Things We Never Said Page 17

  Sean takes the following Friday off work in order to help his daughter move house.

  He offers to drive down, but April insists they don’t need an extra car. Ronan, she tells him, has booked a van.

  He leaves the house just after seven and, sandwiched between commuters in suits, manages to snooze on the train. He makes it to Hyde Park Gardens before nine and is surprised to find that April’s move is almost completed. As the previous flat had been rented furnished she only has her personal effects to move. With all of her housemates present, they have made light work of the task. Sean finally gets to meet Matt, as well. He almost thanks him for the use of his room, but then wonders if April even told him. Sean can understand April’s attraction to him, though. He seemingly buzzes with energy and looks like a young, prettier version of Pete Doherty.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ April says, pushing a wisp of hair behind one ear. ‘There’s still Ronan’s place to do, and he’s got loads of stuff and only one friend. So you’re still needed, Dad.’

  ‘I don’t only have one friend! My friends will all be at work by the time we get there,’ Ronan explains. ‘Otherwise that sounds a bit sad. Jesus! Only one friend, indeed.’

  Ronan drives the van to his current place, which turns out to be at the top of Finchley Road. April and Sean follow on in April’s Mini. ‘We can talk, that way,’ she insists.

  And talk is exactly what April does. She tells Sean about the goodbye party they had the previous weekend and how drunk everyone got, and how bored she was because she couldn’t drink. She tells Sean, with apparent pride, that Matt seemed a bit tearful as they were loading up the van. ‘But then again, he might just have a cold,’ she admits.

  ‘You sound quite happy about that,’ Sean teases. ‘You’re not still carrying a torch for him, are you?’

  April giggles. ‘Oh, don’t get me wrong,’ she says, indicating to overtake a bus. ‘I wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole now I know him. And Ronan’s worth three Matts. At least. But, well, it’s nice to imagine that he’s regretting missing his chance, if you know what I mean.’

  She tells Sean about her work life and about Ronan’s job as well. She recounts an article she read in the Guardian and going bed-shopping with her friend Lisa and being mistaken for a couple of lesbians and how Lisa’s gone vegan, which has always struck her as a bit of a lesbian thing, so perhaps she’s going to go lesbian as well.

  Eventually, Sean interrupts her flow of almost random words to ask, ‘April, honey. Are you feeling OK?’

  ‘Me?’ April asks, turning to look at Sean just long enough for him to worry about the traffic. ‘Of course I’m OK. Why? Don’t I seem OK?’

  ‘You just . . .’ Sean shrugs. ‘You’re reminding me of Maggie, that’s all. She gets a bit manic sometimes. Generally when she’s worried about something. So I’m just checking.’

  ‘Oh,’ April says. ‘That. It’s just that I had a coffee because of the early start. I stopped when I got pregnant, because you’re not supposed to, really. But I thought today I needed a little boost. So I let myself have just one. And I think it’s sent me over the edge a bit. Sorry. Am I blathering?’

  Sean laughs. ‘There’s no need to apologise.’

  ‘Plus, I’m excited!’ April says. ‘I’m moving in with my boyfriend. I feel all grown up, Dad.’

  ‘You are all grown up.’

  ‘I know!’ April says. ‘When did that happen?’

  At Ronan’s, his friend Toby is waiting, sitting on a wall in the sunshine ready to help, and, apparently unexpectedly, two flatmates have stayed home to give a hand as well. Which is just as well, because the flat is on the third floor and, despite having been rented furnished, contains a not-inconsiderable amount of Ronan’s furniture. ‘Car boot stuff, mainly,’ Ronan explains. ‘Still, at least we have a couple of bits for the new place.’

  Once the van is loaded, they drive back down Finchley Road to the new place, which is just off Primrose Hill.

  ‘My knowledge of London’s not great,’ Sean says, sounding puzzled. ‘But isn’t this closer to your old place?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s not far,’ April says.

  ‘So why didn’t you do Ronan’s place first?’

  ‘Oh,’ April says. ‘That’s what I said. But the van has to go back to South London. Ronan worked out the optimal route on Google or something. You’ll have to talk to him about it. It’s boy logic.’

  Eton Avenue, where the new flat is situated, is a pretty, tree-lined street of imposing red-brick houses. April and Ronan’s place is set in the basement, and when he steps inside Sean inevitably thinks of Mitcham’s Corner.

  ‘Huh!’ he says, once April has let him in.

  ‘I know it needs a lick of paint and everything, but . . .’

  ‘It’ll be nice,’ Sean tells her. ‘Really.’

  ‘D’you think so?’ she asks, sounding doubtful. ‘And through here is Ronan’s office-cum-nursery.’

  ‘An office-cum-nursery?’ Sean says, doubtfully. ‘That’s an interesting combination.’

  ‘Yes,’ April says, running her fingers across a dusty mantelpiece. ‘Can’t use the fireplaces, unfortunately. Never mind. I still think they look pretty.’ She wipes her fingertips on her dungarees.

  Ronan appears in the doorway. ‘I’m sure you’re having a lovely chat and everything,’ he says, ‘but the van’s rented by the hour. So if you could see your way clear . . .’

  ‘OK, OK,’ April says, pretending to be offended. ‘God, I didn’t even know you’d managed to park.’

  As they carry the first boxes in from the van, Sean asks April if she remembers the flat on Mitcham’s Corner before answering the question himself. ‘Of course you don’t,’ he says. ‘You were three or four when we moved out. But it was a basement flat, like this. Smaller, but it had a similar feel about it.’

  April shakes her head. ‘I don’t. But maybe that’s why this place felt so familiar,’ she says. ‘It was like it was talking to me, beckoning me in. And it’s called lower-ground floor if you don’t mind, Dad. No one says basement anymore. It probably sounds a bit too gimpy.’

  ‘Gimpy?’

  ‘Did you not see Pulp Fiction?’ April asks. ‘“Bring out the gimp”, and all that?’

  Sean shakes his head. ‘Not that I recall.’

  ‘Oh, never mind. It doesn’t matter. Put that one in the kitchen, can you?’ she says, nodding at the box he’s carrying.

  As they head back outside, Sean says, ‘I can understand your excitement, though. I remember how it feels to have your own place. I felt dead proud, really. I feel pretty proud of you today, for what it’s worth.’

  ‘Aw, thanks,’ April says sweetly. ‘Was it nice? The place on Mitcham’s Corner?’

  ‘It was OK,’ Sean says. ‘Actually, it was mouldy, to be honest. And the lack of light drove your mother a bit crazy.’

  They head back outside and find Ronan and Toby wrestling the small, wooden-armed sofa from the van. ‘Can you two manage the armchair?’ Ronan asks. ‘It’s pretty light.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sean says, then, ‘And you be careful, April. Don’t take any risks.’

  April climbs into the van and lifts one side of the armchair, then laughs. ‘It weighs about the same as a packet of crisps,’ she says.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ronan shouts back. ‘It’s just bulky. But do it together and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘So the lack of light is going to drive me insane, basically,’ April says, once they’re on the move with the chair. ‘That’s always good to know. Did I have my own room in Mitcham’s Corner?’

  Sean smiles. ‘No. We used to put you in the bedroom and then move you to the lounge when we went to bed. Nothing ever woke you up.’

  ‘Still doesn’t,’ April says. ‘I could be abducted by aliens while the house burns down and I’d still carry on snoring.’

  ‘Well, now you know why,’ Sean says. ‘But do get yourself some good, strong lightbulbs,’ he adds, returning to her previous comment, ‘a
nd maybe one of those SAD lamps before winter strikes. Because the light thing, that’s real. Believe me.’

  ‘That’ll be Ronan’s problem, not mine,’ April says, ‘and he doesn’t care about sunlight. He could live in a cave, that boy. He even likes it when it rains. The freak.’

  ‘I’m Irish,’ Ronan says as he walks past. ‘Of course I like rain.’

  ‘But when the baby’s born,’ Sean says, once they’ve squeezed the armchair through the front door, ‘then you’ll be at home all day, won’t you?’

  ‘Actually, no, I probably won’t,’ April replies. ‘Ronan says he wants to try baby-rearing. He’s home all day anyway, so he reckons he can combine working from home with looking after the baby.’

  ‘So Ronan’s going to work and look after a newborn baby?’ Sean asks, once they have placed the armchair next to the sofa.

  ‘I know. Don’t you think we’re terribly modern?’

  Sean laughs. ‘Modern wasn’t the word that came to mind,’ he says. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of optimistic.’

  Snapshot #19

  35mm format, colour. A scabby, semi-furless black-and-white cat is sleeping on top of a pile of clothes in a laundry basket. The laundry basket is perched on top of an old front-loading washing machine.

  Sean reaches behind himself and winces as he rubs the base of his back. His spine is still sore from all the box-carrying.

  He looks down at the photo of the cat and thinks, Solo! I might have guessed that you’d be in there somewhere.

  Sometimes Sean had worried that Catherine loved Solo more than she loved him.

  He wonders, if there were to be an afterlife, whether cats and humans might end up in the same place. A space filled with floating, angelic cats would certainly fit Catherine’s idea of heaven.

  To begin with, they had argued about the cat. Sean hadn’t wanted a cat, that was the thing. He didn’t much like them. He thought cats were selfish and aloof. Plus, since he had been promoted, their finances had been improving to the point where they were beginning to envisage the possibility of foreign holidays. He didn’t want the presence of a cat throwing a spanner in the works.

  But April’s friend Sophie had a cat, and so, of course, April wanted one, too.

  Their new little house on Thoday Street had a long straggly strip of a garden, and the back door even had a cat flap left by the previous owners.

  Once Catherine had joined the battle, reminding him constantly that their daughter was an only child and explaining all the different ways a cat would be good for her, he had known it was only a matter of time.

  Cassette #19

  Hello sweetie.

  I bet you weren’t expecting this one. A photo of old Solo looking his worst. That must have been just a couple of days after I brought him home.

  April wanted a cat so badly – do you remember when she tried to smuggle Sophie’s cat home in her backpack? And you really didn’t want one. But I knew I’d wear you down in the end.

  I pretended to be some kind of impartial judge, pondering the fors and againsts of your cat dispute and deliberating my decision. But the truth was that I wanted a cat too, probably even more than April did.

  It was either that or another baby, but the only time I ever hinted at the idea you looked at me with an expression of such utter incomprehension that I knew it was a no-go. So a cat it had to be.

  I was working three mornings a week at the RSPCA shop by then, but I was still, if the truth be told, bored and not a little lonely.

  I was no longer spending my days moping in bed – there was so much decorating to do at Thoday Street – but I felt a cat would provide a presence in the house. It would mean that the place wouldn’t be entirely empty when I got home from the school gates. I’ve never liked that feeling of closing the front door behind you and listening to the creaking of an empty house. It has always put the willies up me, I really don’t know why.

  And so, eventually, after what seemed a reasonable period of listening to April’s whinging (which I encouraged, by the way – she would often forget all about the cat and have to be reminded) I declared that my period of deliberation was over, that I’d judged in April’s favour, and got Iris from the shop to drive April and me out to the shelter after school.

  Do you remember how excited I was about the job offer I saw while I was there? I was more excited about that job than I was about bringing poor Solo home.

  I know you always thought that I should aim higher. You were always pushing me to do A levels so that I could do an OU degree, or go to evening classes and learn to paint, or even just learn to drive. But it was never what I wanted.

  All I ever wanted was to carry on being happy, and just as I knew I wanted you the second I met you, I knew I wanted that job the second I saw the card on their noticeboard. It was a perfect fit that would contribute to the family budget, leave me time to spend with April and make me as happy as any job could. And I was right. I never once regretted it.

  Oh, there were frosty, foggy winter mornings when I had to clean up cat vom or cat shit, or sometimes both, when I’d whinge and moan about my lot. But I never once struggled to go to work of a morning. And I never once, in twenty years, took a day off sick.

  As for Solo – well, that was a bit like the job, really. You thought that I should have aimed higher and come home with something that looked like a Bengal tiger.

  Instead, Solo had some skin complaint, a sort of cat eczema that they suspected was probably nervous in origin. He’d been beaten and kept in a cellar before he came to the shelter, so he had reason, it seemed, to be nervous. The poor cat had hardly any fur and more scabs than the Orgreave picket line. He had been living in a concrete-floored cage, albeit with a basket, out there at the shelter for years.

  But he loved April instantly. I know you never really believed this story, but it’s true: he kept standing on her feet, which was quite a challenge back then as they were only tiny.

  He’d been with the shelter so long that they used to leave the door to his cage open and he quite literally followed us around, perching with his four paws on April’s school shoes whenever we stopped to pet or even look at another cat.

  As we walked around, the woman at the shelter – it was Sally, in fact – explained how the shelter worked and how the un-adoptables like Solo usually had to be put down, but how everyone loved him so much that they simply hadn’t been able to bring themselves to do it.

  I have to admit that it crossed my mind that being that person, being the kind-hearted soul who adopted un-adoptable Solo, would be a sure-fire way to jump to the top of Sally’s pile of potential CVs for the job, but that wasn’t all it was. There was something lovely about him that I could sense, despite the scabs.

  Solo’s fur grew back almost immediately; it was true, in the end, that all he needed was a little love. And he gave that love back to us by the bucketload.

  He knew that we’d saved him, and he knew what we’d saved him from, and he loved us for it, I’m convinced of it. Oh, I can hear you sighing at your soppy wife, but just listen to me and try to believe for once.

  He followed April around the house like a dog, you’ll remember. He used to sit on the table and watch her do her homework. And during the days when I was home, the place was no longer empty. When I was out, at work at the shelter, he would sleep, I think, non-stop. He was always in the same spot when I got home as he had been when I left. And he’d always have a sniff at my shoes as if to remind himself of the unpleasant past he’d escaped thanks to us.

  When I was off and at weekends, he was never far away. Whatever I was doing, whether it was cooking or decorating or mending, I’d look up and always find him there keeping an eye on me and purring. Did you ever hear another cat purr as much as Solo did? I’ll answer that for you: no, you didn’t.

  It took a while for him to worm his way into your affections, but about six months after we got him and about three after his fur had grown back, I came home to find you asl
eep on the sofa. April was snoozing between your legs and Solo was asleep with his head on your shoulder like a baby, and you were smiling in your sleep. Solo looked up at me and I swear that he winked, and I knew then that he’d won you over. I actually got a bit choked up about it, seeing the three people, or the three beings, I suppose, that I loved most in the world, all sleeping together like that. I’m actually getting a bit misty-eyed right now, just telling the story. Isn’t that funny?

  You’ll perhaps think it strange that I’ve included a photo of the cat as one of my precious photos, but I loved that cat. And that’s not a euphemism either. I loved him.

  He was with us for just over ten years – that’s almost twenty per cent of my life and over fifty per cent of his. He really was one of the family.

  And I know that everyone says this about their cats, but he was the loveliest, cleverest, purriest, most empathetic cat that ever existed.

  Do you remember how he used to like sleeping in the laundry basket on top of that awful, shuddering washing machine we had?

  When they invented those Power Plate things that people like to wobble on in order to lose weight, I remember thinking that fatty Solo had thought of it first. And had proven, over many, many years of self-inflicted clinical trials, that it didn’t work at all.

  The following Friday, on arriving home from work, Sean notices he has voicemail on his phone. Which is strange, because it’s been in his pocket all day, and he could swear that it hasn’t buzzed once.

  ‘Back already?’ Sean asks as soon as Maggie answers.

  ‘Hello!’ Maggie says, then, ‘Yes! Got back yesterday.’

  ‘That was quick, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Ten days. Nine nights. Lovely, though. Sunshine every day.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Sean says, wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear so that he can hunt for a snack to eat. ‘The weather’s been rubbish here.’

  ‘Look, I can’t talk for long,’ Maggie says, ‘but did you do anything about the rowing business yet?’