‘Well of course I wouldn’t. Shall I put some newspaper down?’
‘Good idea,’ nodded Theresa. ‘Give him another tin of tuna tonight and tomorrow go and get some flea drops just in case.’
‘Yeurch. I’m not keeping him, Tez,’ said Carla, holding up her hand in protest. The thought of fleas crawling in his fur made her shudder.
‘I never said you had to,’ said Theresa, all innocent blue eyes, although she knew that Carla had acquired a new pet.
Carla waved off her friends and then shut the door on the rainy night. The lounge of Dundealin didn’t look that bad with the main ceiling light off and the low wattage wall lights on. There was still a lot to do, such as arrange for a telephone line and internet access; but at least the TV was working. She wished she had bought that Home Sweet Home picture from the teashop now. There was an alcove to the right of the fire which was ideal for it. She made up her mind to go and buy it in the next couple of days. It would be a marker of her new life; every time she looked at it she would be reminded that a line had been drawn under the old one and she was on the way up. She sat with a coffee, watching a programme about people who shared their homes with strange pets. There was a woman in America who had a tame lynx which sat on the sofa with her and a couple who slept with two pot-bellied pigs. The larger of the pigs reminded her slightly of Martin, she thought with a sudden snort of laughter. His belly was enormous and his nose was slightly flat at the end. And boy, could he snore.
Carla’s thoughts started to stray towards Martin and she couldn’t help but try and analyse what it was that she had actually loved so much about him. He was hardly Brad Pitt or Casanova. And she only saw him for two days out of every seven. Maybe her heart had kept being fond because of the absence? He used to be a fine, fit fellow with a cheery face. She’d fallen in love with his cheeky banter. Over the years she had watched his smile being whittled away by the long working hours and his waist grow thicker with all the pasties he ate on the road. She had started to feel sorry for him, pushed the boat out at weekends to give him some respite. She’d begged him to find another job but he never had. He said that it was better to stick with the devil he knew, and that he was putting his head down and getting on with it until pension time. Their relationship had been one-way traffic, she realised now, with hindsight. The changes in their marriage had crept up on her so slowly that she hadn’t noticed them. Until it was too late.
Carla jumped as the black cat leapt up on her knee, turned a circle and plopped down on her lap. She was about to move him, then thought – why? He was soft and warm against her, purring softly; and it was a pleasant experience to be viewed as so comfortable. He was a sweet little thing and very friendly. In fact, when she thought about it, he’d given her more affection since he’d pushed his way into the house that morning than Martin had for weeks. When she thought some more, she realised that he hadn’t shown her any real affection for a lot longer than that actually. He never gave her anything other than a perfunctory kiss on the cheek when he arrived home on a Friday night and left on the Monday morning. When they had sex, which had been infrequent, there was no cuddling afterwards or snogging during. He never brought her small gifts or flowers, and Carla loved flowers – and what’s more he knew she did. She’d worked in a florist’s for many happy years until the owner retired and closed up the shop. How had she missed the signs? They were screaming at her now. How could she have been truly happy with a man who gave her so little? She bet Julie Pride had wanted – and got – so much more.
A single fat salty drop landed on the cat’s back but he didn’t seem to notice. She sat and stroked him gently and sniffed back the remaining tears which were banked up in her eyes. She refused to waste any more on that man. But, my God, she really had been stupid.
Chapter 34
Molly had called an ambulance as soon as he collapsed and now Harvey was in Barnsley hospital. Molly had scooped up all the medicines from the table to take with her to show the doctors. Harvey wasn’t lying to her, she found out after talking to them. He was a very poorly man.
She went in to say goodnight to him and found him asleep and covered in sticky tags and wires which were hooked up to various machines. He looked so old and thin lying there in hospital issue pyjamas. She would check in his suitcase when she got home and see if he had any of his own or if not she would nip into Marks and Spencer and buy him some. He wouldn’t be the same size he used to be – she could still remember it. He’d had a seventeen-and-a-half-inch neck in those days, a fifty-one-inch chest. He wouldn’t have now. He had been a big strapping fellow with an easy smile, George Clooney teeth and warm, sexy eyes the colour of a tropical ocean. She had fallen for him the moment her eyes rested on him. She had felt her heart react to the sight of him: it had stopped for a moment then gave a great big beat and she could have sworn she heard it whisper ‘Good God.’
It wasn’t all his fault, said a voice. You should have told him. Maybe then . . .
She shook her head, trying to rid it of that voice. She had never wanted to think that she might have had any hand in Harvey leaving her.
Returning home, she opened his suitcase and found, pressed between two jumpers, a photo – and it was of herself, her face tilted, her lips dark red and smiling, her skin like cream. She couldn’t remember ever seeing that photo. Did I ever look as lovely as that? she wondered. She couldn’t stop staring at it. She had always thought that she was punching well above her weight in landing a man as handsome as Harvey Hoyland, but she wasn’t really. She shone from the inside when she was with him. He made her feel beautiful, gave her confidence; then had stripped her of it all when he left.
It wasn’t all his fault.
She pulled out a pair of pyjamas which she found beneath the neat stacks of his shirts and trousers, all good quality but well worn; he had always been such a snappy dresser back in the day. His white shirts were like snow and ironed to perfection.
She lifted his pyjama top to her nose and inhaled. There lingered a faint familiar scent of him, his aftershave that transported her immediately to dancing with him, her body next to his. She had never been as happy ever as she was with him, or as unhappy as she’d been without him. And here he was again like a giant spoon, stirring all the settled waters inside her, disturbing the memory-filled sediment at the bottom until it swirled up and took over every thought she had. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she had any choice.
Chapter 35
Molly didn’t sleep very well at all. She got up the next morning and tried to read the newspaper, but she couldn’t concentrate. She rang the hospital and was told that Harvey was awake and was presently eating breakfast, no more detail than that. There were almost two hours until visiting time at the hospital and she was pacing about so anxiously it was a wonder there was still a pattern left on the carpet. She needed to get out of the house. She drove out to the little teashop with the gorgeous book gifts in the cabinets. She liked it there. And it would pass some time in the most pleasant way.
Leni greeted her warmly. ‘How lovely to see you again. Please sit down and I’ll be over to take your order in a moment.’
‘Am I too early?’ asked Molly, watching Leni switching on the huge coffee machine.
‘Not at all,’ smiled Leni. ‘If the sign says open, everyone is welcome.’
*
Carla awoke with the annoying sensation that something was blocking her nose. She sat up bolt upright in bed after finding the black cat half-draped over her face. The damned thing had climbed upstairs and got into bed with her. The cheek.
She went downstairs to find a neat little poo on the newspaper she had left by the door. The cat trotted behind her and sat expectantly down by a cupboard in the kitchen.
‘I haven’t got any food for you,’ Carla said to him but he didn’t hear. He carried on sitting there, waiting and making her feel guilty enough to get dressed and grab her car keys.
Pets R Us seemed the best bet – a
superstore with ‘Everything for your pet friend’. Pest friend, more like. She had never gone shopping for a cat before. Which did they prefer – fish or chicken? Fine flakes? Bite and Chew or Lick and Chew, gravy or jelly? Whiskas or Felix – or would he want biscuits? She put a selection in her trolley and then walked on to the bowls. She didn’t know whether to get a blue one or a pink one. Was the cat a boy or a girl? Would it give a stuff if it got the wrong colour? Still, she played safe and bought a yellow one, to go with her kitchen. Cat milk? They had special milk for cats? Should she get him a bed? Blimey – some of them were dearer than her own new double from Argos. And how big a litter tray did she need? And what sort of litter – clumping or non clumping? Pellets, anti-bacterial, grey, pink, organic? God – it was a minefield. And she supposed she’d better get one of those spatula scoop things as well. She collared one of the assistants to help her choose a flea treatment as they were stored in a glass cabinet. ‘Don’t forget the wormer,’ the assistant advised. Carla’s trolley contents cost nearly as much as her weekly shop at Morrison’s.
She started to drive home, except that she was on automatic pilot and was almost outside Martin’s house before she realised her mistake. She was just about to reverse, then decided to drive on, slowly, curious to see what the house looked like now that she was no longer living there. A scarlet Porsche was sitting in the drive. Julie’s Porsche if the personalised number plate was anything to go by. A cocktail of emotions rose up and swirled inside her: a measure of hurt, a measure of betrayal, a measure of annoyance. Carla did a three-point turn and zoomed away from the estate before she felt any more of its poison. She decided to indulge in a spot of retail therapy for herself at the Teashop on the Corner and buy the Home Sweet Home sign.
*
Molly let the calm and warmth in the teashop pervade her bones. She felt every one of her sixty-eight years today, tired and stiff. She ordered a coffee and a toasted teacake. She wasn’t really hungry but she hadn’t eaten much yesterday at all. She was going to have to take some headache tablets in a moment and thought she shouldn’t swallow them on an empty stomach.
She was in such a world of her own that she didn’t even notice when Carla walked in, and so didn’t acknowledge her when she bid her good morning. Only when Leni put the buttered teacake and the cup and saucer down in front of her did she come back into the room.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she called to Leni who had taken a step back to the counter. ‘Thank you. Oh, good morning, Carla. I didn’t see you come in.’
‘You were lost in your thoughts there, Molly.’ Carla smiled, but she didn’t think Molly looked right at all.
Neither did Leni because in the next breath she said, ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, Molly, but are you all right?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Molly tried to smile bravely and failed. ‘No, no I don’t think I am.’ She didn’t mean to crumble in front of strangers but she couldn’t stop herself. Margaret would have known what to do, but she wasn’t here. And Molly needed to lean on something, someone, anyone. Her brain felt full of thoughts too big for her head to carry. She felt gentle fingers take hold of her hand and looked up to see that Leni was sitting opposite her, her lovely elfin face concerned and interested. Molly couldn’t hold back.
‘Years ago,’ she began, ‘I was married to a man I loved. But he left me. For someone else.’ Molly bit her lip as she made the admission. ‘It wasn’t entirely his fault. I could have been . . . warmer. He was a man who needed . . .’ She came back to the word again, for want of a better one: ‘. . . warmth. I never quite got over him, I think. And yesterday, he turned up on my doorstep with all his worldly goods in a suitcase and told me he had a heart condition that meant he didn’t have long to live and he wanted me to forgive him. Then I told him to go away and he collapsed and he’s in hospital. He’s got nowhere to stay and . . .’ She lifted her shoulders and gave a dry laugh. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek and landed on the teacake.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Carla, from the next table.
‘And you haven’t a clue what to do?’ suggested Leni.
Molly nodded eagerly. ‘That’s exactly it. I can’t take him in to stay with me. It’s impossible. I won’t. Not after what he did. We divorced twenty-seven years ago. We have no ties to each other.’
Leni squeezed her hand softly. ‘And yet you can’t leave him to die alone?’
‘He knew I wouldn’t be able to,’ snapped Molly, with a flare of anger. ‘He’s a crafty one, that Harvey Hoyland. A seducer.’ She sniffed and raised her head up to tilt back the remaining tears that were trying to make an escape. ‘I’m going to the hospital now. He’s stabilised. I doubt they’ll be letting him out today but they will eventually I presume, and he’ll need looking after; that’s more than obvious.’ Molly growled. ‘How dare he put me in this position? He’s a stranger to me now.’ She looked from Leni to Carla, her eyes pleading for direction. ‘What should I do?’
Carla didn’t think she would be the best person to ask. She imagined Martin walking in through the door and begging her for forgiveness. She wouldn’t give him the time of day. Or would she? Saying what she would do was one thing, but when you were actually put in that position . . .
‘Oh Molly, I honestly wouldn’t know,’ she gulped. Even if she did, she would have been very reticent to say. It was a hell of a responsibility to suggest that an old lady fling open her doors to a dying ex-husband whom she hadn’t seen for over a quarter of a century.
‘Could you turn your back on him?’ asked Leni, gently. She suspected that Molly’s old love still had roots in her heart.
Molly sighed. ‘No. I don’t think I would ever forgive myself if I did.’
‘Then you have your answer.’
Leni knew that life was so very precious. For Molly to have a warning that her old lover’s life was on the wane was, in a strange way, a gift. Not everyone was granted the chance to let go gently and have the time to say goodbye.
‘I’m not sure that I’d forgive myself if I forgave him either,’ said Molly, her voice croaking with confusion then she groaned. ‘I’m lost.’
Carla opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again as quickly. Maybe if she told Molly the truth about herself it might give her some direction. But could she dare to shame herself for a relative stranger? She glanced at Molly’s worried face and decided that she should.
‘I’m not a divorcee,’ Carla blurted out. ‘I’m a widow. Sort of. My husband died last month, and at his funeral I found out that I wasn’t actually married to him after all because he never divorced his first wife and he was planning to leave me for her.’ She realised that Leni and Molly were staring at her open-mouthed.
‘My point being, Molly, that I wish I’d had the chance to let go of him myself. I’d have had to say goodbye one way or another, but being able to allow him to slip from my life rather than be wrenched from it . . . I’m not putting this very well . . . I could have coped with it all so much better.’
‘Oh, you poor dear,’ said Molly.
‘I’m okay,’ smiled Carla. ‘I’m on the mend.’
Molly closed her eyes and nodded a slow agreement. ‘I’ll drive to the hospital then and take it from there,’ she said.
‘I hope it turns out to be the right thing for you,’ said Carla.
‘Well, time will tell, won’t it?’ said Molly. Where Harvey Hoyland was concerned, life was always more of a roller-coaster than a sedate boat ride. She had no reason to think that, despite their advanced ages, it would be any different now.
Chapter 36
Carla was surprisingly glad that she had told Molly and Leni about Martin. She didn’t feel in the slightest judged by either of them, or stupid for having been duped by him. And if the telling of her story helped Molly, then at least some good would come out of the whole sorry mess.
The cat was waiting by the door for her when her car rolled into the drive of Dundealin. He was turning circles as she approached with her bags of
cat shopping and the Home Sweet Home sign, his tail a shepherd’s crook of welcome. She applied the flea lotion behind his neck whilst he was scoffing his chicken flakes. He didn’t seem to mind.
Carla wondered if he was the lucky black cat which Pat Morrison had told her about. She’d consider herself very lucky if she didn’t have flea bites after finding him in her face that morning.
*
Harvey was fully dressed and remonstrating with a nurse when Molly arrived in the ward.
‘You really need to stay in bed, Mr Hoyland,’ she was saying.
‘I can assure you, dear lady, that I am leaving and yes, on my own bruised head be it. I most certainly am not dying in a hospital ward.’ Then he saw Molly and he beamed. ‘Molly, you’re here. Please tell the Sister that you’re taking me home.’
The nurse turned around and threw up her hands in a gesture of frustration.
‘Just let me sign a consent form, or whatever they call them, and you can let me go,’ said Harvey. ‘I assume full responsibility for my own bodily and mental state.’
Molly knew that Harvey’s worst nightmare was to die in hospital. They’d had the conversation many years ago when Harvey’s mother died in the cardiac unit in Sheffield.
She sighed. ‘Yes, I’m here to take him home.’
The Sister looked gobsmacked and who could blame her. Molly wondered what Margaret would have said if she were still a Matron and faced with this situation. Molly thought her answer would have depended on whether the person arguing with her was alone. She didn’t think her sister would stand in the way of anyone determined to die his or her way, if they were at the very end with no hope of coming back from it.
‘It’s so wonderful to see you, darling Molly,’ said Harvey bending over and resting his hands on his thighs when they reached the lift. ‘They told me you’d rung this morning to see how I was. Are you taking me home? I always liked that house.’
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