Caim

by T. S. Simons

  'Jam had a knack of knowing when I needed her. She would sit on me, purring. Just stroking her was a comfort.'

  'I miss Max and Lily,' Illy said as she hung the freshly cut strands on the pasta tree. 'They were so intuitive and always sensed when I needed them. I am glad to have Millie and Mollie,' she rushed to say, recalling that I had upset a few people on the waiting list for kittens by giving her two, 'but I could never replace my first fur babies. I hope Isla is looking after them all.'

  'She will,' I assured her. 'Isla loves cats. Did you always have cats?'

  'Ever since I can remember. We even had one, Herring, a tabby boy we brought from Scotland with us. I remember my mum laughing that the neighbourhood cats likely couldn't understand his accent.'

  'No dogs?' Cam asked.

  'No. My parents were cat people, I guess. I have never had a dog.'

  'I wasn't allowed to have any pets.'

  'You said that once before,' Illy asked. 'Why? You had a big house, didn't you?'

  'We did. But my parents insisted pets were a burden. They travelled, worked long hours. After all these years, I genuinely believe that they wanted nothing that could make a mess. Our house was so white.'

  'White?' Luca questioned mockingly as he kneaded the next ball of dough.

  Ignoring him, I continued speaking to Illy. 'The walls, the carpets, the furniture. Everything crisp and clean and white. So bloody Scandinavian. Lots of timber and glass, but that cold, sterile look. Glass fronted wine storage room. Pristine white kitchen. Carefully curated artwork on the walls, but not allowed to touch anything. It was like living in a museum. The perfectly manicured lawn that couldn't be spoiled with something as repulsive as dog shit. Nothing at all like my home with you.' I smiled at Cam, reading a book opposite me but not really focused. With four children, many more who dropped in daily, and a cat, plus the odd lamb or other creature, our house was a home. Warm and inviting, but messy and lived in with muddy footprints, clothes strewn around and dents in walls.

  'What would your parents think of our home?' Cam asked curiously, putting his book down on the table, careful not to lose his place.

  'They would be polite to our faces but likely horrified behind our backs,' I confessed. 'My mother carried antiseptic wipes and wiped down the toilet before she used it. Carried little bottles of hand sanitiser. When we travelled, even to third world countries for dad's work, we always stayed in the five-star hotel that the expats stayed in. No local bunkhouses for us.'

  Cam grinned. 'I miss all the pets we had growing up. Cats, dogs, fish, even guinea pigs at one point. They were all family, and I loved them all.'

  'I had a cat once,' Luca said, in a voice that indicated there was a story there, making me look at him expectantly as he wiped his hands of excess flour.

  'We lived in a flat, so a dog was difficult. Of course, I wanted a dog. All the other kids at school had dogs. I desperately wanted one. But no. I get a cat. One day I tried to walk the cat, but that ended badly.'

  Illy smirked. She had clearly heard this story. But Cam and I egged him on.

  Luca sighed dramatically, his muscled chest rising. 'Hornet was a rescue cat, a big ginger tabby boy with a white patch down his front. Maybe four or five when mum and I adopted him from the shelter. We suspected he had belonged to an older person who had died. He was overweight, loud, demanding, and opinionated. He just smeared himself around, fat lump of lard. We found his fur everywhere. You couldn't eat without first checking for ginger hair in your food. As well as company for me, Mum got him as we had mice in our flat, and she thought he would catch them and keep them at bay. But no. He just lay there on the sofa and watched them run past. I used to tease him, tell him they were his buddies, and he had named them. He loved to lie on my chest when I was in bed. Very possessive. Anyway, one Saturday afternoon when mum was at work, I decided to walk him, like a dog. He was bigger than a Chihuahua or a Fox Terrier, so I thought, "Surely it will be fine". Note to self. It wasn't fine. He hated the rope lead I tied to his collar for a start and arched his back to get it off. Dug his feet in, and I dragged him for a few metres before he started to walk, realising that I wouldn't give in. We made it half a block before we saw a dog—an enormous bloody Alsatian. The owner couldn't control the dog and let go of the leash. The dog lunged at Hornet. Hornet climbed me like a tree, leaving every exposed inch of skin scratched and bleeding. Shredded my shorts and t-shirt. So the dog is jumping up at me, barking, slobber flying everywhere. Hornet is perched on my head like a Russian ushanka hat, yowling and screeching, and I'm also yowling and screeching with blood running in rivers down my face, blinding me.'

  Cam and I laughed hysterically at the image this provoked but asked, 'What did you do?'

  'There was a crowd forming in a circle around me. Watching. Assholes. Finally, a man got a hand on the Alsatian's collar and pulled it away. I managed to retrieve Hornet off my head, not without incurring a few more puncture wounds in the process. Someone brought a box to stuff him in. I would have been happy to see him get hit by a car at that point. The paramedics arrived, and I am taken away in an ambulance.'

  'What happened to poor Hornet?' asked Illy, her eyes opening wide. 'He was just scared. You never told me that part!'

  'Oh, nothing. My mother retrieved the fat lump from the neighbour later on. I note you didn't ask about my sixteen stitches, did you? Sheesh. You and cats. At least I know where I stand in the pecking order.' Luca sighed in disgust.

  'Did you ever try to walk him again?' Cam asked, unable to control his mirth.

  'No. And he lived to a ripe old age.' Luca swilled the rest of his wine and poured another glass before rolling out the next batch of dough. 'But he repelled the mice after that, so I guess that was a small win. And at least I had a pet. Even if they did make a mess,' he taunted. 'We couldn't have that in your perfect white castle, could we, princess?'

  'I am not a…'

  'Did Freyja ever tell you about her towel fetish?' Cam interrupted my protestations.

  'It is not a fetish!' I retorted, lowering my eyes in warning.

  Illy's eyebrows raised, and Luca just chuckled. 'Nothing would surprise me about Princess.'

  My eyes narrowed as I growled, 'I… am… not… a… princess!'

  'Sure.'

  'Go on, tell us,' Illy urged, a wicked smile on her lips.

  'When she first moved in with me, Freyja insisted we have matching towels.'

  'Why?' Illy asked.

  'It is the definitive sign of coupledom, apparently.'

  Luca roared with laughter. 'See. Princess! I suppose they had to be Egyptian cotton in pristine snowflake white too? No skiddies?'

  I broke in. 'This isn't fair. Everyone I knew before I moved to August had matching towel sets. I thought it was a standard thing. I found it jarring that my towels were white and Cam's blue.'

  'The funny part was,' Cam interjected, grinning mercilessly, 'my parents had different coloured towels so they could tell the difference. I had seen matching towels in catalogues and display homes, but didn't realise it defined who we were as a couple.'

  Realising I couldn't win, I relented. 'Fine. So we had matching Egyptian cotton towels on our own personal rail. Yes, we replaced them regularly. Guests always got a new towel and a new cake of soap. My parents even had two basins in their bathroom. His and hers. Are you happy?'

  'What did you do with the old soaps?' Illy asked, astonished.

  'Thrown out, I guess. I know. The thought of it horrifies me now. But it was the sign of a valued guest. New towel, new soap and crisp white sheets.'

  'You ironed sheets?' Luca's mouth dropped open.

  'Well, not me personally…' I tapered off, realising how this sounded to someone raised in a tiny two-bedroom flat.

  'Your housekeeper ironed sheets?' Luca couldn't restrain himself from using his posh accent. The one he used to ridicule me.

  'No, we didn't always have a housekeeper.'

 
; 'But you had an ironing lady, and a cleaning lady?'

  'And a gardener? And a pool boy?' Cam added.

  'You are not helping.'

  'So tell me about the matching towels again?' Luca teased.

  I pursed my lips, realising he wasn't going to give this up. 'I just thought that if we were a couple that we should have matching towels, that's all,' I muttered, not really wanting to be heard. 'I don't know about you, but we were allocated two when we arrived. Mine were white. Cam's were blue. I wanted to see if we could get new ones. You know, so that we could start our lives afresh with new sheets and towels.'

  'New sheets too?' Luca's hilarity filled the room. 'What, were you worried he had farted on them?'

  'Many couples do that,' Illy interjected, defending me. 'After all, if you have been with someone else, it makes sense to start a relationship fresh. New sheets are a symbol of a fresh start.'

  'Well, I'd like to think Cam washed them in between shags,' Luca butted in.

  'There wasn't anyone before Freyja,' Cam interjected. 'And I told her that. Many times. But she still demanded fresh sheets.'

  Luca guffawed as my face reddened. 'If you could see some of the places I have slept, Princess! Bedbugs, rats, you name it. I even shared my bed with cockroaches on one memorable occasion. I'm surprised she didn't run a mile when she found your sheets weren't 1000 thread count, Cam.'

  Cam glanced at me to test the waters before responding. 'They weren't exactly polyester! Maybe not to her luxurious standards, but they were cotton. I remember asking one of the cotton growers on August why the linen was pure cotton, and she said it was so that it could be recycled. Pure cotton sheets and towels could be shredded and converted to cotton fibres. The fibres are woven back to thread and used again.'

  'I didn't know that,' Illy said, glancing at me and seeing my reddened cheeks. 'That is interesting. Do you know if they do that on Lewis?'

  I smiled gratefully.

  'Oh yes,' Cam continued, always happy to talk about anything agricultural. 'Wool too. That was why most of our products are made of cotton, linen, or wool. Everything can be re-used. Nothing is wasted.'

  Luca, unable to restrain himself from having one last dig at me, asked, 'So, how did you recycle your single-use guest towels, Princess F?'

  'We used them as pool towels,' I muttered, flushing vigorously.

  Mooring the Eurydice a few kilometres off the coast as the sky turned from purple to black, we sought something to do. We had timed our arrival for the dark phase of the moon, fortunate that the days were shorter here at this time of year. Illy was familiar with the location of the settlement, and we deliberately moored several kilometres out, on the far side of the island, just in case a random person out walking caught sight of us arriving in the dim moonlight. Luca had advised 2 AM as the time when most people were asleep and the best time to avoid detection.

  We sat and talked after dinner, but the conversation was stilted, and no one wanted to numb our senses with alcohol. After a period of uncomfortable silence, Luca suggested a game of cards and retrieved a pack from his cabin. Luca was a gun at cards, and he and I had spent many a night playing poker, blackjack and as many games for which we could remember the rules. We both had a competitive streak and had argued over the rules many times. We had always planned to find a book with the rules to prove each other wrong, but somehow never did. Several hours of hilarity ensued when it emerged that Cam not only did not know how to play blackjack, but his face showed every thought as it flitted across his mind, resulting in him losing every hand. Bemoaning his constant losses, I eventually let him in on the secret.

  He scowled at me. 'You could have told me sooner. I would at least have tried!'

  'Come on.' Luca stood. 'It's time to gear up.'

  Launching the inflatable dinghy, we paddled to the coast, stealthy and silent. It didn't take long to find the dome opening. Illy had known the location of some, and that they were three kilometres apart, so it hadn't been hard to calculate. Luca had brought obsidian scalpels, sourced during one of the medical raids on the mainland, just in case. But we weren't here to hurt anyone. With Cam firmly gripping my hand for moral support, we crept through the thick foliage at the edge of the village, the lights in the distance making it so obvious that Luca didn't even need to switch on the single torch we carried.

  The austere grey brick building with small, high set windows loomed silent and ominous at the edge of the settlement. Straining my eyes, I could see Illy pointing it out to Luca in the darkness. Luca, dressed in black and his face smeared with the coal dust we had collected from our beach fire a few days prior, went first, testing a rear door. I had to strain my eyes to see him. He camouflaged so well and moved with the agility of a cat. Locked. My heart sank. Damn. We watched silently from our concealed position in the foliage as he tested every door and window, finally finding a high window ajar. I watched with astonishment as he swung himself up and onto the tiny ledge with more nimbleness than should have been possible given his size. Unable to fit through the opening, he returned for Illy. Holding her above his head like a feather, she slipped her tiny form into the opening and disappeared into the dark. Cam and I waited nervously at the edge of the forest until we saw the door open a crack.

  Creeping into the lab unseen, I saw Illy gesturing to Luca that there was a single guard. A nurse, perhaps? Keeping our backs to the walls, Cam and I heard a minor scuffle and thud emanate from the adjoining room. Illy and Luca returned, looking grim. A quick glance behind them showed the man unconscious on the floor. Illy nodded at me. It was safe.

  They weren't even valuable enough to have a team of nurses. I sniffed angrily, equally feeling foolish. More staff would be impossible to overpower and would jeopardise our chances of finding anything. Luca and Illy disappeared up the hallway into the offices, seeking records, paperwork, learning about Bridget and Jorja's children and how many of them existed. What procedures they had performed here. A long corridor divided the building, and tiny rooms ran off each side. Peering through the windows, I could see that each room contained a single bed. Cam and I crept along the hall, my small, black, crossbody bag banging lightly against my thigh. Cam stopped outside number seventeen, marked in simple lettering on the white door, beneath the half glass window. Cam glanced at me in the dim light. Was I ready?

  I nodded, not wanting to break the silence. He pushed the door open, and we entered.

  She looked so old. The thought skipped in my mind like a scratched record after Cam had turned on the bedside lamp. Leaning against the doorway, fighting my flight instinct, I couldn't bring myself to step fully into the room. That would make it real. Even in the coldness of the tiny artificially lit room, she looked far older than her laps around the sun. Thirty-four, I calculated, mentally subtracting from my own age. And nearly half of them, not alive at all. Her hair was brittle and white-grey, so thin that it was bald in patches. Her skin had a sickly yellow tinge, grey on the extremities. Always slim, now she was a breathing skeleton with paper-thin skin overlaid. She looked nothing like the vibrant, loving sister I remembered. It wasn't her; part of my brain wheedled, convincing me we had made a mistake.

  As I stood motionless in the doorway, Cam returned to close the solid door behind me and carried a chair from the opposite side of the room to Kat's bedside, careful to avoid the machines surrounding her. He took her limp grey hand with harshly clipped nails in one of his and spoke kindly.

  'Hi, Katrin. It is lovely to meet you. I'm Cam.'

  A sob escaped my lips, and Cam looked up at me. My hand covered my mouth as I gulped and tried to pull myself together. In the time since Jorja and Bridget had arrived, and I had suspected her fate, I had visualised this moment a million times. But now that I was here, and she was within speaking distance, I was paralysed, leaning against the door for support.

  Cam smiled down at Kat and kept speaking in the low, soothing tone he used when one of the children were scared or injured.
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br />   'Your wonderful sister and I married twelve years ago. Even I can't believe it has been that long. It feels like yesterday that I saw her for the first time, and she stole my heart. She is the most amazing woman, but you know that already. We have four beautiful children, two girls and two boys. Our eldest girl is named after you. Katrin Rose is her name. She is eight and a cheeky and highly intelligent young lady who keeps us on our toes! She looks so much like you, like her mum. We live in Scotland now, where Freyja is a vet, and I am a… gardener,' he said, glancing up at me with a smirk, making me smile through my pain. Angus had belittled him, calling him "The Gardener" behind his back, and I sometimes teased him, calling him that. Usually in bed, and I was trying to provoke a reaction.

  'We live in the most beautiful part of the world—a small island in the North Sea. There are archaeological sites like stone circles and ancient Norse brochs, but mountains and fields of purple and silver heather as far as you can see. Our house is nestled at the end of a closed valley, surrounded by grassy hills and a stunning blue lake where we source our water. Our children have the most wonderful life, roaming the forests and fishing in streams. Playing with the animals and taking long walks. We love it there. Everyone works together and cares for each other. I love your sister so much, as I know you do. She is the most astonishing person I have ever met. She has saved my life several times. I wish you could meet our family. They so badly wanted to come and meet you.'

  Cam's focus shifted from the grey skeleton in the bed. Did I want to say something?

  Gliding to the end of the bed, unable to take my eyes from her face, I froze, unsure what to do. Cam smiled encouragingly.

  'Hi Kat,' I tried to say cheerfully, but it sounded flat, forced, even to my own ears. 'It is me, Frey. Goodness, I have missed you.'

  Cam stood, and gratefully I took his seat. With my hand on her arm and looking closely, I could just make out the glimmer of the girl she had been, beneath the painfully thin, fragile discoloured skin and protruding bones. A thin white cotton nightdress sagging unbecomingly across her collarbones. Her high Nordic cheekbones were still prominent. But her once lively green eyes, now dull and glassy, wide open and staring. Tiny memories of helping her try out makeup flickered in my mind. Picking out sunglasses. It was still her. I held her hand, cringing as I felt the bones, distinct, and too close to the surface. As I spoke, I warmed up and spent the next half-hour filling her in on the highlights of my life. Meeting Cam on August, our first night together at the springs. I told her about our weddings, both of them. All about our children and our lives. My hopes and fears. My sorrow for not knowing she had been here all this time. My regret for not coming sooner.