she hadn’t written her thoughts down for years. The journal pages were too pristine, too white. She wondered what she could possibly write that would do it justice.
She leaned behind her to drag out a bag she’d stowed under the coffee table, kept separate from the other presents, the practical things she’d got for her parents’ trip. A hot-water bottle, slipper socks and an eye mask for her mum, an impressive lantern torch for her dad. ‘I wanted to do something for you, to have something to remind you of me – of here.’
Delia laughed. ‘We’re hardly going to forget our only daughter, are we?’
Cat held out the present and Delia took it, passing it to Peter so they could pull off the gold paper together.
Cat watched them unwrapping it, wondering if it was a selfish present. She hadn’t had as long as she’d wanted to put it together, and it wasn’t perfect, but she hoped they would like it.
‘Oh, Catherine,’ Delia said, staring at the front cover of the photo book. ‘This is incredible.’
‘It’s got some family photos in, some from ages ago, and some more recent pictures.’
‘You’ve done captions.’ Peter moved closer to Delia so they could look together. ‘What’s this? Peter Palmer and his world-famous watering hat. Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?’ He grinned at her.
‘Not one bit.’ Cat returned the smile.
‘Oh, look,’ Delia said, ‘there are some of you at Primrose Terrace.’
‘I thought you might like a few. I’m sorry I haven’t been better at inviting you to visit.’
Cat watched her parents as they examined each photo: one from the Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic of her and Polly and Joe, Chips at their feet. One of Polly and Cat on the sofa at number nine, Shed lying across both their laps, legs outstretched. A couple of Cat in the park, the mini schnauzers at her feet, that Elsie had taken for her to use on her Twitter and Facebook pages. There was a photo of Cat and Mark at the cove on the morning of the protest, the waves behind them.
‘Don’t you two look lovely together,’ Delia said. Cat thought she was talking about her and Mark, but saw that her mum was pointing at a photo of Cat and Joe the night of Jessica’s spring party. It was a hasty selfie that Joe had snapped while they were waiting for Polly to get ready, Cat in her black flapper dress, Joe in his blue suit and disarming smile.
Cat thought back to the change in him that night. It was the first time since she’d moved to Primrose Terrace that he’d come out of his shell, and he’d ended up giving her the confidence to talk to people about Pooch Promenade.
‘That was a good night,’ Cat admitted. ‘And Jessica’s organizing another party for Christmas. They’re very glamorous events.’
Her mum nodded. ‘Joe scrubs up well, doesn’t he? Generous and gorgeous.’
Cat sat back on her haunches and picked up her journal. She pressed her cheek against the cool leather and tried not to meet her mum’s eye.
After Cat had eaten and drunk more than she thought physically possible, and with her mum bringing the chocolate log through to the living room in case any of them – laughably – felt peckish, they settled in front of Elf – her dad’s favourite Christmas film. The curtains were still open, and Cat was distracted by the fireworks outside, the bright lights, the bangs. While Christmas in New York played out on the television, Cat curled her legs up under her and thought about her Christmas in Primrose Terrace.
Would she be spending the day with Mark? He clearly wanted her all to himself, while she was organizing events that would involve all the residents, and what about Polly and Joe? She lived with them, Polly was her best friend, so now she wasn’t seeing her parents, shouldn’t she spend at least some of the day with them? She wondered what Joe was doing at that moment, what time of day it was in Portland, whether his course was still going on or if he was travelling round exploring new places.
She looked at her parents cuddled up on the sofa, chuckling at Will Ferrell and exchanging looks that, anyone could see from a mile away, were full of love. They were completely at home in each other’s company. They shared everything, their deepest thoughts, their fears. They argued – her mum hadn’t held back when she’d disagreed with her dad about important things – but they worked through it, they battled it out, and they were stronger because of it.
That wasn’t how Cat felt about Mark. They hadn’t been together that long, but she’d known him now for nearly ten months, and she felt that in some respects they were still strangers. She hadn’t told him how worried she felt about her parents being so far away, because she didn’t think he’d get it. She only knew that he wasn’t close to his mum and dad, she had none of the details, so she’d been similarly vague with him.
No sooner had they got together, than they were pulling apart again. She knew that this was as much her fault as his, but he hadn’t mentioned it or made an effort to spend more time with her. She didn’t feel close to Mark the way her parents so obviously were. She was attracted to him, but she didn’t feel a sense of companionship, of friendship. And desire without friendship, in her mind, wasn’t a relationship.
Picking up her wine glass, turning away from Elf and looking out into the dark November night, the bursts of bright light adding to the festivity of the cosy living room, Cat let her mind wander where, until now, she hadn’t allowed it to.
Joe didn’t have a dog, so that was a moot point, but there was no doubt he’d get involved in the Christmas lights competition. She wouldn’t be surprised if Polly had already emailed him and he was thinking up ideas while he honed his drawing skills. And, even as a friend, Joe would have come with her to her parents’ house because he would have known how important it was to her.
He might have argued with her about what she was bringing, they might still clash over how to decorate the front of their house, but he wouldn’t gloss over things and leave her to it. It would matter to him, and he’d tell her how he felt.
Cat jumped as her dad let out a loud guffaw at something on the screen and her mum slapped him on the arm, her face a mask of mock disapproval. He kissed her, his lips lingering on her cheek. Cat barely noticed the rest of the film, and only realised it was over when the credits finished and the DVD flipped back to the menu screen. Her parents had fallen asleep, her mum’s head resting on her dad’s shoulder, her dad snoring gently.
Leaning forward, Cat picked up the remote and switched the DVD player off. The TV flicked back to one of the Freeview channels and she was about to turn it off when she heard a familiar voice. She looked up, her breath catching in her throat as she saw McDreamy approaching Meredith, who was standing on a hilltop, surrounded by candles.
The end of Grey’s Anatomy, Season Four. When, after endless complications, missed opportunities and misunderstandings, Meredith shows Mc Dreamy how much she loves him with a grand, romantic gesture.
She sank back onto the sofa, Meredith’s words melting away to nothing as her
mind filled with her and Joe’s that night back in August. Words about Rosalin and Mark, and about happy every after. You’re cute when you’re fuzzy.
Cat watched the screen, cradling her wine glass, her stomach churning with a mixture of dread and excitement. She had made a decision, and she knew it was the right one. Even if she’d missed her chance with Joe, she couldn’t be in this relationship when her heart was with someone else. For once, she had to listen to it.
In the morning, her head clearer than she had expected, Cat stepped out of early Christmas and into a cold, bright day.
‘Well then,’ her dad said, standing next to Delia at the end of the front path, ‘see you in a few months.’
Cat nodded, inhaled and squeezed her dad as tightly as she could. ‘Have a magical time,’ she said into his shoulder, ‘and stay in touch. I want to know everything.’
‘That’s a dangerous thing to say,’ Delia said, waiting for her turn and then engulfing her daughter. ‘We’ll email you constantly. You won’t have time for dog-walking or romance if you go around saying things like that.’
‘I’ll fit it all in,’ Cat said.
‘Look after yourself, my darling.’ Her mum let the tears fall, not bothering to wipe them away. ‘Keep going with everything, keep living your life. We’re so proud of you.’
Her dad gave her another hug, nodding fervently. ‘We are, my love. We couldn’t be prouder.’
‘Thanks,’ Cat murmured. ‘I will. And I’m proud of you too. For following your dreams, for being so brave.’
‘I doubt we’ll be brave if we encounter one of those grizzly bears,’ Peter chuckled.
‘You’ll probably make friends with it.’ Cat laughed and wiped her cheeks, putting her bag in the back of the battered Fiesta that Joe and Polly shared, and which she’d borrowed for the journey to Brighton.
‘Merry Christmas, Catherine,’ her mum said.
‘Happy Christmas to you too.’ She hugged them each again, then climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled away, waving in the mirror, watching her parents get smaller and smaller and finally, as she turned the corner, disappear from view.
Tinsel and Terriers, A Novella Page 4