The Cat's Pajamas

by Soraya May

  Fat chance of that. When I was leaving the market she looked like she’d sooner strangle me with that scarf than come to bed with me.

  Lost in my thoughts of Cat’s behind, I stepped off the curb, and didn’t notice the truck approaching. It swerved and honked at me, and I jumped. “Shit!”

  The vehicle slowed to a stop, and reversed backwards. “Hey, buddy, you okay?”

  I kept walking. “Yeah, I’m okay, I just…sorry.”

  The driver, a burly young guy with a cleft chin, peered out of the window. “No problem, man. You just looked a bit preoccupied and I was worried that I’d frightened you. My name’s Andy.”

  “I, uh, yeah. I’m Ryan.” I stopped, and Andy extended a hand out the window.

  Man, small towns. If this had happened in the city, I would have got the finger and a torrent of abuse. Here, the dude stops to see if I’m okay, and freakin’ introduces himself. “Good to meet you, Andy.”

  “You’re the archaeologist guy, right? You’re here to check out the fossils little May found at Wunderbar?”

  This was another thing about small towns; everyone talking to each other, and knowing your business. “Yeah, that’s me. I’m afraid I’m not staying long, though.”

  “Must be a pretty interesting job.” Andy scratched his head. “Mind you, the travel must get to you. Are you staying in town?”

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to explain everything about my business to a virtual stranger, but Andy’s openness and genuine concern for someone he’d never met was disarming. “Yeah, I’m staying at the bar itself. Convenient, I guess.”

  “You’re staying with Cat?” Andy looked taken aback for a minute, and I wondered if I might have said something unwise.

  “Well, she’s renting me one of her upstairs rooms, yeah.”

  Andy brightened. “Ah, right. She’s a great girl, and really hospitable. The bar has had a new lease of life since she took it over. I hope she gets to carry it on.”

  Well, that isn’t going to happen if I’m responsible for it being demolished. Sounds like no-one in this town is going to like me much if that happens, least of all Cat Milsom.

  “Yeah, it seems like a really social place. Hey, man, it was good to meet you, but I have to go; I said I’d go look at a house for my cousin.”

  “Sure, man.” Andy waved at me cheerily. “See you round.”

  As he pulled away, I turned back toward the coast and looked out to sea. From a distance, I could see that the wind was rising, whipping the breakers into foam. It is beautiful here, I’ll admit.

  The house was on the edge of town, a short walk from where the neat rows of houses ran out, and the grass turned into sandy tussock. As I approached, I could see the gable and the steep roof, looming over the landscape. On a sunny day, it would have looked quaint and charming. Today, with the wind coming in off the sea and the clouds brewing in the gray sky, the boarded-up windows and loose shingles made it look lost, forgotten, eerie.

  At nearly three stories, it didn’t look like any of the other houses in town, and I wondered who had built it nearly a hundred years ago, pulling milled timber here by horse and cart, laboriously assembling the brickwork of the central chimney which poked out next to the gable, turning the big posts leading the rickety steps up to the front door.

  I walked around the house carefully, stopping to take photos now and again. Antoinette had been a little girl when she’d last come here, and I’d never seen a photograph of the place from her, although she had told me about playing in the sand dunes, and hide-and-seek in the rooms of the old house. That was twenty years ago, though, and not long after that her Grandad had been taken into care, and the place more-or-less abandoned.

  “Hey there.” I looked up, and saw a guy coming toward me, about my height, but slim of build and fair-haired. “I don’t see many people up this end of town.” Stopping in front of me, he eyed me steadily, and I realized he thought I might be casing the place. Uh-oh.

  I put out my hand. “Ryan Sanders. My family own this house, and I was checking it out while I was in town.”

  He relaxed, visibly, and took my hand. “Nick Vette. Yeah, spelled like the car, before you ask.” He wasn’t a burly guy, but his grip was surprisingly strong. “Sorry if I seemed like I was checking you out, it’s just that not many people come down this end of town, and I remember this old house from when I was a kid, and…”

  “No, man, it’s completely okay. I totally understand. So, you come from here?”

  He nodded. “I do, although I moved away from Cable Bay when I was a teenager. Back here working now; I’m a teacher.” Releasing my hand, he stepped back and put both hands in his jacket, shielding them from the wind. “How about you? Thinking of moving here?”

  “No, just here for a week or so for work. I’m,” I paused, and decided not to explain again, “working with Cat Milsom at the bar.”

  “Oh, really? Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll buy you a beer; my family probably owes you one for keeping an eye on this old place.”

  Nick smiled. “Sure thing. Catch you later, man.” With a wave, he turned and started walking across the tussock toward town, as I looked back at the old house.

  It looked in surprisingly good condition for all that time had passed; the boards on the windows were still in place, and as I lifted one of them, the glass behind was unbroken and the joinery still sound. Cobwebs and leaf mold covered the front steps, but nothing appeared to have fallen in, and the few tiles that were loose on the roof didn’t show any dark holes beneath. I didn’t have a key for the big front door, with dark glass panes obscuring the interior; I could have forced my way in, but the door seemed to have stood strongly for those twenty-odd years against the wind and the rain, and I decided against it.

  Ant will be happy the place is still standing, I guess.

  She wasn’t likely to come back any time soon, and she was even less the settling-down type than I was myself. Now that I knew the house wasn’t derelict, though, maybe it would bring a decent price if it were fixed up and sold. Descending the steps from the front door, I put my phone back in my pocket, and headed for Kensington Street, and Daisy’s place, to get my overnight bag.

  “Just a week, Sanders.” I said under my breath. “Just a week, to get this done, and then you’re out of here.”

  As I walked, my thoughts kept turning to Cat’s full, kissable lips. Given the fire in her eyes last time she looked at me, though, I seriously doubted I was going to get to experience them again during my time in Cable Bay.

  13

  Cat

  When I needed to clear my head - like now, with a bar full of problems, and no good solutions - I often went to the beach to read. I think I enjoyed the beach even more on windy, overcast days than I did on sunny ones; there were fewer people around, for a start, and wrapped up in my big overcoat, I wasn’t cold at all.

  Propped up against one of the big boulders on the seashore, book in hand, I let myself dive into a story, forgetting my own problems for a moment.

  Heroes and heroines in fiction always had sensible reasons for doing things, and they always had a character arc; they always learned something as a result of what happened to them. My life didn’t seem to be progressing like that; I didn’t feel like I’d learned anything, except ‘don’t kiss strange guys at your place of work, because they might end up wanting to bulldoze it and then have to stay in your spare room’.

  Which was a reasonable life lesson, sure, but not very satisfying, or very generally applicable.

  As I read, my book-daydreams were interrupted by a large wet nose pushed into my ear, and a joyful snuffling sound coming directly from my left. “Ugh..what the h—”

  I turned my head and was confronted by Sultan’s grinning face. No-one can smile as broadly as a dog, and with one as lopsidedly goofy as Sultan, it was hard to stay annoyed.

  “Ah, it’s you, is it?” I scratched Sultan’s head, and the dog dribbled happily. �
�Where’s your master then, huh?” From across the sand, I saw Ross’ mountainous figure approaching. He raised a massive arm above his head in greeting.

  “Gidday, Cat. Bit cold for it, eh?” When he wasn’t at the bar, Ross worked as a casual laborer; there was usually physical work that needed doing around town most seasons of the year, and despite his bulk he was a fit and active worker, pitching in to any kind of activity with enthusiasm, and more than earning his wage. On the weekends, he was usually walking on the beach, picking up driftwood and trash, and exercising Sultan.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Ross. I always like it, to be honest.” I smiled at him, not minding the interruption. “Gives me a chance to get out of the bar and get some fresh air.”

  “Hey, you’ve got that open mic night on Saturday, haven’t you?”

  In an effort to bring in more out-of-town custom, I’d been running a number of events in the bar over the past month; I had more than enough space, and they each brought in a different crowd. The live poetry reading hadn’t been a great success—the farmers viewed poetry with some suspicion, and the poets who had arrived for it all looked a bit Byronic, which didn’t help. I’d been hoping for some salt-of-the-earth nature verse about the change of the seasons, and the bounty of the land, and so on, and instead I got sixteen stanzas on the falsehoods of digital love. By the end, even I was on the farmers’ side. It was the kind of thing that needed to be built up steadily, though, and I hadn’t given up hope yet.

  The music nights, on the other hand, were a hit right from the start; there were a couple of talented local musicians who’d turned up, and the jam session I’d organized on a whim one Wednesday had been so popular I was thinking about making it a regular thing. This weekend we had another open mic event, and I was anticipating a bigger crowd than before.

  “Yep. Should be a good one. You coming in that night, Ross?”

  He scratched his head. “I was going to be out of town with my cousins, but I can be there if you want backup. Security sort of thing.” Ross’ large physical presence often acted as a calming influence on busy Friday and Saturday nights, although no-one was ever really aggressive, and the worst that had ever happened was me having to politely tell a few over-exuberant rugby guys that they’d had enough beer. I’d never even so much as had to nod in Ross’ direction, much less actually get him to help.

  “No, honestly, it’ll be fine. Pretty quiet crowd, and I can handle them.”

  His large face creased with doubt. “You sure? It’s no trouble, Cat.”

  I smiled again. “Thanks, Ross, that’s really kind of you, and I’ll definitely call on you when I do need help. You go and have a good time with your cousins.”

  “Well, okay. I guess. Just making sure things are okay. It’s a good place, your bar, and I’d hate to see anything happen to it.”

  “Thanks, Ross. Yeah, me too.”

  “What about this archaeologist guy, then?” Ross gestured vaguely back toward the town, while Sultan snuffled happily in the dunes by my feet. “Is he actually going to demolish the place?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s only a possibility, and it won’t happen if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

  Ross nodded gloomily. “Yeah, well. You can’t argue with the Government, eh? Never worked for me.” Sultan, catching sight of a seagull further down the beach, tore off with a bark, and Ross looked up. “Hey, come back!” He turned back to me for a moment. “I’d better go after the dog. Catch you later, okay? Stay cool, sister.”

  I waved him goodbye, and watched as he trundled down the sand dunes onto the beach after Sultan. He seems like he’s happy with his life here. No expectations, just doing what suits him. How come, with all my advantages, I can’t figure out how to do that?

  I went back to my book; the next time I looked up, I could see a figure jogging down the beach, a tiny speck against the grey clouds.

  As I watched, the figure got closer, and from the square shoulders and mop of dark hair, I realized it was Andy. With a guilty start, I realized I’d never responded to him about his offer to go and see the bird colony. Was he asking me on a date? It was hard to tell, but Bea certainly seemed to think her brother was keen on me.

  Andy was a great guy, but right now I just didn’t have time for that kind of thing, and I needed Bea on my side if I was ever going to get the oven fixed.

  And then there’s Ryan. I got a sudden flash of Ryan’s amused smile the night we met in the bar, the feeling of his strong arms on my waist, pulling me into him. His unashamed admiring of my rear the day before, which made me annoyed and—if I was being honest—a little bit pleased at the same time. If going out on a date with Andy was a bad decision, then having anything more to do with Dr. Ryan Sanders, wandering bar-threatener, was a terrible decision.

  Andy saw me, and even from this distance I could see his face light up. He changed course, jogging toward me at an easy pace, his t-shirt and broad shoulders slick with sweat.

  I cursed inwardly. I was going to have to have one of those conversations; I hadn’t done this with a guy for several years, long before I’d met Kirk, and I never enjoyed it. It wasn’t like I’d had many boyfriends anyway; between medical school exams, and social events with my parents, there was never time.

  When Kirk had come along, he’d seemed like the answer to an important-but-not urgent problem, rather than a thunderbolt of love. I’d been satisfied when I was with him, but it was the satisfaction of having ticked something important off a list, like starting a retirement fund.

  Now, no retirement fund, no boyfriend, and maybe pretty soon no bar. Tell everyone about how your life is going fine, Cat.

  “Hey, Cat. It’s really good to see you again.” Andy’s smile was warm and unfeigned, and I felt slightly annoyed for not being attracted to him. There were definitely girls who would like him; big, handsome, honest. I just wasn’t one of them. Why did it always work like that? The guys who like you are fine, they’re just not your thing, and the guys you like—I stopped as Ryan’s infuriating smirk came to mind again, and I closed my eyes to try and block it out. Dammit. Not him.

  “Cat? You okay?” I opened my eyes, and Andy was standing in front of me, looking worried.

  “Oh, hey Andy. Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. Just…thinking. How are you doing?”

  Andy paused. “Yeah, I’m…good. Hey, there was something I’ve been wanting to ask you about.” He looked at the ground, hands on hips in a gesture I realized was unconsciously identical to the one his big sister Bea adopted. “It’s kind of personal.”

  Uh—oh. Here it comes. I wish I’d rehearsed this. “Andy, I—” I stopped. Better to let him say what he wanted to, and then respond. Cutting him off would be unfair to the guy, and he hadn’t done anything wrong. “Sure, man. What’s up?” I tried to keep my tone as chatty as possible.

  “So,” he began, looking at his hands, “I heard you were a doctor.”

  I blinked. I’d never hidden the fact that I’d qualified as a doctor, and in fact had talked to people about it occasionally over the bar, when they asked about how I’d come to town, and about my background. But the questions had become less frequent as the months passed, and now I guessed most people just thought of me as Cat the bartender. “Yes, I was, but that was back home in the USA, Andy. I’m not licensed to practice here, and I never really wanted to be. You have to take a lot of exams, and it’s really expensive.”

  “Right, okay. I understand, but—” again, the pause. “I’ve had something happening a bit, and I need someone to ask about it. Someone who knows something about being a doctor.”

  I shook my head. “Andy, you should go and make an appointment with a qualified physician. I’m really not supposed to give medical advice, even informally.”

  Andy’s face was a study. “But…look, Cat.” He wrung his large hands. “I’ve been getting these…patches of numbness and tingling in my legs, like about here—” pulling up one of the legs of his shorts alarmingly high for a p
ublic beach, “and here. It’s been happening for about a year now, and to start with I just ignored it; it would come and go, you know?”

  I nodded. Even though I wasn’t supposed to give medical advice, I couldn’t ignore Andy’s concern.

  “But about a week ago, it started again, and it hasn’t stopped. So this whole patch here,” he pressed a thumb into his muscled thigh, “is basically numb all the time.”

  “Right. Obvious question: have you told your sister?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “Shit, no. Bea would freak out. She’s always looked out for me, and any time something happens to me, she takes it really hard. She doesn’t like doctors much either, because of…well, she just doesn’t.”

  Great. Another reason for her to dislike me. Awesome.

  “One time I got hit bad playing rugby, and got knocked cold for a bit. When I woke up, the game had stopped and Bea was kneeling over me; she got there faster than the medics. I honestly thought she was going to punch the guy who did it.”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.” I looked at him and closed my book. “She really cares about you.”

  Andy shrugged. “She’s looked out for me since I was a kid, and dumping this on her right now…I just want to find out whether to be worried or not, you know? Like, if it’s a problem, then fine, but maybe it’s just some bullshit that will go away.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I was hoping that maybe you could, I don’t know, check me out and tell me if it’s bad or not.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think. Potentially, this was a pretty serious crime, and ethically hard to excuse. But Andy needed help, and I wasn’t the kind of girl to let someone down when they were in need. Maybe that’s one thing I did learn after all.