Читать книгу It Started With A Note - Victoria Cooke - Страница 16

‘Look!’ Kaitlynn squeals, waggling her newly taloned hands in front of my face as I walk into the staff room the next day.

‘Oh, very nice,’ I say politely, acknowledging her luminous pink, sparkly-tipped nails.

‘Well, I had to treat myself with the annual bonus money, didn’t I? It was a whopper this year! Can you believe how much we got?’ Her voice is so high it penetrates my eardrums like a laser. ‘And I have a date on Saturday with this total ten I met on Tinder,’ she gushes.

A total ten? Kaitlynn is about ten years younger than me, but somehow latched on to me when she first started at the supermarket, and we had developed a close working friendship ever since. Every so often, her reality-TV-inspired vernacular stumps me, and this is one of those times. The confusion must have manifested on my face.

‘A total ten, as in a ten out of ten. A hottie, Cath. F-I-T.’ She giggles.

‘That’s great, Kaitlynn.’ I smile. In a way, she is probably closer in age and generation to my son, but since he communicates mostly through Morse grunts, I’ve learned nothing about popular culture through him. ‘But …’ I pause.

‘But what?’ She pounces on me as if I’ve said something wrong.

‘I was just about to ask why he’s on a dating website if he’s so good-looking. Surely he has women falling at his feet wherever he goes? Especially if he has a nice personality, which he should have if you’re going to date him.’

Kaitlynn laughs and gives a simple, ‘Oh, Cath.’

‘What? I’m not so out of touch, you know. Good looks and a nice personality are relationship fundamentals – they don’t go out of fashion.’

‘Tinder is just a bit of fun, and not many people hang around long enough to find out the personality part.’ She winks and pulls out her phone. ‘Firstly, it’s not a website, it’s an app. Secondly, you can find all the hotties nearby within seconds, and you don’t have to leave your house. Watch.’ She starts flipping through pictures of men, muttering about who is ‘fit’ and who isn’t. It’s a bit like the Argos catalogue of blokes. Suddenly, she gasps. ‘Cath, you should totally try it.’

I couldn’t imagine what my tired old face would look like amidst the beautiful, taut-skinned twenty-year-olds. I’d be some kind of booby prize or worse. A dare. ‘Oh no, no, no. That ship has sailed.’

‘Of course it hasn’t. You’re never too old for a bit of male company, if you know what I mean.’ I wince because I do, of course, know what she means. ‘What are you spending your bonus on? You got more than me, Miss Employee of the Year! Splash out, lady, you’re loaded,’ she gushes. I feel heat flush my cheeks. Employee of the year is quite a big deal and whilst I’m not struggling to cope with the pay-out, I am with the recognition. ‘We could get you some highlights and a few new tops: one for a selfie, one for a date, and you’d be good to go.’

‘I’m not interested. I’m more than happy to watch a Noughties romcom with a glass of wine. At least that way, I always get the perfect guy.’ I grin because I’m right and have never been disappointed.

‘Fine. You stick to your old movies but don’t come crying to me when you realise Matthew McConaughey isn’t all that.’ She folds her arms and looks disappointed. ‘What are you planning on doing with your bonus then? Not giving it to that son of yours or helping Gary out even more, are you?’ She spits out the word ‘Gary’ like an unwanted lemon pip.

Kaitlynn hates that Gary can’t stand on his own two feet at ‘his age’. She sadly lost her mother to the big ‘C’ a few years ago, which is partly what brought us together since that’s what I lost my mum to and it all happened at a similar time. From what I can gather, they were incredibly close, and the fact Kieran isn’t on the phone to me once a day and round visiting every Sunday really irritates her. I’ve tried explaining it’s a son vs. daughter thing, but she doesn’t buy it.

I shake my head. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

‘Well, make sure you spend it on yourself,’ she warns.

Later on, during a checkout lull, I tell Kaitlynn all about the tragic letters I’d found in the loft. The thought of my great-grandfather saying goodbye to his wife and child for what turned out to be the last time, and my grandma never fulfilling his wishes all weigh heavily on my mind.

‘That is so sad!’ says Kaitlynn when I tell her how my gran never fulfilled my great-grandfather’s dreams and left the country. ‘It’s like a John Green book or something. I actually want to cry.’

‘I know,’ I say sombrely; though I’ve never read a John Green book, I get what she means. I’m about to offer something philosophical when Kaitlynn gasps again.

‘Why don’t you go to France? You could see where your great-grandad is buried. I watched a TV programme about the centenary and apparently, you can trace your relatives and see exactly where they are commemorated.’ She slips excitedly into her theme and throws her hands up dramatically. ‘You should do the trip your gran should have done. It’s perfect. Your bonus and prize money would cover it and you’d be fulfilling your great-grandfather’s dream. Plus, Kieran and Gary won’t get a penny of your hard-earned cash!’

‘No. Not a chance am I going travelling to a foreign country alone! It’s a ridiculous idea. That money will come in handy for something much more necessary. A new sofa perhaps.’

She lets out a ‘hmph’ sound. ‘What, so Gary can leave an indent of his bottom on it? Stylish!’

‘You’re missing the point. I’m not frittering away the money.’

‘Why not? You never go away, and you have all your holidays left to take from about 1995, so it wouldn’t be a problem I’m sure. You never spend anything on yourself so it will just sit in an account until Gary wears you down and you end up loaning it to him. You won’t see a penny.’

‘Don’t be silly, I can’t just up—’ I’m interrupted by the electronic gong of the tannoy.

‘Attention. This is a staff announcement. Can Jamie come to checkout four, please? Jamie to checkout four.’ I glance at Kaitlynn in horror but she just winks as she lets go of the button, and a rather fed-up-looking Jamie approaches us.

‘Yes, Kaitlynn?’ he asks impatiently.

‘Jamie.’ She smiles sweetly. ‘As store manager and all-round supermarket don, can you please give Cath some time off for a holiday? She is the employee of the year you know. She deserves a break.’ He looks from Kaitlynn to me and back to Kaitlynn again and shrugs.

‘I don’t see why not. She’s entitled to them.’ He turns to me. ‘You accrue enough of them. Off anywhere nice?’

Heat rushes to my cheeks when I don’t have an answer. ‘Oh, no. I …’ I feel like a numpty and glare at Kaitlynn. ‘Possibly France.’ There’s no way I’m going to France alone, but perhaps some time off wouldn’t hurt. I could finally get the fridge fixed but I can hardly say that to Jamie.

‘How long will you need?’

‘I, er …’ I have no idea because up until forty seconds ago, time off wasn’t even on my agenda, but I’d feel too foolish to say it’s a mistake. ‘A few days,’ I say, feeling that would be reasonable for a fake trip to France. Now that I can afford one of those twenty-four-hour appliance repairmen it would still leave me a day or so of R&R.

‘Weeks,’ Kaitlynn interrupts, placing a forceful hand on my shoulder. ‘She means weeks, a few weeks.’

‘Okay. Pop in the office tomorrow and we’ll look at dates.’

By the time I get home, I’ve managed to convince myself it would be fun to try and learn French. Being able to read my great-grandfather’s letters would not only be a real feat, it would feel quite special too. While Kaitlynn had a point about fulfilling my grandmother’s legacy, she still has the frivolous air of youth that leaves most people at some point during their thirties. I, on the other hand, am beyond that. By a pinch.

When I get home, the electricity is off. Luckily, I’d topped my card up because I knew it would have been way out of Gary’s remit to go out and do it. He’s asleep on the sofa in the eerie twilight when I enter the lounge. The mail is still sitting on the mat, pots are piled up on the side in the kitchen, and when I check upstairs, I see the bathroom mirror he promised to fix back to the wall is still propped up on the floor. Bubbles of rage start to rise and pop in my chest as I storm back downstairs. I can’t facilitate this festering blob any longer.

‘Gary. Wake up. Gary!’ I prod him, and when he doesn’t move straight away, I wonder if he’s actually started to decompose on the sofa through sitting still for so long. That would be much worse than an indentation of his bottom.

‘What is it, Cath?’ He comes around slowly.

‘The electricity is off.’ I fold my arms and glare at him.

‘I knew you’d be back with a card so it seemed daft to go and top the spare up.’

‘I bet you were more than happy to use up all the emergency credit watching daytime telly, though. Hmm?’

‘Cath, I—’

‘And did you fix the mirror?’

‘I needed string. I wanted to ring you to pick some up from work but I didn’t have any credit on my phone.’

‘And what’s your excuse for not washing your own pots? Or picking the mail up off the mat?’ I’m practically yelling at him now.

‘Calm down, Cath, I was going to do all that; I just nodded off. I was down the Jobcentre today and they don’t half wear you down with all their questions.’

‘Do they? Do they wear you down? You poor, poor thing!’

Gary is sitting up now, looking at me with his eyes unusually wide. I’ve never spoken to him this way before. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ I say before something I’ll regret pops out of my mouth.

When I come back down, I hear rustling in the kitchen and a pang of guilt hits me when I realise he must finally be fixing the fridge. Maybe that’s what he needed all along: some tough love. I tiptoe towards the door. I don’t want an awkward conversation about it, nor do I want to disturb him and give him reason to stop so I make a mental decision to just thank him when it’s done by treating him with my windfall money. He used to like golf. Perhaps I could buy him some time at the driving range.

I hover in the doorway, watching his shoulders as he’s hunched over something. I wonder if it’s the broken part. I can’t profess to know anything about fridges or their accoutrements, but something about the way he’s holding himself seems odd – protective, like he’s shielding what he’s got in his hands. That’s when I notice he isn’t mending a fridge part at all; he’s got a knife wedged beneath the lid of my money tin, and he’s trying his hardest to unjam it.

The sound of it popping off makes me jump, and I gasp. Gary turns around and already in his hand is a twenty-pound note.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ I ask, shock and anger adding a punch to my tone.

‘Cath, I … er …’ He holds both palms up towards me. ‘It’s just a loan. I was going to put it back, and I saw that three-grand cheque you got from work … you can afford it.’

I don’t know what to say. The fact we came from the same DNA suddenly seems quite unbelievable. It’s as though every ounce of my goodness is mirrored by dishonesty in him. It hurts. ‘You—’ I jab a finger in his direction ‘—need to move out.’

His face pales and I notice his forehead is clammy. ‘Move out? You’re not serious. Cath, I’m sorry, I was going to put it back next week. You can’t kick me out. Where would I go?’ Desperation is etched in his features and his voice drops to a whisper. ‘You wouldn’t see your brother out on the streets, Cath, would you?’ A tremor ruffles the last three words.

I walk into the lounge, sit on the sofa and sigh. No, I wouldn’t, and he knows me too well. ‘Gary, you were trying to steal from me.’

He slumps into the armchair. ‘I was desperate. I wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t so flush, and I did ask last night if I could borrow some cash. It was just a loan, I swear.’

‘It’s the final straw, Gary.’

His eyes drop to the floor.

‘I just can’t trust you now. Not until you sort yourself out.’

‘If you kick me out now, I’ll end up on the streets.’ He throws his head into his hands.

‘You’ve been here six months now and haven’t made any progress on the job front, and I’ve allowed you to coast along. I’m as much to blame as you are.’ I gesture to his slobby, track-suited self. ‘It’s time for you to get out of this funk and then we can both have our lives back. But right now, I can’t stand to be around you.’ I want to say the words again: Get out. But I can’t do it. I can’t see him on the streets. ‘What you did is going to take me a while to come to terms with, and at this moment in time I just can’t be near you, never mind share a house with you. You’ve betrayed me in the worst possible way.’ He nods sombrely, committed to his fate, and despite my better judgement, I feel sorry for him.

‘I’m going away, and I want you gone when I get back.’ The words leave my mouth before I can think about them, and I’m not exactly sure where I’m going, but the idea of a break of some kind suddenly seems so appealing.

‘Pah. You’re going away? By yourself?’ He sneers as he speaks.

I fold my arms defiantly. ‘Yes.’

‘Where to? An exotic cruise? An Amazon trek? A camel ride across the Gobi Desert? Or is it just a soggy weekend in Brighton?’ His tone is mocking, each word fuelling a new burst of anger inside me.

I pause, and without anything better to say or any other ideas I blurt, ‘F … France.’

‘France?’ He laughs. ‘Seems a bit cultural for you. You can’t even speak French and you dropped it for GCSE. What the hell are you going to do in France?’

I’m in no mood to explain myself, and I can’t bear the thought of listening to him mock me, so instead of answering him, I bore into him with my eyes.

‘It’s none of your business. I want you gone when I get back.’

He glares back until his nerve falters and he starts to back down. He knows I mean it.

‘How long have I got?’ he asks.

I think back to Kaitlynn’s interjection. Am I brave enough to go to France alone? ‘Two weeks.’

‘Two weeks?’ He looks aghast.

‘Better start job-hunting now then.’ I smile tightly.