‘Grungy,’ Cat said. ‘You’re so polished, and…effortless. You’re not dressed in a Marilyn Manson T-shirt, sitting in a dark corner, scribbling madly and watching Hammer Horror reruns.’
‘How do you know I don’t do that? That’s exactly what I do when I’m writing.’
‘Come on, Mark.’
‘Have you studied horror writers?’
Cat shook her head. ‘You think I should have done some research for tonight?’
Mark laughed. ‘I would have been touched, and perhaps a little disturbed, if you had. But you should google some famous horror writers. Sam Raimi, of Evil Dead fame, could pass as a mild-mannered businessman. And if you’re after polished, take a look at a photo of Wes Craven.’
‘The Scream films?’
‘And A Nightmare on Elm Street. Good smile, nice suits. You don’t have to look like a freak to want to write about freakish things, but I do get obsessed when I’m in the middle of a story, neglecting everything else. It’s a good thing I have Chips to remind me when it’s food time, or I’d slowly starve to death.
‘And if we’re talking stereotypes, what about you? You’re not a typical dog walker. I think of middle-aged, fleece-wearing women with scrappy ponytails, unbranded trainers and an inability to converse with anything that has less than four legs. You’re none of those things.’
‘That’s what I’m gearing up for,’ Cat said. ‘Give me a few years…’ She grinned. ‘Do you want to leave now?’
He returned her smile, shaking his head slowly.
‘OK,’ she continued, ‘so I can get over the fact that you don’t look the part –’ Mark rolled his eyes – ‘but what’s the plot of your latest film? The one you’re trying to make at the moment.’
Mark glanced at the tabletop, moved his spoon around. ‘It’s about a man who moves out of London to a rural town, to be close to his mother, who’s dying in a care home. He’s had to rent somewhere at short notice, and it’s far too big for him. He’s in this strange place, summoning the courage to confront his mother about this huge, unresolved secret from his childhood, and he realizes that he’s not alone in the house.’
‘Wow. That sounds…scary. And different, from your last two. Not so grizzly.’
Mark nodded. ‘I thought, after the last one went so wrong – I mean, everyone’s pitched a film on a dark, run-down council estate. It’s not original any more, and the panning it got told me that. I wanted this setting to be much lighter, to see if I could still create that darkness, to build it around this guy who’s been wrong-footed by everything, dealing with his past, family secrets, moving away from his existing life to a large, empty house with – supposedly – only him in. It’s different, but I know it can work. And I can’t be the only one, because I’ve got this producer interested, so…’ He shrugged, but Cat could see the fire in his eyes, pinpoints of colour high on his cheeks. She could see how much he cared.
‘It sounds brilliant – definitely creepy. I’ve gone cold just thinking about it. Did you get your inspiration from Fairview, and your house on Primrose Terrace?’
‘Not originally.’ He narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘I started it before I moved here, but now I’m suddenly living in a house that’s too big for me, away from London…’
‘Life imitating art.’
‘Looks like it,’ Mark said, taking a drink of water.
‘Any dogs in it?’ Cat asked.
‘Is that the only way you’d be interested in seeing it?’ He laughed.
‘No, of course not. But I was thinking of all the different ways you could get a dog into a horror film. Maybe not the plot you’ve just told me, but a dog could come across the first dead body, digging in the garden, or – like the one Chips is named after – it could be a rescue dog. Or, or –’ Cat began to get animated, waving her arms about – ‘you could have zombie dogs. Has that been done before? Zombie dogs would be fast and small, they’d get among people’s ankles and bite them, turning everyone much quicker. And it would be extra terrifying, because dogs are usually so lovable. Actually –’ Cat screwed her face up – ‘maybe not that last one. I’m not sure I’d like it.’
‘No zombie dogs then,’ Mark said. ‘Got it.’
‘But maybe this guy could have a dog, a companion, who also senses that something’s wrong with the house. It would prove to him that he’s not going mad, give it more credence.’
Mark gave her an appraising look. ‘You might be on to something there.’
‘Oh, I don’t know – ignore me. But I’d love to see your films.’
He laughed.
‘What?’
‘You said that like someone was holding a gun to your head.’
‘I did not!’ Cat protested. ‘I would like to see your films, but just maybe…maybe not with the lights off. I’m not good at watching horror films before bed.’
‘Even if you weren’t on your own?’ Mark asked, leaning back in his chair.
Her insides fizzing, Cat returned his gaze.
Their steaks arrived and they ate in a charged silence, until Mark asked her how the dog walking was going, whether Polly had finished her exams and how Frankie was getting on with her lodger. Leyla, one of the other nurses from Fairview vet’s, had loved the room and was moving in some time that week.
Cat was pleased that she’d been able to help Frankie and her children. She was fitting into life at Primrose Terrace, and there was a niggling voice at the back of her mind asking her if it was wise to have a relationship with one of the neighbours. Mostly, she told that voice to back off, because it was hard to meet people, and you couldn’t base your relationship decisions on how awkward it would be if things went wrong.
Mark topped up her glass, and Cat sipped the bubbles, enjoying the taste of top-quality champagne.
‘Now,’ Mark said. ‘Dessert?’
‘Undecipherable dessert.’
They found their answer at the same time: Lemon posset with caramel honey tuile and pomegranate espuma. Cat watched Mark order them with a straight face and, when the waiter had gone, and she had managed not to descend into giggles, he reached over and took her hand.
The sun was just a thin line of burnished red marking the break between sea and sky, and she could see herself and Mark reflected back at her in the window.
‘Cat,’ he said, and there was something about his voice that made her breath catch in her throat. ‘I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get to this point.’
Cat shook her head. ‘You’ve been busy, it’s OK.’
‘It’s not. I have been distracted, with the move, the new film. But I don’t want you to think that you’ve been an afterthought. You haven’t.’
‘OK.’ Cat swallowed. ‘Thank you. I did wonder if we were going to sidestep around each other for ever. But this is – this is great. Getting to know you. A little bit, anyway.’
‘This isn’t a one-off,’ Mark said. ‘At least, I don’t want it to be. But what do you think? It hasn’t been a total disaster, has it?’ His thumb stroked her hand.
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Despite the threat of beetroot and seaweed, I think it’s going well.’
The candle cast shadows of his eyelashes on his cheeks, and his skin looked dark against the crisp white of his shirt. Cat shivered and rearranged her serviette on her knee.
‘Are you cold?’
‘No, I’m fine. How’s Chips?’
‘She’s good,’ Mark said. ‘I took her for an extra-long walk this afternoon, through the park and up along the cliffs, so hopefully she’s tired out and not missing me too much. You have a cat, don’t you? What’s his name?’
‘Shed. He’s OK, though he’s not actually mine, he’s Joe’s. I wouldn’t have picked a grumpy ginger cat as a pet.’
‘It’s always puzzled me, why you don’t have a dog of your own.’
Cat gave him a quick smile. She didn’t want to say anything to turn Mark against Joe. If things kept going in the right direction, she wanted them
to be friends. ‘It’s not practical with Shed there, he can only just tolerate human company. But I’m not short of canine companions. The Barkers’ retrievers are lovely – quite different to the schnauzers or the Westies. They’re strong and they like long walks, but they’re very affectionate, playful. I somehow feel more confident when I’m walking them.’
‘I don’t think I know the Barkers.’
‘They live at number six. In their forties I think, their kids are grown up and off being independent, and Will and Juliette both have quite high-powered jobs. Juliette works at home some days, but when she’s in the office I take Alfie and Effie out. Will likes surfing. There’s quite a bit of it around here, apparently.’
‘Now that’s something I haven’t tried,’ Mark said.
‘Would you like to?’
‘Oh, I’m up for anything once.’
Cat narrowed her eyes. ‘Anything? Even eating a fugu fish or swimming with sharks?’
‘Sure.’ Mark shrugged. ‘Why are your fears so marine-based?’
‘They’re not – those things just popped into my head. I love the sea. I suppose if your passion is horror, you don’t scare particularly easily.’
‘Other things scare me,’ Mark said. ‘Unpredictable things.’
‘Like what?’ Cat asked, and then, because it was going so well and she wanted to try and match Mark for playfulness while also doing a bit of digging, added, ‘Because saying you’re afraid of commitment isn’t unpredictable.’
Mark grinned. ‘I know that. You’re doing me a disservice, that’s not what I was going to say. And I’m not afraid of commitment. I was in a long relationship, before this.’ His grin faded, but he held Cat’s gaze.
‘How long have you been single?’ she asked quietly.
Now he did look away. ‘Nearly a year.’
‘And how long were you together?’
‘Six years,’ Mark said. ‘Moving down here was – is – part of the fallout. Getting some space, starting again.’
‘Six years is a long time,’ Cat said, thinking of the photo of the woman on Mark’s fridge door. But if they’d broken up…‘She must have meant a lot to you.’
‘She did,’ Mark said. ‘You can’t be with someone for that long and not feel it when it ends. But it did, and you get past it. It’s how life works. And tonight, this – with you – it’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time.’
He took her hand again, and Cat opened her mouth to reply, but the moment was broken by the waiter delivering their desserts to the table. Cat looked down at the pale yellow blancmange, the blob of vivid pink foam and golden sugar decoration. She dipped her spoon in and brought it to her lips, her eyes widening as the flavours hit her tongue. ‘Wow,’ she mumbled, ‘indecipherable food is delicious.’
After Mark had refused to let her go Dutch and had paid the bill, and they’d finally pushed their chairs back from the table, the restaurant was nearly deserted. The three courses and coffee had gone some way to counteracting the most of a bottle of champagne that Cat had drunk, but she was still feeling a warm, hazy glow.
They stepped out into the night-time breeze and Mark wrapped his arm around her waist. He opened the car door for her but before she’d had time to get in, he cupped her face, pulled her towards him and kissed her. It felt delicious, her whole body tingling in response to his lips on hers, and the whisper of the hilltop breeze. She wrapped her arms around him, his warmth contrasting with the goosebumps on her arms.
They were quiet on the drive home, Cat breathless from the kiss, and the anticipation of what could happen when they got back to Primrose Terrace. The lights of the town winked in the darkness as the Audi purred down the hill, into Fairhaven and then the more familiar streets of Fairview, finally stopping outside Mark’s house. He leaned over and kissed her again, his fingers caressing her neck.
‘Did you want to come inside?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ Cat waited for Mark’s smirk, his wide, charming grin, but he just nodded and climbed out, opening the door for her.
They made it up his front steps before he kissed her again, enclosing her in his arms under the soft glow of the hanging lantern over the front door. Cat let herself be drawn in. She had almost lost herself to him completely when a familiar voice called up to them.
‘Cat, is that you?’ She broke away and turned, blinking quickly, and saw Juliette Barker, her black corkscrew curls pulled away from her face, hands clasped in front of her. She was wearing a cream business suit that looked almost peach under the street light. Cat thought for an awful moment she was about to be told off for kissing in public.
‘Juliette. Hi. How are you?’
Juliette nodded and gave a quick smile. ‘Fine, fine. Sorry to disturb, but could you walk Effie and Alfie tomorrow? Only Will had told me he was going to be at home all day, and I’ve arranged a series of important meetings in the office, but now he’s got some surfing meet-up that he apparently has to attend. Anyway, he can’t take the dogs and nor can I. Are you around? I was coming to your place but I looked in this direction and –’ She indicated the pair of them standing, post-snog, on the doorstep.
‘O-of course I can fit them in,’ Cat said. Mark ran his fingers up Cat’s back and she tried to shimmy away from him. ‘What time?’
‘Eleven? They’ll be running rings round the furniture by then, and I –’ She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘Sorry, this is incredibly rude of me. I can see you’re in the middle of…’
‘It’s no problem,’ Cat said, not wanting to get into a discussion with her neighbour about what she was or wasn’t in the middle of. ‘They’re such lovely dogs, and sometimes things don’t fit easily into working hours.’ She smiled, and Juliette seemed to relax a little.
‘Great, thank you.’ She glanced between them. ‘You’re Mark, aren’t you?’
‘Guilty as charged,’ Mark said, holding his hand up in a static wave. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Do you like surfing?’
‘Never tried it,’ Mark admitted. ‘Your husband, Will, he enjoys it?’
‘Far too much,’ Juliette said. ‘Well, maybe that’s unfair. He enjoys it at the expense of almost everything else. I know it’s a good hobby, it keeps him fit, he gets lots of fresh air – but he seems so obsessed with it. He spends his life down at that cove. Why do men get so obsessed with things? It doesn’t seem healthy.’
‘I get obsessive,’ Mark said. ‘Not about surfing, but my work – my writing.’
‘And Joe, my housemate,’ Cat joined in, ‘is anal when it comes to so many things. Feet on the coffee table, talking during films, dogs in the house…’ she added quietly. ‘I think it’s just a man thing.’
‘He used to be obsessed about work,’ Juliette said ruefully. ‘But not any more. Now it’s new wetsuits, streamlining his board, catching the waves – as if they don’t happen every hour of every day. He’s started talking in a new language – it’s all “hang fire”, or, no, what is it? I’m sure it’s “hang” something. I can’t remember.’ She sighed and shook her head, a curl escaping and falling over her face.
Mark and Cat exchanged a glance.
‘Sorry,’ Juliette said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t mean to – I’m still interrupting. I’ll leave you to it.’
‘No, Juliette,’ Cat said, ‘we don’t mean for you to go, it’s just…’
‘Thank you so much for walking the dogs tomorrow, Cat. Have a good evening.’ She gave them a brusque smile and turned, her court shoes echoing as she walked the few yards back to number six.
Cat watched her go, her embarrassment at being interrupted fading as Mark snaked his arm around her waist. But as she spun to face him she noticed a car parked further up the road, and her stomach swooped for an entirely new reason.
‘Now,’ Mark murmured, his lips brushing her neck. ‘Are you coming inside? I don’t think there’s anything you can do to prepare for walking Juliette’s dogs, is there?’
Cat closed her
eyes. His touch and his taste, his confidence, his dark eyes, they were all so enticing. ‘I – I can’t,’ she said. She put her palms flat on his chest. He flinched slightly and tried to pull her closer, but Cat resisted. ‘There is nothing I would like more than to come in with you right now. But I can’t.’
‘Why?’ He smiled at her, only a hint of confusion on his face. ‘Because of Juliette?’
‘No, not that. Because the red Renault with a World’s Greatest Inventor bumper sticker that’s parked outside number nine belongs to my parents.’ She sighed and rested her head against his chest, which was a mistake, because it felt good and it made her even more reluctant to leave. ‘They must have come for an impromptu visit and – depending on how long they’ve been there – Polly and Joe might be beyond rescuing.’
‘Then there’s no need to go back,’ Mark said, ‘if it’s too late to save them.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured, leaning in for a final, delicious kiss. ‘If I thought I could get away with it, I’d stay.’ Reluctantly, she left Mark standing on the top step, watching her. His face gave nothing away, no frustration, no flicker of disappointment. She reached number nine, searched through her bag for her keys and then, pushing open the front door, went in to face the carnage.
Chapter 2
Cat’s mum and dad were wedged on the smaller of the two sofas, Shed stretched out with his head on her mum’s lap, his back legs on her dad’s. The cat was snoring. Despite the weather, her dad Peter was wearing his usual fishing waistcoat over a short-sleeved shirt, and Delia, her mum, had her sunglasses perched on her head, sending her short brown hair into disarray. Polly was sitting opposite them, hands clasped together, and Joe was on the arm of the sofa, as if trying to make it obvious that he wasn’t staying. He’d probably been there, his bum going numb, for hours. That’s what happened in the presence of Cat’s parents – you couldn’t escape.
‘Cat,’ Joe said, standing as she walked in. She could hear the relief in his voice, and she flashed him an apologetic look. ‘How was it?’
‘Catherine dear.’ Her mum reached her arms up towards her as if she was a toddler asking to be picked up. Obviously, Shed couldn’t be disturbed. ‘It’s so lovely to see you.’ Cat reached down and hugged her mum, taking in her overly floral perfume, and then her dad with the musty workshop smell that hung around him like a fog.
Raincoats and Retrievers, A Novella Page 2