Kitty

Moving Home

Moving Home

Kitty turned the radio down. The box of photographs sitting on top of her duvet caught her eye. One in particular, which she recognised from no more than the glimpse of a blue, blue sky, captured by her dad’s steady hand. She sat on the bed and pulled the picture from the box, gently wiping the dust from it with her fingertips. It had been taken during her engagement on a trip home, a long time ago. She remembered the exact moment: her dad calling from the grass, knees bent, jacket splayed, camera raised. ‘Say “cheese”!’ he’d called and they’d done just that, heads together, laughing into the lens with the sun shining down on them and a wide smile lighting up her face.

Kitty remembered the feeling of happiness that had filled her right up, her joy not only at a lovely day spent with those she loved, but at all the wonderful things they had to look forward to. She lifted the photographs from the box and placed that one at the bottom, covering it over with the others.

‘Yes, it’s true,’ she said into the ether, recalling her conversation with Sophie earlier, ‘I do wish I’d had more courage at times. I wish I had listened to my instincts…’

She made her way down the stairs. The morning sun shone through the rear French windows and Kitty decided to make a list of all the jobs she needed to get done today, otherwise she would see time disappearing and night falling, leaving her behind schedule. As she reached into her handbag for her notepad and favourite list pen, the phone in the kitchen rang.

She looked around her. With the walls stripped of pictures, she felt a little forlorn, like the room had lost its soul. She pictured cooking the kids’ tea when they came in from school and popping their little plates laden with fish fingers, chips and peas on the table while they burbled about their day. She sighed at the memory.

‘Mum?’

‘Hello, darling.’ She smiled, as she always did at the sound of her daughter’s voice, no matter that she’d seen her only a short time ago.

‘Just checking to see how you’re getting on.’

‘Oh, that’s sweet. Fine, thanks. What are you up to?’

‘Greg’s just cooking brunch, aren’t you, darling?’ This, Kitty knew, was intended to let her know that she couldn’t talk freely.

‘I see!’ Kitty laughed. ‘I hope you’ve got some antacid in the bathroom cabinet.’

Sophie chuckled.

‘God knows, I love the boy…’ Kitty grinned. ‘And I love how he loves you, but in the wee small hours I sometimes get a flashback to his grapefruit, orange and fish surprise. And the surprise is that even though the whole horrible event happened well over a year ago, I could still throw up at the memory.’

‘Uh-huh! Oh, I know what you mean!’ Sophie answered disingenuously. Greg was obviously still within earshot.

‘I still can’t believe he didn’t think it would be a problem leaving a scoop of prawns and two whacking great cod fillets in his hot rucksack all day and then cooking them that night.’ Kitty swallowed. ‘It still makes me queasy!’

Sophie roared her laughter and changed the subject. ‘I told Greg you would probably still be looking at photographs and dawdling. I predicted you would be curled on your bed not realising that an hour or so had slipped by, or that you’d be in the kitchen foraging for coffee.’

‘And you would be right.’ She smiled. ‘I was just looking at a photo of Angus and me, my dad took it up at Darraghfield.’

‘How did that feel?’

‘Odd, I suppose.’

‘Did you look happy? Young? I bet you were lovely.’ Kitty could tell Sophie was smiling.

‘Of course I did! I was a baby – we all look lovely when we’re that young, the curse being that we don’t realise it until we look back, and then it’s too late.’

‘Well, aren’t we jolly this morning!’ Sophie laughed.

‘You’re right. Sorry, darling. How’s my gorgeous granddaughter?’

‘Roseanna’s great, Mum. But listen, I don’t want you to sit there feeling all melancholy and reflective – this is a happy time for you, remember? Good things are happening! Really good things!’

Kitty laughed, still stunned by the bubble of excited anticipation in her gut. ‘I do remember, and you know I am fine, truly. But it is strange, packing up the house. There are a lot of memories that I’d swept under rugs and shut away in drawers, so I’m bound to be a bit reflective.’

‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. But don’t forget you need to get packing, there’s not long until the move.’

Kitty shook her head, this role reversal the biggest indicator that she was getting old, even if, at fifty-two, she felt younger than she had in years. That was what happiness did.

‘Speak tomorrow, and enjoy your brunch!’

‘Oh, Mum, my God! He’s just gone back into the kitchen, so I’m whispering. You should see what he’s prepared – I’m trying to be brave, but it’s an egg with some sort of garlic sauce and he’s had yoghurt sitting by the radiator for an hour!’

Kitty’s stomach bunched. ‘Wash it down with strong tea, darling, and mop it up with bread – my two top tips.’

They both giggled as they ended the call. She sat back and thought about the secrets held within a marriage. Sophie unwilling to tell her spouse about his horrendous cooking and she and Angus, nothing so frivolous of course, but secrets nonetheless…