Kitty

Chapter 5

Kitty pressed her face close to the keypad and punched in the door code for Angus’s halls of residence, a rather uninspiring concrete block on the edge of the campus. The grey clouds overhead, threatening rain, did nothing to enhance its attractiveness. Despite the lack of electronic whirr that usually preceded entry, she tried the door anyway, pulling and then pushing the door handle, but it was stuck fast.

‘Damn,’ she muttered, aware that she was not supposed to be on campus without visiting permission, should not have been trying to gain access to the building without a resident present and should definitely not be in possession of the entry code. There was of course the possibility that her nervous haste had caused an error, so she tried again, slowly this time, pushing each number and pausing before trying the door again. Nothing. At least now that was one rule she wasn’t breaking, as she appeared not to have the code.

Standing back, she placed her hand sideways on her forehead to shield the sun and peered up at Angus’s window, wondering whether or not to risk throwing a stone at it to get his attention. She instantly decided not to – knowing her luck, the stone would break the window and she’d have to face the wrath of the infamous warden. It was impossible from that angle to tell if Angus was in or out, so she continued to stand a while, pondering what to do.

As she did so, Maxine, a girl who lived along the corridor from Angus, loped up the path, earphones plugged into her Walkman, singing the recent Mr Mister hit quietly to herself. Kitty hated the song; it was all about broken wings and learning to flying again, and it always reminded her of her mum’s illness. She lived in fear of her mum’s wings having suffered permanent damage and getting more broken every time she went through one of her bad periods. Each time her mum’s mind wandered, it seemed to take her further away; this made coming back to normality even harder, with more and more ground to recover. Kitty worried that one day she might not bother, that she might simply stay high above the clouds, drifting for eternity.

Maxine smiled and waved and unhooked her earphones. ‘Oh hi! You’re Angus’s friend.’

‘Yes.’ Kitty swallowed, glad that Maxine had remembered her but feeling so inadequate standing next to this cool, nonchalant girl that she felt compelled to set her straight on their relationship status. ‘His girlfriend, actually.’ She smiled.

A flicker of surprise crossed Maxine’s brow, and Kitty’s confidence crumbled. I know, I know… Why would someone as gorgeous as Angus pick someone like me? If she’d had the nerve, she would have rammed the point home and told Maxine that they’d been going out since she was fourteen, having sex since she was fifteen… That’s four years we’ve been together! Four whole years. Instead, she just stood there with a nervous smile on her face.

Maxine nodded and spoke quickly. ‘Well, I can let you in, of course. I’ve no idea where he is.’

Kitty gratefully followed her inside, walking up the cold concrete stairs behind her, trying not to focus on her rounded hips and shapely bum. How she hated her own flat, boyish frame.

Don’t be daft, Kitty. It’s you he has sex with. You he loves.

It was a relief to find the door to his room unlocked. She crept inside, hating feeling so exposed as she trespassed in the corridor. One quick glance was enough to confirm that Angus was elsewhere. Flopping down on his immaculately made bed, she inhaled the strong scent of his favourite cologne, Armani Pour Homme, which clung to the bed linen, relishing the prospect of their reunion. They didn’t get to see each other very often, with her being at college in London and him at university here in Birmingham. Her eyes swept over the neat desk, where pens and pencils sat in a grey mesh pot and lever-arch files were lined up uniformly on the single shelf; even his T-shirts were folded with precision and placed in order of colour on top of the linen hamper in the corner. She smiled at the evidence of his tidiness obsession. It was quite the opposite of how she liked to live, surrounded by the soft comfort of clutter. Having been raised among the cosy disorder of Darraghfield, she couldn’t imagine doing things any other way.

A large cork board covered a chunk of the free wall and on it her boyfriend had pinned his timetable, a couple of pamphlets, one of which detailed the sports hall opening hours, and a notice about a proposed ski trip in the new year. The rest of the space was filled with photographs, neatly and evenly spaced, of course, with colour-co-ordinated thumbtacks holding each corner. The goofy faces of Hamish and Ruraigh grinned at her from behind the large salmon that rested against their upturned palms. That had been quite a day. The one photograph of her he had selected showed her deep in concentration, curled into the wide armchair in the library at home and caught from the side unawares while she pored over a book with her finger in her mouth, her hair falling across her face. It was in black and white and she liked it; she looked older somehow, and a bit aloof, both of which she saw as desirable traits.

She knew Angus had lectures today, but he was expecting her anyway. She decided to be bold and, shedding her clothes, she slipped between the crisp white sheets on his narrow bed, her intention being to maintain a sultry pose ready for when he returned. Instead, she fell asleep and was first aware of his presence when he bent down and gently kissed her forehead.

‘Hello, you!’ He laughed his greeting.

Kitty smiled at her boyfriend and peeled back the duvet to reveal her naked form. After any time apart like this, she always found it hard to relax until they’d had sex. It was as if the anticipation of doing it sat between them like an obstacle, making conversation stilted, unnatural.

‘Well, it’s a bloody good job I didn’t bring the lads back here!’ He snickered, ridding himself of his trainers, jeans and rugby shirt with haste and diving onto the mattress.

She loved the warm feeling of his arms around her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered.

‘And I missed you,’ he replied, before kissing her roughly and pushing her back onto the pillows.

It was as Angus slept that Kitty turned over in the narrow space and found her attention caught by something. She pushed away the copy of The Grapes of Wrath that sat on the nightstand and saw a cassette tape. Carefully, she reached over and held it up to her face, reading: Mixtape by TP . Turning it over, she studied the list of songs that had been painstakingly written in neat, tiny script: Level 42 ‘Something About You’, Animotion ‘Obsession’, Fine Young Cannibals ‘Johnny Come Home’, Tears for Fears ‘Shout…’

‘What are you doing?’ Angus asked suddenly, his eyes wide, making her start. His accusatory tone made it seem as if she’d been discovered snooping, which sparked a rumble of disquiet in her gut.

‘I… I found this.’ She sat up, holding the tape in the air with one hand and the duvet over her chest with the other. With her thoughts running wild, she instinctively felt the need to hide part of herself.

‘It’s got some good songs,’ he offered nonchalantly, before lying flat on his back with his arms forming a bony triangular pillow behind his head.

‘Good songs?’ She hated the distrustful rise to her voice. ‘Who is TP?’

Angus twisted his head to look at her, his brows knitted in confusion, her attitude clearly surprising to him. ‘It’s Thomas on my course. He’s a proper muso and I’m rubbish with all that stuff – that’s what seven years of boarding school does to you.’ He chuckled. ‘While I was running around the playing fields at Vaizey trying to keep up with Ruraigh, he was hitting the clubs of Manchester. He knows so much about music, keeps trying to drag me to all these alternative gay clubs – he’s gay, obviously. You should have a listen. Honestly, Kitty, some of it’s really good.’

She felt the instant spread of embarrassment over her neck and chest. ‘Oh God! No!’ She slapped her palm against her forehead. ‘I’m a jealous girlfriend! Angus, no! I never wanted to be one of those! And yet here I am with my heart racing and I feel like crying over a bloody tape!’

Angus laughed and reached for her wrist, pulling her down towards him. ‘I love that you’re a bit jealous. It means you care. But trust me, Kitty, if some other girl had given me a mixtape, I would hardly have left it there for you to see, would I?’

‘I know! I know!’ She bit her lip, embarrassed. ‘I do care, but I don’t want to be that person! God, I was even looking at Maxine earlier, wishing I had her boobs and her hips.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ He laughed. ‘There is no need, Kitty. We are strong, you and I. We’ve got history.’

Taking solace from his words, she placed the tape back on the nightstand and picked at a thread on the duvet. ‘Yes, we have.’ She loved that he was sophisticated and urbane, loved that he was so different from her outdoorsy cousins. It made her feel special, cool. Imagine getting Ruraigh or Hamish onto the dance floor at a gay club! The very idea made her smile. ‘But I find it hard with you being up here at uni and me down in London. I just wish I could see you more.’

‘I know. Me too. But we have to trust each other. As far as I’m concerned, that’s an absolute given, and there’s no grey area – we either do or we don’t, that’s it.’ He held up his hands.

She bit her lip, hating the question that formed on her mouth. ‘I do trust you, I think. I want to, certainly,’ she mumbled. ‘But can I ask you one question and I promise I won’t ever ask it again.’

Angus sighed, and she could tell by his expression he’d hoped the topic was closed. ‘Of course.’ He coughed and sat up; the two now faced each other.

‘Have you slept with other girls? Or even come close to it? Truthfully, Angus.’ She cursed the quiver of tears.

He gripped the top of her arms and stared into her eyes. ‘I swear to you, Kitty Dalkeith Montrose, that I have not.’

Relief flooded through her and she fell into him. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s no need for sorry, but you don’t have to ask and you don’t have to worry.’ He kissed her nose.

‘Even though we’ve been together so long now,’ she whispered into his chest, ‘I guess… I still can’t quite believe that someone like you wants to be with someone like me.’ Kitty knew that a small part of her would always feel like the girl Ruraigh and Hamish thought was boring, the daughter her mum chose to hide from, and the girl her adoring dad had nonetheless sent away to Vaizey College.

Angus gave a wry laugh. ‘It’s me that’s the lucky one! I think that every day.’

‘I might believe you one day,’ she mumbled through her smile.

Angus looked up towards the corner of the room, as if this was where the answer to her insecurity might lie. Carefully, he pulled back the duvet and crept from the end of the bed. She watched, wondering where he was off to, as he walked around to the side of the bed and dropped down onto the floor. She laid her head on the pillow so their faces were level and he smoothed the hair from her face, toying with the ends.

‘Let’s get married.’

‘What?’ She giggled, needing to have it repeated to make sure she hadn’t imagined or misheard his words.

This time he spoke slowly. ‘We should get married, Kitty. Not immediately, but when you finish your course. In two or three years. Let’s agree to it and then you’ll know for certain that no matter how far apart we are, you are mine and we have a future together. Not just any future, but a wonderful future!’

‘Are you being serious right now?’ she asked hoarsely, her throat tight with emotion.

‘I’ve never been more serious about anything in my whole life.’

‘Oh my God, Angus! I would love to marry you!’

He leant forward and kissed her sweetly, and her heart soared.

‘Where would we get married?’ she asked, already getting wrapped up in the detail, already starting to believe that this might actually be real.

‘I was thinking somewhere quiet, a registry office maybe…’ He let this trail and she tried not to let the disappointment show in her face. Angus laughed loudly. ‘As if! Oh, Kitty, your face…! No, my darling, there’s only one place – Darraghfield, of course.’

It was this small detail, his understanding of just how much it would mean to her to get married at home, which caused her tears to break their banks. Darraghfield… Of course, that would be perfect. She allowed a picture to form in her mind of her dad in his kilt, Ruraigh and Hamish raising a toast, and her mum smiling on her special day. Maybe she could even decorate the stairs and bannisters with garlands like she used to for Christmas. It would look spectacular. Only someone who truly loved her would know how important it was for her to marry at her family home.

‘I love you so much, Angus.’ She grabbed him and pulled him close, covering his face with kisses and holding on to him tightly, as if he was the anchor that gave her strength, stability.

‘How lucky am I?’ He kissed her again.

‘I shall be Mrs Thompson.’

‘You will.’ He beamed. ‘We shall live in London and I’ll work in the City and we’ll have a swimming pool for you to swim in every day and I will make you happy! I promise, Kitty, I will make you happy.’

She nodded, more than certain of this fact.

The next day she took the train back to London with a movie rolling in her mind of her wedding day. She had to stop herself shouting out in excitement, suspecting that everyone else in the carriage thought she was just an ordinary girl, but she wasn’t, she was a girl that a boy like Angus Thompson wanted to marry! The knowledge that she was engaged, even if only informally, was far from scary – quite the opposite, in fact. She felt settled, as if she could finally exhale and relax, knowing that Angus wanted her for always. It felt wonderful.

‘Mrs Thompson…’ she muttered under her breath, before pulling out her jotter and pen and practising her signature – K Thompson. Kitty Dalkeith Thompson. Mrs Angus Thompson – over and over again. It was an odd thing, but at that moment she remembered being at school and sitting next to Theo one day in class and writing Kitty Dalkeith Montrose Montgomery in the back of her file, just to see what it might look like. Funny she should think of it now.

*

As the taxi bumped along the lane, Kitty glanced across the back seat at Angus. He, as ever, was neat and unflustered and looked fresh and composed. ‘I don’t think anything ever ruffles you,’ she said. ‘You’re always calm.’

‘On the outside, maybe.’ He grinned. ‘But, trust me, the prospect of breaking the news to big Stephen that I’m going to make an honest woman of his only daughter… well, I can assure you, that’s playing all kinds of tricks with my stomach.’ He pulled a sicky face.

‘You don’t have to worry – he already loves you, and all he’ll be concerned about is that you love me.’

‘And I do.’ He nodded.

‘You don’t say it.’

‘What?’

Kitty licked her lips and chose her words carefully. The last thing she wanted was to be arriving at Darraghfield with the fog of a row hanging around them. ‘You tell me I am loved, but you never say, “I love you” – not those three little words.’

Angus shifted in his seat. ‘I don’t see the difference.’ He lifted his chin and looked out of the window, and her heart raced. She had expected him to immediately say it back to her or at least deny that he never said it. His cool dismissal caused a small void to form in the base of her stomach; she hoped she could fill it before they waltzed up the aisle together.

As the taxi rounded the bend and her family home came into sight, her face broke into a smile. She reached into her handbag to pay the driver. Angus patted her arm. ‘Just a mo,’ she replied, mildly irritated. Whatever it was he wanted could surely wait.

‘Kitty!’

Again she ignored him, ferreting inside the cavernous soft leather pouch for her purse. ‘Just a sec, please, Angus! You can see I’m trying to pay the man.’

‘For the love of God…’ He raised his voice. ‘Will you just look up!’

She regretted the actual huff that came through her nose as she turned her head towards the front lawn.

Her breath caught in her throat and her tears pooled instantly. ‘Oh!’ she managed, swiping her tears from her cheeks and smiling through her jumble of thoughts.

She’s come home! The monster has gone away, and my mumma has come home.

Fenella Montrose was standing on the grass in jeans, wellington boots and an old sweatshirt that Kitty thought she’d thrown out years ago. Her hair was neat, clean and pulled into a loose ponytail, and she was bending forward with a wide rake in her hand, pulling bundles of shiny copper-coloured leaves into fat parcels before depositing them into the waiting wheelbarrow. There were only a few seconds before her mum spotted them, but Kitty quickly took in the glow to her mum’s rounded cheeks and the contours of her bust, which had all but returned. Most heartening was how fast she was moving; gone was the floating grey spectre of a woman who was barely present. The thing that brought Kitty the most joy was her mum’s expression; the fear had disappeared from behind her eyes, the wrinkles of distress and confusion on her brow had smoothed, and she smiled as she worked, as if all was right with her world.

Kitty stepped from the cab and made her way slowly around the car and towards her mum. Fenella laid down her rake and the two women stared at each other, each revelling in the familiar image of the person they loved and the person they had missed so very much. Fenella broke into a little trot and wrapped her girl in her arms, holding her tightly; gone was the fragility that meant Kitty held back, instead she felt the wonderful shape of her mum against her chest.

It was some seconds before Kitty spoke the words that, unrehearsed, came naturally. ‘I’ve missed you.’

The sound of her mum’s quiet sob was enough to trigger her own.

‘I’ve missed you too. And I’ve missed me and I’ve missed Daddy. I’ve missed a lot.’

Kitty pulled away, still happy to look at her mum in her returned state.?‘But you are feeling better?’?She hardly dared ask.

Fenella nodded. ‘I am. I don’t really know why, but a few weeks ago I just woke up feeling different. I didn’t want Dad to tell you, in case it was a false dawn – there’ve been a couple – but here I am today! Not a hundred per cent, but miles away from where I was.’ She smiled.

Timbuktu – a long, long way away.

‘Now, how about a cup of tea? Marjorie has made cake of course.’ Her mum half covered her mouth and spoke sideways. ‘She might not remember where she left it, but she definitely made one.’ Fenella pulled a face. ‘Come on, Angus, bring the bag!’

Kitty was happy to let her mum direct proceedings, her assertiveness reminiscent of the mum she’d known as a child. The two linked arms and made their way inside.

The house looked the same but felt different, or maybe it was simply reflecting the happiness of its inhabitants. Even Champ had a new waggle to his tail and extra mischievousness in his scamper. Marjorie seemed a little conflicted by the reappearance of her employer in the kitchen, which until a couple of weeks ago had been solely her domain. Kitty understood that it couldn’t have been easy: Marjorie had been the object of her mum’s paranoia for no good reason and now there they were, standing side by side at the sink. It was her dad, however, who fascinated Kitty. He looked younger. He looked happy. He stared at his wife continually, with a smile hovering on his lips. He monitored her every move, pulling out chairs, placing down cups and removing potential obstacles, as though she were a visiting queen made of glass and he was responsible for keeping her intact. His expression was one of disbelief, as if he was afraid that if he looked away, she might disappear altogether.

‘Your journalism course sounds wonderful,’ her mum called over her shoulder as she poured tea. ‘I picture you like a modern-day Lois Lane, running everywhere with your notepad, hunting out a scoop!’

They all laughed – this was the old Fenella.

‘It is wonderful, but I’m not quite at the Lois Lane scoop-hunting level yet.’ She smiled at this image of herself. ‘You know I’ve always loved writing, but learning how to make everything succinct yet informative, which is the difference, I guess, between producing prose and producing copy – I’m really enjoying that.’

‘You always used to write diaries!’ her mum remembered.

‘I did, and I still do, actually, but not as frequently. I only write down the really important stuff. I read some of them recently – they’re quite dull!’

‘Oh, I’m sure – you have the dullest life!’ her mum joked, before instantly looking soulful, as if aware that large parts of her Kitty’s life had been marred by her own illness. That was not something Fenella would want diarised; it would make less than pleasant reading and she knew would have been even harder for her child to write down.

‘So, Angus…’ Stephen patted him on the back, changing the subject, as was his skill. ‘Kitty tells me you have a job lined up after graduation?’

‘Yes, in the City. Derivatives.’

‘Good. Good. Splendid.’ Her dad nodded and she could tell by his lack of further enquiry that, like her, he didn’t have a clue what that actually meant. ‘And have you seen the boys?’ He was always eager to hear any snippets about the nephews he loved as his own.

‘Yes, Hamish and I met for a beer before the match at Twickenham. He was on good form, but then, as tradition dictates, he went to sit with the Blues and I stayed with the Whites.’

Stephen laughed loudly and banged the tabletop. Champ pricked up his ears. ‘Shame on you, Angus! We’ll make a Scot of you yet.’

‘And I’m happy to report that both boys are going to be in France at the same time as me in the new year for a ski trip. We’re off to Val d’Isère.’

‘Oh, smashing!’ Her dad seemed glad to hear they were doing nice things; she suspected he lived vicariously through the hijinks of the boys.

‘Would you like to come too, Stephen?’ Angus asked with a steady voice.

‘Skiing? In France? With you boys?’ Her dad looked towards his wife, and Kitty could see that no matter how flattered he might have been by the invitation, the thought of leaving her was inconceivable. ‘If it was the Cairngorms, I might be tempted, but all the way over to France…? I think I’ll have to pass and wait to hear what shenanigans you all get up to when you get back; I doubt I could keep up with you young bucks, but thanks for asking me.’

‘It’s more than just a ski trip, actually.’ Angus coughed.

Kitty felt the flutter of nerves, unsure of what might come next but knowing where he was heading.

‘It’s to celebrate our engagement.’ He beamed. ‘At least, I hope that’ll be the case – if you give your blessing for me to marry Kitty. If not, it’ll be a rather drunken holiday to commiserate!’

‘Really?’ Her dad grinned.

Angus nodded, a little sheepish.

‘Kitty! Oh my word!’ Her mum abandoned the tea-making and rushed over to embrace her daughter before moving along the table and holding her future son-in-law in a tight squeeze. It warmed Kitty’s heart to see her fiancé’s head squashed against her mum’s cheek – a lovely, unabashed act of closeness.

‘I don’t think it’s my blessing you need, son. It’s Kitty’s,’ her dad said while reaching for the handkerchief secreted in his trouser pocket. ‘Are you happy, Kitty?’ he asked with a warble to his voice.

She nodded and looked at her parents a little shyly. It was such a grown-up thing. ‘Yes, Dad, I’m really happy.’

He reached across the table and shook Angus’s hand warmly in both of his, seemingly at a loss for words.

‘Do you have a ring?’ her mum asked.

Kitty shook her head. ‘Not yet.’ She saw the knowing look exchanged between her parents. ‘Angus wants me to have his grandmother’s ring, so we’ll collect it when we go to his parents’.’

‘Have you not met them yet?’ Fenella asked.

‘Not yet.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m nervous.’ She had to admit it was odd that after four years together she still hadn’t been introduced to Angus’s mum and dad. Early on, she’d tried to press him on the subject, wanting to find out more about his childhood, but he wouldn’t be drawn. He was dutiful when it came to phoning them every week, but to Kitty their conversations sounded stilted and overly polite, and she soon gave up listening in.

‘And I told you there’s no need,’ Angus chipped in, his eyes twinkling at Kitty. ‘What’s not to love about you?’

Stephen smiled at the boy who was clearly echoing his own thoughts.

‘I think a cream dress might be nice.’ Kitty shrugged her shoulders with excitement. ‘I’d like a full skirt and puffy sleeves.’

The sound of sniffling came from the range. ‘Cream? What a suggestion! You’ll be wanting white, surely!’

Kitty jumped up and went to hug Marjorie. ‘Or maybe white, yes,’ she said in a conciliatory tone.

‘Oh, ignore me – you usually do! I mean, if you had ever listened to me, you wouldn’t be walking around with one wonky arm, would you now? Instead of gallivantin’ off, you’d have had a quiet night in front of the telly with a round of toast on your lap and that would have been that. But instead we ended up in the hospital!’

‘Oh, Marjorie!’ Fenella called out affectionately as they all remembered that terrible night more than ten years back.

‘And of course, Marjorie, it wouldn’t be my weddin’ without you making ma cake.’

‘Your wedding cake?’ she asked with a tremble to her lip.

‘Well, who else would I ask?’ She kissed the old woman on her florid cheek.

‘I’m not sure how well it’ll travel…’ Marjorie let this hang.

Both Kitty’s parents seemed to hold their breath, waiting to hear where their daughter had chosen to celebrate her big day.

‘It’ll only need to go to the barn – I’m getting married here, of course!’

Kitty would never forget her mum’s expression, which lit up her face as she beamed with happiness. Her dad wept openly, suddenly quite overcome with emotion, and Marjorie seemed to grow a couple of feet in height, proud beyond words that it was she who’d been asked to make the cake.

*