Cat lady, p.7
Cat Lady, page 7
‘That’s good. You’ve got some motivation then. Don’t knock yourself down, that’s good, that really is. Some days my son doesn’t even get out of bed.’ She turns to us all. ‘It’s why I needed Mrs Jones, she made my house feel less sad. Without her around I sort of just wallow with him.’
‘Animals bring joy. Dogs, cats, snakes, hamsters, it doesn’t matter. That’s what pets are all about,’ Tiana says. ‘I once had someone come to this group for six weeks, do you know why?’
There is a quiet chorus of ‘Why?’s.
‘Because his fish died.’
Everyone chuckles, even Martha. Nicole laughs properly, I join her. Greg says, ‘I thought a snake was stupid’ with a smile that changes his entire face. And Ada laughs so loudly that none of us know where to look. Something tells me she was just waiting for an excuse to laugh like that. It’s quite the show.
‘Oooo, I’m sorry,’ she says, opening her eyes and realising everyone is looking at her. ‘Any excuse to laugh these days.’ She eats another biscuit to force her mouth into another position.
‘No grief is stupid, OK?’ Tiana says, using our reactions to make a point. ‘Nothing that any of you are feeling right now is unusual, stupid or unjustified. When a pet dies, no matter what the pet was, how long you had it or what happened, grief is the response and no one should tell you it isn’t real.’
‘I walked out on my job yesterday,’ Greg says, everything from his mind, heart and body opening up. Tiana looks to me as if to say she’s sorry, and it will be my turn soon. I shrug my shoulders, the more time Greg takes up the better for me. ‘One of the lads noticed I’d been cryin’ and took the piss and I got so mad. I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ but I yelled, “My snake died,” and they laughed their ’eads off. So I did what I always fuckin’ do and threw shit. I quit before they sacked me. Now I’m unemployed as well. I’m a fucking joke.’
‘My son is unemployed and he’s not a joke,’ says Ada, like this conversation plays on a loop in her own life. ‘You’re more than your job. You’re more than your anger. You’re more than that snake, no matter how much you loved him.’
‘What was your job?’ asks Nicole, speaking for the first time today.
‘I’m a carpenter,’ Greg says. ‘Only thing I’m good at. Fucked that up as well though, didn’t I?’
‘Sometimes a pet symbolises a person and that’s what makes it so hard when they pass,’ Martha says, raising her head to the highest it’s ever been in here. ‘Bessie was not “just a cat” as so many people say. My husband and I got her together. We never had children. It wasn’t a choice we were able to make, but getting a cat was. Can’t imagine a parent loving a child more.’
Tiana seems energised by Martha opening up but looks at me. ‘Mia, I was going to come to you but …’
‘No, it’s OK,’ I say, suggesting she must follow up with Martha. I don’t want to be in the spotlight, yet the more this group lay their hearts on the line, the more of a fraud I feel.
‘Go on, Martha,’ Tiana prompts.
‘I’ve had two great men in my life.’ She unclasps her hands and sits up straighter. ‘My husband and my father, who was a vet. A lovely man. Back then having your dad as the local vet meant our house was a drop-in centre for all local pets. We had a giant turtle living in our bathtub for a few days. Birds in the wardrobe, snakes in the basement, all sorts.’ Greg even cracks a smile for that, he sits a little taller.
‘But we had our own pets too. A few cats, a budgie and a dog called Wally. Wally was the love of my life when I was a kid, I played with him for hours after school. He used to run off, probably looking for rabbits or squirrels or something. One day he didn’t come back, I was so upset. Weeks went by. I’d sit at the end of the drive and wait but nothing. Dad drove around at night, Mum left food out. After a few weeks a woman called. She said she might have our dog. My dad and I got in the car and went to the address but when she answered the door she was sobbing. She said the dog had been with her for weeks, that she’d wanted to call but couldn’t bring herself to. I was cross, I remember wanting to shout, “Give me my dog,” but my dad was good with people too, he knew something wasn’t right, or that she wasn’t bad or whatever. She asked us to come in. She said her husband was very ill, he’d been so down and nothing cheered him up – not until Wally turned up. She opened a door to a room where a man was sitting on a chair and Wally was lying across him. Wally didn’t even look up at me. The man looked heartbroken as he said, “Is this your dog?” And do you know what my dad said?’
‘I hope he knocked him out for nicking your dog,’ Greg blurts, spitting testosterone all over us all.
‘No. He said, “That isn’t our dog. I hope you feel better soon.” And he took me by the hand and we left.’
‘He gave up your dog?’ Nicole asks, with a faint look of disgust on her face.
‘No,’ Martha says. ‘He gave him to someone who needed him more, there is a difference.’
‘That was incredibly kind,’ I say to Martha. ‘Your father sounds like a really nice man.’
A memory rises up from my childhood – my own father going ballistic and shouting at Liz and me when we asked if we could get a puppy. I swallow the memory back down.
‘He was. I’ve never forgotten it because I saw how powerful a relationship with a pet can be. That man had hope, because of Wally.’
‘And what about you?’ Tiana asks. ‘You must have missed him terribly.’
‘I did. But I also had three cats, two birds, a hamster, a goat, another dog and a donkey called Plonk. And I had my dad. I was happy to know Wally was so loved.’ Martha’s body slumps again. ‘If it’s OK, that’s enough for today.’
‘Of course,’ Tiana says, clearly knowing not to push. ‘Well done, Martha. It was really good to hear you speak so freely.’ The whole group nod in agreement as Tiana turns to me.
‘Mia, what would you like to share today?’
I look at the door, feeling sad and frustrated that Lee hasn’t come through it. I wanted to see him again. I wonder if he is home right now with his dead cat. I wonder how his mother took the news. If they are both OK. I don’t know why I care about a stranger, but I do. I watched someone experience the thing I fear the most. I think about it a lot.
‘Mia,’ Tiana pushes. ‘Would you like to share anything with us?’
They all look at me expectantly. My mouth is suddenly so dry I can hardly move it. ‘I feel quite nervous,’ I say.
‘That’s how I get,’ Greg says, supportively.
‘It’s hard to know where to start,’ I say, meaning it. Where does my story even begin? ‘I come from disorder.’ That feels like a good start. ‘That maybe means I have a disorder, I’m not sure. But I come from chaos. Chaos that I created and chaos that was pushed upon me by my dad.’
A crushing comparison overwhelms me again. I try to imagine my dad exhibiting the sort of kindness Martha’s had and it’s so impossible to imagine that I give myself a headache trying. I start to cry hard, messy tears.
‘Sharing is very hard for me,’ I say, looking up at Tiana. ‘But I will try, it’s why I’m here.’ I take a deep breath. Maybe I can tell just a piece of my story, and that will be enough. ‘My cat, Pigeon, well, she saved me from the chaos. My husband tolerated her,’ I shudder as I speak about Pigeon in past tense, ‘but I suspect he didn’t really like her very much. He’s a good man, Tristan, but I’m not sure he gets all of me, that he understands the things that have made me who I really am.’
Everyone is looking at me intently. It feels unfamiliar to be the focus of people’s attention in this way. By the looks on their faces, they seem to want to hear what I have to say. I continue.
‘Before we met, I was never in hot pursuit of a boyfriend. I had more lovers than relationships and I enjoyed the ones I had. I could have coasted along like that until my libido had had enough.’ That makes Ada laugh again, but much more controlled this time. ‘But people didn’t like it. The closer I got to forty, the more comments I would receive. “Are you married?” “No.” “Engaged?” “No.” “In a relationship at all?” “No.” “Well do you want to be a mother?” “I don’t know.” My answers would often be followed by sympathy or questions as to why Mr Right was yet to appear. They wouldn’t believe me when I told them I was OK alone.’
Tiana nods, encouraging me to continue.
‘When people learned I had my cat, Pigeon, I became subject to the “cat lady” label. Something that is bashed around quite casually, but it’s extremely insulting because no one means it as a compliment. People are not commenting on the love you feel for your furry friend, they are insinuating that you are lonely and isolated. Possibly even unlovable. There came a point where it felt easier to slide into what society deemed was normal for me to do. My sister Liz was married, any friends I had were coupling up, settling down. So I opened my mind to the idea of marriage, and then I found Tristan. We do love each other, I’m a good wife, he’s a fine husband, I think I’m a good stepmum … But I don’t feel very … me. I don’t know if the life I am living is the right one. In many ways, maybe “cat lady” suited me better.’
‘People need each other, it’s why we’re all here. But that doesn’t mean it’s easy,’ Tiana says. ‘Would you like to go on, Mia?’
‘No, thank you. That feels like enough for today.’ I know I’ll need to talk about Pigeon at some point, and I don’t want to ruin this yet.
As Tiana moves the group on, I take them all in. How is it that in this roomful of strangers, I feel more myself than anywhere else?
When the group is finished, I see Nicole standing on the street outside, texting furiously. When she sees me approaching, she puts her phone away.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask her.
‘Yeah, fine, why? You?’
‘I’m OK, I suppose. How are you finding the group?’
‘Good, yeah, nice. You?’
‘Yeah, same.’
We stand awkwardly. Any camaraderie we felt inside the church not happening out here on the street. I wonder if that’s just how it is. The group really is a safe space. Vulnerability in the real world is dangerous.
‘Maybe I’ll see you next week,’ I say, walking away.
‘Mia, wait,’ Nicole says, calling after me. I turn back to her. A connection. I like the feeling. ‘I’m single, and all my friends have boyfriends. What you were describing in there, about feeling a bit left out, that resonated with me. Do you regret getting married?’ she asks.
‘No, I don’t regret it as such. My marriage brought a lot of nice things into my life, but sometimes I do feel I have to be someone else to keep it going. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, I think maybe it’s even quite normal. But it nags at me.’
‘So if you could go back, would you have stayed single?’
‘I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter because this is the life I am living. So even when I feel like it isn’t really me, I remember it’s a choice I made. And maybe a small feeling of displacement is even healthy.’
‘Do you regret not having kids of your own?’
She asks a lot of questions. But I suppose if you’re at a crossroads in life, that’s what you do. And it’s flattering that she thinks I might have all the answers.
‘No. Between my stepson and my cat my maternal instinct is adequately satisfied. Some women don’t need to be mothers, but it doesn’t mean they can’t love. See you next week?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
I start to walk away, then quickly turn back. ‘Oh, how’s your mum doing?’ I ask her.
‘Fine, why?’
‘Rover, her dog?’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry. She’s doing well, thanks for asking. And you? Are you missing your cat?’
‘Absolutely,’ I say, confidently. ‘Very, very much.’
Part Two
Career Woman
I’ll always remember the night with Mum sitting at the dining table making something out of a huge pile of pink fabric. She had a needle in between her teeth and was humming to herself. She’d have been smiling, if it wasn’t for the needle. Liz and I were sitting on the floor watching Sesame Street.
Mum loved to make our clothes. She’d probably have run her own fashion label, if it wasn’t for our dad.
‘OK girls, nearly ready,’ she said, threading the needle and hand-stitching. Her eyesight had got worse lately, she never used to wear glasses, but she had thick ones now. They sat so close to the end of her nose I wondered if they would slide off.
‘OK, TV off please.’
We did exactly as she said and rushed to the table. She had laid out three pink dresses. One for her, one for me, one for Liz. ‘We’ll be like the Pink Ladies,’ she said, looking so happy with herself. ‘Who wants to try theirs on?’
We all immediately stripped down. It had been a while since I’d seen her body. She was wearing a camisole but her chest was now completely flat. She knew I was looking but didn’t engage. ‘Come on, Mia. Put it on.’
The outfits were cute, a different style for each of us. She’d made Liz’s – who was more of a tomboy – into culottes. Mine was a pretty sundress with straps that I could tie myself, and Mum’s was loose-fitting and long.
‘We look like a band,’ she said, laughing. ‘What shall we call ourselves?’
‘The Raspberries,’ Liz shouted, making us all laugh.
‘Strawberry Surprise,’ I said.
‘The Pink Apples,’ Liz said. ‘Or Heart Stoppers.’
‘You’re so good at this,’ Mum said to Liz. ‘But I feel like it’s not quite there, what about …’
And then, as if all tuned into the very same frequency, the three of us shouted, ‘The Love Hearts!’ making us laugh so much we all landed in a heap on the sofa.
‘Quick,’ Mum said, getting up. ‘Dad won’t be home for another hour. Go and get your favourite cassette and let’s make up a dance routine before he gets back.’
We laughed and danced for precisely fifty-eight minutes to the sound of Billy Joel’s ‘Uptown Girl’.
When Dad arrived home, Mum slid back into her role of obedient wife.
8
It’s not very often that I get to go to large fancy events for work. Usually, it’s just Isabella who gets invited and that’s OK with me. For the most part, ‘industry’ nights are pretty horrendous. Lots of people pretending to be interested in each other, constant selfies for Instagram and everyone getting so hammered it’s a miracle they turn up to work again with the shame they must carry. But tonight is different as it’s a huge fundraiser sponsored by Isabella’s dad’s private bank. And as I am managing director of his daughter’s business, I’ll feel quite important. It’s a power trip I’m happy to ride, and it’s also for a good cause so well worth the effort.
I have one dress that suits the occasion perfectly. ‘No Pigeon, off that,’ I say, picking her up and putting her on the floor. I don’t know what it is about me laying a clean dress on the bed, but she immediately thinks she has to sit on it. The dress is a knee-length, black pencil shape with three-quarter sleeves and excellent shoulders. It’s much more sexy than anything I would wear to work, but still has enough structure to it that I look like the boss I am. I wear it with four-inch black heels and put my hair up into a neat bun. I apply quite a lot of make-up with strong blusher and a red lip. I squeeze some face powder, a lipstick, my phone, some business cards and a house key into a small clutch bag and then I’m ready.
‘Whit-woo!’ Tristan hoots, as I walk confidently into the kitchen. ‘You look incredible.’
‘Why thank you,’ I say, taking the glass of wine from his hand and having a gulp.
‘How about I book somewhere for dinner next week? You wear that so I can show you off?’
‘That sounds lovely. I better go, can’t be late. We’re all meeting outside the venue so we can walk in together.’
‘Have fun. Don’t talk to any men,’ he calls after me.
‘I only have eyes for you,’ I shout, shutting the front door behind me. Ending one scene and entering another. My character adjusting accordingly.
Theo May is one of the most notorious finance people in London, always making it into the Forbes 100. He has the kind of money where homes are like fully staffed hotels and commercial flying is a concept he doesn’t need to bother himself with unless he is considering buying the airline. He’s been married to Isabella’s mum, Alice, for forty years. She doesn’t come to events like this and stays mostly at home. I’ve always respected that: why should she pretend to be comfortable in his world when she is happier behind the scenes? They’re a young family, Isabella herself is only thirty-six. She is an only child and, from what I gather, has lived like a princess her whole life. Theo is magnetic. I wonder if every piece of money in the room is dragged towards his chest when he takes his clothes off.
When I arrive at the venue, five minutes early, I notice Ajay is already there and talking to someone just inside the door. When the conversation is over, he heads out. He’s wearing his usual baggy ensemble with an oversized black jacket, as if that suddenly makes it a suit.
‘Woah boss, look at you. Fuck yeah, you can be seriously hot when you want to be.’
‘OK Ajay, thank you. Didn’t we talk about boundaries?’
‘Yeah we did, but that was at work, right? This isn’t work, this is a party. That guy just took two of my weed chocolates off me. This crowd is gonna be lit.’
‘Ajay, you can’t sell drugs here. It might not be the office but this is a work night and we are representing the brand.’
‘Chill, bab … boss. I didn’t sell anything. I’m giving these away for reviews. It’s market research, always working boss, don’t worry about me.’ I give up.
Next to arrive is Fliss, shortly followed by Isabella. We all wait another seventeen minutes for Audrey. Mostly in silence as we’re all so annoyed. When she eventually walks slowly up the steps towards us, Isabella rolls her eyes and storms inside. Ajay and Fliss follow her.
