April's Glow (4 page)

‘Oh, I'm ah …' She watched him standing there, in a tight-fitting white singlet of all things on this cool afternoon, watching her with his chocolatey eyes, a dark shadow of a beard across his jaw. He was definitely no old guy, couldn't be more than thirty … thirty-five at the most. ‘Just looking for my cat,' she explained.

His tattooed arm muscles bulged as he folded them across his chest. ‘Your cat's name is Romeo?' The tone of his voice went upwards at the mention of her pet's name.

She stiffened. ‘Yes. Why? Do you have a problem with that?' April didn't know why she felt defensive. Maybe it was his amused smirk, or the way he stood still with such a strong presence and confidence, like he was the king of his backyard.

The man held up his hands. ‘No, not at all. What one names one's cat is one's own business.'

What was with all the ‘ones'? Did he time-travel here from Shakespearean times or something?

April glanced around, if only to tear her eyes away from his commanding physique that had her captivated like a teenager with hormone overload. ‘Romeo, Romeo!' She looked back at the man who now wore a full-on smile, his hand waving in circles encouraging her to say more. She rolled her eyes and released a small smile of her own. ‘Romeo,' she said in a floaty, girly voice. ‘Wherefore art thou, Romeo?'

Cringe-worthy.

The man chuckled, then cocked his head towards the back corner of his garden. April squinted, peering into the bushes. Two glassy eyes shone in the dark corner behind the orange tree. ‘Oh, Romeo! What are you doing over there?' April huffed, stepping down the deck steps and approaching the weathered wooden fence that separated her house from Number One. ‘Sorry,' April said. She leaned her hands on the top of the fence that came up to her shoulders and got a closer look at her hidden cat. He was having a stare-off with another cat, a tortoiseshell tabby. ‘Is the other cat yours or have all the neighbourhood cats flocked to visit the new resident in the street?' she asked.

‘Not all the cats, just yours,' he corrected. ‘She's mine actually, picked her up from the shelter yesterday. Supposed to leave her inside for a week or so to get used to the place, but she had other ideas. First time she goes out and she's already found herself a boyfriend.'

‘Don't worry, Romeo is de-sexed.'

‘Good to know. Though I think making out is the last thing on their minds at the moment.' He glanced at the cats, now sharing occasional hisses at each other.

How was it that within minutes of meeting her new neighbour she'd already quoted Shakespeare, mentioned the word de-sexed, and now they were chatting over the fence about cats making out?

‘Romeo,' April called out. ‘Come on, back home now.' Her cat ignored her, his unblinking eyes fixed fiercely on the other cat. She glanced down the length of the fence, thinking she'd have to go around the property and through his house to get Romeo. The man didn't seem the slightest bit interested in helping her out. ‘Um, would you mind, ah …' She gestured to the animals.

The man raised his eyebrows like he didn't know what she wanted.

‘Can you, um … can you please pick up my cat for me?'

He shrugged again. ‘They'll finish when they're ready. You can't force a cat to do anything.'

‘But I need to bring him inside for his dinner, and I have … things to do.'

The man placed his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he watched the cats. April furrowed her brow. Clearly
he
didn't have things to do.

The wind chimes on his back deck jingled as the breeze picked up. Maybe he was a wind-chime maker, or some kind of artistic person who didn't rush anything. ‘Well, if we're going to stand here and wait for nature to take its course …' April took her hands off the fence and crossed her arms, catching his glance as he turned to face her. ‘So, what do you do?'

‘I don't do,' he replied.

‘Huh?'

‘I'm a human being, not a human doing.'

And a slightly weird, albeit incredibly attractive human at that.

‘Obviously, but you must do something. I mean, everybody
does
something, right?'

Romeo hissed loudly and the man's cat reciprocated. Then she pounced into the bushes, and Romeo followed. Leaves rustled chaotically, and hisses and growls emerged. April nibbled her bottom lip. If she could, she would climb over the fence and retrieve her cat, but it wasn't the most practical solution. ‘We really should—'

‘Shh,' he said, ‘give them a minute.'

Shh? He was telling her to ‘Shh'? Maybe he was one of those nature documentary people, observing animals in their natural habitat and commenting on their behaviour.

April's stomach grumbled. She needed to get inside and make a start on dinner. Going for the direct approach wasn't working with this guy, so apart from the idea of launching herself into his garden, maybe she should get him talking a bit more and then he might be kind and pick up her damn cat and give him the hell back. ‘What's her name?' she asked.

The man shrugged. ‘Dunno.'

‘You have a pet cat and haven't named her yet?'

‘I'll wait till the right name comes to mind.'

‘You like waiting, don't you.' Oops, that was supposed to be a thought, not speech. That happened to April a lot, words just seemed to come to life on their own.

‘Patience is a virtue,' he replied.

‘Patience is a pain in the arse.' Oops, another thought turned speech. The man looked her in the eye again, his gaze narrow and his head tilted a little, as though she was an animal in his nature documentary and he was trying to understand her behaviour and impulsive speech. April shoved a chunk of her wavy hair behind her shoulder. ‘Anyway, if she has no name, how do you expect her to come to you when you need her to?'

‘She'll come to me when she wants to. Cats are very independent.'

April drummed her fingers on her folded arms, while he seemed more relaxed by the minute.

‘See? Look.' He pointed to Romeo who was edging slowly away from the bushes and the other cat.

‘That's it boy, over here,' she said. She made little clicky sounds with her tongue, then wished she hadn't, as the man released a slight chuckle at her Skippy the kangaroo-sounding clicky noises.

‘Treat them a little more like humans and they'll be more receptive, you know,' he said.

‘Are you a vet?'

‘No.'

‘A nature documentary maker?'

‘No.'

‘A …' She'd run out of ideas, and he was also getting more amused with her by the minute, judging by the grin on his face. Geez, the guy had nice lips. He probably used lip balm. They would be soft to kiss.
April! No men, remember? And definitely no strange, unhelpful men who lived next door.

‘Hey there, buddy. Thanks for the warm welcome to the neighbourhood.' The man effortlessly leaned down and picked up Romeo, who although tense, didn't try to scratch him or leap from his grasp. He handed him over the fence to April and she held onto her pet tightly for fear of him escaping.

‘I think I'll call you The Cat Whisperer,' she said to the man.

‘And I'll call you The Cat Matchmaker.' He turned to his Cat-Without-A-Name who was hiding under the small gap beneath the polished timber deck. He picked her up and patted the top of her head. ‘Come on, Juliet, how about some dinner?' He stepped onto his deck and opened the back door, but not before he turned his head back briefly and flashed April a satisfied smile.

The door clapped closed and April stood by the fence, her mouth slightly agape. Had he just named his cat
Juliet
in response to her cat being called
Romeo
? She didn't know whether to laugh or tell him not to be so silly, but he had gone back inside without so much as a ‘nice to meet you' or ‘my name is so-and-so'.

April shook her head and turned towards her house. But when she stepped up onto her own deck and glanced back at the scene where the weirdest first meeting of all time had unfolded, something beside the reclining timber armchair on the deck caught her eye, and surprise fluttered in her chest. A terracotta pot sat there, and a unique flowering plant bulged from the potted soil; long, slim, red petals radiating out from the centre.

‘But how did he know my name? Do you think he checked my mail in the letterbox or something? The snoop!' April discussed what had happened with Belinda the next day at work.

‘Hang on,' Belinda replied. ‘Didn't you say he closed the window during your birthday celebrations?' She leaned on the counter with her bony elbows. One had a tattoo of a feather on it.

‘Yeah, so?'

‘Well he must have heard your friends singing ‘Happy Birthday' to you. They did use your name, right?'

‘Oh yeah. But I could have been one of the friends, he didn't know it was
my
house. Unless …' He must have seen her setting up outside, when she'd gone all OCD with the candle table decorations.

‘He's seen you, he heard your name, he left a flower on your doorstep. What's with all this over-analytical crap? Enjoy the gift, girl! I mean, boss.'

April smiled. ‘You're right. He's just unnerved me for some reason. He's a bit weird. Didn't even introduce himself.'

‘Did you introduce
yourself
?'

‘No, but …' Damn. ‘Okay I get it. Anyway, back to work, my insightful young employee.' April shooed her away from the counter and opened the stock list on the computer. Monday was usually slow, and being the start of the week, she liked to do the ordering of stock at the start of each week. That way they'd have plenty of the popular items ready for the weekend surge in sales.

‘God, I love this smell.' Belinda sniffed a lime green candle like it was oxygen. ‘I wish there was some kind of permanent aromatic nose attachment so I could smell it all day without having to pick up the candle.'

‘Like a scented nose ring?' April suggested with a chuckle.

Belinda pointed at her and raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes! You could be onto something there, woman. What a cool invention. We should invent it.'

‘I'll leave that business venture for you, I think.' April had a belly button ring, and her ears were pierced, but that was it. She didn't think she had the kind of nose that suited a nose ring. Didn't want one anyway. Belinda had enough piercings for the both of them. And tattoos.

April resisted the slight shudder in her nerves that sometimes threatened her sense of stability.

She hadn't thought of her tattoo for a while. She'd loved the result of her impulsive decision to get one, after the redness had died down. It had made her feel unique and powerful, like she was expressing her own identity and projecting her confidence into the world. But now, that confidence, along with the tattoo, was gone.

‘I think you should order more of these,' said Belinda, and April returned her focus to her job. ‘With my enthusiasm and strange smell addiction for whatever is in this baby, I reckon I can sell a truckload for you.' She held the lime green candle up and stroked it like it was a cuddly pet.

‘Your wish is my command.' April opened the website of one of her suppliers and added the candle to the shopping cart.

If only enticing scented candles were all that a person could get addicted to.

When she had finished her order and was about to change the window display, her phone beeped with a text message.

Sorry I missed your birthday. Would have been there if I could've. This bad back of mine is making it hard to get around. How's about my baby girl pays me a visit sometime? Miss you.

April's heart softened as it always did when she heard from him, then hardened. She was tempted to go see her dad on her lunchbreak, or after work, make sure he was eating properly and looking after himself as best as someone like him could. But she'd had enough of the ups and downs, the hot and cold, the abandonment followed by re-entry into her life. The inconsistency of his parental role. If she was to move forward with her life, she needed to put herself first. And that meant avoiding the inevitable hurt that came with continually bending to her father's needs. Not that she'd let him fend for himself completely, but he'd had plenty of opportunities and support to get help for his addiction, but hadn't committed to the process. They'd done all they could, for so long, but what more could they do?

She typed back:

I'm pretty busy with the new business, will see how I go for time over the next few weeks. Look after yourself.

What she really wanted to type was:
Stop drinking. Please, Dad. No more.

But he wouldn't stop. And there would be more. And more of everything else that came along with that; the drunken accidents, the fights and needing to be called in to the police station, the hospitalisation from dehydration and malnourishment, the guilt trips he'd give her because
‘no one looks after me'
… She'd tried. Her mum had tried. But after the divorce Clarissa had said enough was enough. She'd check up on him occasionally, but there were boundaries she intended to maintain. At least her dad's neighbours knew his situation and often checked on him, which gave her some peace of mind. But she couldn't be his carer. She had her own life to lead, to rebuild after all that had happened.

She wouldn't waste her life by watching him waste his.

* * *

April slowed as she walked past her new neighbour's house after work, noticing the bundle of mail sticking out of the letterbox, and a parcel sitting on the doorstep. It was almost six. Maybe he was out?

‘Probably waiting for the mail to come to him when it's ready,' she joked to herself.

Heavy clouds hung overhead in the darkening sky. April yanked the mail from the letterbox and marched up to his porch. She glanced down at the parcel, the sender's label said ‘Fast and Fresh' and had a logo of a basket of fruit. If it was fruit, she didn't know how fresh it would be sitting out here all day. And why would someone get fruit home delivered anyway, when the shops were a quick walk up the road?