Cat Lady, page 14
‘Morning,’ says Audrey, arriving uncharacteristically close to 9 a.m. Pigeon jumps up onto a desk. ‘Woah, whose cat is that?’ she asks.
‘Mine,’ I say.
‘Oh, wow. I just read this article where the woman in it was so like you, Mia. I was going to ask if it was you. But her cat is dead, so, I guess it’s not you?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say, innocently. ‘My cat is alive and well. Sixteen years, as it happens. No dead cats here. And how are you, all OK?’ I’m referring to her abortion, as she hasn’t been in since and it’s been nearly a week.
‘Well, I did it. I don’t know about “OK”.’
‘OK, great. Champagne?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Yes, we’re celebrating. Go on Fliss, it’s not my news to share.’
Fliss looks awkwardly at Audrey. ‘Yeah, I’m getting married, and Mia thought we should have champagne. At 9 a.m.’
‘Okaaay,’ Audrey says, as I hand her a mugful too. ‘Enjoy,’ I say, spinning around and heading back to my desk. Pigeon, my cat who’s very much alive, follows me loyally. A few minutes later, Ajay comes in and he is very sweaty.
‘Sorry I’m late, boss. My bike broke so I had to get the Tube. I never get the Tube, so don’t read many papers but someone left this on the seat and check this out. This woman could be you.’
He starts to unfold the newspaper.
‘Well, it isn’t me, so if you could get on with your work that would be great.’
‘No, hang on. Listen to this. Tall, thin, fiery red hair.’
‘It’s not me, Ajay. Please do some work.’
‘Dressed in sensible work clothes …’
‘I SAID IT’S NOT ME, AJAY. PLEASE GO TO YOUR FUCKING DESK AND DO SOME FUCKING WORK.’
Everyone, including Pigeon, goes still and stares at me. I am trembling, sweat is rolling down my face.
‘OK, boss. I just thought it sounded like you. But it’s cool, I get it,’ Ajay says, heading for his desk as I asked. When he has sat down and turned on his computer, Fliss and Audrey get back to work, I notice they aren’t glugging their drinks the same way that I am. I stare at my computer screen. It isn’t even on.
By 9.30 a.m. the atmosphere has settled and there is no sign of Isabella. I make a rare visit to the kitchenette to make a cup of coffee, I need extra today.
‘Mia,’ Ajay says, approaching me. ‘I’m really sorry about before, I didn’t mean no harm.’
‘It’s OK Ajay, I’m sorry I shouted. I didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘No worries.’
I concentrate on the drink I’m making, because I’d like him to leave me alone now.
‘I like what you’re wearing. It suits you. What is it?’
‘It’s a kaftan.’
‘Yeah man, I like it. I’m getting a glimpse of the real Mia. It’s cool. You’re cool. When you’re not yelling.’
I watch him walk back to his seat. He puts his headphones on and eats a bowl of cereal, all while still smiling. He’s so odd.
At 10.15 Cressida, Isabella’s nanny, walks in.
‘Can I help you?’ I ask.
‘I have something for you,’ she says, looking me up and down.
‘For me?’
This is very unexpected. I have met Cressida once before at a Christmas drinks party Isabella hosted at home. She looked like she was going to have a nervous breakdown because Poppy wouldn’t go to sleep. I wait patiently while she rummages around in her bag. She presents me with an envelope.
‘Here, from Isabella.’
‘Well, where is she?’
‘She said I must not say more.’
I take the letter, and Cressida stands and looks at me for far too long to feel comfortable. ‘Was there something else?’ I ask, politely.
‘It’s not all her fault,’ she says, firmly.
‘What’s not all whose fault?’ I ask, confused.
‘Isabella. The way she is. It’s not all her fault. I know she is awful, but … no, that’s all.’
‘Is Isabella in trouble?’ I ask, worried as to what this letter says.
‘No, you are. But it’s not all her fault. I just wanted you to understand that. I see more than what you see, but I do get why you argue. OK, I wasn’t supposed to say anything.’
‘Well I have the letter now, so thank you.’
‘She told me I have to stay and watch you open it. So she knows that you’ve read it. Oh God, is that a cat?’ Pigeon has jumped up onto Isabella’s desk.
‘Yes, it’s my cat, Pigeon.’
‘I hate cats. They lick their bottoms and have shit on their feet.’
‘I can assure you she is perfectly clean. Do you really have to stay here while I open this?’
‘Yes.’
I sit at my desk and open the letter.
Mia, I am sorry to say that I cannot keep you on at ‘Isabella May’. You have made it increasingly impossible for me to run my business as I wish. You have blindsided me repeatedly with staffing decisions and even at the Selfridges pitch. You obviously planned to reveal the necklace and went ahead despite knowing it was not what I wanted to do.
You have accused me of terrible things in the years that you have worked for me, but it is you who has created a toxic work culture at ‘Isabella May’. Your cold and brittle demeanour intimidates the staff and makes you impossible to approach. And then there is the betrayal; taking my business and turning it into something that disconnects me from its core.
As you know, I am a single mother with a high-profile image to protect and a business to run. You have no respect or consideration for the many things I am up against, and I can’t be beaten down by you any more.
I’d like you to leave immediately. Take your things. I left a box on your desk for you to use. I will pay you for six weeks as a courtesy which I have been advised is extremely generous. In return I expect no fuss from you.
I hope you find peace in whatever you do next.
Isabella.
I just stare at the letter.
‘Are you OK?’ Cressida asks.
I stand up. I wobble. My head has gone very light. ‘Pigeon?’ I call, but she’s using the litter tray I made her. ‘Pigeon, off that.’ But it’s too late. The smell fills the office.
‘Oh no!’ Cressida screeches. ‘Oh, cat shit is the worst, that’s disgusting.’
Pigeon jumps out when she’s done. I have so many things in my drawers that I need but I can’t pack up now. Is that letter a joke? What the hell is happening?
‘Are you going to clear that up?’ Cressida asks, reminding me of Isabella and showing me they are more alike than I thought. ‘I can’t stay in here,’ she says, leaving me alone in the office. I want to smash things up – pick up Isabella’s computer and throw it at the wall. Empty every single drawer and pull out every piece of jewellery and rip them apart and stamp on them. I want to get a bat and smash the windows, run into the workshop and grab Cressida by the hair. Spinning her round in circles as she screams with pain because she is the closest thing to Isabella that I have.
I put Pigeon back in her carrier. I pick up my tote bag. I walk calmly through the workshop in my mother’s purple eighties dress, as if I’m popping out to a meeting.
‘So go on then Mia, what’s the key to a happy marriage?’ Fliss asks, looking so desperately happy that it makes my heart ache.
‘What the fuck would I know?’ I say, stunning her. I pick up her mug and drink the champagne from it so quickly that I cough violently.
‘I’ll get you some water,’ Fliss says, rushing to the kitchenette. By the time she gets it to me, I have turned what I imagine to be a shade of beetroot and my eyes are pouring with water. I take a sip, but a cough launches the water straight back out of my mouth.
‘Is she having a breakdown?’ I hear Cressida say.
‘No one can be that together all the time, I’ve been waiting for her to crack,’ says Audrey.
Coughing hard and barely able to catch a breath, I stumble out of the office to the lift with Pigeon. When the door opens, three people get out despite it clearly not being their floor.
‘Allergic to cats,’ I hear one of them mumble.
‘TWAT,’ I shout, to my own surprise, as the doors close.
I walk a few miles before my slippers become so stretched that they’re almost impossible to keep on my feet. I have to slow right down and, instead of steps, do more of a skating move. I have so many things at work, it’s amazing what drawers can acquire over the course of many years. I don’t know what to do about that. I don’t know what to do about anything. I see a park. Parks are good at times like this. When things got tough at home, Liz and I would always go to the park. Sometimes we spent whole days there and Mum would come to find us, until she wasn’t strong enough to do that any more. Dad never came to the park, which is why it felt so safe.
I am lost. Nowhere to go. My home, my office, are no longer options for me. In between them is a space I must now wander aimlessly. I can’t think straight, what should I do? I’ll need to let Pigeon out at some point. I’ll need to wash. Where do I do those things now? I had everything so together. I made good decision after good decision, and I ended up here? How can this happen to someone like me, someone who worked so hard for order and routine? Someone who worked so hard to play the right part.
I walk into the park and look around. A play area to the left, a small rose garden straight ahead, a large grass lawn to the right. I walk over to the play area and watch a mother push her little girl on a swing. She’s pushing with one hand, holding her phone with the other. Her child can’t see her so she doesn’t feel bad about it. She still shouts, ‘Weeeeee’ and ‘Legs forward for up and back for down.’ She looks so bored. Living her two lives simultaneously. The role of mother, and the role of whatever it is that she is trying to cling onto through her phone.
There is a nanny in command of two children, one maybe five, one a baby. She sits with the baby, bouncing it, feeding it, making it giggle, giving it love. The older one left to fend for itself. Trying to find fun on some monkey bars that are too high for him. Another mother sits closely next to her child on a bench, they’re laughing and eating sandwiches together. I spent so many hours of so many days in playgrounds with Oliver when he was younger. I’d push him on the swing until my arm ached. I must be staring at the mum with the phone because she looks annoyed and turns the other way.
A large dog is suddenly alongside me barking aggressively – it’s noticed Pigeon.
‘No, go away. GO AWAY,’ I shout, wrapping myself around the carrier to protect her, but the dog is relentless. It is gnashing and snarling. Foam falling from the sides of its mouth.
‘Whose dog is this?’ I screech. The mothers in the playground do nothing but take their kids further away to protect them from the crazy lady with the cat and the purple dress. ‘Help! Help!’ I shout as loudly as I can. I’m very scared. This large dog wants to attack my cat, and maybe me too. ‘Help! Help!’ I continue to shout but no one comes.
I pick up a stick and point it at the dog.
‘Get away. GET AWAY!’ The dog grabs the other end of the stick, it’s now a tug of war. I’m pulling it, but it just won’t let go. I only have one hand to use, if I put Pigeon down the dog will have her for lunch.
‘GET AWAY!’ I shout again. ‘AWAAAAAAYYYY!’
‘Jesse, Jesse there you are!’ says a woman who is running over. The dog immediately softens, starts wagging its tail and skipping with joy over to its mum.
‘Were you going to hit my dog?’ she says, looking at me with total disgust.
‘I thought she was going to attack me, and my cat.’
‘What the fuck do you expect dogs to do if you bring a cat to the park? Jesus, put the stick down, you crazy bitch. Come on, Jesse.’
She walks away. Jesse too, as if the whole ordeal never happened. My heart is thumping so fast, Pigeon is wriggling in her carrier. There are quite a few people looking at me. The crazy bitch in the park with the stick and the cat. How is this me?
I leave the park and walk further in these terrible shoes until I find another park. Probably around an hour. I’m in no rush, where am I supposed to go? There is a shop on the corner. I buy water, cat food, a Kind Bar and a Purdy’s mineral water because I presume my body needs something. I find a bench that is quite secluded. Nestled in between two large beds full of bushes and trees. There is no playground in this little park, fewer people. A couple of small dogs but all on leads. This feels better. Safer. There is a clip on the strap of Pigeon’s carrier so I can detach one end of it. I do that, then unzip just enough that I can attach it to her collar. When it’s on, I fully unzip the carrier so she can peek out. She’s not an outdoor cat but I have done something similar to this in the garden at home during the summer. She always sat nicely and just enjoyed the breeze on her face. I take her out and pull her onto my lap, she seems nervous but not enough to run away from me. I stroke her fur. She purrs. I wonder when we will ever have our routine back. The bedtime dance, the long intimate sleeps. Our clockwork feeding schedule. Our warm house. The life we were happy with, despite its imperfections.
I get out the letter from Isabella again.
Your cold and brittle demeanour intimidates the staff and makes you impossible to approach.
Is that why I now find myself alone? What I find so hard to understand is that I would describe so many people that way, and yet they thrive. Belinda is such an unlikable person. Insincere, judgemental, selfish. I supported her in ways she didn’t even notice yet she’s done little but patronise me, make me feel strange, unlovable and unpleasant because of my cat. And still she comes out on top with the husband and the child and even my home. Then there is Isabella; supported by her father’s wealth and she knows that no matter how bad things get, she’ll always have a home just south of Sloane Square and her celebrity friends to boost her morale. There must be so much freedom when you know you’ll always land on your feet. Not like me, in a random park with no job, no home. Just my cat who I have to keep safe and a big purple dress that reminds me of my dead mum and smells of my dead dad.
Am I really so ‘cold’ that I took on someone else’s child and did everything I could to maintain his happiness despite him having no interest in mine? So brittle that I grew a business from nothing and employed staff who deserved opportunities that I offered them wherever possible? Was I really so intimidating that I was ‘impossible’ to approach when Isabella herself sat spouting inappropriate comments and hardly ever even came to the office, but remained at the helm of a business she had no idea how to run?
I think of the article. Amy Newton’s horrible words about us all. How cruel to watch people bare themselves so raw, then take notes and tell the world how sad and lonely they are. How sad and lonely do you have to be to want to do that to other people?
I want to drink. Drinking is what you do when everything goes to hell. I put Pigeon back into her carrier and go back to the shop. I buy a bottle of Oyster Bay Sauvignon Blanc which feels decadent considering I plan to drink it on a park bench alone. I also buy a bottle of Maker’s Mark because it’s the one spirit I can drink without a mixer and who needs the trouble of cups and measurements when feelings need to be drowned and problems need to be ignored. I have no idea what I’ll do after this. But even if I have to sit here drinking on this bench for days, I will, eventually, think of something.
Part Three
Animal
One night I couldn’t sleep because the foxes were screeching in the garden again.
I was climbing out of bed to get some milk when the doorbell went. I saw Mum answer it, she was wearing her dressing gown.
‘Oh, Mr Hammond,’ she said performatively. ‘Yes, the broken microwave is in the kitchen, come this way.’
Something broke every Thursday night in our house. Something that Mr Hammond had to fix while Dad was at the snooker hall.
I usually listened from the stairs, but that night I crept down to see what the noises I had become so familiar with really were. The noises of my mother’s rebellion. She was lying on the kitchen table and Mr Hammond was on top of her. They were nowhere near the microwave.
I’d seen this sort of thing before on the TV and with animals in the National Geographic magazine. I knew it meant they loved each other. But then Mr Hammond told my mother to turn around. I saw his penis while she moved. It was long and different from what I’d seen before. Quite frightening. It disappeared when she lay on her front, her feet on the floor. Where did it go? He pulled her hair quite hard, and she made noises that sounded like the foxes that had woken me up. I’d have tried to save her, but she was smiling.
She kept saying, ‘Yes, yes, harder, harder.’
My sister opened our bedroom door and I heard her running down the stairs. I banged on the kitchen door, but I didn’t go in. I did it because I wanted my mother to stop. I didn’t want Liz to see.
‘Girls?’ Mum said, opening the kitchen door. She was doing her dressing gown up and Mr Hammond was facing the other way doing up his trousers. Of course, now it all makes perfect sense, but then I didn’t understand at all. I just knew that Dad wouldn’t like it, and that scared me.
‘I saw a ghost, Mummy,’ Liz said. My mother picked her up.
‘Mia, how long have you been standing there?’ she asked me. Both she and Mr Hammond waited for my answer even though they already knew it.
‘Not long,’ I said, and they seemed relieved that I was at least willing to lie.
‘OK, well come on you two, back to bed. Thank you Mr Hammond, I’ll let you know if anything else breaks.’
Mum took us upstairs and lay on Liz’s bed with her until she fell asleep. She told her Jack and the Beanstalk from memory. I watched them both. It was soothing for me too, to know that she was there.
And even though, deep down, I knew what she’d done that night was wrong, all that mattered to me was how happy Mum seemed when she was with us.
15
