Being Shirley

by Michelle Vernal

  ***

  “I loved him, you know, Carl? He was more than just a cat—he was my baby.” Annie sniffed loudly and huddled further into the depths of her dressing gown, unable to summon the energy or the inclination to get dressed that morning. “I’m going to miss him so much.”

  “I know, sweetie. I’ll miss him too. Jasper was a character right up there in the realms of Grumpy Cat.” He sat next to her on the couch and draped his arm round her shoulder; he pulled her close and stroked the top of her head. “What was that story you told me about him getting his head stuck in a can of cat food that time?” Carl was very much a believer in the Irish wake theory whereby when somebody died you sat round and shared stories about their life. He was pleased to see it was working when Annie raised a watery smile at the memory.

  “Oh yeah, I’d forgotten all about that. He could be such a little pig!” She had a sip on the cup of sugary coffee Carl had made her before she cleared her throat. “I’d given him his dinner but he wasn’t happy with the new portion control regime the vet suggested I put him on, so he managed to nudge the empty tin of food out of the recycling bin. He got his head wedged inside it, trying to lick the bottom of it out. Honestly, Carl, you should have seen him wandering around the house smacking into things with this tin can stuck over his head. If I’d had a camera handy, I would have filmed it and sent it in to Funniest Home Videos. He looked like a tomcat version of Ned Kelly.”

  Carl laughed at the image conjured. “Remember your birthday dinner party?”

  “When he licked the cream off my birthday Pavlova?” The cream-filled meringue dessert was Annie’s favourite.

  “Yes, I went to fetch it from the spare room where I’d hidden it away as a surprise and found bloody Jasper sitting on the bed with his face covered in cream looking like—”

  Annie actually laughed now. “Don’t say it—the cat that got the cream. I’d forgotten about that and you weren’t laughing at the time—you were highly pissed, as I remember. He was naughty at times! You know, I remember this one time we were having a BBQ with Tony’s family and we were all sitting out in the garden having a drink when this ginger streak ran past, dragging a meat tray behind him. Ngaire went berserk because it was the fillet steak she’d bought specially for ‘her boys.’ He had expensive taste, that cat.” She lamented, still laughing at the memories and then sobered once more as the realisation that he’d never taste fillet steak again dawned fresh. “Oh Carl, how could someone hit him and then just leave him there on the side of the road like that?” She swiped angrily at her eyes, which had welled up again. “It’s Tony’s bloody fault. If he hadn’t made me put him out at night…”

  Carl reached for the box of tissues he’d had the good sense to bring round with him, along with a big box of chocolates. He’d omitted including alcohol in his care package, given his friend’s current state and not wanting to be responsible for a maudlin wine drinking session. They would bypass that part of his Irish wake theory. He handed her a wad of tissues and waited until she had given her nose a good blow before he replied. “You know, people do some strange things when they get a fright, sweetheart. Who knows—perhaps they thought they’d hit a possum or something?”

  “Possums aren’t ginger.” Annie wasn’t going to be that easily appeased because whoever had done this to her Jazz was nothing short of a psychopath, in her opinion. She balled the soggy tissues and shoved them in her dressing gown pocket.

  “Yes but it was dark when it happened and at least that nice neighbour of yours had the decency to bring the old boy home for you. You can’t blame Tony either. It’s not his fault some idiot ran into him. Cats are nocturnal. They’re supposed to be out doing their thing at night. It’s just a sad, sad accident, that’s all.”

  Annie didn’t reply. She wasn’t ready to let go of her festering anger yet. She needed someone to aim and shoot it at, and right at the moment Tony was her target.

  “Besides, he’s done a lovely job of burying him for you, I’ll give him that.”

  “Why are you suddenly his cheerleader?” Annie spluttered and fought off angry tears. She didn’t want Tony to be kind; she wanted him to be horrid and selfish so she could stay mad. It was true what Carl said, though; he had been thoughtful after Campbell had left. She’d been a mess when she’d realised what had happened and he had put a supporting arm around her, shepherded her into the lounge and settled her on the couch. He’d fetched a blanket out of the hall cupboard and draped it over her before he kneeled down to light the fire. When that was roaring, he’d gone through to the kitchen and made her a cup of tea; he even stirred an extra teaspoon of sugar into it before he phoned her work and left a message to say that she’d had a bereavement in the family and wouldn’t be coming in that day. He’d had the sense not to mention it was her cat that had passed away because Annie didn’t think that would wash well with Attila. She’d be the type of person who’d pull the wings off a butterfly for fun, so she’d hardly relate to the grief her employee felt over losing a pet.

  Tony himself hadn’t gone off to work first thing either, which was unheard of. Instead, he had waited until the garden centre down the road opened. At nine a.m. on the dot, he’d hooned off down there and come back with a cherry tree sapling, along with a little plaque that now dangled off one of the sapling’s spindly bare branches, beneath which Jasper was buried. It read: You left paw prints on my heart.

  Next to the verse was a picture of a dog. It was all they had, Tony had told her with an apologetic shrug as he’d disappeared off into the garage in search of a spade. And yes, she knew the thought was there, so she’d said nothing as they’d stood out there on the dewy morning grass while he’d dug the hole. She’d said nothing too when he placed Jasper, along with his favourite mouse toy, into the gaping earth and filled it in. At the sign of the first frost, the sapling would die too. Just like poor Jazz had.

  Next to her now, Carl tightened his grip around her shoulder. “I’m not Tones’s biggest fan. I’m the first to hold my hand up to that but I am fair and I like to give credit where credit is due. What he did this morning for Jasper and for you was sweet, really sweet.” He frowned or at least Annie guessed he frowned as he pushed his long swishy fringe out of his eyes. “Perhaps I have underestimated him.”

  Annie didn’t answer; her bottom lip trembled mutinously.

  “Right then.” Carl gave her shoulder one last squeeze and got to his feet. “I really hate to leave you like this, sweetie, but you do have chocolate, and I have one beanpole with attitude waiting for me to shoot her at Sumner Beach. So how about before I go, I run you a lovely warm bath with lots of bubbles for you to have a good old wallow in?”

  “I’m not a hippo,” Annie mumbled.

  Carl ignored her. “Then when you get out, I want you to get dressed, put some make-up on because that always makes you feel better, and then as part of your grief therapy, I prescribe eating the whole box of chocolates while watching the trashiest daytime soap you can find. Plus, I am dying to know what happens when Olive finds out that Honey has slept with Ryder on Under the Big Sky, okay?”

  His tone brooked no argument as he marched off in the direction of the bathroom.

  ***

  Annie did have the bath Carl ran for her and it was soothing to immerse herself in the soft, sweet smelling bubbles but it didn’t change anything. Afterwards, once she’d towelled off, she had a cursory glance in the mirror. Her hair framed her face in a halo of red frizz and accentuated the fact she looked a red and white blotchy mess, with her nose swollen from being blown constantly. She didn’t care. She felt like crap so it was only right she should look like crap and she had no intention of putting on make-up as Carl had suggested, even though he was probably right. As for eating chocolates, the very thought of tucking into the ginormous box sitting on her coffee table turned her stomach. And she really couldn’t face Under The Big Sky or The Bold and The Beautiful or any other daytime TV offerings. Carl would just have to forever wonder
what Olive did when she found out about Ryder’s infidelity because quite frankly she did not give a damn.

  Instead, she shrugged into her dressing gown and took herself off to the bedroom, where she flopped down on the bed and cuddled her pillow to her chest. A rose bush branch scraped against the window as outside the wind got up and the steady drizzle that had set in for the day was befitting of her current grey mood. She felt alone, lonely, and as she closed her eyes for a moment, Annie tried to imagine the imprint of Jazz curled up in the crook of her legs the way he’d always done. He always seemed to sense when she wasn’t well or was just in need of company. Cats knew when you were out of sorts. She was sure she had read somewhere about a cat that lived in a hospital and always went to lie on the beds of the people who needed him most. Jazz wasn’t that selfless; he would never have curled up with Tony but he’d always been there for her.

  The warmth of his body as he purred contentedly, happy at their daytime rendezvous, almost felt real to her now and she tried to hold onto the sensation. It slipped from her grasp because he wasn’t there and would never be again. Annie opened her eyes and for a moment she stared unseeingly at the wall until like a camera being tweaked, the print of Santorini came into focus.

  She let its scene wash over her. It never failed to make her wonder at the beauty of the place; even now, feeling the way she did, the island’s tumble of white buildings gave her pause. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, knees to her chest and arms wrapped around them. It had just dawned on her that she finally saw what Roz had seen when she looked at it. Not some mass-produced print that had probably hung on hundreds of bathroom walls when the blue and white Greek look was last all the go, but rather the dream of anything being possible. Surely the world couldn’t be anything but your oyster once you had set your eyes upon such a vista?

  The volcanic rock that was home to Santorini had held a special kind of allure that had entranced Roz. It was at the thought of her sister that another wave of sadness broke over Annie. All the things she could have been, should have been, and what she might have done with her life had she chosen a different path swirled in front of her mingling with the anger that always lay beneath the surface—her gorgeous big sister. She gripped her knees tighter; she knew she had to push these thoughts aside or they would wash her away like a shanty hut in a tsunami. She chewed her bottom lip, and forced herself to look straight ahead at the dressing table mirror, almost not recognising the girl who peered back at her from under the tangled hair.

  “You only get one shot at it, this life business,” she whispered to the wan reflection. She knew this better than most. So what was she doing with hers? She had a job she no longer enjoyed thanks to the complete cow she worked for. Her relationship seemed to be on a fast track to absolutely nowhere. And to top it all off, her beloved cat had just died. That book that had been all the rage a few years ago sprang to mind—what was it called? She frowned. Eat, Pray, Love—that was the one. She hadn’t read it but she had seen the movie and as she stared into the mirror at a person she did not want to be, she realised that just like Julia Roberts in the movie, she too had just hurtled to a stop in front of the “what’s next” crossroads of life.

  In all honesty, she knew she shouldn’t be so shell shocked. This intersection had been heading towards her like the train she’d seen derailed on the news last night for a long time now. Somehow she’d managed to ignore it and keep things on the tracks. Mostly by burying her head in the sand and distracting herself with this farce idea of getting married. Now, though, with Jazz’s passing, everything had finally imploded. She’d hit the wall and it was time she faced up to what it was she was going to do next.

  “Do I want to go to Italy and eat pizza like Julia did?” she asked her reflection. She thought that didn’t sound too bad because she was rather partial to a Margherita. Then again, she didn’t fancy having to buy the inevitable big sized jeans that would come with all that pizza snaffling. What about Bali then? She could find someone new to have a torrid fling with. Definitely a better option for her figure but she really wasn’t in the mood to expend all that energy and the way she was feeling had nothing to do with needing to find a new man. She needed to find herself. God, she hated that phrase: it was so self-indulgent but it was also true. So would a meditative retreat in India do the trick then? Annie shuddered. She’d probably get the trots the entire time she was there and from what she’d read about the country’s sanitation in parts, well, that wouldn’t be much fun. Besides which, she thought with a rueful glance at her hair, she’d have a permanent ginger afro, what with the country’s hot and humid conditions.

  She did want more than the square she found herself boxed into at the moment, though. Of that much she was certain. Her green eyes moved back to the print. She stared at it for so long that she felt almost hypnotised by the clarity of those white buildings and the seemingly endless blue. It was at that precise moment that Annie felt an all-encompassing urge to watch a movie. Not just any movie; it was one she hadn’t seen in a long, long time. It had been one of Roz’s favourites.

  She got up and re-knotted her dressing gown around her waist before she padded through to the living room. The fire had almost gone out; she crouched down to toss a dry bit of kindling on to it and waited for it to reignite. Once she had it blazing, she opened the TV cabinet and scanned the rows of DVDs. No, she thought fingering the box set of Rocky. She didn’t want to watch those. She’d bought it for Tony; he was a fan and she always knew when he’d been bingeing on the old Stallone boxing classics because he would engage in a lot of air punching with a bandana tied round his head afterwards. Ah, there it was. She spotted it next to Dirty Dancing and felt a frisson of sadness that Patrick was no longer with them either as she pulled out Shirley Valentine.

  The movie had been before her time but she could recall Roz watching it and their mother had loved it. Of course, back then it had been on video and now she was glad she’d had the foresight to buy the DVD version in a sentimental moment at the shops. It was the story of the middle-aged Shirley, a repressed housewife who leaves her husband for an impromptu holiday to the Greek islands and then decides to stay. The way Shirley falls in love with both a different life on the island and with herself again had gone over the young Annie’s head. She was surprised Roz at the age she had been had enjoyed the film as much as she had but then the scenery was spectacular and the actress, Pauline Collins, played her part wonderfully. She blew the dust off the cover and then slid the disc into the machine. She settled herself under the blanket on the couch and pushed play.

  Once it had finished, Annie sat in the ever darkening room and thought about the underlying story and how brave Shirley had been. She had thrown caution to the wind and found happiness—and not thanks to a man, either. Oh, sure there was the scene with Tom Conti on the boat where he woos her with his bad English but that had more to do with Shirley experiencing life firsthand again than her wanting a romance.

  Outside, the familiar jingle of Mr Whippy’s ice-cream truck sounded. It was awfully cold for ice-cream, she thought but then raised a rueful smile. When as a child had she ever thought it was too cold for ice-cream? If the van was parked out on the street now, it must mean it was after three o’clock and the children were home from school. It was funny how certain sounds could instantly transport you back in time. She remembered how her dad had headed to the front gate many years ago, intent upon getting her a treat that hot summer’s afternoon only to find that the van had moved on. He had been almost manic in his need to find Mr Whippy, as though by doing so he would somehow fix things. All but shouting at Annie to get in the car, they’d driven off in search of the white ice-cream truck. They never did find it. The bells always sounded somewhere in the distance. It had been like one of those dreams where you fell but never quite got to the bottom. In the end, he had taken her to the corner dairy and she had been allowed to choose an expensive ice-cream—any sort she wanted. That had been a treat indeed.
As she raised a smile at the memory, Annie noticed a warm sensation tickle the tips of her toes, as though she had just waved them in front of a fire. She pulled her sock-clad feet out from under the blanket and stared at them, bewildered.

  They definitely felt warm. She wriggled them and the perception of heat slowly spread farther up her foot, past her ankle and moved up into her calves. Her thighs, splayed on the couch, felt the warmth next and then it continued to progress steadily into her stomach and filled it like a hot air balloon. Up, up it seeped into her chest, her neck. A flush crept over her face and as the heat reached the top of her head, her scalp tingled. It was as though she’d been standing outside in the snow before coming inside and plunging herself straight into a hot bath. The strange warmth brought with it a sense of calm. Annie’s breath slowed as she sat immobilised on the couch.

  “Is that you, Roz?” She didn’t know why she asked because she already knew the answer and she didn’t expect a reply. She got none either, apart from the hiss of spitting wood in the fire. The warmth intensified, though, to the point that had she been in her late forties, she would be fairly certain she was experiencing her first hot flush. Once more, Annie was filled with an overpowering urge and so following what her mind screamed at her to do, she hauled herself off the couch and found herself back in her bedroom. Her eyes fixed once more on the print of Santorini as understanding dawned as to why Roz had come to her now after all this time when she had needed her so often in the past. She was finally doing what a big sister should do. She was steering her in the right direction, to show her the right path to take. Annie knew exactly what she had to do.