Chapter 42
Kitty arrived home just after 11p.m., a little on the inebriated end of the sobriety spectrum. The train journey, which rattled its way along the coast, had brought her a little to her senses.
She put her key in the door, quietly, so as not to wake Dave, but as soon as she stepped into the hall, there he was, his mother’s slippers over his socks, looking discombobulated.
He’s leaving me again, she thought, with a surge of adrenaline. This time, she’d do it all properly. This time, she wouldn’t let him back.
‘Everything all right?’
‘Well…’
There was something wrong. For the last decade, Romeo had welcomed her home without fail. He’d weave in and out of her ankles in a figure of eight and he was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was out hunting or had found a new gang to hang with and was having fun. Except she knew something was wrong. He wasn’t having fun.
‘Where’s Romeo?’ she asked.
‘On the sofa…’
‘Thank God…’
‘He’s been attacked again.’
Romeo was curled up, sound asleep, when Kitty bent down over him, her hand on his soft body. His eyes didn’t open, his breathing was laboured, and when she moved her hand down slightly to his stomach, it was wet. Blood. Tears filled her eyes. Not again. Poor Romeo. She remembered when he had first arrived as a tiny kitten and she’d fallen in love with him and his little pointy ears and pink nose and, for the first few weeks, he drank saucers of goat’s milk and slept inside one of her sheepskin slippers.
‘Oh Romeo,’ she said, leaning close to him, tears falling onto his fur.
‘Is he dead?’ asked Dave. ‘Because if he is, Mam knows what to do… there’s a fella who will collect dead pets for €20…’
Kitty looked up, aghast. ‘He’s not dead,’ she said, firmly.
‘It’s just that it’s expensive to cremate animals. And Romeo is ancient. If he’s not dead now, he soon will be.’
‘He’s only thirteen,’ said Kitty. ‘That’s young for a cat. Well, not young exactly but not old either. I know someone who had a cat until they were nineteen.’
Dave was shaking his head sceptically, and at that moment Kitty would have done anything to vaporise him, sci-fi-style, just have him gone, so she could concentrate on Romeo’s trembling little body.
‘Have you any idea how much they charge?’ persisted Dave. ‘This man just does a job lot at the same time… it’s either that or bury it in the back garden, but I am no hole digger… and you’re even worse.’
‘Stop it, Dave,’ she said, wanting to block Romeo’s ears. ‘Just stop it. You’re digging your own kind of hole.’
‘But Mam…!’ began Dave.
She held up her hand to shut him up, trying to think what to do. Tom would be the obvious person to call. But she couldn’t phone him. Shazza would have some ideas, she thought, before remembering that Shazza wanted nothing to do with her. Mum and Annie were no help, both of them equally wary of Kitty at the moment. It was as though she had gelignited every relationship she loved. She’d almost had a new life, she was almost having fun… and she had destroyed all of it. And now Romeo was ill. But he’d survived Timmy the tabby before and once she got him to the vet, he’d be all right. Hopefully.
Dave looked furious. ‘Honestly, what I put up with from you. Your moodiness around my mother, your working late, your awful friend, the clutter in this house…’
‘Clutter?’
‘Yes, clutter. All your things… stuff everywhere. Your bits… like this!’ He picked up a paper fan which she had bought in Seville the previous summer with Shazza. ‘Or this!’ He held up a little cat figurine which she had bought in Greece, again with Shazza. ‘And this!’ He picked up a framed photo of her and Shazza taken in a photo booth in Berlin, years ago, the two of them laughing…
She missed Shazza so much it hurt. What if they finally forgave her and Kitty did it again, or did it to someone else, and did it repeatedly for the rest of her life until she was known as the mad cat-less lady who snarled and fumed and was generally crazy? All her life, she had tried to be a good person, to be nice, to be helpful and kind, and she was left feeling angry and upset. It didn’t make sense.
Dave was still talking, picking up things and crashing them down, but Kitty watched him dispassionately. She had held on to an idea of him for such a long time, but that funny, clever man she had thought he was hadn’t been very apparent for a long, long time… years and years, to be honest. But it wasn’t a phase, it was his personality. While he’d been at his mother’s, she’d glimpsed a life which could have been hers, but through some terrible glitch in her matrix, she had to ruin it all and say yes to Dave’s proposal.
And what about Tom? She’d loved that night and morning they had spent together… And the sailing and the secret bar. And even the football. She had loved everything.
The doorbell rang and Dave went out into the hall. ‘Mam!’ she heard him say as Kitty’s heart sank even further. ‘No, the cat’s still alive… come on in.’
Maureen entered the room. ‘I know a fella…’ she began, and then she spotted poor Romeo and before Kitty could stop her, she picked him up. ‘He needs to be finished off…’ she said. ‘Once cats get a shock like that, it’s the end of them…’
Before she knew what she was doing, Kitty was trying to wrestle Romeo off Maureen, but Maureen, being a foot taller, held little Romeo up in the air, like Simba. ‘David, keep her down!’ shouted Maureen. ‘I know what I’m doing. We had thousands of cats when I was young.’
Dave had his arms around Kitty, pulling her away from poor Romeo.
‘Maureen, please! Dave, no!’ Kitty wriggled out of his hands, crying. ‘Please, just give him back… just give him back and let me look after him.’
‘But the vets are extortionate and you and David need to mind your pennies for the wedding.’
‘It’s fine… it’s fine…’ Kitty knew there would be no wedding, but now she had Romeo in her arms again, her only plan was to get Maureen and Dave away from her. They were whispering together in the hall.
‘Sorry, Romeo,’ said Kitty. ‘Sorry for that undignified moment.’ She began to cry again and her foot brushed over what she thought was a rat and she nearly shrieked, but it was Maureen’s horrible slipper which had fallen off Dave’s foot.
There was another knock at her door, and she heard Maureen answer it. ‘Yes?’ Kitty heard her say. ‘No, Kitty is not at home… Or rather,’ continued Maureen, imperiously, ‘she is indisposed. Whom may I say has called?’
Kitty went into the hall. It was Billy.
‘It’s your auntie Annie,’ he said. ‘She’s in hospital and it’s… well, it’s not good. Your mother couldn’t contact you and she asked me to call in. I can bring you in if you like?’