Dont think a single thou.., p.11
Don't Think a Single Thought, page 11
‘Emma? It’s me, Cathy.’
‘How are you?’
‘Not so good.’ Sobs. ‘Do you think I could possibly stay with you for a little while? Would that be trouble for you?’ She sobbed again. ‘I can’t think of any place else to go.’
Emma’s heart sank, but she felt sad about her sister. ‘I’m sure you can, Cathy. Is there… what’s wrong?’
‘Wayne’s been sick. It’s changed him. We’ve had a lot of fights. His mother’s here and she wants to take the kids while he gets better. Emma, he gets so angry and rough – I can’t stand it. The kids would be OK with her. The trailer’s a mess, she bawled me out for it, but I don’t have the energy, sometimes I walk the kids to school and then get back into bed, at least it’s warm there. Wayne’s mostly asleep, but has to get up when the medics come, they come every day with injections, he’s not supposed to drink, but when they’ve gone, he starts, and I have to buy it. There’s no money left for food. I have to get away. I can’t stand it.’
She was sobbing harder now.
‘Cathy, you can stay with us,’ Emma said, knowing already what problems would lie ahead, how Jonathan would react, how her own sympathy would run out. How her precious privacy, her lovely home – and her sleep – would be invaded. ‘How will you get here? I’ll pay for your flight.’
‘I’ve never done that. Where would I get the ticket? I don’t know how to do it. Could you… could you get me a ticket and post it? The kids are leaving with his ma tomorrow. Wayne wants me to get out quickly.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that and I’ll put in some bills to get you to the airport – get a cab. You have to phone them first and tell them where to pick you up. Is it a store you’re calling from? They’ll have cab numbers there. Once you’re at the airport, ask one of the airport staff to show you where to go. It’s cold here – bring some warm things. It’ll be OK.’
‘Write me with the details. Write soon, Emma! I’ll come soon as I can – will they book flights that quick? I’ve never been in a plane. Is it very frightening? They say it is. But I’ve got to do it…’
‘I’ll send you a couple of sedatives. Take one before you board – get on the plane, I mean. Then another if the journey gets rocky – but I’m sure it won’t.’
‘Thanks.’ Cathy sobbed. ‘I knew you’d say yes.’
Predictably, Jonathan was not sympathetic. A few “Christs”, two trips to their bar for large Scotches, questions of “How long for?” and “What will we do with her?”
Questions she couldn’t answer.
‘She’s my sister. She sounded in despair, I couldn’t say no.’
‘Wouldn’t a hotel be better? She’d still be near you – I’ll take care of the bills – maybe one with a pool and spa? Give her a luxury break?’
‘Jonathan, she wouldn’t be happy in a hotel,’ she said. ‘She’d feel uncomfortable. Guests and staff would look down on her.’
She knew what he was thinking.
‘I’ll be the one who’s uncomfortable if she’s here, for Christ’s sake!’
‘It’ll be fine – I imagine she’ll want to sleep a lot and talk a lot, but you don’t have to be involved. We can have dinner, then you’ve got your study to work in. Your meetings. I’ll go for walks with her, show her round. Maybe a movie. I don’t know. I wish I did. I’m sorry.’
‘Fine,’ he groaned. Then knocked back a third Scotch.
When the large, lumpy figure, dressed in a shabby gray coat, weighted down by a military rucksack, came shakily, anxiously into Arrivals, Emma ran forward to embrace her.
‘Cathy! How was your flight? Did you need those pills?’
‘I took one, but I’ve still got that second one. It was OK – the food was nice, we had chicken and potatoes, and a trifle in a little paper cup – it’s so big here! And noisy! Why are all those people holding signs up with names on? Hi, Jonathan.’
‘Cathy,’ he said, and embraced her lightly.
‘Where’s your luggage?’
‘In my rucksack. I didn’t bring much. Mainly pictures of the kids and some toys to remind me of them.’
‘But you’ll be seeing them before long,’ Emma reminded her.
Cathy said nothing.
Emma had made their guest room as welcoming as she could. A Victorian jug covered with pansies and filled with pink roses and blue hydrangeas. Terracotta sheets under a patchwork comforter, faded pinks and blues, white walls. A thrift shop chest of drawers – one of Emma’s finds that she’d painted in palest blue. Sanded floor boards, a pale pink and blue Turkish rug. Rose geranium soap, matching towels, flowers in the en suite bathroom too.
Cathy stared.
‘All mine, Emma?’ she said softly.
‘All yours, Cathy. Now, unpack and we’ll fix something to eat. Have a shower if you like – there’s a hairdryer. The water’s always hot.’
She left Cathy still staring round the perfect room.
Jonathan had already had his first drink.
‘Can I get you something, Em? Wine? A martini?’
‘Maybe a glass of Chablis. Carla’s left us a roast chicken cooling. Then there’s an ice cream trifle with chocolate sauce. She always liked ice cream.’
‘Em, don’t be nervous. I sense she’s a little bit… high? The flight. What pills did you give her?’
‘Just Equanil, Jonathan! I think you’ve had one or two yourself on a bad flight.’
‘I may have,’ he sighed. ‘Best not to give her any more.’
Cathy said the dinner was “flavorsome”. She dropped things and spilled her glass of beer – she’d said she liked only beer. She talked with her mouth open while she was eating.
Jonathan fled to his study. Cathy had a shower, but her hair – dark blond like Emma’s – was still lank and greasy.
If only she could lose weight and try to groom herself, she’d be pretty.
Cathy talked mainly of her kids, saying it was “best” and “the right thing” they go to Wayne’s mother.
‘They love her. She’s always giving them candy and toys. She’s a widow. She has a big old house that was left her by an uncle with no kids. She and he were close.’
Too close.
‘And your trailer? Does it belong to you?’
‘It’s in Wayne’s name, we both put some money in – my adopted parents gave me some. But it’s falling apart now. It’s too much for me to handle in this cold weather. Wayne’s getting worse, you know.’ She cried again.
‘Sleep as late as you like, Cathy. You and I can walk through the park tomorrow, if you like. Do you want to call the kids?’
‘She don’t have a phone, but I have a store number I can call some days. Maybe tomorrow.’
The next day they crunched through fallen leaves, saw squirrels. Cathy couldn’t get over how tall the buildings were, how many well-dressed people there were.
‘All wearing their best clothes! It’s like they’re all going to a wedding.’
She was still wearing her shabby outfit from yesterday. Delicately, Emma said, ‘You didn’t have space to pack much, would you like a couple of T-shirts, some new pants, a scarf maybe?’
‘I have my own clothes,’ Cathy muttered. ‘I might get a scarf and gloves.’
They had lunch at a burger joint where Emma knew Cathy would feel at home. As they walked back, they bumped into a girl Emma knew from Vassar, now a radio presenter.
‘This is my sister, Cathy. She’s staying with us.’
‘That’s nice. How long are you staying, Cathy?’
‘Don’t know,’ mumbled Cathy.
‘Well, have a pleasant visit. Toodle-oo!’
Cathy turned to Emma. ‘What’s that mean?’
‘It’s an English expression, I think. Some people use it, mainly journalists. Sort of ironic. Camp.’
Cathy looked baffled.
Cathy stayed in bed, getting up late – and later, sometimes not until late afternoon – on most days. She preferred breakfast to any other meal – bacon and eggs, which Emma never had, but willingly cooked for her sister.
Carla did Cathy’s room, her stiff back silently expressing her disgust. She picked up trash, threw away flowers in soured water, pushed dirty clothes into the washer. Emma showed Cathy how to use all the machines, but when she tried, she couldn’t figure out the controls.
‘You got too many machines,’ she cried. ‘I can’t keep it all in my head. Could I have a cup of instant coffee? I don’t like that stuff you say is real. Got any cream? Cookies?’
She didn’t seem to miss her children, though she phoned Wayne’s mother a few times.
‘They’re fine – she loves having them and they got that big house and garden to play in – but Wayne’s getting worse. There’s talk they’ll move him to a hospital soon. How are we going to pay for that?’
‘Do you think he’ll recover?’ Emma asked.
Cathy shook her head and went on looking through a magazine, one she’d bought herself, a cheap woman’s weekly.
‘Emma, could you loan me the cash for this?’ She showed her a picture of fake jewelry. She was still wearing her old gray pants, but had a new black long-sleeved T-shirt Emma had bought for her. She seemed to be losing weight.
Carla phoned in sick. Emma prepared dinner for the three of them. She and Jonathan talked about politics and some new Truffaut movie, while Cathy sat sullenly.
‘Would you like to see a film, Cathy?’ asked Emma. ‘Anything you wanted to see?’
‘I prefer TV.’
She watched TV every day, as soon as she got up. Emma never watched it, except for an occasional old movie – the constant drone of it drove her mad. Cathy liked game shows.
‘Look at that, Emma! She won the freezer and the car!’
‘Yes,’ Emma snapped.
She was working on her new novel, but not getting very far. Cathy had the TV on so loud, she was always aware of the jabbering voice and music.
‘Could you… turn it down a little?’ Emma asked.
Resentfully, Cathy switched it off.
‘You don’t have to switch it off. I just said lower the sound.’
‘Everything I do is wrong! I’d rather be back in the trailer again. It’s like a prison here.’
Crying, she flung herself onto the sofa.
Emma felt exhausted.
‘Is it time to go back and look after the kids now?’ she asked. ‘And Wayne, how is he now?’
‘He’s in hospital. His ma said he ain’t got long to go. He took too much drugs.’
The next day, the call came – Wayne had died that morning. Cathy said she wouldn’t go to the funeral, and was glad he was “at peace”.
‘I won’t have to see him no more, and that suits me,’ she said.
‘What about the kids?’ Emma asked. ‘Don’t you have to go back and look after them?’
‘Nope. His ma wants them. She thinks I’m an unfit mother. She’s lied about me to welfare – said I did drugs, too. I did once, but that’s all. Anyways, it’s best they live with her – I can still see them. She got welfare and some inheritance from her uncle. Can I switch the set on again?’
Emma saw – realized at last – Cathy wasn’t entirely normal. Didn’t seem to have normal feelings. What could she say? Do? Only Jonathan could advise her.
‘Em, I noticed it when she arrived,’ he said as they sat in his study, talking quietly while Cathy watched a game show. ‘She just settled in and trashed the place without a thought. I never felt she really missed those children. She feels comfortable and responsibility-free in this apartment, doing fuck all. I also think her IQ is low. She believes you’ll always bail her out.’
‘But what can we do?’ she said. ‘I’m not sure how much more I can stand. The mess, the noise…’
‘The only thing we can do is set her up in a small apartment or decent hostel here, and see if she can get a cleaning or service job – she needs something to do. I can’t see her going back now. Put it to her that we’ll look in on her, help in any way, but we have a lot of work on and need the apartment to ourselves. Something like that. OK, old girl?’
Next day, Emma took an Equanil to fortify herself for the talk with Cathy. Once she was up and planted in front of the TV, Emma turned it off.
‘Cathy, we have to talk about the… the future – lovely as it would be, we can’t keep you here for ever – you need your independence. You said yourself it was like a prison sometimes.’
‘I never meant it!’ said Cathy. ‘I want to stay. Please, let me stay. I got nowhere else – I’m never going back.’
‘You can stay another two weeks while we look for somewhere you could live – a good hostel or a bedsit – there are nice ones round here – and get you set up. But you’re going to need an income. Have you ever worked? Didn’t you say you were a waitress once?’
‘I couldn’t work in a smart place, with smart people. Don’t want no work anyway.’
‘There are lots of cleaning and housekeeping jobs…’ Emma started, then remembered the chaos and dirty clothes piling up in Cathy’s room. ‘Or, you could go back to school – take basic courses in office work?’
‘No!’
‘Then I don’t see how we can help you! Unless…’
The picture of Cathy’s little one came up again in Emma’s mind. How sweet he was. She’d been thinking about him… could they…?
‘How old is Scotty?’
‘Nearly five years now. He’s the baby.’
Five? A baby! A real baby to love and care for, save from poverty and mess. The baby. Her baby. Her real baby. The baby she deserved. She’d been thinking about it so much.
‘Cathy, I know this must seem a strange idea and we’ll talk about it again. But… do you think Jonathan and I should have Scotty and bring him up? He’s so little. In return, we’ll find you an apartment, fit it out and let you have an allowance for yourself. You wouldn’t need to work then. And we’d be here…’
Cathy said nothing for a while.
‘I don’t know whether Wayne’s ma will let him go,’ she said. ‘And he’d miss his brothers and sisters. But I’d rather have an apartment to myself. I don’t want to look after no more kids. It’s too hard.’
Is everything in life too hard? Maybe it is. That’s what I’ve found out.
Jonathan heard Emma out, splashed Scotch in his glass, threw down some sort of “headache” tablet, though he “never, if he could possibly avoid it” took any kind of pill. There was silence for a while.
‘I’ve seen you looking at his picture and I know you think he’d help your life,’ he began. ‘He will be sweet and loving. And noisy and difficult, since he’ll be taken from his family. And – let’s be honest – we don’t know how bright he is. I want you to think carefully about this, let’s look at the benefits to us. You know how logic isn’t one of your strongest points.’
‘We can get help! There are some marvelous kindergartens in this area. And we’d be giving him a lovely start in life… think what fun it’ll be having a little one around.’
‘Will it? You never used to think that.’
‘I’m older and wiser now!’ she snapped.
‘And if he needs… special help?’
‘He was such a cute baby.’
‘He’s what is he, five, now? About that? Hardly a baby.’
‘Please, Jonathan…’
‘Do you remember that evening at Carter’s? The little girl drowned in the pool? You said you had more sympathy for the mother who tried to drown her than for the little girl. She had brain damage. Emma, you do remember?’
‘Yes… of course. But this is different – he’s not brain-damaged, and you help kids by talking to them a lot, teaching them things. I bet all they did in the trailer was eat and watch TV.’
They argued on. Emma was determined to win, and she sensed Jonathan was not as against the idea as he thought. There was something… different… in his attitude. Finally, she said, ‘He’s the baby I… Jonathan, I want to have him now.’
Emma was as busy and happy as she’d ever been. Wayne’s mother had said Scotty could come to them – she was finding five kids hard to manage and the welfare people thought it would be a good idea. There were forms to fill in, and there had been a visit from a welfare person in New York. That Emma herself had been adopted impressed her. She never mentioned Emma’s past… the accident. After all, Emma was never accused or implicated. That was all over, finished. Emma wondered if she even knew about it.
‘Your apartment is beautiful!’ she said. ‘And you’ll have help, right? Scotty will be able to keep in contact with his family if he wishes? His grandmother is trying her best, but finding it hard to cope with all of them. We’re trying to find help for her. You’re OK about staying in touch?’
Yes. Yes. Yes. To all of this, yes.
Excitement fueled her. She could hardly sleep.
They rented Cathy a small loft nearby. She’d found a new boyfriend, a bar bouncer. Emma didn’t see her much.
Because Emma is family, the adoption process won’t be difficult, the welfare woman reassures her. Jonathan and Emma go down twice to see Scotty, who’s really too little to do anything but laugh at the gifts they bring, and clown around. Wayne’s mother is by turns sullen and ingratiating; she sees clearly the benefits of Scotty living with them. Welfare say he should be with them for two months to settle in before they sign anything legal. A date to pick him up and take him to New York is agreed. They leave more gifts and their own photographs with him. Emma hugs him when she leaves. He responds, eyes sparkling.
Emma turns her spare room into a nursery – the joy of buying toddler things: little pajamas and tiny socks and matching scarves and mittens. Soft toys, glove puppets, an elephant that squeaks, a gorgeous teddy bear. She chooses soft sunshine yellow for the walls, white woodwork, bedlinen with cute lion cubs on. She hires extra help ready to start when Scotty arrives. She wants to spend as much time with him as she can, not to be bothered by chores, but also to have some time for working. It’s going to be bliss, she tells herself. Having a child. There’s nothing like it. Nothing.
