Scarlet Feather (22 page)

Cathy’s mother came in at that point. ‘We’d all like Mr and Mrs Mitchell of The Beeches to be well in themselves and run their own home again, but until that point Simon and Maud are very welcome here,’ she said looking around her, ‘and I hope that everyone here knows that.’

‘I’m sorry Mam,’ Cathy said later.

‘Sure you should be, taking it out on innocent children.’ ‘Lizzie?’ Simon knocked at the kitchen door. This was another great improvement; up to now they had stormed in everywhere.

‘Lizzie, we’d like to do the dancing please,’ he asked. ‘It might not be possible, child.
She
might not like it.’ ‘She doesn’t know us yet,’ Simon complained. ‘She can’t hate us already.’

‘She surely can’t take against us without meeting us,’ Maud protested.

‘No, we’re not talking about Marian, Mam is talking about your aunt Hannah, aren’t you, Mam?’

‘Well I was, Cathy but not here, not like this, not in front of, can’t you wait until… ?’

‘It’s all right,’ Simon reassured her. ‘We know all about Aunt Hannah, we know that Cathy hates her.’

‘I don’t any more,’ Cathy said. ‘I quite like her. I had lunch with her today, as it happens.’

‘You never did.’

‘I did indeed. We went to Quentin’s.’

‘But why?’

‘Search me, Ma, but it had something to do with cutting my hair.’

‘I wish you’d be serious for a moment.’ Cathy’s mother beckoned her out to the scullery to get away from the twins.

‘Is there any word on the children?’ she whispered.

‘She never mentioned them once,’ Cathy said cheerfully, well aware that Simon and Maud had crept towards the door to listen.

‘But talking about Marian,’ Cathy continued, ‘I think in a way I’m glad she wants child dancers. She might well go for it, she seems to be having the full works from what I hear. Fireworks, jugglers, lions and tigers.’

The children’s faces lit up. ‘Tigers at the wedding! Isn’t that
great
,’ said Simon. Again Cathy remembered too late her resolution not to be ironic in front of the children.

I had lunch with your mother today,’ Cathy said that evening when she got into Waterview.

‘Oh, good.’ Neil didn’t look up from his papers.

‘Aren’t you surprised?’

He was still reading a whole sheaf of something, but at her tone he looked up and kept his ringer on the paper so that he wouldn’t lose his place. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘It’s not a usual occurrence. I thought you’d wonder why.’

‘Well, why then?’

‘Don’t know.’ Cathy shrugged.

‘Listen Cathy, you told me you had to work out a silver wedding menu and a Spanish buffet tonight, so I took all this stuff home…’

‘What stuff? Is this about Africa?’

‘No, of course not, I told you that all that about the job was on hold until we had time to talk about it seriously.’

‘So?’

‘So you said you were working, and I’ve two things to do here. I told them I’d get this paper together on a writer.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No, don’t be like that.’

I
am
sorry, you’re quite right, I did say that…’

She meant it, she wasn’t even sulking. They did tell each other in advance what their plans for the evening were. He was justified in being put out. Yet this was so huge a fact she had just told him, and he wasn’t even mildly interested. His own mother, who had waged war on her for years, had invited her to Quentin’s for God’s sake. Neil had not even registered it.

‘No, I’m sorry I was a bit short with you… It’s not just the unfortunate Nigerian writer. There’s another bloody complicated thing, and we’ll be in court over it tomorrow. I’m for the tenant who broke his back on a faulty stairway, and the landlords will have a top team saying they did all the proper repairs. Problem is, my fellow talks and looks like a gangster, and the landlord is mild and articulate and concerned, so it’s all stacked against my client. I have to look up and list all these decisions…’

Cathy held up her hands. She really was contrite. ‘I’m going out, anyway. I just came in to leave the shopping. I’ll be back in a couple of hours and we’ll have supper.’

‘You don’t have to, honey,’ he said.

‘I do,’ she said, and she was gone.

Cathy hadn’t intended to go out, she had planned to have a long bath and then sit down and go through some files and cookery books to think up dishes in a leisurely way. She had even thought about making a paella to rehearse for the Spanish buffet, but she knew the mood was wrong. Neil would just think she was killing time waiting until he was free. Better to pretend to be busy and go out. But where?

She couldn’t go to Tom’s; he and Marcella were going to the theatre tonight, a possible photo opportunity for Marcella since it was a first night. Cathy drove to Glenstar apartments and dialled Geraldine on the mobile phone from the van. The answering machine was on. Stupid to have come all this way without ringing first, Cathy thought, and then by chance she looked up at her aunt’s flat and saw the curtains being drawn. There were two figures in the room. Geraldine was entertaining someone. A man. She was just about to pull out of the parking bay when she saw someone waving. It was Shona Burke from Haywards.

‘I saw your van… Well, who could miss it?’ Shona laughed. ‘Do you want to come in for coffee?’

Cathy looked around as Shona got out the coffee machine. Similar to her aunt’s flat, but not nearly as big and totally different furnishings. A lot of brightly coloured rugs and embroidered cushions. There were no family pictures on the wall, two shelves of books on management and business, a small, neat music centre and no television set. Cathy wondered what kind of people Shona entertained here, and how she could afford the rent or the mortgage. These apartments were not cheap. Of course Shona had a very good job at Haywards. Still. Perhaps she came from rich people. Shona Burke would never tell. She was very adroit at taking the conversation away from herself.

‘You’re very far away,’ Shona said coming back to join her.

‘I was thinking about Maud and Simon,’ Cathy lied.

‘Who are they?’

‘Neil’s nephew and niece. We appear to have adopted them, my mother and I.’ She laughed a little grimly and explained the background. To her surprise Shona didn’t find any of it funny or endearing. Nor did she shrug at the hopeless inevitability of it all and praise them like other people did. She just listened, with no expression at all on her face.

‘So that’s it,’ Cathy finished. ‘Neil and his father got some kind of order, oh, I don’t know exactly what, but it’s about releasing money from trust funds, and some of that goes to my mam and dad, and I suppose some even comes to us if we need it.’

‘And what about their social worker?’

‘She’s happy enough with the set-up, she knows they’re well looked-after. The mother isn’t getting any better, and the father isn’t showing any signs of coming back home. We’re holding the fort.’

‘It’s terribly unfair on the children,’ Shona said.

‘Life’s unfair, Shona. Of course I’d prefer them to have a nice Mummy and a nice Daddy who knew who they were, and who read them bedtime stories and cared for them, but they don’t, so we have to pick up the pieces.’

‘And then they go back to hopeless Mummy and Daddy, and what then?’ Shona asked.

I wish I knew, but if I were Tom Feather I would say miracles happen, because he genuinely believes they do,’ Cathy said wistfully.

Cathy drove home with a sense of depression that she couldn’t quite shake off. She didn’t know why it was there. She was not annoyed with Neil for being somewhat brisk with her – he was perfectly right, she
had
said she would be working. Her mother-in-law’s crass criticisms hadn’t the power to get beneath her skin any more, it wasn’t that. Her own mother’s craven humility was something Cathy had lived with for ever, this was nothing new. They had always
known
that Maud and Simon would have to go into care, that wasn’t any great shock. Scarlet Feather was doing well these days, with lots of things booked ahead. Its books would look healthy enough at the end of this month to make James Byrne feel reasonably calm. Whatever it was it wouldn’t lift.

At traffic lights on her way back to Waterview, Cathy was startled as two very dishevelled-looking people knocked urgently at her window. A man and a woman in their thirties, with empty eyes. Her first instinctive act was to make sure her door was locked. They looked rough and aggressive. Neil Mitchell would probably have pulled into the side and asked them what had happened. Tom Feather would have given them the price of a meal, and convinced them that good times were around the corner. Cathy felt ashamed that all she wanted was for the traffic lights to change and that she could be away out of there, away from their haunted, disturbed faces. She could hear them calling out. ‘You have a good life, you have everything you want, please,
please
.’ The lights were for ever red. She told herself that the social services were good these days, those people did not
have
to beg in the streets. There were centres, hostels, rescue teams on the streets. These must be winos, drunks or druggies. She must stare straight ahead as if she didn’t see them, if she opened the window it could be dangerous. ‘Please,’ she heard the woman cry, ‘you’ve got everything, a lovely van with a picture on it, a home to go to, just give us something.’ It was the van with the picture on it that softened her heart. Cathy indicated and pulled to the side of the street. Out of her bag she took a ten-pound note. She opened the window a fraction and handed it to them. They looked at her in disbelief. It was five times what they might have hoped for. The woman looked younger close up, maybe younger than Cathy, her hair was matted and her face dirty.

‘You deserve all your good luck, missus,’ she said eventually.

I don’t,’ Cathy said, grimly thinking, ‘Nobody
deserves
good luck, it’s just handed out. Very unfair, as a matter of fact.’ The lights changed and she drove on. It was all such an accident, every bit of it when you stopped to think. Why was that girl standing there in the rain begging from cars at the traffic lights? Why was she, Cathy, driving a van with a picture on it to an expensive town house in Waterview? Why were Simon and Maud going to have to live with strangers? None of it made any sense at all. When she let herself into the house Cathy found a folded note. Her heart sank. He couldn’t have been called out
again
. This was a workman’s compensation case, for heaven’s sake, not a political prisoner matter. She opened it and read: ‘Sorry Cathy – back eleven-ish, don’t wait up.’ She didn’t.

Tom said that the whole trick for the estate agents’ reception was setting up the Spanish atmosphere. Cathy said that was all very well certainly, but they must have a whole range of tapas to start. Followed by a knockout paella with all the right flavours. Tom was so busy chasing up Spanish hats, castanets, a guitarist and a flamenco dancer that he never seemed to have time to discuss the menus. Cathy worked out that they should have two paellas, one with shellfish and one less authentic one without. She knew how much the estate agents would love to see Marcella Malone moving among them, but she didn’t even think of suggesting it to Tom. Instead, June was given instructions about hiring a Spanish outfit and learning to say ‘arriba’ at appropriate times. Cathy wanted little labels on the individual plates of tapas showing how typically Spanish they were; Tom begged her to believe that all they wanted was the feel that they were actually in Spain already which the sangria, Rioja and the click of the castanets would give them. They were showing off to potential clients and the press. But she wanted it to be right, there would be
some
people there, surely, who would know and recognise the real thing.

‘Would it be educational for us to go to it, do you think?’ Simon wondered the night before.

‘No,’ said Cathy briefly, and saw their two disappointed faces. ‘Thank you for suggesting it, but actually it would be boring and depressing for you. Have I ever told you a lie?’

They paused to consider this question. ‘No,’ they said at exactly the same time. ‘Will there be leftovers, do you think?’

‘Not at St Jarlath’s tomorrow, Maud. Your aunt Hannah is coming to Waterview tomorrow, tomorrow night, to supper with Neil and myself.’

‘Are you going to poison her?’ Simon asked.

‘Of course not, I’m going to serve her and your uncle Jock some delicious Spanish food and try and make my hair look good.’

‘Why would she want to see your hair?’ Maud asked.

‘Believe me, Maud, I’m not sure, but she does, and often when people want things that are quite easy it’s probably best to do them, it saves trouble in the long run.’

‘Where did you learn that… Was it at school?’ Maud wondered.

‘No, my aunt Geraldine told me, years ago. It’s a very useful piece of advice.’

The estate agents loved the lunch. None of them mentioned the food; they all talked about the atmosphere.

‘Right again, Tom,’ Cathy said, genuinely admiring. He got things so right, he had known all along they were selling the mood, not the gourmet dishes of Spain. A lot of these people wouldn’t even venture into proper Spanish food when they bought their villas out there.

‘They needed good food as a back-up. If it hadn’t been as good as it was, we would have heard the complaints,’ he reassured her as they packed up the leftovers. Some were going to Fatima, where Tom’s father, now home from hospital was well on the mend. There had been a huge basket of fruit delivered there, courtesy of Joe who was still in the Far East. Tom didn’t say much about it, but Cathy knew he was very pleased. Cathy was packing two separate boxes, a small one for the twins who would be hoping for something, and another to provide most of the meal tonight when the Mitchells were coming to Waterview. Please may Neil not be late again. Please may Jock not know any of the estate agents here today who might have mentioned they were at a Spanish lunch. And please may Hannah Mitchell not get into a temper because she hadn’t used the hair voucher.

The Mitchells were in good time, and of course Neil wasn’t home. Cathy had laid out little dishes of black olives.