The Middle Child (9 page)

     Jay stood and tossed a note onto the table. 
"Thanks for being around, friend."

     Alex watched in horror as Jay walked away and disappeared from view.  She lit a cigarette and replayed their conversation in her head.  She’d lost the only person that she gave a shit about and he’d accused her of being an alcoholic.

     Fuck, now she needed a drink.    

Chapter 9 – Catherine

     The collar doves were out early, Catherine realised as she stood at the door.  She watched as they stood on the fence, neck’s stretched, heads bobbing, looking around all the time. 

     The morning breeze brushed past her cheek.  The movement disturbed the conifer in which they nested and the couple disappeared from sight.

     She closed the door and poured more coffee, hoping it would take effect soon.  She had ground more beans than usual in the hope that the extra caffeine would infuse life and energy into her dormant muscles. 

     Maybe the third cup would ignite her mind so that she could return to the folders still strewn across the dining table.  If only her brain would kick in she could work for another hour or so before Tim and the girls woke. 

     Her stomach churned at the thought of Tim and the expression on his face the previous evening.  He'd been less than thrilled when she’d cried off the reservation he’d made for them all at her favourite restaurant but she’d consoled him with the promise of a late-night take-away in front of the TV with the girls, giving her a little extra time to work. 

     He had not been overjoyed with the idea but had conceded anyway.  Three hours later when she had shown no signs of joining them he had ordered Pizza for the three of them.  The sound of their laughter while watching a Disney film had reached her ears. 

     She’d been tempted to join them but she knew she couldn’t sit by idly watching the television with so much work still to be done.  So she quietly closed the glass doors that separated the two rooms.

     Tim had come to stand beside her; silent but with folded arms. 

     "I know, I know," she defended, without looking at him.

    
"You’ve missed Saturday night with your family.  It’s now the early hours of Sunday morning."

    
"I have to finish this," she said tersely.  Preparing herself for the battle, but it hadn’t come.  Tim had simply looked at her, shook his head and gone to bed.

    
"I had to finish it," she explained to the morning sun.  The weeks were slipping by and she didn’t feel as though she was on schedule.  The majority of the working week was being swallowed by progress meetings, team meetings, brainstorming, meetings with press, radio, television people to program adverts. 

     She was arranging the filming of the first commercial to launch the new brand of cosmetics.  She was meeting with her team to work on the campaign to secure the rest of their product lines.  And that was the part that was worrying her.  The presentation needed her input but she was barely around to offer it and when she was she felt too strung out from meetings to offer anything remotely creative. 

     The whole of last night she’d spent analysing the presentation word for word, reviewing the storyboards, trying to refine the language but her worst fears had been realised.  Something was missing. 

     This presentation didn’t have the same tone or energy or drive of the first one; the one that had won the contract.  She could feel the pressure from her bosses to land this second contract.  She was sure they had already ordered newer, faster cars, larger, more luxurious houses on the back of it. 

     In short, there was no room for failure on this and she knew it.  She had won the initial contract so as far as her bosses were concerned, the rest was merely a formality.  If only she could be so sure, Catherine thought as she circled the dining table, moving from one brightly painted storyboard to the next.  The pitch was right, she knew. 

     She started moving the boards around in the hope that inspiration would strike and melt the ice block in her mind.  Her brain had been saturated with the minutiae of details that the creative urge had gone to ground.

     "No luck?" Tim asked, coming to stand beside her.  She hadn’t heard him approach.

     She shook her head. 
"It’s just not working."

     He moved along the story boards, sipping coffee as he appraised the ideas.

     Catherine followed his eyes, trying to gauge what he might be thinking.  His forehead furrowed occasionally and a slight smile tugged at his lips when he reached a section that she had inserted as an afterthought.

    
"Well?" she asked, holding her breath.  Even now his opinion meant everything.

    
"It’s good."

    
"But?" she pushed, hearing the unspoken word in his voice.

    
"It reminds me of a thousand similar campaigns already running."

     Catherine didn’t take offence at his words.  He was only confirming what she’d already been thinking.

     "It’s restrained and safe.  A gorgeous model wearing the lipstick, a fresh-faced teenager modelling the skin cream.  Nothing new."

    
"I know."

    
"I can’t see much of you in it.  It’s unlike you to settle for something like this.  I can pick out the parts that are yours but it’s not enough to lift the whole thing."

     Catherine nodded her agreement. 
"I know that it’s missing something but we only have two months left to make the presentation.  Trying to re-work the whole idea is impossible."

    
"Why?" he asked, moving back into the kitchen to refill his cup.  Catherine followed.

    
"Because there’s too much work involved.  There’s no way I could pull it off.  We’d end up with nothing to present."

     Tim shrugged. 
"It wouldn’t hurt to throw some ideas around."

    
"Really?" Catherine asked, surprised.  It had been so long since Tim had taken an interest in her work that she rarely expected it anymore.

    
"I can’t pretend I agree with the job you’re doing."  He held his hands up in defence as Catherine opened her mouth.  "Wait a minute.  It’s not because of the long hours or the work that you bring home each night.  It’s not even because I’m forced to watch you work yourself into the ground or because you now spend zero time with the girls it’s because it’s not the right job for you."

    
"Tim, please," Catherine pleaded.  It was too early in the day for an argument.

    
"I’m not arguing, honestly.  I understand your reasons for wanting promotion and I think you worked hard to get it.  You deserved the opportunity but I think you should have turned it down."

    
"Are you mad?"

     Tim nodded and smiled. 
"Probably by your standards, I am.  The job you did before suited you.  It gave you an opportunity to be creative, to think about throwing a different light on something.  You loved to push the boundaries and throw unique ideas into the pot.  If seven people said yes then you said no. 

    
"In your old job you had the chance to dream up scenarios and make them work.  You could use your initiative and creativity; your ideas and your thoughts but it seems to me that you can’t do that anymore.  You’ve been penned in to the small print of the business.  You’re attending meetings all day that are sucking the lifeblood from you.  Your brain is too mashed to…"

    
"Enough," she said, smiling, despite his words.  He wasn’t getting at her he was merely trying to explain his point of view.  She understood what he was trying to say but ultimately the only way was up and much as she had enjoyed her previous job, promotion had been offered to her and she’d had no choice but to accept.

    
"Despite that,"  Tim continued.  "I think if you allowed yourself to try and find the ideas that still lurk in the back of your mind you may be able to salvage something and have a serious attempt at landing the contract."

    
"Do you think?" Catherine asked, hopefully.  At this point she was willing to believe anything.

    
"Just talk," he instructed.  "Tell me about the sessions that led to this campaign and we’ll see if there’s anything there that was overlooked."

     Catherine sat at the table with a fresh cup of coffee and began telling him about the meetings.  Two hours later, with her feet resting comfortably in Tim’s lap, Catherine realised that she had filled seven pages with notes.  A familiar bubbling began in her stomach.  It was the excitement of trying something new. 

     Tim had helped her turn the old idea on its head.  She felt renewed, energetic and desperate to start but she knew better.  The new ideas needed time to circulate around her head and grow into something she truly loved before she set them in concrete.  This was the best time.  Sowing a seed of something new and observing what it became within the fertile earth of her mind. 

    
"I love you," she said, impetuously, reaching across and snaking her arms around Tim’s shoulders.  She raised her head for a lingering kiss.  Tim planted a peck on the top of her head and tapped her feet lightly.

    
"I’ll go and rouse the girls.  It’s almost nine thirty.  They’ll never sleep tonight."

     For a brief time it had been like the old days.  She acknowledged the wave of resentment that washed over her and tried to hide from the guilt.  She loved the girls.  She knew she did but sometimes…

     She prepared the breakfast bowls ready for their arrival.  As usual Lucy entered the kitchen serenely and placed herself at the kitchen table.  Jess wasn’t far behind and then Tim followed, sitting at the head of the table so that he was between the girls.  Instantly he was chatting and joking with them about the wrestling match they’d all had the previous day.  Catherine envied his ability to do that.  Ten minutes ago he had been helpful, supportive partner.  Now he was loving, nurturing father.  How did he manage to become another person in such a short space of time, without even a costume change.

    
"What are your plans for the day?" Tim asked, as she placed bowls of muesli on the table for the two of them.

    
"I thought I might go and see Beth," she said, startling herself.  The words hadn’t formed in her head before they exited her mouth.  It had been on her mind since Beth had called two days ago inviting her to choose a keepsake from their mother's possessions. 

     The only thing she wanted from her mother was a copy of the death certificate but she did want to see her sisters again.  Both of them.

     "Really?" Tim asked, looking surprised but pleased.

    
"There’s no reason for me to stay away anymore.  I just want to make sure Beth's okay."

    
"The girls would enjoy meeting their Aunty Beth," Tim said, ruffling Jess’s hair.

     Catherine blanched.  Both girls looked at her excitedly at the prospect of meeting a new relative.

     "But…"

    
"I did tell you about the match," Tim said.

     Jesus, she had forgotten all about it.  Tim had told her last week that he was playing
Rugby in a match two hundred miles away.  Damn, she wished she’d never said a word.  Otherwise she could have settled the girls down with some toys and got back to work. 

    
"Catherine…" Tim said, gently.

     The girls were still eyeing her with muted interest.

     Catherine desperately wanted to refuse.  She couldn’t recall the last time she was alone with them but the hopeful expression on Tim's face stopped her.  How could she refuse after the help and support he had given her earlier?  He had taken the time to encourage and assist her despite his feelings about what she was trying to do.

     She wiped her mouth with the cotton napkin. 
"I’ll be ready to go in one hour."

***

     "For goodness sake, Jess, I asked you if you’d been to the toilet before we got into the car," Catherine growled as Jess began squirming in the rear passenger seat.

    
"I did, Mummy, honest."

    
"You couldn’t have or you wouldn’t be so desperate to go now, would you?"

     Catherine was already regretting bringing the girls.  She should have insisted that they went to visit Tim's mother for a couple of hours.  Jess had already thrown half a packet of sweets over the seat and floor and removed her seat belt twice.

     "Stop it," Lucy hissed at her sister in the back seat.  "Don’t make her angry."

     Catherine smiled at the sensible attitude of her oldest child.  How many times, as a child, had she said those same words to Alex?  She shook herself, filled with horror.  She wasn’t her mother and this situation was completely different.

     "Jess, sit still," she ordered.  "We only have a few miles to go and then you can go to the toilet."

    
"But I need to go now," she cried, desperation in her voice.

    
"Well, you're just going to have to wait," she snapped.

    
"Don’t wanna go, anyway," Jess said, kicking the back of Catherine’s seat.

    
"Stop it," Catherine snapped.