The Calico Cat

by Amanda James

  15

  Home Truths

  James Vincent looks at his knuckles growing white as his grip increases on the mobile phone, and for a brief moment he wishes the phone was Caleb Walker’s neck. The call had lasted about five minutes and James wonders how he’d kept from yelling a string of expletives into the mouthpiece. He throws the phone at a sofa cushion and yells at the ceiling, ‘For fuck’s sake!’ He picks up the cushion and drop kicks it at the door, while allowing the expletives he’d kept reined in during the call to riddle the air as if they were bullets.

  ‘James?’ Beth’s voice dodges a few as it comes in from the kitchen. ‘James, what’s wrong?’

  James doesn’t answer his wife. If he does, she’ll want to know all about it, and he doesn’t want to talk about the bloody mess that moron Caleb has made of any chance of James at last having some kind of relationship with his sister. God, he is fuming. He can feel the pulse in his neck and his heart is beating too fast.

  He sends his voice back across no man’s land. ‘Ignore me, it’s nothing!’

  ‘James?’

  Now she’s standing in the doorway, her dark eyes full of worry, her hand in the small of her back. She’s been on her feet all day and she doesn’t need him behaving like a hormonal teenager. He shoves his hands through his hair and pulls his tie off. Why anyone thinks wearing a tie is a good idea he will never know. A bit of material wrapped over the top of a tightly buttoned collar makes no sense. A shirt and tie make him feel like a trussed chicken ready for the oven. He looks at Beth again and says, ‘I’m okay. Just had a phone call I could do without.’

  ‘Work?’ she sits on the arm of the sofa and takes her shoes off.

  ‘No. A guy called Caleb who is… was, the boyfriend of Charlotte, or Lottie as she now seems to prefer.’

  Beth’s eyes grow round. ‘Lottie? You mean your sister?’

  ‘Of course. How many other Lotties do I know?’ James hears an edge in his tone and is sorry. None of this is Beth’s fault. She does the single eyebrow raising thing and begins massaging her feet. He knows he’s in trouble now.

  ‘I have no clue how many Lotties you know, that’s why I asked. If you’d rather not talk to me about it, then don’t. I have food to prepare and I am knackered.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Let me help.’ He kisses the top of her hair and smells a combination of hospital disinfectant and cheese and onion crisps. Obviously not had time for lunch again; that’s no good, no good at all. ‘In fact, you sit here, put your feet up and I’ll cook,’ he says.

  Beth’s eyes light with humour. ‘You, cook? You hate it.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’ll have to learn. When you’re at home all day with our baby you’ll be even busier than you are now.’ James likes saying ‘our baby’; he says it whenever he can fit it into a conversation.

  ‘That is hard to believe. Do you know how many we had in outpatients today?’

  James shakes his head and picks up her shoes.

  Beth frowns. ‘Actually, I lost count. But it feels like thousands. Dressings, smears, ear-syringing. God, I’ll be so glad to go on maternity leave.’

  ‘I think you should go sooner rather than later. You’re just over three months now, what will you be like at six? We can afford it. We can afford for you never to go back if that’s what you’d like.’ James takes her shoes out into the hallway and then puts the kettle on. Boiling kettles always come in handy when cooking and it makes him feel like he knows what he’s doing.

  ‘Not sure about packing in work altogether, might go stir-crazy.’ Beth folds her arms and leans against the door jamb while she watches him look for something in the fridge.

  ‘We’ll see. Shall we have something with eggs?’

  ‘Something with eggs,’ she says in a flat tone. ‘I think not. No. I had planned spag bol.’ She peers over his shoulder and pulls out onions, peppers and garlic. ‘Look, just sit down while I cook and tell me all about that phone call. If you don’t, you’ll just churn it around in your chest and get indigestion.’

  James tries to hide his relief both at being let off chef duty and the chance to get his feelings out. He tries not to do that too often, hadn’t wanted to talk about it five minutes ago, but there are some things that are better out than in. He makes them tea and tells her all about Caleb visiting the hospital, Lottie’s story and more recent events, too.

  Beth puts the bolognaise sauce in the oven and joins him at the table. ‘So, it’s taken you over two weeks to tell me all about Caleb’s visit? I knew there was something bothering you.’ She crosses her arms over her chest as if she’s trying to keep her emotions in lockdown.

  ‘Sorry, I guess I blamed myself for the problems Lottie had when she was a teenager – you know, just appearing in her life like that? Then when Caleb told me Lottie’s story recently, it made me feel physically sick. I still felt partly to blame in a way…’

  ‘Bloody hell – I knew your mum was a bit of a prima donna and it’s no secret that we don’t like each other, but I never expected that of her. What a bitch! And you are not to blame at all, do you hear me?’

  James hears the venom in her voice and the surprise must show on his face.

  ‘Sorry if that offends, but how could she behave like that to her own daughter, say those vicious things? I’d have shaved all her fucking hair off and put her in the shed too, if I’d been Lottie!’

  Even though his wife is furious, James has to laugh. That’s what first attracted him to Nurse Lloyd. A fierce Welsh firecracker and not afraid of speaking her mind. Beth isn’t amused though, and she has more for him.

  ‘And then this bloody Caleb goes and tells your sister all about the meeting with you after you’d expressly asked him not to? Idiot! She might never meet you, now. The girl must feel terribly hurt and betrayed. I want to meet her more than I ever did now, poor love.’ Beth stands up and walks to the cooker.

  ‘Yes, I know. I really don’t know what to do next. I was thinking I’d confront Mum, make her tell me why she was so cruel. Tell the truth for once.’

  ‘Tell the truth? I don’t think that’s very likely, do you?’ Beth feeds spaghetti into a pan of boiling water.

  James doesn’t, but he’d like to hear why his wife thinks this. ‘I think she might be ashamed, so probably not.’

  ‘She might well be, but I think she’ll try and wriggle out of it. Remember when she first saw me, saw the colour of my skin?’

  ‘Yes,’ James says, trying not to think of the way his mum’s mouth had dropped open and how she’d used a beaming smile to quickly cover her shock. Beth had brought this up a few times over the years and it looked like today was going to be no exception.

  ‘The expression on her face…’ Beth points a wooden spoon across the kitchen, a distant look in her eye, reliving the moment. ‘And then when I said, “Hello, pleased to meet you,” she said, “Oh, I had no idea that you were… Welsh.” We all knew that she really meant she’d no idea I was mixed race.’

  James says what he always says. ‘Possibly, but she’s never said anything to me to that effect.’

  Beth says what she always says. ‘No, well she wouldn’t dare, would she? She’s too frightened of losing you again. Her handsome, successful, precious son – her salvation, I think she said once.’ She sighs and shakes her head. ‘But I’ve caught the disdain on her face from time to time when she thought I wasn’t looking. She had the same look when she saw my dad at the wedding. I’m not good enough for her angel boy. Nobody would be – black, white or sky-blue-pink.’

  ‘I think you’re right, in light of what Lottie revealed to Caleb. What do you think I should do?’

  Beth chews the inside of her lip for a moment. ‘I think we should go round there in the next few days and announce our pregnancy. Then we should talk to her about Lottie, tell her a few home truths, too. Beyond that I don’t know, as far as she’s concerned. But as far as Lottie’s concerned, I think she needs some TLC from her estranged brother and sister-in-law.’
>
  ‘And how is that going to work, exactly?’ James asks. ‘She doesn’t seem the kind who would be open to that kind of thing, to say the least.’

  She shrugs and turns back to the hob. ‘One step at a time, husband. One at a time.’

  James watches his wife move around the kitchen, grating parmesan, taking bowls from the cupboard and putting them to warm, her quiet confidence apparent in everything she is doing, and he thinks that she is the wisest, most wonderful woman he knows. One step at a time, she said. He wonders where Lottie is on her walk. Has she abandoned the South Coast Path and gone home, or is she going it alone? He guesses the latter, given her stubborn streak.

  He also wonders why he’d just believed his mum’s story without question back then. The tale of the jealous sibling dislodged from her only-child pedestal, wayward, spoiled, spiteful, selfish and destructive. If he was honest, it was easier. He was far too busy at the time to allow room for anything else. And the guilt, he’d not wanted to make room for that. He’d tried to put himself in Lottie’s position and he’d not liked how it had felt.

  James had tried to make contact later of course, but Lottie had point blank refused. Once again, he’d been busy with his career, his life. Too busy to try very hard to make things right. Then he’d managed to speak to her that once, when she’d said she’d felt like broken crockery. Lottie’s words had been too painful to bear so he’d just shoved them in a drawer in the back of his mind, covered them over with important thoughts about medicine, about his patients, making the lives of strangers better.

  Caleb had texted him a picture of his sister he’d taken on their walk last week and he very much needs to see it again. James walks into the sitting room, retrieves his phone from the sofa and scrolls to the photo of Lottie leaning against the wall of an old tin mine, her long brown hair lifting on the breeze, green eyes sparkling with mischief, yet her whole demeanour said assured, confident, determined.

  James makes her a silent promise that he will make up for his shortcomings, will try to forge some kind of relationship with her, and if that fails, he’ll bloody well try harder. He looks through the French windows across the sweep of his lawn and over the surrounding fields, and again he thinks of Lottie out there on the path. He hopes she’s not miserable and lonely because of what Caleb did. James looks back at the photo and something tells him that if she is, she won’t be for long.

  16

  A Change of Plan

  Seriously, I never thought grape growing could be so interesting. By the time we get to Pendeen, having stopped to look at seals and cormorants on the way at Portheras Cove, I feel like I could almost do the job myself. Louisa has told me lots about what the business involves and right at this moment I wish myself in her life. Have you ever done that? No matter how much you’re enjoying your own life, when finding out about someone else’s, you unexpectedly feel like theirs is more interesting.

  It could be a case of the grass is greener, but if you had asked me yesterday on a scale of one to ten how interested I was in finding out about the business of vineyards, I would have said two, possibly three, given that I do like drinking wine quite a lot. But then I would have assumed that you meant vineyards outside this country, of course. I think the fact that it quite unusual to grow grapes here adds to the interest factor.

  We stop just a little way inland from the cove and Louisa says, ‘There’s Pendeen Lighthouse just up round the headland if you fancy a look? We’ll be able to see the coast all the way towards Sennen now the clouds have gone, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  ‘That sounds like a good idea, but I worry that you won’t find a bed for the night given it’s the height of the tourist season.’

  I have an idea that came to me not long ago, but I’m not sure it should be voiced. I’m getting too trusting of late, Caleb proved that, and it’s not like me to go out of my way to be so sociable. I do rely on my instincts though, and logic of course. Logic is very useful, I find.

  I watch Louisa’s mouth twist to the side. ‘Yeah, I think you’re right,’ she says and looks at her watch. ‘It’s going up for six now, and by the time we’ve been up to the lighthouse and wandered round, I don’t fancy my chances. Pendeen isn’t the largest place in the world after all. Still, I have slept out under the stars before now. Quite like it really.’

  Instinct prods me. ‘Look, say no if you like, but as you know, I have accommodation for tonight. Since my friend and I have parted company, there is a spare room booked at the place I’m staying. I keep forgetting to phone ahead and cancel these rooms,’ I finish, hoping that I haven’t made her feel uncomfortable.

  She doesn’t look at all uncomfortable, in fact the opposite. ‘Oh, I assumed that you would have just the one double room given that you and he were… Sorry, please forgive my direct manner. It does get me into trouble, sometimes.’ Now she does look uncomfortable.

  If I wasn’t sure about kindred spirits before, I am now. A burst of laughter builds in my chest and I allow it freedom. Louisa’s face turns red, so I say, ‘Oh, don’t be embarrassed. It’s so refreshing to find someone else similar to me. However, I must admit I don’t often apologise for my directness. I pride myself on it – try to be different from everyone else. I hate convention and rules.’

  Louisa laughs. ‘You would have loved Jagger, then. He was the one that helped me to be who I wanted to be. He encouraged me to rebel against things I didn’t like, you know, gave me the courage to say no, when the expectation was to say yes. But I think that was forged against the backdrop of the sixties, the times were a-changing. Not enough though, as it turned out, sadly.’

  ‘I’d love to have the time to talk to you about your life. It sounds fascinating,’ I say and surprise myself once again.

  ‘Then we shall. I’ll stay at your B&B tonight and then we’ll walk on to Sennen together tomorrow. That should give us plenty of time to chat!’ Louisa’s smile falters. ‘Unless you think that’s a bit too much. We have only just met, after all.’

  Ordinarily I would have thought it a bit too much. In fact, I would have thought it a huge imposition. Ordinary hasn’t been part of my life lately, though, and I am certainly very pleased about that. I tell her it is a wonderful idea and we walk on to the lighthouse. I think I am so lucky to have met so many interesting people lately. I might even go so far as to say I have met more interesting people in the space of a few days than I have in my entire lifetime.

  Having checked in to our accommodation and had a quick shower we are now in a very quaint, typically Cornish village pub. My growly stomach is competing against the low hum of conversation and at the moment my stomach’s winning. A couple on the next table to us actually stop talking and look in my direction, so I study the menu more closely and pretend not to notice.

  My cover is blown though when Louisa says with smile, ‘Bloody hell, your stomach sounds like an angry lion.’

  The couple look across again and I am caught. But then what does it matter? It’s a natural bodily function. I mean, it’s not as if I’m farting for England or anything, is it? Even though that is a natural bodily function also, I don’t think it’s appropriate in this setting. I certainly wouldn’t like it if someone else did that while I was eating. But why is stomach growling a potentially embarrassing social situation? I wonder if other cultures would find it so. I know that in certain countries you are supposed to belch to show the host of a dinner party that you’ve enjoyed their food.

  I return Louisa’s smile. ‘Yes, it is an angry and hungry lion. The last thing I tossed it was a bit of liquorice this afternoon.’

  She frowns. ‘So it was. No wonder I’m so hungry. That settles it – I’m going to have the steak and ale pie and chips.’ She closes her menu and laughs as her stomach copies mine.

  I decide on the pie too, and then take a thirsty gulp of lager. Isn’t it great, that first sip after a long day in the sun and on a fairly empty stomach? You really can feel it trickle all the way down your gullet and then a little
sugar and alcohol rush sends fire to your cheeks and puts a giggle in your chest. Well, it does with me this evening. I think it’s because I’m in good company and relaxed.

  ‘Shall I tell you about how me and Jagger met?’ Louisa says into the thoughtful air between us.

  I nod and settle back into my comfy chair. I watch Louisa’s face light from within and can see her in her youth. Not that she looks her age, she’s a very youthful sixty-seven-year-old, but it’s as if thoughts of the past have stripped the lines from her face and put an extra sparkle in her eyes.

  ‘We met, believe it or not, when the Beatles came to Newquay in 1967. It was the day before my eighteenth birthday and a friend of a friend had spied the fab four up near the Atlantic Hotel. We later found they were staying there and were here filming part of their Magical Mystery Tour. Anyway, word got round the youngsters like wildfire and we all swarmed down there.’

  ‘My goodness, how exciting,’ I say because it must have been, and I could see in her eyes that she remembers how she felt back then.

  ‘Oh, it was. And even more exciting was meeting Jagger. He was a couple of years older and very charismatic. He was a friend of that friend of a friend I told you about and after we were introduced, he grabbed my hand and threaded me through the crowd, so I could have a great view of the band. He seemed to know everything about what they were doing and where they were going next, and later, four of us went off to Holywell Bay on motorbikes to wait for the Beatles to turn up in their Mystery Tour bus. They did, of course, and we were amongst the first to see them.’ Louisa takes a breath, her face flushed with excitement, and she nods at me. ‘Still got the autographs safe at home.’

  ‘And then you started going out?’

  ‘Yes, but it was in secret for a bit. My dad was very strict and kept me practically under lock and key. Mum worked on him a bit and Jagger was on his best behaviour when I introduced him to my folks. Dad was a third-generation no-nonsense farmer, so Jagger’s ideas about turning the world upside down wouldn’t have gone down well. Dad wanted me to marry a farmer and follow in tradition.’