The Cat's Pajamas

by Soraya May

  Except his company.

  The idea of having Ryan around all the time left me feeling distinctly unsettled, and as I turned it over in my mind, I looked up. He was looking straight at me, with a worried expression on his face, and for a moment I realized how tired he looked.

  I drew in a breath. “Okay. You can stay here. But it won’t be cheap.”

  “Fine.” Ryan smiled broadly, evidently glad to have found a way out of his predicament. “I’ll pay whatever I need to.”

  “The room won’t be very salubrious. I’ve been using it for storing bar supplies.”

  “No problem. Handy in case I need some swizzle sticks or cocktail umbrellas during the night.”

  “And you need to stay out of my way. I’ve got a business to run.”

  He held both hands up again. “Again, fine. I’ll be in the basement mostly.”

  “Good.” I tried to sound as severe as possible. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get on with my cleaning.”

  Ryan clapped his hands together. “Great. I’ll be back in a couple of hours with my gear. Just write me an invoice for the first few days, and I’ll get you the money right away.” He turned and made for the door as I watched him.

  What have I done? This guy’s going to be in my bar for the next week. But I really need that money.

  As Ryan reached the door, he turned back, and looked at me. “Thanks, Cat; you’ve made the right decision. I’ll stay out of your way, and you’ll be well-compensated for any inconvenience.”

  “Good.” I closed the doors firmly in his face, and heard him descend the steps. From the window, I watched him walk to the road, trying not to look at the lean definition of his shoulders, and the curve of his ass under his jeans. When he reached the road, he stopped and turned back to look at the bar. Quickly, I drew back behind the door so he wouldn’t see me staring.

  11

  Cat

  Damn, this place looks like the set of Mad Max.

  I picked my way through the piles of debris at Macfarlane Motors and General Repairs, looking around me with trepidation.

  Inside, the garage was much larger than I had expected, and every few feet around the big open space, an assortment of metal was piled up. Car parts, disused machines, coils of wire. I took a step, and nearly tripped over a crate which appeared to be filled to the brim with screws; thousands upon thousands of them.

  “H-hello? Is anyone around?”

  I needed to find Beatrice or her brother, and ask them about the oven; they had an email address, but didn’t seem to reply to it, and the phone number listed in the phone book—an actual phone book, no website—went directly to an answering machine. They obviously managed to stay in business, despite not exactly prioritizing customer service.

  “It’s…uh, it’s Cat Milsom. From Wunderbar. The, uh, bar. I called and left a message yesterday afternoon?”

  Still nothing.

  In the back of the big open space there was a small office, door shut and blinds drawn, next to large roller doors leading outside. I was just about to give up and go outside when I heard the snap of the blinds being raised, and Andy’s face appeared at the office window. He waved at me and a moment later, his broad frame appeared in the doorway.

  “Cat! Sorry, I didn’t hear you. Was listening to music, huh.” He pointed to the old can-style headphones around his neck, still attached to a long cord. Taking a step toward me, the cord pulled him up, jerking his head round, and there was a crash from behind him. “Shit! Whoops.” Pulling off the headphones, he turned back, dropping them inside the office and running one huge hand through his black hair. “I should have thought of that.” He turned back toward me, smiling at me.

  “What brings you here? It’s good to see you again.”

  Andy had come to the bar a few times with his friends, guys from his rugby team. Normally I was a little suspicious of rugby players—despite being a med student, I’d known a few sports jocks in my time at college, and their crude jokes and air of entitlement had frequently gotten under my skin—but Andy and his teammates were scrupulously polite, saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ every time they ordered yet more pints of beer, and keeping the crude comments to a minimum. Despite taking up a lot of space because of their size, they were nice, polite guys. Even when drunk, they weren’t a danger to anyone but themselves, and on the occasions they did have one too many, they apologized profusely for being drunk, in earnest if slightly slurred tones.

  “Hey, Andy. Actually, I was here about some repair work. My oven’s developed a fault.”

  Andy scratched his head. “You mean, like an electrical fault? Oh, have a seat.” He indicated one of the piles of metal car-parts. “It’s fine, it’s pretty stable.”

  I looked at it. “You sure it’s not going to come to life on me?”

  “Heh. No, I promise, you’re safe enough. You can trust me.” Andy settled himself on another pile and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

  “Okay. Only because you said, though.” I sat down carefully.

  “So, what’s happened with your oven? It’s an electrical fault, yeah?”

  “Well, it’s kind of more than a fault.” I spread my hands. “It’s kind of more a catching-fire-and-burning-out-the-whole-controls sort of situation. The rest of the oven is okay, but the dials and everything are completely destroyed.”

  Andy looked pensive. “Sounds bad. This would be Bea’s thing, not mine. Engines I can do, but electrics are her thing. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Sure, look—anything you guys can do would be a help. I can’t afford another oven, and without the oven, I can’t do pizzas and stuff.”

  “Damn.” His face broke into a grin. “Those are pretty good pizzas you do. Especially after a couple of pints. We’ll have to do something.”

  “Where’s Bea? Is she around?”

  I’d only met Beatrice Macfarlane once, and it hadn’t been a very positive meeting. She had turned up to the bar to get Andy home when he was drunk, and the tongue-lashing she had delivered her brother had left me in no doubt who was in charge. Despite being a foot shorter than her brother, Bea wasn’t about to let him forget his responsibilities. As far as I knew, Bea was only a little older than me, but the rest of her brother’s rugby team called her ‘Miss Macfarlane’, like small boys in front of a slightly frightening middle-school teacher.

  “Yeah, she’s out the back doing some welding. She’ll be done in a sec.” Andy developed a slight glow of pride. “I’m sure she’ll be able to do something. My big sister can fix pretty much anything. I’m okay with cars, but she can do everything I can and more besides.”

  I leaned back, and immediately regretted it as a sharp piece of metal dug into my back. “That’s—ow—that’s good to know, Andy. How’s the garage going for you two?”

  Since I’d been in town, the Macfarlanes had done steady business with general car repairs, as well as going out in their old truck to help out the occasional tourist who came down the coast road and ran out of fuel, or broke down some miles from the town.

  Andy shrugged. “Yeah, look, can’t complain. We’ve always got work.” He leaned forward, looking suddenly bashful. “Hey, I was down the road outside of town last weekend, and I found a colony of gannets. I checked and I don’t think anyone’s recorded it before. Are you interested in birds at all? I could take you down and show you.”

  Man. This guy’s six-five and an athlete, built like a tank, and he’s asking me out to show me a bird colony. It’s actually kind of sweet.

  “Andy, I…I’d like to, but I’m actually not sure what I’ve got on. Let me, uh, let me get back to you on that, okay?”

  “Sure, sure.” He nodded quickly. “Just, yeah. Just let me know.”

  A loud crunching sound of metal on metal came from the back of the building, catching our attention. The roller doors crashed open, and Bea came in, pushing her safety visor up over her short-cropped hair. Although she was five-and-a-half feet tall,
shorter by a foot than Andy, their family resemblance was unmistakable; she had the same square jaw, olive skin, and broad shoulders. Her arms were bare to the shoulder, tanned and muscled from physical work, and in one hand she held a gas cutting torch.

  “Ran out of gas, Goddammit. Andy!” Bea’s voice was impatient, authoritative. “Where’s the gas bottle, the big one? We need to—” She broke off when she saw Andy and I sitting together.

  “Oh. Hi.” There was a silence, and Bea’s eyes went from Andy to me and back again. “Something we can help you with? It’s Cat, right?”

  Andy cleared his throat. For a big guy he could be surprisingly discreet at times. “Cat’s come to talk to us about a job.”

  “Oh, yeah?” From Bea’s tone it seemed like she wasn’t overjoyed by the prospect. Sheesh, I thought to myself, are you this friendly to all your customers?

  “Y-yes.” I willed myself to speak more clearly. “My oven caught fire and the electrics are shot. The fire burned out the whole console, the dials and everything. I was hoping you guys might be able to fix it.”

  “Right.” Another silence. Man, this is hard work. Adopting the tone of voice I used to use when, as a medical student, I was asked to comment on a newborn baby by its parents, I tried to be as sweet and likable as humanly possible.

  “If you could come and look at it, I’d be really very grateful. I need the oven to do pizzas and snacks, you see, so without it the bar—”

  “Yeah, I get it.” Bea turned away, put the cutting torch down and stripped off her safety helmet. Underneath, her hair was the same dark color as Andy’s, but cut shorter in a boyish style. If it weren’t for her curves, I thought, you’d mistake her for a guy. And kind of an asshole at that.

  “Okay.” Bea turned back and fixed me with a stare. “I’ll come and look at it. But it’s not gonna be cheap, alright? I bet parts for that will be a bastard to get. And we’re busy.” She gestured with an arm around the post-apocalyptic scene inside the garage. “Got a lot on, as you can see.”

  I struggled to keep the corners of my mouth still. “Sure. Anything you can do would really help. I’d be really grateful.”

  “Yeah. Maybe in a couple of days, maybe longer. Depends.” The smaller woman turned to Andy. “Andy, can you get out and find me that damn gas bottle? It might be in the truck. Also see if we’ve got a list of electrical gear, and while you’re out there see if we’ve got any old ovens anywhere.”

  Andy stood up. “Sure, sis.” He smiled and winked at me as he turned to go. “Catch you later, huh?”

  My heart sank slightly. Andy was a good guy, warm-hearted and kind, but I really wasn’t sure about going out on something that anyone might perceive as a date. “See you later, Andy. Thanks for being so…” I paused, “welcoming.”

  Andy strode out the back doors, whistling as he went. As he did, Bea walked into the office, ignoring me completely.

  Is that it? Do I, like, wait to be dismissed? Holding onto my temper, I stood up, carefully avoiding the projecting metal edges of my perch, and trying to ignore the grease stains on my jeans.

  Moments later, Bea re-emerged carrying a clipboard with some papers attached. “Says here we got some junked commercial ovens a while back. So we might be able to help you after all.”

  “Uh, thanks. That’s great.” You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, I said to myself.

  The smaller woman looked at me again. “Okay, I’ll ring you and tell you when I’m coming over. And one other thing.”

  Uh-oh. From the look on Bea’s face, and the way her eyes flicked to the door where Andy had departed, I could guess what the ‘one other thing’ on her mind was.

  “Yes?” I forcibly kept my tone as sweet as possible.

  “Andy likes you. If you hurt him, you’re gonna be sorry. Understand me?” Standing in the doorway of the office, arms folded, chin jutting, Bea’s attitude was defiant, like she was challenging me to disbelieve her.

  “I—uh…” I’d never really thought of myself as the manipulative, heartbreaking type, but it was clear that that’s how Bea perceived me.

  “Andy’s been hurt before, and I’m not having it happen again. If anyone tries to pick on my little brother, they answer to me. That’s how it is, okay?”

  The thought of the six-foot-five Andy being ‘picked on’ as a grownup was so unlikely that this time I couldn’t suppress a smile. Bea saw her smiling, and her expression darkened. “You think I’m kidding?”

  Now I was getting a little irritated. Bea’s protectiveness was endearing, but I hadn’t done anything to deserve this kind of attitude. “Look,” I started out, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Andy is a great guy. He seems really nice, and he’s always been great company when he’s come to the bar.”

  Bea snorted, but didn’t say anything.

  “But it’s not like that, okay? Besides,” I continued, “he’s a grown man. I’m sure he can take care of himself when it comes to women.”

  “Maybe he can. He’s still my brother, and I’ve looked after him all our lives. That’s not gonna change just because you cock an eye at him.”

  “Cock an eye? Look, I didn’t—” I knew this conversation was going to only go downhill from here. “Okay. I hear you. Fine.”

  There was a silence, during which I gave silent thanks that she didn’t still have the cutting torch close at hand. Finally, Bea turned away, and I exhaled silently.

  This is like Mad Max in more ways than just the obvious.

  “Okay.” Bea’s tone was neutral. “I’ll be in touch about the oven. Close the garage door on your way out.” She disappeared into the office again, in a manner that suggested she wasn’t coming back out this time.

  I opened my mouth to say something, and then thought better of it.

  What could I say at this point that would not make things worse? That’s right, nothing. So keep your damn mouth shut. “Okay. I’ll expect your call.” I thought about adding “have a nice day,” but decided that would be tempting fate.

  Picking my way out carefully past a pile of old tires, I blinked in the sudden sunlight. Turning back to look behind me into the garage, I couldn’t see anything of Bea or Andy.

  I drew in a long breath, and exhaled it again.

  So, now the only person in town who can help me thinks I’m leading her brother on. Great.

  12

  Ryan

  “Dammit.” Dodging the cracks in the sidewalk in front of Wunderbar, I went over Cat’s words in my head. “How did you manage to get yourself in this situation, man?”

  On the one hand, I was now in close proximity to an extremely pretty girl for the next week, and that’s no bad thing. On the other, she not only thought I was a jerk, she also thought I was here on a mission to destroy her livelihood. Which I—kind of, inadvertently—was.

  “So, this is a solid five out of ten situation.” I said to myself. “Chance of future kisses: currently minimal, with prospects worsening unless there’s a sudden shift in conditions.”

  A more grown-up and responsible part of me said fine, Dr. Smooth, but this work is more important than getting to kiss a pretty girl in some sleepy little town.

  And, as much as I didn’t like it, the rest of me had to agree with that: I had a job to do, and I was responsible for doing what was best for everyone for the future. To preserve memories.

  Once lost, memories are gone forever.

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I remembered that I’d told Antoinette I would check out her grandfather’s old house for her. I’d never been there, but my cousin had spent every one of her holidays there, before she grew up and decided she was going to sail around the world.

  Now her grandfather was in a nursing home, and the old place was probably derelict; it had been emptied out nearly five years ago. I’ll go and look at it, and take some photos for her. It was still a family possession, and maybe the land would be worth something, although around here it wouldn’t be much. She still hadn’t se
nt me the address, though; I reached for my phone.

  Ryan: Hey, you up? What’s that address for your Grandad’s place?

  Ant: Oh, sorry. It’s on Cable Bay Road, but it’s right down by the beach. I’ll send you a map link.

  There was a brief pause, and I crossed the road, passing neat rows of houses, spacious gardens with overhanging trees, and cheerful, relaxed inhabitants. People smiled to me and waved hello as I walked along the street, even though they had no idea who I was. That’d never happen in the city. My phone beeped again, this time with a link from Ant.

  Ryan: Thanks, I’ll check it out today. It’s nice here.

  Ant: It’s gorgeous. Bit quiet, though.

  Ryan: You say that now. Didn’t you come back from your holiday one year saying you had a boyfriend, and you were in love and going to marry him?

  Ant: I was twelve. I was getting that love crap out of the way early. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a sudden infatuation.

  Ryan: Yeah. About that.

  Ant: Uh-oh. You’ve been there ONE DAY. What have you done, cuz?

  Ryan: There was this girl in a bar.

  Ant: And?

  Ryan: Well, she kissed me. But now she thinks I’m a jerk.

  Ant: Yeah, you’re not so much a lady-killer as a lady-injurer.

  Ryan: Owww.

  Ant: A lady-maimer, maybe? I’m a sailor, not a poet.

  Ryan: Why is there not a ‘disgust’ emoji?

  A group of children ran past me, kicking a soccer ball down the street, none older than about ten. There was no adult supervising them, or following them; they passed me unconcerned about my presence, engrossed in their own world.

  I guess it’s not actually a bad place. But it’s way too quiet here for me. Except for one feature.

  I thought about Cat at the bar, and smiled at the memory of her on her hands and knees, her round bottom in the air, scrubbing hard at the floor. She concentrated on everything she did, throwing herself into a task as if each one were the most important thing in the world for her. Even in those threadbare pajamas, she looked cute and sexy at the same time, and I wondered what it would be like to wake up next to her and peel them off her, while she moaned in sleepy arousal.