Being Shirley (9 page)

She snuggled down, glad she’d had the foresight to put the electric blanket on. But then she caught the look of invitation in Tony’s eye as he dropped the towel and sauntered around to his side of the bed. She groaned inwardly. It was a look Annie knew all too well. He pushed himself up against her and she wriggled as close to the edge without actually toppling out of bed as she could go. Most nights she’d be in like Flynn, as eager as a beaver, or whatever those sayings were but not tonight. She just didn’t feel like it. Too much swirled around her brain to make way for any pheromones or whatever a girl needed for a rev up. “Sorry, Tony, it’s been a big day and I’m really tired.” She was tempted to throw in the age-old excuse of
I’ve got a bit of a headache
too but decided that was probably overkill.

Apparently it wouldn’t have been because Tony was not going to be put off that easily. He suggested with a waggle of his thick black eyebrows that she didn’t have to expend much energy if she didn’t want too and added that she could always lie back and think of England; he wouldn’t mind.

“Oh, go tie a knot in it!” She gave him a half-hearted smile before she rolled over to kiss him a chaste goodnight. He homed in for the kill but she meant it. She really wasn’t in the mood and so she pushed him off, said goodnight and moved back to the edge of the bed as she tucked the duvet around her to ward off the chilly night air.

Tony muttered something about her still being annoyed over Craig’s antics and that she needed to lighten up a bit because it was only a joke.
He was probably right
, she thought reluctantly. She freed her hand from the duvet so she could reach over and flick off the bedside light. Just look at Ngaire’s outfits—she looked as if she’d be far more at home serving up beers in some seedy bar for hardened bikers than living in suburban St Albans on the best of days. Her bunny outfit really wasn’t that big a deal and so what if she had been caught out?
Move on, Annie
, she’d told herself,
because if it had been anybody else on the receiving end of Craig’s little joke, she would have found it as funny as the rest of the Goodall clan had.
For some reason, though, it had stung and as she stood at the window with the pot full of potatoes threatening to boil over, she had tried very hard not to cry. She would not give Craig the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to her. He had, though, and she didn’t know why but it seemed to crystallise that things weren’t going right between her and Tony, no matter how hard she tried to fix things. Lying in the dark, with her eyes wide open, she waited until he rolled away from her with a huffy sigh. One hot salty tear slid down her cheek.

“What’s that?” Tony muttered. It took Annie a moment to realise someone tapped on their front door.

“It’s someone at the door, I think,” she mumbled, still half asleep.

Tony grunted that was fairly obvious before he rolled out of bed to pull on a T-shirt and some pants. He drew the door behind him as he went to investigate and left Annie to slowly come to. She glanced over at the red digits of the clock on the bedside table; it was only ten past six. God, it had taken her forever to get off to sleep and when she had, she’d slept fitfully. Roz had starred in most of her dreams, which she hadn’t done for a long time. She was the before Roz, beautiful and vibrant and it was as though she was trying to tell her something. It was still a shock even now to wake up and realise it wasn’t real and that her sister hadn’t been with her for a long time. She wiped the sleep away from her eyes, and wondered who on earth would pop over at this time of the morning. As the realisation hit that it was far too early for a social call, her mind jolted into alert wakefulness.

What had happened?
Something must have happened. As she swung her legs over the side of the bed, she flashed back to the earthquakes. There can’t have been another big jolt; she would have woken up. Surely she hadn’t gotten that complacent about them that they didn’t even penetrate her sleep these days? She shrugged into her dressing gown and made her way down the hall. She could see Tony’s outline silhouetted in the open front door. An icy shiver ran through her. Something was wrong; she could tell by the rigidity of his stance.

At her approach, he swung round and told her, in the brusque tone he usually saved for the boys under him at work, to go and sit in the lounge.

“What’s going on?” Annie wrapped her arms tightly around herself as though trying to fend off the inevitable bad news she knew she was about to hear. Nobody knocked on the door before seven a.m. with good news. The jumble of panicked thoughts swam through her head: If it wasn’t an earthquake, then had something happened to her mum or dad or both of them? Had one of Tony’s brothers been in a car accident? “Is everything okay?” Her voice quavered as she ignored Tony’s instructions and pushed past him to see who stood in the doorway, fully expecting to see a police officer.

Her mind registered Campbell Bennett instead, a middle-aged family man who lived on the corner of their street. She hadn’t seen him since they’d shovelled that horrid post-quake liquefaction off the pavement together after the last round of shakes. Now, though, she stared at him uncomprehendingly because instead of the track suit ensemble he had been wearing then, he was in a suit, obviously on his way to work. But what was he doing on their doorstep at this time of morning and why instead of a shovel was he holding something small and stiff wrapped in a towel? As the realisation as to what it was he cradled dawned, Annie’s knees buckled.

***

“I loved him, you know, Carl? He was more than just a cat—he was my baby.” Annie sniffed loudly and huddled further into the depths of her dressing gown, unable to summon the energy or the inclination to get dressed that morning. “I’m going to miss him so much.”

“I know, sweetie. I’ll miss him too. Jasper was a character right up there in the realms of Grumpy Cat.” He sat next to her on the couch and draped his arm round her shoulder; he pulled her close and stroked the top of her head. “What was that story you told me about him getting his head stuck in a can of cat food that time?” Carl was very much a believer in the Irish wake theory whereby when somebody died you sat round and shared stories about their life. He was pleased to see it was working when Annie raised a watery smile at the memory.

“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten all about that. He could be such a little pig!” She had a sip on the cup of sugary coffee Carl had made her before she cleared her throat. “I’d given him his dinner but he wasn’t happy with the new portion control regime the vet suggested I put him on, so he managed to nudge the empty tin of food out of the recycling bin. He got his head wedged inside it, trying to lick the bottom of it out. Honestly, Carl, you should have seen him wandering around the house smacking into things with this tin can stuck over his head. If I’d had a camera handy, I would have filmed it and sent it in to
Funniest Home Videos
. He looked like a tomcat version of Ned Kelly.”

Carl laughed at the image conjured. “Remember your birthday dinner party?”

“When he licked the cream off my birthday Pavlova?” The cream-filled meringue dessert was Annie’s favourite.

“Yes, I went to fetch it from the spare room where I’d hidden it away as a surprise and found bloody Jasper sitting on the bed with his face covered in cream looking like—”

Annie actually laughed now. “Don’t say it—the cat that got the cream. I’d forgotten about that and you weren’t laughing at the time—you were highly pissed, as I remember. He was naughty at times! You know, I remember this one time we were having a BBQ with Tony’s family and we were all sitting out in the garden having a drink when this ginger streak ran past, dragging a meat tray behind him. Ngaire went berserk because it was the fillet steak she’d bought specially for ‘her boys.’ He had expensive taste, that cat.” She lamented, still laughing at the memories and then sobered once more as the realisation that he’d never taste fillet steak again dawned fresh. “Oh Carl, how could someone hit him and then just leave him there on the side of the road like that?” She swiped angrily at her eyes, which had welled up again. “It’s Tony’s bloody fault. If he hadn’t made me put him out at night…”

Carl reached for the box of tissues he’d had the good sense to bring round with him, along with a big box of chocolates. He’d omitted including alcohol in his care package, given his friend’s current state and not wanting to be responsible for a maudlin wine drinking session. They would bypass that part of his Irish wake theory. He handed her a wad of tissues and waited until she had given her nose a good blow before he replied. “You know, people do some strange things when they get a fright, sweetheart. Who knows—perhaps they thought they’d hit a possum or something?”

“Possums aren’t ginger.” Annie wasn’t going to be that easily appeased because whoever had done this to her Jazz was nothing short of a psychopath, in her opinion. She balled the soggy tissues and shoved them in her dressing gown pocket.

“Yes but it was dark when it happened and at least that nice neighbour of yours had the decency to bring the old boy home for you. You can’t blame Tony either. It’s not his fault some idiot ran into him. Cats are nocturnal. They’re supposed to be out doing their thing at night. It’s just a sad, sad accident, that’s all.”

Annie didn’t reply. She wasn’t ready to let go of her festering anger yet. She needed someone to aim and shoot it at, and right at the moment Tony was her target.

“Besides, he’s done a lovely job of burying him for you, I’ll give him that.”

“Why are you suddenly his cheerleader?” Annie spluttered and fought off angry tears. She didn’t want Tony to be kind; she wanted him to be horrid and selfish so she could stay mad. It was true what Carl said, though; he had been thoughtful after Campbell had left. She’d been a mess when she’d realised what had happened and he had put a supporting arm around her, shepherded her into the lounge and settled her on the couch. He’d fetched a blanket out of the hall cupboard and draped it over her before he kneeled down to light the fire. When that was roaring, he’d gone through to the kitchen and made her a cup of tea; he even stirred an extra teaspoon of sugar into it before he phoned her work and left a message to say that she’d had a bereavement in the family and wouldn’t be coming in that day. He’d had the sense not to mention it was her cat that had passed away because Annie didn’t think that would wash well with Attila. She’d be the type of person who’d pull the wings off a butterfly for fun, so she’d hardly relate to the grief her employee felt over losing a pet.

Tony himself hadn’t gone off to work first thing either, which was unheard of. Instead, he had waited until the garden centre down the road opened. At nine a.m. on the dot, he’d hooned off down there and come back with a cherry tree sapling, along with a little plaque that now dangled off one of the sapling’s spindly bare branches, beneath which Jasper was buried. It read:
You left paw prints on my heart.

Next to the verse was a picture of a dog. It was all they had, Tony had told her with an apologetic shrug as he’d disappeared off into the garage in search of a spade. And yes, she knew the thought was there, so she’d said nothing as they’d stood out there on the dewy morning grass while he’d dug the hole. She’d said nothing too when he placed Jasper, along with his favourite mouse toy, into the gaping earth and filled it in. At the sign of the first frost, the sapling would die too. Just like poor Jazz had.

Next to her now, Carl tightened his grip around her shoulder. “I’m not Tones’s biggest fan. I’m the first to hold my hand up to that but I am fair and I like to give credit where credit is due. What he did this morning for Jasper and for you was sweet, really sweet.” He frowned or at least Annie guessed he frowned as he pushed his long swishy fringe out of his eyes. “Perhaps I have underestimated him.”

Annie didn’t answer; her bottom lip trembled mutinously.

“Right then.” Carl gave her shoulder one last squeeze and got to his feet. “I really hate to leave you like this, sweetie, but you do have chocolate, and I have one beanpole with attitude waiting for me to shoot her at Sumner Beach. So how about before I go, I run you a lovely warm bath with lots of bubbles for you to have a good old wallow in?”

“I’m not a hippo,” Annie mumbled.

Carl ignored her. “Then when you get out, I want you to get dressed, put some make-up on because that always makes you feel better, and then as part of your grief therapy, I prescribe eating the whole box of chocolates while watching the trashiest daytime soap you can find. Plus, I am dying to know what happens when Olive finds out that Honey has slept with Ryder on
Under the Big Sky
, okay?”

His tone brooked no argument as he marched off in the direction of the bathroom.

***

Annie did have the bath Carl ran for her and it was soothing to immerse herself in the soft, sweet smelling bubbles but it didn’t change anything. Afterwards, once she’d towelled off, she had a cursory glance in the mirror. Her hair framed her face in a halo of red frizz and accentuated the fact she looked a red and white blotchy mess, with her nose swollen from being blown constantly. She didn’t care. She felt like crap so it was only right she should look like crap and she had no intention of putting on make-up as Carl had suggested, even though he was probably right. As for eating chocolates, the very thought of tucking into the ginormous box sitting on her coffee table turned her stomach. And she really couldn’t face
Under The Big Sky
or
The Bold and The Beautiful
or any other daytime TV offerings. Carl would just have to forever wonder what Olive did when she found out about Ryder’s infidelity because quite frankly she did not give a damn.

Instead, she shrugged into her dressing gown and took herself off to the bedroom, where she flopped down on the bed and cuddled her pillow to her chest. A rose bush branch scraped against the window as outside the wind got up and the steady drizzle that had set in for the day was befitting of her current grey mood. She felt alone, lonely, and as she closed her eyes for a moment, Annie tried to imagine the imprint of Jazz curled up in the crook of her legs the way he’d always done. He always seemed to sense when she wasn’t well or was just in need of company. Cats knew when you were out of sorts. She was sure she had read somewhere about a cat that lived in a hospital and always went to lie on the beds of the people who needed him most. Jazz wasn’t that selfless; he would never have curled up with Tony but he’d always been there for her.

The warmth of his body as he purred contentedly, happy at their daytime rendezvous, almost felt real to her now and she tried to hold onto the sensation. It slipped from her grasp because he wasn’t there and would never be again. Annie opened her eyes and for a moment she stared unseeingly at the wall until like a camera being tweaked, the print of Santorini came into focus.

She let its scene wash over her. It never failed to make her wonder at the beauty of the place; even now, feeling the way she did, the island’s tumble of white buildings gave her pause. She pulled herself up into a sitting position, knees to her chest and arms wrapped around them. It had just dawned on her that she finally saw what Roz had seen when she looked at it. Not some mass-produced print that had probably hung on hundreds of bathroom walls when the blue and white Greek look was last all the go, but rather the dream of anything being possible. Surely the world couldn’t be anything but your oyster once you had set your eyes upon such a vista?

The volcanic rock that was home to Santorini had held a special kind of allure that had entranced Roz. It was at the thought of her sister that another wave of sadness broke over Annie. All the things she could have been, should have been, and what she might have done with her life had she chosen a different path swirled in front of her mingling with the anger that always lay beneath the surface—her gorgeous big sister. She gripped her knees tighter; she knew she had to push these thoughts aside or they would wash her away like a shanty hut in a tsunami. She chewed her bottom lip, and forced herself to look straight ahead at the dressing table mirror, almost not recognising the girl who peered back at her from under the tangled hair.