by Mel Sherratt
‘I wonder what’s stopping them getting together. I know she likes him. She talks about him often – quite often, in fact.’
‘I’m not sure, really.’ Josie paused for a moment, her head cocked to the side like a terrier. ‘Maybe we should think about setting them up. What do you think?’
‘It’s very kind of you to do this,’ Liz said to Matt’s thigh.
‘I didn’t have much choice,’ Matt replied. ‘That Josie is a right slave-driver. Not that I mind, though,’ he added hastily. ‘As long as I get a cuppa and a chocolate biscuit as a reward, I’m content.’
Liz smiled. ‘It doesn’t take much to make you happy, then?’
‘Man of simple taste, me.’ He grinned. Then he glanced through the window. ‘Hey, there’s a pretty woman walking down your path.’
Liz followed Matt’s eyes and smiled. Time to put operation Cathy into place. She rushed to the door.
‘Cathy! How lovely to see you!’
Cathy smirked. ‘I only saw you this morning, you dope. What are you going to be like when you desert me and move in here? And after all I’ve done for… oh.’
Matt jumped off the steps and moved backwards, pretending to cower. ‘Don’t hurt me!’ he cried. ‘I promise I’ll be good.’
‘Hello, again to you, too,’ Cathy grinned. She had a feeling that the elbow in the chest would be a standing joke.
As Matt took the box she was holding, Liz watched with interest. Was Cathy blushing? She sensed a sexual tension mounting but it was shot down by the arrival of Becky.
‘Christ, this box is heavy,’ she moaned. Spotting Matt, she hauled it on top of the one he’d taken from Cathy.
‘Anyone for coffee?’ Liz asked. She grabbed Becky by her shoulders and marched her across the room towards the tiny kitchen. ‘You can help me.’
‘But –’
Matt put down the boxes and climbed up the ladder again.
Cathy opened the lid of the top one and busied herself unearthing some mugs that she’d decided to give away. Sneakily, she stole another look at Matt. He had his back towards her, showing her his shapely, muscular legs and buttocks that fitted his jeans just so. As he reached up to secure a bracket, his white T-shirt rose up slightly to reveal bare skin at the waistline. Her hand reached out of its own accord and she pulled it back speedily. Her eyes continued upwards. No unsightly curly neck hair on show.
Matt must have sensed her staring and suddenly turned her way. Cathy was caught.
‘How are you finding your new job?’ she asked him quickly.
‘It’s great.’ He pointed to another bracket on the floor. Cathy passed it to him. ‘The duties are really varied, keeps me busy. Mind you, I’ve heard your job keeps you busy too.’
‘Oh?’ Cathy didn’t know whether to be pleased that he’d asked about her or curious to know why.
Becky came through with a tray of drinks. ‘Tea for the workers,’ she said. ‘Although from where I’m standing, there doesn’t seem to be much work being done.’
‘Cheeky,’ said Matt. ‘Men take their time to make sure things are done right.’
‘More likely they take their time full stop,’ Liz remarked as she joined them again.
‘I can see that no matter what I say, I’ll be outnumbered.’ Matt jumped down to their level again. ‘Three to one’s no good for any man.’
‘Especially when we hate men more than most women,’ said Becky.
Matt opened his mouth to speak but thought better off it.
Becky laughed. ‘Joking,’ she admitted. ‘I know all men aren’t losers.’
‘Most are,’ muttered Liz.
‘Now, now,’ Cathy chastised. ‘Don’t give Matt a hard time. He’s being a saint today. I know I’m a dab hand with a paintbrush but I’m hopeless with a drill. Some things you do need a man for.’
‘Like sex,’ said Becky. She giggled, still aiming for shock tactics.
‘Not necessarily,’ Cathy and Liz said simultaneously. Then embarrassment set in. They looked at each other, then at Matt, who now had the colouring of tomato ketchup, and burst into laughter.
‘I’m getting back up my ladder,’ said Matt. ‘There are too many hormones at this level for my liking.’
He didn’t see the three women checking out his butt with each step up he took.
The next morning, Cathy couldn’t believe her eyes when she found another note sitting on the doormat. In annoyance, she swiped up the envelope and tore it open.
‘I’M COMING AFTER YOU’
She sighed with frustration. That was the third one now. She couldn’t keep it from Liz any longer. But Liz was so happy about moving out. Did she really want to spoil that happiness? She knew it wouldn’t take Kevin long to find out where she and Chloe had moved to but maybe by then he would have given up on this stupid note writing thing.
As she made her first coffee of the day, yet again she wondered if she was putting Liz at risk by not telling her about them. She decided it was time to speak to PC Baxter. Andy would know what to do. Maybe he could warn Kevin off with a stern word. That way, she wouldn’t have to tell Liz, and Kevin would get his comeuppance and perhaps be more wary of leaving notes. Liz didn’t need anything to distract her from the move. Kevin hadn’t been around for a couple of weeks and Cathy had watched her soften a little more. Since she’d seen the flat and started to move her things in readiness for the move this weekend, she’d seen a sparkle come back to her. It was a sign of hope. Who was she to dash it for her? Quickly, she tucked the note away with the other two and made a mental reminder to catch up with Andy before the weekend.
She picked up the kettle and placed it underneath the water tap. Looking up, she noticed someone sitting on the bench in the garden. She peered closer: she was sure it was Cheryl. What on earth was she doing out there – more to the point, how had she got in? She must have climbed over the gate: a bit alarming as Cathy hadn’t heard a noise. She sighed as she went outside.
Even from the end of the path, she could see Cheryl’s neck was at a displeasing angle. She wondered whether to leave her there until she woke up or maybe try and wake her and get her into bed.
‘It’s a good job it’s summer,’ she said as she drew level, ‘or else you’d catch your death of cold, staying out here all night. What have you been up to since I last saw you, hmm? It must be over a fortnight since you told me to –’
Cathy stopped. The hair on the back of her neck began to rise. There was no sound coming from Cheryl. Her lips were slightly tinged with blue; her eyes had rolled to the back of their sockets.
She nudged her gently. ‘I think we ought to get you to bed. It’ll be far comfier than sleeping on this bench.’
Cheryl’s head lolled forward. Cathy gasped and jumped back. She caught her leg on the corner of the table and cried out in pain. It was then that she saw Cheryl’s arm hanging down to the floor, a needle sticking out of one of her veins. The syringe was empty.
She took a moment to catch her breath before sitting down next to her.
‘Cheryl?’ she whispered. Images of horror films she’d watched came rushing into her mind but she pushed them to one side and lifted Cheryl’s head. She was still quite warm to the touch but it was clear that she was dead.
‘Cheryl!’ she whispered again. Breathing deeply to keep her wits, she pulled the young girl into her arms and held her close. ‘No. Please not Cheryl.’
And then she cried. She cried for the loss of a life that she felt responsible for. She knew deep down that it wasn’t her fault but she wished she could have done more. Rose was right. There were some people that you couldn’t help, no matter what. But Cathy had always thought, up until now, that she could get through to anyone. Was she still good enough to do what she did? And if not, what would happen to Becky and Jess? Would they go off the rails too?
From that moment, Cathy knew that she wouldn’t take anyone else in. Once the women with her now had moved on, she would give up the fight. She couldn’t hel
p everyone to alleviate her own guilt, to wipe out her own mistake. It didn’t work like that.
‘I’m so sorry, Cheryl.’ Cathy hugged her closer still, the arm with the needle attached flailing around. ‘I’m so sorry that I couldn’t help you. I tried so very hard but I just couldn’t get through to you. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.’
Cheryl Morton’s funeral was a huge affair. She had lived on the Mitchell Estate all her short life, so lots of people either knew her or knew of her. Her age brought out more folk and, with the fact that she had died of a drug overdose, it meant that over a hundred mourners turned up at the church.
On their way home Cathy, Liz and Rose called at Shop&Save. Liz drew the short straw, bagging the slowest queue at the three tills. After she’d packed her bag, she walked out into the aftermath of a rain shower. She trotted across the car park to rejoin Cathy and Rose.
Kevin stepped out from behind a parked car.
Liz jumped at the sight of him. Oh God, she was on her own again.
‘I’m going to give you one last chance,’ he said.
She moved around him and quickened her pace.
‘I’m not giving up on you.’
Fear intensified as he caught hold of her arm and spun her round to face him.
‘Please, Kevin. Leave me alone,’ she said, her voice shaking.
‘I can’t.’
‘You have to!’
‘We could start again. I know we can make it work and –’
‘No!’
‘Here, let me help you with those,’ Cathy said, rushing towards them. ‘I knew I should have waited for you.’
‘Not you again.’ Kevin frowned. ‘I wish you would keep your nose out of my business.’
‘Liz is my business too. I’m looking out for her while she lives at my house.’
‘She won’t be there for much longer.’
Liz felt her blood turn to ice. Had he found out she was leaving Cathy’s house at the weekend?
‘She’s moving back with me,’ he added.
‘I didn’t say that.’ She let out a breath, thankful that he didn’t seem to know.
‘Why don’t you just give it up?’ said Cathy. ‘You’re not going to get her back.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
‘Drop dead, you loser. And stop making empty threats. Come on, Liz.’
They walked on to the car.
‘Try not to worry,’ said Cathy quietly. ‘I’ve had men turning up on my doorstep since I started this game but they don’t hang around forever. Most of the time they like the chase. You just need to learn to stick up for yourself.’ Cathy held up a hand as Liz began to protest. ‘I know, I know. It’s easy for me to say that but the quicker you do, the more he’ll lose interest, once the power of the relationship has shifted. They always do.’
Liz glanced around the car park but she couldn’t see Kevin anywhere. Still she wondered if he’d really gone.
‘You will get over things and move on,’ Cathy told her knowingly. ‘I’ve seen lots of women who have made more of their lives. Obviously it hasn’t always worked out but most of the time it has.’
‘I don’t know what I would have done without you. You’ve probably saved my life.’
‘Get off with you. There’s no need to be so dramatic.’
‘You think I’m joking?’ Liz shook her head. ‘One day he’s Dr Jekyll: the next Mr Hyde. You heard his Dr Jekyll routine mostly back there. It always won me over, made me think that I could answer back, maybe reason with him and be a person with an opinion. He’d use it to lure me into a false sense of security, even though I knew what he was capable of after the sweet-talking had finished. It still scares me to think what might have happened if I hadn’t left him.’
Cathy gave her a quick hug. Even if she had any more comforting words, this wasn’t the right time for them. Liz had suffered at Kevin’s hands and nothing would erase that memory. Even if she never had to see him again, the pain would take an age to fade.
The next morning, Liz was in her room, packing up her and Chloe’s few belongings. Cathy and Rose were helping too.
‘So what do you think of the new maintenance officer, Liz?’ Rose winked at her.
Liz grinned. ‘He’s very tasty. What do you think of him, Cath?’
‘He seems nice.’
Cathy hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Matt so she wasn’t going to be drawn into the conversation as quickly as they imagined. She sensed what they were up to.
‘Just nice?’ said Rose. ‘He’s bloody gorgeous and I keep on telling you that if I were twenty years younger, I would have him.’
‘Rose Clarke!’ Cathy admonished. ‘You’re disgusting.’
‘Well, I would, too,’ Liz added flame to the fire, ‘if my circumstances were different. He’s adorable.’
‘Adorable?’ Cathy frowned. ‘A puppy is adorable. A newborn baby is adorable. But a grown man?’
Liz roared with laughter. ‘You’re blushing again. You seem to do that every time his name is mentioned.’
Cathy grabbed one of Chloe’s teddy bears and flung it at Liz. Liz ducked and it bounced off the wall behind her.
‘I think you’d do well to grab him for a little fun,’ said Rose.
‘Why does the conversation always come back to my love life?’
‘It’s your lack of a love life we are discussing,’ Rose corrected her. Liz laughed. Cathy still ignored them.
‘I think you should ask him out.’ Rose sat down on the bed with a thud. She wiped her brow. ‘He’s not going to be single forever, a good-looking bloke like him.’
‘But don’t you wonder why he’s still single, if he’s as good as you seem to think he is? He must have some excess baggage.’
‘Of course he must,’ Rose agreed. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and ran it over her neck. ‘But so do you.’
‘We’ve all got excess baggage,’ Liz chirped in. She sat down beside Rose. ‘That’s what makes us who we are. There isn’t any harm in it.’
‘There is if he’s a serial killer,’ muttered Cathy.
‘Or a cross dresser,’ giggled Liz.
‘Or a – Rose?’ Cathy crossed quickly to her friend who had turned the colour of wet putty. ‘Are you okay?’
‘It’s nothing,’ Rose insisted. ‘I’ve just come over all queer. I’ll be fi–fine in a minute.’
Liz got to her feet. ‘I’ll get you a glass of water.’
Rose smiled up at her. It was then that Cathy acted.
‘Call an ambulance,’ she said.
Liz stopped in her tracks and turned back abruptly. ‘Oh, God,’ she whispered and dashed out of the room.
‘Mumpfhgiggeh,’ Rose tried to speak but her mouth had dropped to one side. A faint glimmer of saliva formed at the corner. Cathy reached forward to wipe it away. Quickly, she grabbed the pillows from the bed and placed them behind Rose to stop her from falling.
‘Rose. Rose! Don’t you dare leave me!’ Cathy looked on helplessly. She knew the warning signs from the current spate of advertisements on the television: F.A.S.T.
Face.
Arm.
Speech.
Time to call 999.
Rose was having a stroke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It had been five days since Rose had been admitted to the City Hospital. Cathy walked slowly along the vast maze of corridors heading for the stroke ward, thinking of the job satisfaction in knowing that you had helped someone live out their last moments in peace. And not all of them died, she admonished herself. Mentally, she prayed Rose wasn’t going to be one of those statistics yet.
Careful to protect the flowers she’d brought from the shop in the foyer, she pushed open the door to the ward. Rose had been moved to a side room shortly after her arrival. She lay tucked up in the bed, her eyes closed and her mouth covered in an oxygen mask. Cathy gently ran her fingers over her friend’s hands. Every vein was covered in pinpricks, mottled blue and purple bruises fo
rming.
She’d been surprised to see the room free of visitors when she’d arrived. She’d expected at least one of Rose’s three daughters to be sitting by the side of her bed. They were never usually far away.
‘Rose?’ Cathy spoke in a whisper, even though there was no one around to listen to her. ‘Can you hear me? The girls send their love. Rose? Please do something to tell me that you’re still with us.’
But Rose never moved, never acknowledged she knew she was there. Cathy wondered if the stress of attending Cheryl’s funeral had contributed in any way. She hoped not.
She stared through the partially opened window in front of her and wondered if she’d been wrong not to tell Rose about Simon. Heaven knows she’d been desperate for someone to talk to. Perhaps it would have gone some way towards easing her pain. But how could Rose stay impartial when she had children of her own? She wouldn’t have understood the reasoning behind what Cathy had done. No, she shook her head, she had been right not to burden her.
For the remainder of her visit, she recollected as many anecdotes as she could. She tried her best to smile but all the time she felt her happy face slipping. Finally she let go of Rose’s hand, placed it underneath the sheet and tucked the blanket around her. With great care, Cathy bent down to kiss her forehead.
‘I’m going to miss you so much, Rose, you old doll,’ she said, tears streaming down her face.
‘You must have heard the kettle boiling,’ Cathy said to Andy as she opened the front door to him later that afternoon. He followed her through into the kitchen.
‘Sorry I couldn’t ring after I got your message. I’ve been busy on a bit of business,’ he explained as he sat down at the table. ‘Still trying to get my mitts into that bloody thieving Mick Wilkinson but the bastard, as always, is evading me. How’s Rose?’
‘It’s not looking good at all.’
Cathy didn’t want to think about Rose dying, even though she realised it might not be long now. Instead, she retrieved her diary from the drawer and showed Andy the hand-delivered notes.