Kitty's Countryside Dream (8 page)

‘How's your night going so far?'

Turning around instantly, the rest of us looked up to find Danny the barman had appeared at the side of the table, smiling down at Jeannie.

‘Not so bad, how about you? It's busy in here tonight.'

‘Always is on a Friday. I've been run off my feet, but luckily for me I was on the early shift so I'm off to meet the lads on the other side of town for a few beers.'

‘Aren't you sick of the sight of beer after serving it all the time?' Jeannie joked.

‘Ha ha, that would be a no!' He grinned. ‘Anyway, I'll catch you later. I hope you all have a good evening.' And with that he disappeared through the door.

‘He seemed a nice chap,' I said.

‘Yes, he is. I've known him for years; he comes from a lovely family too,' Jeannie replied.

‘Looks like Tom may be a while – the queue at the bar is moving slowly. I'll nip to the Ladies before he's back. I won't be long.'

I coughed to grab Jeannie's attention. Staring at her wide-eyed, I hoped she would understand the telepathic message I was trying to transfer between our two brains:
Please do not go to the toilet and leave me alone with Robin
. I knew he wasn't a mass murderer or anything, but I hadn't a clue what to chat to him about. I was completely new to this situation. It was one thing listening to funny stories in a group, but faced with a one-to-one, panic gripped my stomach. It soon became apparent that Jeannie was no psychic. Swiftly standing up and pushing her chair under the table, I was left alone, facing Robin, wondering what to say.

‘Do you come here often?' I asked nervously.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt like an utter idiot. How cliché.

Robin smiled then laughed.

Every time he smiled he exposed the most perfect white teeth that I had ever seen.

‘Aha! Are you trying to chat me up?' he joked, his eyes glinting at me. Leaning in towards the table, he cupped his hands around mine.

I held my breath.

‘Seriously, before the others come back, I'd like to apologise for putting you on the spot earlier. I didn't mean to upset you, talking about your parents.' Robin's voice was soft and soothing.

I smiled at him.

‘Apology accepted, but honestly there's nothing to feel sorry about. It's still very raw for me. I take one day at a time and hopefully some day I'll be able to speak about my parents without bursting into tears. At this point in time, light-hearted fun is the way forward for me until I discover who I am and what I like to do, because, quite honestly, I have no idea about anything at the moment.'

Robin nodded. I could see from the kindness in his eyes he got it and understood I wasn't in any way ready for a relationship, and certainly not a casual fling with a bloke I'd only just met in the pub.

‘Tom and Jeannie are good people and being surrounded by them will hopefully carry you through such a difficult time. And me, well I'm always around as a drinking buddy, taxi driver or someone to sit with you on a night in watching a film. You just give me a call, no pressure.'

I thanked him. It was a kind offer and I would definitely think about it.

‘Well you pair look pretty cosy,' Tom exclaimed as he carefully placed four drinks on the tabletop without spilling a drop of liquid.

I jumped in my chair and quickly removed my hand away from Robin's and grabbed the wine glass, taking a gulp.

The white wine instantly warmed my stomach; a taste I knew and loved so well.

‘Don't be daft, I was just about to go and find Jeannie; she's been gone awhile.'

‘You're right; she has been gone a while. I think I'll visit the little boy's room too,' Tom replied, darting towards the toilet door before I even had time to reply.

Turning towards Robin, I smiled. ‘I won't be a minute; I'll go and locate that sister of yours. She seems to have forgotten the way back to the table.'

‘Do you fancy grabbing some food after we've finished our drinks or maybe going to a club?' Robin asked.

‘That would be lovely, but I've not budgeted for a huge night out. I've not really worked out my financial situation properly yet, but no doubt we'll all have another night out soon.'

‘I'd like that, even though going out with my sister can be annoying at times.'

‘Jeannie's lovely. She probably says the same about you.' I laughed.

‘I doubt that. When she comes out with me she has a canny knack of talking me into buying her drinks. It always costs me a fortune.'

We both laughed.

‘Right, excuse me for a second, the Ladies is calling.' And with that I weaved in and out of the gathered groups of drinkers and headed towards the toilet.

Pushing open the door of the Ladies, I was greeted by a dusty green velour fringed curtain hanging lopsided over the cracked windowpane in front of me. To the left of the window there was a row of empty cubicles. It seemed all the door locks were broken except the one at the far end of the row, which was evidently in use, as the door was tightly shut and the engaged indicator on the lock confirming it was occupied.

The interior of the powder room was clearly more powder than room. The threadbare, flea-bitten carpet had a grubby sheen from lack of vacuuming; it had definitely seen better days and there was less room than on jam-packed London Underground trains during rush hour.

It was just about functional but clearly the design vision of an individual who'd spent many years at Her Majesty's pleasure. I shuddered when I spotted the dusty old dried-flower arrangement that was propped up by the corner basin. Without a doubt it had been present since the 1950s.

Then I heard a sound, a muffled giggle.

I stood still.

I heard it again, followed by a thud and a shuffle of feet.

‘Shhh, get off, there's someone there, be quiet.' I heard Jeannie's voice.

Frozen to the spot, I couldn't believe it.

There must be some kind of mistake.

‘Who's there?' I heard Jeannie whisper from the other side of the door, followed by another chuckle.

My jaw dropped open.

Then I heard ‘Shhh' – it was definitely said by a man.

I stood perfectly still, not daring to make a sound. I didn't want them to know it was me. I felt very sad suddenly. I wanted to be wrong but the dread rose up through my body. I recognised Jeannie's voice instantly and she was sharing a moment with … I didn't want to bring myself to think about it, but it had to be him, it definitely had to be Tom; who else could it be? He had gone to the bathroom only moments before me – he was inside the cubicle with her.

Quietly gliding out of the room and back into the pub, I noticed that Robin was now propping up the bar. The queue had started to dwindle and the pub was beginning to empty. The partygoers were moving on to the clubs. Before he noticed me I slipped silently out of the double doors and hailed a taxi; there was only one place I wanted to be right now and that was home.

S
afely within my flat
, I kicked off my pumps and threw my coat over the hook in the hallway, heading straight for the fridge to pour myself a large glass of wine.

Loyal, reliable Alfie appeared in the doorway to the kitchen; he was purring merrily, glad that I had finally returned home so he could snuggle down on the duvet and fall asleep next to me. Scooping him up in my arms, I buried my tear-stained face deep in his fur; I didn't know what I would do without him.

Carrying him to the living room, I placed him gently down on the settee and then grabbed my wine from the kitchen. Taking a huge gulp, I picked up my book to read. I read the same paragraph over and over again and, defeated, placed the book back on the table. I switched on the television and settled back down beside Alfie. Flicking through the channels, the images on the screen were nothing but a blur. I couldn't focus; my mind was racing, replaying the night's events on a loop in my head.

Soon enough, my tired, battered body was calling out for the comfort of my bed.

‘Come on. Bedtime, you,' I murmured softly towards Alfie. ‘It'll all look better in the morning, I'm sure.' I wasn't certain who I was trying to convince. He immediately jumped down from the settee and padded across the room towards the hallway. I followed him.

Unexpectedly, I heard the woody echo of knuckles rapping on the front door.

‘Kitty, are you there? It's me, Tom, please let me know if you're there!' He sounded worried. What was he doing here at this time of night? Maybe he thought I'd overheard him and Jeannie in the loos …

I turned the key in the lock and held the door open to find Tom's concerned eyes gazing back at me. The cold air hit me instantly and I shivered.

Tom's hands were dug deep down in his pockets to shield them from the frosty temperature of the night air. His shoulders were hunched up and his neck was scrunched down inside the upward-turned lapels of his coat as he struggled to keep warm.

‘What happened tonight? I was worried. One minute you were there, next you were gone. I didn't want to wait until morning to ring you. I'm sorry if I've startled you; I needed to make sure you were OK.'

This was my chance to tell him, my chance to set the record straight, my chance to come clean about why I had scurried off into the night.

But I was too scared of his reaction; I couldn't face his rejection.

‘I've never had a girl disappear on me before.'

Jeannie was his girl; he wasn't interested in me.

I didn't answer him; my voice was suffocating from the large lump that was stuck in the back of my throat.

‘Are you OK? I was worried – you vanished.'

I swallowed the emotion in my throat, but still no words would come out.

‘Can I come in? It's freezing out here.'

‘Yes,' I breathed, against my better judgement.

‘You've been crying.'

He leant in towards me. Studying my face closely, he lifted my chin with his hand; his beautiful eyes met mine – again.

I only managed a nod. Conscious of the lump still in my throat, I didn't dare speak.

Pulling a tissue from his pocket, he gently dabbed the tears away from my eyes.

‘Don't cry,' he murmured softly.

He reached for my hand. Entwining his fingers around mine, he squeezed them tightly then pulled me in close. Resting my head on his chest, it spun with alcohol. Hearing the constant thud of his heartbeat, more tears slipped from my eyes. He kissed the top of my head; his arms were wrapped tightly around my body. I wanted to stay there; I wanted to stay draped in his arms forever.

Gradually releasing me, he tilted my head towards his. ‘Go and get some sleep now. I won't keep you up, I just needed to know you were safe.'

I managed a nod.

‘I know this is all so difficult for you, the passing of your parents, living in a strange place, but remember I'm your friend; I'm here for you.'

With one last peck on the cheek, he disappeared down the steps into the whirls of fog that had descended from the winter sky.

I couldn't deny my feelings. I didn't want his friendship – I wanted him, full stop.

L
eaning
my head against the carriage window, I closed my eyes for a moment whilst my body jolted along in time to the motion of the train. As the train swayed around the bend, I did my very best to stop the contents of my stomach rising towards my throat; the hangover from hell was battling against me at every twist and turn. I watched the rows and rows of terraced houses overlooking small concrete yards roll past.

I was exhausted – shattered, to say the least. I'd tossed and turned the entire night, the room in a spin from the alcohol consumption and my body in turmoil from the tears that rolled. Luckily the weekend was stretched out in front of me; I had forty-eight hours to recover and pull myself together until I came face to face with Tom and Jeannie again.

The cry of a baby sounded out behind me and the gentleman sat opposite peered over the top of his newspaper and sighed with frustration.

The train trundled on past power stations, canals, bridges and fields, with the token abandoned trainer dangling from the power line above. Embankments were littered with rusty old cans and crisp packets and the odd item of clothing that had been dumped and forgotten.

This journey wasn't familiar to me. I'd only ever travelled it once before, but that had been in the opposite direction, the day my new adventure began. Now I was travelling back, back home to Cheshire: there was somewhere I needed to be today. Already out on her early-morning deliveries, Lucinda had spotted me and stopped her van outside the stone archway to the station. She was delivering a christening cake. I smiled but wasn't in the mood for polite conversation. I made my excuses – I'd miss my train if I stopped to chat.

‘Where are you going?' she asked.

‘Home, I'm going home,' I replied before disappearing through the stone archway that led down to the station platform.

For the next twenty minutes or so I dozed in and out of consciousness. Feeling a light tapping on my shoulder, I raised my head to find the guard standing in front of me, his hand stretched out, waiting to stamp my ticket. Once he was satisfied, he moved quickly onto the man with the newspaper before exiting the compartment and moving on to the next.

Now I'd been travelling for almost an hour, my surroundings were becoming more familiar, and I recognised the outskirts of the town I used to live in, the place where I grew up. I spotted Lucy's semi-detached Victorian house, with its long, narrow, well-tended garden. Lucy had been my best friend at school for a short while. She'd lived a few streets away from me and we were alike in so many ways. Our love of books brought us together. Unlike most children we knew, we preferred the company of a good book to playing outside in the street. We would sit side by side for hours on the floral-covered ottoman in her bedroom reading until her mother called her for tea.

I never knew what happened to Lucy; my last memory of her was watching in despair whilst she waved frantically from the back window of her father's Fiat Strada as it followed a removal van out of the street. I never saw her again. She'd left a forwarding address and we wrote letters to each other for awhile, but as time went on those soon dwindled.

Finally arriving at the station, I hung back, waiting for the passengers to file out of the carriage. Through the window, I could see the station was busy with the hustle and bustle of the weekend travellers. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry, striding fast, weaving in and out of the crowds of people. Stepping the platform, I clutched my bag tight against my body and followed the masses towards the exit sign.

There was a lengthy queue in front of the booking window; an irate passenger was shaking his fist, arguing with the assistant who was safely tucked away behind the toughened glass. There were groups of commuters huddled together, chatting and smoking, whilst others sat on the benches reading newspapers or books. Onlookers eagerly waited, with continued glances at their watches, the arrival of their trains. There was commotion and noise everywhere and stampedes of late passengers running towards the doors of train carriages.

Pushing the turnstile, I was relieved to be away from the disorder of the platform. Breathing in the fresh, cold air, I began to walk briskly along the street. I'd only walked about 100 yards when I began to feel nervous; I felt an unsettled presence behind me, but weirdly there was no one there. The street was unusually quiet and I continued walking up the crest of the hill. Taking in the view, I saw the old church was directly in front of me.

Pushing open the weathered wrought-iron gates, the grand entrance to the graveyard, I noticed one of the ornamental statues was broken and had toppled to the side; it was now lying on the ground, in desperate need of restoration. There were gravestones that were forgotten and lacked attention, overrun with dense weeds, whilst others were immaculate, dotted with flowers that had been strategically arranged in the silver aluminium pots standing in front of the stones.

Feeling the tears well up, I crouched before my parents' stone, running my fingers over the chiselled words.

T
hey had finally been reunited
; my mother and father laid to rest side by side. The emotion was surging through my body, the free flow of tears rushing down my cheeks. This was the first time I'd set eyes on my mum's name chiselled into the headstone. It all seemed so final, seeing the words carved out in stone. I felt empty and alone. Wiping away my tears, I rearranged the pretty fresh flowers standing in the vase on their grave.

I smiled gratefully at the flowers.

It was comforting to know that one of my parents' many friends or neighbours hadn't forgotten them.

I plucked the card from the posy and squinted through my blurry-eyed tears. It read: Forever in your debt, thank you xx

Staring down at the card, I reread it. I was puzzled; it didn't mean anything to me, of course, but it meant something to someone.

There were no other words.

I flipped the card over, looking for clues but there was nothing, nothing at all; it was blank.

My heart began thudding inside my chest, my hair stood on end and my skin prickled with fear. What did that mean? Who was forever in their debt and why? Who had placed the fresh flowers on the grave? How was I going to find out the answers? I stared at the card for a couple more seconds. The chilly wind in the air whistled all around me and the ground began to feel damp below my knees.

Today was my mum's birthday, the first year in my lifetime I couldn't actually see her or speak to her. I needed to visit her today; I needed to feel close. She was here; I could sense her all around me.

Dad's death was like a kick in the stomach. His was the first bereavement I had ever experienced. For months after his death, my feelings catapulted between disbelief, anger and confusion. By contrast, Mum's death was expected but still excruciatingly painful. One parent dying was shattering, but with both gone, I felt alone, my roots hacked away from underneath me, leaving me with a very vulnerable existence.

I wandered over to the wooden bench that sat next to the path, not far from the grave. It wasn't time for me to leave yet. I settled on the bench and pulled out my book from my bag. I began to read. Sometimes reading was the only comfort for me.

It was nearly an hour later when I looked up from my book. I noticed a couple at the far end of the graveyard; they were wrapped in each other's arms.

Standing up, I placed my book back into my bag. I glanced at my parents' grave for one last time and a few seconds later I walked back through the deserted churchyard towards the wrought-iron gates at the entrance.

I cupped my hands together and rubbed my fingers vigorously in an attempt to warm them up. It was a short walk from the graveyard to my old family home. I stood on the pavement opposite the place where I used to live and looked on while a small child merrily played in the front garden. She was bundled up in a warm winter's coat, with a stripy multicoloured scarf and matching hat. I watched her push a pram up and down the front path, singing with joy.

There was an aching familiarity about the place; the memories crowded my head. I could visualise racing around the garden with my dad, while my mum brought us glasses of lemonade to quench our thirst in the heat of a summer day.

I observed the mother wandering out of the house onto the lawn with a beaming smile. I could hear the exchange of excited chatter, the little girl relaying all of her afternoon games to her mother. I watched them skip inside, hand in hand.

This was no longer my home. I needed to face facts; those times were long gone, but I was thankful my memories kept them very much alive, even if at this moment in time the pain of remembering was unbearable.

The journey home was one of calm and peace. I'd done what I'd needed to do. Even though I felt weary, I rested my head against the windowpane and read for the whole journey. The train ride seemed quicker on the way back to Staffordshire and in no time at all I'd arrived back at the station and caught a bus back to my flat.

I let out a breath and was glad to finally be home.

This was my home now, and standing in my hallway with Alfie at my side I felt a real sense of belonging.