The Calico Cat

by Amanda James

  ‘And you me.’

  ‘I think I’ll finish up here and then pop into Padstow for an hour. I’ll get some nice food and I’ll cook. Then tomorrow, I’ll be on my way home.’

  She says all this to her coffee mug and Louisa takes a big sup from hers. ‘I’ll take you, if you like? Then I’ll be able to see you in your own environment and picture you in it.’

  Lottie does the loud and carefree laugh that Louisa likes so much. ‘My own environment – I’m not a bloody wild animal, you know.’

  This nearly makes Louisa snort her coffee out of her nose and she and Lottie laugh together. They look at each other solemnly for a moment and then Lottie turns back to the painting. Louisa wants to say something sloppy like she isn’t a borrowed daughter but her true one, but that would ruin the moment and cause Lottie to respond in kind. Then if she didn’t mean it, that would be rubbish. It would put a dampener on things and Louisa would remember it more than she would all the nice times. People tend to do that.

  The phone rings a few hours later. Lottie is in Padstow and Louisa is under the kitchen table scrubbing the red-brick tiles. The thought of Lottie leaving tomorrow has unsettled her; she always cleans when she’s unsettled. It makes her feel more in control – Freud would have a field day. She temporarily forgets she’s under the table and goes to stand up to answer the phone. She cracks the back of her head on the tabletop as she does so. ‘Fuck it!’

  ‘Hello!’ she snaps down the phone. Under her hand a lump is forming at the base of her skull. Great.

  ‘Mrs Truscott?’

  Louisa doesn’t recognise the man’s voice. He’s probably someone wanting to do a tour but has come through to the home phone instead of the shop. ‘Yes, can I help you?’

  ‘I hope so. Your sister put me through to you.’

  Not about a tour then, Louisa thinks. He’s gone quiet now and she wonders what it’s about; he’s getting on her nerves because her head aches like a bastard and she needs to get a cold damp cloth on it. ‘Okay, I’m listening,’ she says in a business-like manner as she runs water into the sink.

  ‘It’s about Lottie Morgan. I think she’s staying with you?’

  She wasn’t expecting that. Louisa wonders if it’s James as she presses the cloth lightly to her head. ‘Depends who’s asking.’ She walks outside to the terrace and sits down at the table.

  ‘It’s her boyfriend, well, ex-boyfriend to be more precise.’

  ‘Caleb?’

  ‘Oh, so she’s mentioned me?’ His voice sounds ridiculously pleased.

  ‘Yes, she has. How did you know she was here?’

  ‘I got a mutual friend of ours, Anna, to ring her for me this morning. I was getting a bit worried, you see, because the receptionist at the last guest house we’d booked told me she’d never arrived. I’ve been round to her apartment a few times too and she’s never there. She’s blocked my number from her phone so… anyway, as I said, I was getting worried and running out of ideas.’

  ‘I see. Well, she’s absolutely fine, no need to worry.’ Louisa wants to say more, but she’ll leave it to him. It isn’t her place to offer information.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Caleb says, and Louisa hears a sigh of relief and the scrape of a chair on a hard floor. He’s probably sitting down before he falls down. Poor guy must have been out of his mind. ‘Um, do you know when she’ll be home?’

  ‘I do, but I can’t tell you.’ Louisa weighs up her next response carefully before tipping it down the line. ‘As you know, Lottie is a very private person and doesn’t take well to people she trusts discussing her business without her knowledge.’

  Another heavy sigh. ‘She’s told you about why we split up, then?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I only did it because I love her, wanted her to—’

  ‘Yes, I realise that, but I also totally understand her reasons for ending it.’ Louisa already feels like she’s saying too much. He says he loves her though…

  ‘Yes, I handled it badly. I just miss her so much, Mrs Truscott, could you please ask her to contact me?’

  The anguish in his voice races along the line and grabs her by the heart. Poor boy. ‘I do understand, Caleb. But I really don’t think she’d appreciate me—’

  ‘Please, Mrs Truscott. Your sister told me how you met and that you’re really close. That’s unusual for Lottie, so I know she’d listen to you.’

  Damn it. Suzie had no business telling him stuff. Louisa sighs and dabs at her head a bit more. ‘I don’t know…’

  ‘Please. Just try. I’m not expecting miracles.’

  It’s obvious to Louisa that Caleb adores Lottie, and Lottie, if she’d admit it, feels the same. The depth of feeling in his words is loud in his quiet voice.

  Before she can change her mind, she says, ‘You said you love her. Do you, truly?’

  ‘I do. I never actually told her because I could sense that she didn’t want me to… but yes I do, very much.’

  ‘Look, I’m not promising anything, but I’ll talk to her.’ Louisa ends the call before Caleb can say anything else. ‘Right, let’s hope I don’t get in Lottie’s bad books for bloody interfering,’ she says out loud to a sparrow perched a little way off on the handrail that runs around the terrace.

  After a few moments the sparrow tilts his head this way and that, then hops onto the table to eat a bit of Japanese cracker from last night; Louisa stills her body, so she can admire its fragile beauty. Something about it reminds her of Lottie. She thinks it’s the bird’s watchfulness, so wary of danger that must be real and huge in its little life. A sudden gust of wind blows a strand of her long hair towards the sparrow and it’s off and away over the vineyard so fast that by the time she’s tucked her hair behind her ear it’s just a dark smudge on a brown fence post.

  Louisa makes a mental note to make sure her hair is securely tied back when she mentions Caleb’s phone call to Lottie.

  A huge bunch of yellow roses with legs walks into the kitchen a little while later. Lottie sticks her face around the petals and says to Louisa in a southern American drawl, ‘Thought you might like these, marm. Them being your favourite flower an’ all.’

  ‘They are gorgeous, but they must have cost a fortune! You shouldn’t have.’

  ‘Why do people always say that?’ Lottie says, a half smile on her face.

  ‘I don’t know, it’s the done thing? Daft really. But it’s true – I don’t want you spending lots of money…’ She sees the disapproving look on Lottie’s face and says, ‘Thank you, they smell divine.’ Louisa takes them over to the sink and pulls out a crystal vase from the cupboard.

  ‘And for madam’s dinner I have found a fresh sea bass and some Cornish new potatoes.’ She holds one up. ‘Look, still got the earth on it. And a variety of vegetables which I will toss in something wonderful and roast in the oven.’

  ‘That sounds delicious. I baked some bread while you were gone – we can have that too if we really want to be greedy.’

  ‘Excellent. I didn’t buy wine, though, I thought we might have enough here.’

  ‘Indeed! I know just the bottle, too. This shall be a celebration!’

  ‘Of me going home?’ Lottie sticks her bottom lip out.

  ‘No, silly. Of our meeting and becoming firm friends.’

  Lottie smiles and begins unpacking her shopping. Louisa wonders whether to wait until morning to tell her about Caleb or drop it in after dinner. She’s not sure if she could sleep soundly if she waits until morning, though. There’s your answer then, Louisa.

  They are back on the terrace and Louisa is patting the round of her stomach. ‘My goodness, that was a feast. You can certainly cook.’

  ‘Gwendoline taught me. She was the bee’s knees.’ Lottie grins. ‘Do bees really have knees? I must look into it.’

  Louisa laughs. Lottie really is a tonic with her forthright tone and the way she speaks her mind in such a confident manner. Jagger was the same and taught her to be, to an extent. She does
n’t think she’s as confident as Lottie, though. Louisa looks at the moon rising in the velvet sky and decides that she must ‘go for it’, as the young ones say nowadays.

  She tops up both their glasses and says, ‘Lottie, I had a phone call not long before you came back from shopping.’ Good. Her voice sounds calm, measured, despite the tight anxiety building in her chest.

  Lottie looks at her over the rim of her glass. ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘It was Caleb.’

  All of a sudden everything about Lottie reminds her of the sparrow from earlier and Louisa pats her hair to check it’s still tidy.

  Lottie’s eyes dart here and there, she shifts in her seat, looks ready to fly away. ‘How on earth did he find me?’

  Louisa watches Lottie’s face closely for signs of panic and tells her everything, including the fact that she said she’d ask her to contact him.

  ‘He actually told you he loves me?’ Lottie says, cocking her head to the side, fixing her sharp green eyes on Louisa’s.

  ‘Yes. And that he’s been worried to death. I told him that you wouldn’t thank me for interfering after what he did with James and everything. He realises that, and I told him I’d make him no promises.’

  Lottie nods her head but says nothing.

  Into the silence Louisa says, ‘I hope you don’t think I betrayed you, love. I would never do that. I told you almost immediately and—’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She reaches for Louisa’s hand across the table. ‘You’re only really passing on a message, after all. I can see now that he would be worried about me. Just never thought about it.’

  ‘He did sound like a very nice man.’ Louisa is pleased to see that Lottie looks less sparrow-like now, so pushes a bit further. ‘And it might not hurt to meet and talk it through.’

  Lottie shakes her head. ‘Let’s not go mad here. I agreed to think about meeting James. Caleb will have to take a back seat in my thoughts for now. I can’t cope with too many swirling about in there.’ She taps the side of her head with her forefinger.

  ‘Okay, I can see that.’ Louisa takes a sip of wine and then a snatch of an old song drifts across the terrace from the CD player in the kitchen. One of Jagger’s favourites. ‘ Fences...rainbow above you...somebody to love you before it’s too late,’ she sings softly.

  ‘Great song,’ Lottie says and wraps a shawl around her shoulders.

  ‘Yes, and wise words.’ Louisa looks at Lottie and Lottie gives her a half smile.

  ‘You’re about as subtle as a brick, Louisa.’

  ‘How very dare you, young woman. Subtle is my middle name.’

  The two of them sit and listen to the rest of the song and the sounds of the night. Louisa thinks about Jagger and how wonderful it would be for him to be here now, to have met Lottie. She thinks about lots of things, mostly about the past as she traces the olive tree on her hand. Louisa hopes that tomorrow will be sunny, because saying goodbye in the rain will be far too sad.

  21

  Plans Are Afoot

  Louisa in my sunny apartment feels totally surreal. Isn’t it funny when you’re used to seeing a person in one type of environment, in Louisa’s case out on the South West Coast Path or at her vineyard, and then they’re in a place totally familiar to you, but the opposite to them? She doesn’t look awkward or out of place, but it’s as if her life has been superimposed over mine. I feel like I could flick the edge of the room like a page and we’d be back on the path. Yes, I agree, that idea is totally ‘out there’. Maybe it’s my mind’s way of rebelling against all these serious things I’m meant to be considering.

  ‘I know I live in a lovely spot, Lottie, but this is just wonderful!’ Louisa says, turning in a circle and taking the place in all at once just as Caleb did not that long ago.

  I have to agree. Of course, the vineyard was one of the most relaxing, beautiful and peaceful places I have ever visited, but I was missing the proximity to the ocean. I think I’ll go and paint Dragon’s Breath Cave when Louisa has gone.

  ‘Yes, I am very lucky. But the great thing is, we’re only twenty-five minutes apart so you can pop over here any time and vice versa. You could even come and stay for a few days if you like. I have a sofa bed.’

  ‘That would be wonderful.’ Louisa perches on the arm of the sofa and picks Algernon out of the biggest rucksack ever made. ‘Such a cute little rabbit. I bet he’ll be glad to be in his own bed tonight.’ She jiggles him about by his ears.

  What’s wrong with people? Caleb, now Louisa? ‘Isn’t it obvious he’s a bear?’ I say, scooping him up and holding him close. He smells like the rucksack and chocolate biscuits, and there’s a hint of bergamot cologne. Odd. Then I remember that Caleb cuddled him one evening when we were getting ready for bed, pretended that he wanted Algernon for his own. I don’t want to think about Caleb and bed.

  ‘No. His ears are too long for a bear,’ Louisa says.

  I hold Algernon at arm’s length and give him a hard stare. No. He couldn’t possibly be a rabbit… could he? Before Algernon has the time to turn into one I shove him back in the rucksack. I really cannot cope with that. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘Not sure it would suit you.’ Louisa gives me one of her best dimply smiles.

  ‘Oh, hardy har.’ I look away because I realise she’s about to leave and all of a sudden, I’m not sure how I will be when she does.

  ‘No thanks. I have a few bits and bobs I should be getting on with.’ She stands up and pulls me into a warm hug. ‘Right, I must be off. Let me know what the estate agent says when you ring him later about the studio, won’t you?’ Her tone is brisk and business-like, and she releases me and moves to the door.

  ‘I will. Plans are afoot. And perhaps we can get together in the next few weeks some time?’ My tone is equally no-nonsense, and I realise it’s not like me to follow convention – hiding emotion behind a safe screen of organisation and cool beans. Well, it is sometimes, like when I was with Caleb for example… Now I think about it, it is like me in situations where people matter to me. I don’t hide angry emotion though; an example is when I went bananas at the tabloid man in the pub. What does that say about me, I wonder?

  ‘I’d like that,’ Louisa says, her olive tree fingers around my door handle.

  A memory of the day she’d explained that tattoo rushed into my consciousness as if it were a wave on the ocean and I abandon convention – come out from behind my screen. As she opens the door and turns to face me I say, ‘Thank you so much for everything. I have learned so much about life and myself from you. I know you think that our mum and daughter status is just borrowed, and I think I know why you do. But you are more of a mum to me than mine ever was… or could be… I think.’

  Bloody hell, that was a speech and a half. The only other person I have been open and honest with my caring-type emotions is Gwendoline, and my parents when I was very little, I suppose. But as you know, I like to be open and honest – speak my mind when I can. And even though I’ve made Louisa cry and my eyes are trying their best to copy hers, I’m relieved I said it all, dared to be different.

  I get another hug – a bone-crushing one this time, and then Louisa’s gone.

  There’s always one missing sock, isn’t there? I did my walking holiday laundry at Louisa’s, but the last few days’ worth is in the machine waiting for detergent and the lost sock. I am sure there were two dirty socks this morning, but now there’s just one. Perhaps it’s been whisked away by the sock fairy to a land of one-legged people. It’s a mystery and no mistake. Other people have reported the same problem. Socks make me think of feet and feet make me think of the word ‘afoot’. I said it to Louisa earlier, yet another of my favourite words. I have no idea why people say it in this context, though, or any other, come to think of it.

  I make coffee and Google it. Not the coffee, the word.

  Afoot: in preparation or progress; happening or beginning to happen.

  I do like the sound of that. It means that my new st
udio-shop venture is actually going to become a reality. This makes a few butterflies do a quick flight round my belly. I’m excited because it’s probably going to happen soon, and nervous because I’ll be doing it all by myself. If you remember, Caleb said he’d help with the business side, but now he’s off the scene it’s just me. I know I might have said a while ago that I should rely on nobody but me, but Louisa has taught me that some people are kind, caring and can be trusted. Peter taught me that too, and certainly Leo and Neave.

  No time like the present; I’ll phone Mr Laurence at Laurence Swift and Jones right now to tell him that I want to rent the property and go around and sign everything tomorrow. I can’t do it this afternoon because I promised my artistic and in-touch-with-nature eyes that we’d paint the Dragon Cave again – the first attempt looks flat to me, now. I could do it another day, but since the first painting day at Louisa’s I have learned to listen to my inspiration voice. It’s quite insistent and always right.

  Thanks to the heat of the August sun, the wind, though brisk, is warm. At the moment it’s having great fun picking up huge waves and chucking them at Dragon Cave. The dragon’s breath is heavy with spray today and you’d think it’d be difficult to paint. It isn’t, though, and I worry that the voice of artistic intuition might be getting too big for its boots. Boots? No, I think flip-flops would be more appropriate, because it’s a bit laid back and surfer-dude in its appreciation of my handiwork. It’s telling me that this painting is, well, awesome, man – so cool – and that I’m a truly gifted artist.

  I stand back and try to be more objective, but do you know, it is pretty bloody marvellous. Louisa told me I had to be less critical and more honest about my work on the drive back this morning, so I’m trying to be. Gwendoline would be so proud if she could see me sitting on top of this headland covered in paint daubs with a big daft grin on my face. There’s sunshine in my heart, and a warm glow of satisfaction and pride is spreading through me, as if I’m one of those kids in the old advert going to school on a winter’s morning having just eaten a bowl of porridge substitute.