The Cat's Pajamas

by Soraya May

  I took a firm hold of the door, and a deep breath at the same time. Sunlight poured in, illuminating Bea standing on the doorstep with a toolbox and a crate of what looked like electrical parts.

  She looked up at me. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sorry for taking a while to answer the door. C’mon in; thanks for coming.”

  Bea stepped inside. “Hey Egghead, want to give me a hand with—” She stopped, and the corner of her mouth quirked up. Ryan was still sitting on the chair, leaned back, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. I rolled my eyes at him. Get up, or do something that doesn’t look like you ought to be smoking a cigarette right now. He smiled an infuriating smile back at me.

  “Hey there, Bea.” He stretched and stood up. “I’ll be right with you.”

  The smaller woman looked between he and I, and couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice. “When you’re ready. No hurry, there. Do you need to sit down and rest for a little bit?”

  “Nope. I’m fine.”

  Aargh. Not knowing what else to do, I coughed loudly. “The, uh, oven is through here.”

  Smirk still in place, Bea followed me into the kitchen, as Ryan strolled lazily over to the crate of parts and picked it up.

  Once in the kitchen, Bea circled the oven like a doctor examining a patient. Technically, I thought, this is more like a pathologist examining a cadaver. But whatever.

  “Looks pretty bad.” Stepping forward, she poked at the blackened plastic and fused enamel on the electrical console. It crumbled under her touch. “Yep, that’s pretty screwed. But,” she pushed her short-cropped hair back from her face, “I reckon I’ve got some parts that might work. I’ll have to rig up a replacement for the console to hold everything, and it won’t look that pretty, but it ought to work okay.” She rummaged in the toolbox for a pair of wire-cutters and began to sever the blackened wires from the dials to the console. “First thing to do is pull everything out and clean it up.”

  Ryan emerged holding the crate. “Where do you want this?”

  “Over here, next to me.” Bea’s voice was already distracted, and I could tell she was far away in her head looking at the problem, evaluating all the things that could stop her from fixing the oven and finding solutions for each one in turn.

  “Do you, uh, need anything else?”

  Bea shook her head absently. “Nope. I’ll come and get you if I need you for anything. What the hell’s this—oh, right. Screw it.” I backed away quietly as the sound of absent-minded cursing and metal on metal filled the room.

  After an hour or so, I poked my head around the door. “How’s it going?”

  The scene in front of me was, unsurprisingly, like the final scene of ‘Terminator’. Electrical parts were distributed about the floor, and the front of the big cast-iron stove had been ripped out entirely. Bea was inside the oven, on her back, overall-clad legs sticking out onto the floor, muttering to herself.

  I came closer. “You okay in there?”

  There was a tapping noise. “Yeah, getting there. Thanks. Trying not to think about gingerbread houses right now. If you see a little boy and a girl, don’t let them in here, or I’m in deep trouble.”

  “Was that a joke?” I couldn’t stop myself. “That was a joke.”

  “What are you saying?” The voice from inside the oven was more amused than irritated. “Are you saying I’ve got no sense of humor, Milsom?”

  I shook my head violently, then realized Bea couldn’t see me. “Would I do that? No. It’s just…I’ve never heard you make a joke before.”

  “I have my moments. Being a girl working in a garage with mechanics doesn’t exactly promote jokes, though. Most of the places I’ve worked, their idea of humor is drawing glasses and a mustache on the Pirelli calendar girls.” She slid out from inside the oven, holding her side. “Owwww. I’m going to need to be unrolled and ironed flat when this is done. It turns out commercial ovens aren’t the most comfortable places for a nap.”

  “Who knew?” I smiled at her. “Can I get you something to eat or drink? I’ve got sandwiches.”

  Bea sat up on the floor, hands on her knees, and blew out between her cheeks. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks. Maybe some water? It’s pretty hot in there.”

  I bustled about in the pantry and the refrigerator, putting together sandwiches. When I emerged, Bea had tidied up most of the used electrical parts into a pile, and washed her hands. Sitting at the table, I was surprised to see how young Beatrice was - I’d assumed the other woman was older than me, but now she wasn’t covered in grease, I realized we were similar ages.

  We ate together in companionable silence for a few minutes, before Bea spoke. “Don’t go getting your hopes up, but I think I might have had some success with the oven.”

  I looked at her. “Really? That’s great.”

  “Well, I don’t know yet.” Her tone was deliberate and warning. “I’m making this shit up as I go along, right? I’ve never actually fixed an oven before. Plus I had to improvise all kinds of things, and something that works in a normal electrical circuit ain’t gonna last long if it’s at four hundred degrees. So I can’t promise anything.”

  Tentatively, I reached out a hand to the other woman. “Bea, if you can’t do it, no-one around here can. Whatever help you can give, I want you to know that I really appreciate it, okay? No matter what happens.”

  “Okay. Just—” She paused, and for once the spikiness was replaced by something that almost approached vulnerability. “Just don’t want to promise something and then let you down, that’s all.” She stood up suddenly, wiping her hands. “Thanks for the sandwich. I should get back to work.”

  I cleaned up, and retreated upstairs to work on my taxes. I knew I was due a pretty significant refund, given that the bar hadn’t been making money for some time, but it wasn’t going to arrive in anything like enough time to get me out of the financial hole I was in right now, and I was beginning to regret deciding to do my own taxes. When I’d been a doctor in Boston, I’d just had someone to take care of it, like most things; the more money you earn, the less time you have, so the more you spend to give you back the time you lost, earning money.

  Ryan had been out for a while at the library doing research again, and I tried not to think about what would happen when he’d finished. He’d mentioned that he’d ‘found something potentially important’, but he didn’t go into detail, and when I asked him, he’d seemed uncomfortable about it.

  Get a grip, I told myself. He’s not going to spring anything on you. Whatever decision he makes, he’s doing to discuss it with you, like a responsible adult, and the two of you are going to talk it through. Like responsible adults.

  “Yeah,” I said aloud. “Like responsible adults.”

  There was a cough from the doorway. Ryan stood there, hands on hips. “Did I…interrupt something?”

  I cursed inwardly. I’d been lost in my thoughts, and hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “No, sorry. Just talking to myself.”

  He crossed the room and kissed me on the cheek. “Okay. What’s happening downstairs?”

  “Well,” I stood up, “either Bea’s nearly fixed the oven, or she’s turned it into a killer robot. Bit hard to say right now.”

  Ryan was thoughtful. “Well, a killer robot would probably generate more revenue in tourism than you’re losing from not being able to serve pizzas. So there’s that.”

  “Yeah, until it starts exterminating the customers for not tipping. Come on, let’s go down and see what she’s done.”

  Downstairs in the kitchen, the electrical carnage had receded slightly; there were a lot fewer pieces of half-built electrics on the floor, which I took to mean they were probably in the oven somewhere.

  This time, Bea wasn’t inside the oven; she was bending over it, connecting things in the console. As usual, there was a muttered monologue of curses and logical deduction. “Goddammit, these things are too fuckin’ small…if I can’t get my fingers in the
re, how the hell—”

  “Hey, Bea. How’s it going?” I looked over the oven. There was still an empty space where the console used to be, and the dials hung off bare wires, but there was no trace of the blackened plastic or soot any more, and all the visible wires and controls were clean and shiny.

  “Almost…” Bea didn’t look up, “goddammit, this fuckin’ thing…Done!” She screwed the last wire into place, and looked around, slapping the side of the oven triumphantly. “It was actually pretty straightforward once I figured out where all the wires went.” Stepping back, she surveyed her work. “Now, the moment of truth, where we get to turn it on, and see if it works. Hey, Egghead!”

  Ryan groaned. “Y’know, you could stop calling me that, now we’re friends and everything.”

  “Yeah, whatever. Do you want to turn that switch on?” She indicated the switch above a dark hole where the oven’s power cable disappeared into the wall.

  “Okay, okay,” Ryan grumbled, striding to the wall and turning on the switch. Nothing happened for a minute.

  I looked at Bea, who exhaled. “That’s good,” she declared.

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, because if it was going to blow, it would have done so just then. So I didn’t fry your boyfriend. Which I guess you’re happy about.”

  “Hey!” Ryan folded his arms, and backed away from the oven. “I’m right here, you know.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay, stage two. Ryan, get that dial in the middle and turn it to maximum. Try not to touch any of the wires while you’re doing it.”

  Ryan approached the oven gingerly. He looked up, scowling at both of us. “I can’t help the feeling that I’m being taken advantage of here.”

  “Just do it!” Bea barked at him. I put a hand to my face to hide my smile.

  He grasped the dial and twisted. Again, nothing happened for a moment, then there was a ‘click’ as the elements in the oven cut in, and gradually they started to glow a dull red. I clapped my hands, and Bea nodded in satisfaction.

  “Good, that looks like it’s going okay.” She stepped forward and reached out a hand. Ryan snorted.

  “Oh, fine, now you know it’s safe, you’re going to touch it,” he said sulkily.

  “Quiet, Egghead. No sense us both getting electrocuted.” She flicked a couple of switches. A deep hum filled the room as the fans started up. “Good, good. Looks like the power draw under max load is okay, too.”

  “Thanks, Bea.” I couldn’t keep the relief from my voice. “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been completely screwed. I just wish I could do something to repay you.”

  “Huh,” Bea shrugged, turning away. “It’s no big deal. I’m sure you will one day.” She started to pack her tools back into her box. “I’d better head back to the garage.”

  Something struck me, and I put a hand on Bea’s arm to stop her. “Hey, before you go—Farrah is having a party up at the vineyard next week to celebrate her new vintage. Would you and Andy like to come?”

  Bea turned back to me, and looked genuinely surprised. “We don’t get out much.”

  “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Faz would love to have you guys, and I want to tell everybody how you saved my ass with the oven here.”

  “Hmm.” She scratched her head. “Is this the sort of party where I’d have to wear a dress?” She said the word ‘dress’ as someone else might say ‘unexploded bomb’ or ‘bubonic plague’.

  I coughed to hide my laughter. Laughing not a good idea at this point, Cat. “Whatever you want to wear will be fine. Seriously.”

  Bea looked at the floor for a minute and then looked up again. “Okay, then. I guess we should socialize a bit more.” A pause, and then a smile. Two smiles in one week! “Thanks for inviting us.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same without you.” I smiled back. “Buddy.”

  30

  Cat

  Thoughts of Ryan’s arms around me ran through my head as I vacuumed the passageway, making it impossible to continue. After five minutes working the same spot, I sighed and flicked the vacuum off with my foot.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  Now the oven had been fixed, we wouldn’t go out of business immediately. But was it all really worth it? Ryan kept saying that he didn’t know whether the fossils were important or not; that he needed more time, and he needed to go back to the city to do more analysis and research. If they were, though, then everything I was doing here was pointless. The only place I’d been able to call my own would be taken from me, and there was nothing I could do about it. What was worse, I didn’t even have the satisfaction of loathing the person responsible.

  It wasn’t as if I’d asked him to come here in the first place.

  It wasn’t as if I’d invited him into my bed—okay, maybe I did.

  It wasn’t as if I’d wanted to fall for him—but it had happened.

  Now, he would leave, and I could lose the bar. Without him, and without the bar, I’d be lost, again. I’d kept telling myself I could make a new start somewhere else, or maybe stay in Cable Bay, and do something else. Maybe get my medical certification here; they could use a town GP, and it wouldn’t be a bad life. But, deep down, I wasn’t sure I had the energy to do any of that. I was tired of starting again, tired of losing everything.

  Maybe my father was right, and this was just a distraction. Whatever happens, I thought, I’m not giving up and going back to Boston. I can do better for myself than that.

  I pushed open the door to Ryan’s room, and dragged the vacuum inside. It wasn’t a big room, but I hadn’t vacuumed in there since he’d moved in. He hasn’t exactly been sleeping in the bed, let’s face it.

  Inside, Ryan’s clothes were folded and piled on his neatly-made bed, but his papers on the small desk weren’t so neat; a jumble of notes folded underneath his laptop. On top of the computer, sitting open, was a ring-bound notebook filled with his clear, square writing.

  I stared at the notebook for a minute, and then looked closer. What I read put a cold, sick feeling in my stomach.

  Note 5: Overall, the set of specimens are significantly different from previous findings in this region and geological stratum. In particular, Specimens 4 and 7 do not match any known findings, and are of considerable interest. If contemporaneous with the other specimens, they may represent a previously unknown and completely novel pattern of migration to this region.

  Note 6: Further investigation continues to yield remarkable and surprising results. Specimen 8 appears to be from a different organism to previous specimens. AMS radiocarbon dating should be performed on all specimens, but even at this early stage I am confident this is a site of considerable significance.

  Note 7: I have found something unexpected about the history of the site. If I am correct, it could significantly affect the excavation and the proposal for acquisition. At this stage it is critical that there is no disclosure of this finding to the local community.

  I turned away from the book, my heart pounding.

  Why hasn’t Ryan told me? Why can’t it be disclosed?

  The answer came to me immediately, although I didn’t want to hear it.

  Because he’s already made a decision.

  31

  Ryan

  “Dr Sanders?”

  I stabbed at the buttons on my phone as I walked back from the library. No Beatrice this time to give me a lift in her rickety truck, but the air was clean and fresh, and the walk was a pleasant one. After what I’d found about Wunderbar in the council records in the library basement, though, I was too distracted to notice the scenery.

  “Yes, this is Ryan Sanders speaking—sorry, I’m out on the street. Just a moment.” I ducked into a doorway and pressed the phone harder against my ear. “Go ahead, please.”

  “Dr Sanders, it’s John Watson from the Heritage Committee. Can you talk briefly?”

  “John! We haven’t spoken for ages; I hope your family are all well. How can I help?”

  “I’ll get straight to
the point, Ryan; the Committee has been discussing your findings, and your new proposal, this morning. We weren’t due to discuss it for some time, but in view of the significance of what you’ve found, we decided to schedule an extra session. Ryan, it seems you’ve given us an unusual situation, and something of a dilemma.”

  I laughed. “That was never my intention, John, but as you well know, science rarely works out the way you expect it to. But, yes, a fascinating site.”

  “Ryan, before a decision is made, the Committee would like you to come back and present your findings in person. We’d like a chance to talk the project through with you personally and get some questions answered.”

  “Of course, no problem. When would this be?”

  A pause from the other end of the line. “We’d like you to present tomorrow afternoon, Ryan.”

  “Tomorrow afternoon?” I let my frustration show in my voice. “John, I’m in the middle of the investigation; it’s half-complete. Is it possible we could reschedule for a later date? Even just a week would let me present a much stronger story.”

  “I’m sorry, Ryan, it’s not possible.” I rolled my eyes. “I know it’s short notice, but the Committee is about to go into recess, and we’ve already extended by one session for this matter. The Committee members have their own commitments, and I can’t keep them here indefinitely.”

  I exhaled, heavily. “Sure, I understand. Okay, if that’s how it has to be. I’ll book a flight back as soon as possible and put together a presentation on the plane.”

  “I’m confident you’ll do a great job. Very well, I expect to hear from you soon. Travel safely.”

  “Thanks, John. I’ll be in touch as soon as I land.” I hung up, and cursed under my breath. One day, to pull all of this together? Dammit.

  I started walking faster, crossing the road and heading for the beach; I needed to get back to the bar as soon as I could, get a flight, and get out of here. The sooner I got on a plane, the more time I’d have to put a proposal together and to rehearse it.