Chapter Thirty-One - A Visitor

Friday 1st December

'Hi girls!  I'm home!'

Catherine had noticed the lights on upstairs as she came down the road to the house she shared with her daughters.  A former Council property, bought on the right-to-buy, inherited by far-away relatives and snapped up at a bargain price by Mr Stevens, it was a solidly built, three-bedroom detached house in a working-class corner of a village best known for luxury yachting.  Will had insisted, when they moved in five years previously, that renting was only a stop-gap while they looked for somewhere to buy.  Somehow, the house-hunting had never happened and this had become their home.  A keen horticulturalist, Catherine had longed to do something with the garden, but the tenancy forbade it.  She had but her name down for an allotment, thinking it might be a way to grow both some fresh food for her family and a circle of friends.  However, as soon as her turn came around and she was granted a plot, Will had taken control of it, insisting on doing the bulk of the work, making the decisions about what to grow and reacting with grave disappointment on the odd occasion she had gone there without him.

'Okay Mum...'

That wasn't much of a greeting, especially after her first proper day at work.  It was no more or less than she was used to.  She almost always found her daughters up in their own rooms when she came home, either from her previous job or from volunteering, and now working, at the Project.  Catherine had tried in vain to enforce a no computers in private space rule with her daughters, but Will had undermined her, insisting they were old enough, sensible enough and trust-worthy enough not to need such childish protections.  Imposing anything more limiting than the regime running before her husband's death was impossible; she had to hope he had been right.

She turned the thermostat in the hall back down to its default setting and went into the living room, turning on the light.  In a measuring jug on the table was a bouquet of spray chrysanthemums and mixed evergreen leaves.

'Where on earth...?'

A label beside them read, 'Hope you had a good day at work, love Alex'. 

'And Kirsty XXX' had been added in a different pen.

'Bless them both,' she sighed, although it appeared that Alex had taken the initiative.  Before she started dinner, she went upstairs to thank them.

'Dad used to get you flowers a lot,' said Alex.  'I thought you might miss that.'

'That's very thoughtful of you.'  Catherine left her daughter's room before her tears became obvious although, had she seen them, Alex would have assumed them to be tears of fond remembrance rather than cruel memories reawakened.

'Dinner in five, girls!'

Thoughtful gestures notwithstanding, there had been no offers of help in the kitchen nor any attempt to pre-empt the shouted summons.  Catherine had cooked the evening meal alone with the radio on, as she had almost every night since moving to this house.  One news item that caught her attention concerned the Scottish Government's creating of a new type of private tenancy, replacing the assured shorthold with a new private residential tenancy, giving more protection from arbitrary rent rises and eviction.  With security of tenure, Catherine thought her family might be happy enough here.  The girls might dream of a new detached house of the type favoured by their better-off friends, but this was warm and in good repair, convenient to the shops and buses, and not too far from their school.

'I'm serving up, now!'

Floorboards creaked gently as legs were swung onto upstairs floors.  Footsteps cantered down the stairs.

'Set the table, please!'

Squabbling from the living room, as if she had asked for a volunteer to walk barefoot over hot coals.

'Pasta bake - again?'

'Yes, Kirsty.  Pasta bake again.'  Catherine loaded a couple of spoonfuls onto her daughter's plate.  'I thought you liked Italian-style food.'

'Yeah, but not every week!'

'It's lovely,' insisted Alex.

Catherine glanced at her but Alex was concentrating on her meal.  If the comment had been meant ironically, there was no indication of it.  More likely, the elder girl was trying to win favour by showing herself more grateful than her fussy sibling.

Catherine served herself and started to eat.  She was about half way through her dinner and talking to Kirsty about her day when her elder daughter interrupted.

'Mum?'

'Yes, Alex?'

'Some of my friends are going to see a band tomorrow night.'

'That'll be nice for them.'  Catherine had a good idea where this conversation was going.

'It's only down in the village,' Alex continued.

'At the community centre?'  It was often used for am-dram productions and local kids trying out the questionable musical talents.

'Yeah, at the community centre.' 

Alex looked imploringly at her mother.  She clearly wanted permission to go.

Catherine was about to ask what time it started and finished when Kirsty butted in.

'No it isn't.  It's at a pub.'

'That's a different one,' Alex snapped at her.

'No, it's not.  My friend Erin says her sister's going.  It's at the Fighting Temeraire.'

That amount of detail suggested Kirsty wasn't simply making something up to inconvenience her sister.

'Is this true, Alex?'

'I thought it was at the community centre,' her daughter lied, utterly unconvincingly.

'Don't treat me as if I'm stupid.'

'But mum, I'll be with my friends...'

You won't, because you aren't going.'  Whatever the circumstances, the deceit deserved punishment.

'Oh. for God's sake!'  Alex threw her fork down.

Catherine kept calm.  'If you had told me the truth in the first place, maybe...'

'It wouldn't have made any difference.  You wouldn't have let me go to a pub.  You're so boring!'

'Not on your own, I wouldn't, but if one of your friend's parents had been going...'

'That is so not true.'

'Are you calling me a liar, Alexandra?'

'Dad would have let me go!'

Catherine stared at her daughter, momentarily at a loss for a response.  Alexandra might very well be right about that.  She heard someone knock the door.

'See who that is, Kirsty.'

'Why should.../'

'Do it!'

She must have sounded angry.  Kirsty put her knife and fork done and ran for the front door as if the table were on fire.

'How dare you throw what you think your father would have done at me.  How could you?'  Catherine was close to tears again.  The unwittingly hurtful thoughtfulness of buying her flowers stung again.

'But it's not fair, mum!  You treat me like a kid.  I'm not a kid anymore.  I'm going, whether you want me to or not.  You can't stop me.  You...!'

'Mum!'  Kirsty called from the hall.  'It's Ralph.'

'Ralph?'  Whatever did he want?  Catherine stood up.  At least this gave both her and Alex cooling off time.  'I'll speak to you later, young lady.'

She went into the hall.  Kirsty walked past her, leaving their visitor on the doorstep. 

'I'm sorry, I seem to have picked a bad time.'

Catherine noticed that he was wearing quite a light coat, although he had a scarf around his neck and his hands in his pockets to keep them from the cold.  His breath steamed in the chill air. 

'Kirsty said you're having your dinner.'

'Yes, we are, but please come in.  We've almost finished.'

Apart from it being unfriendly to leave him on the doorstep, the open door was letting precious heat out of the house.

'Thank you.'  Ralph stepped inside and Catherine closed the door behind him.  'I won't keep you, I promise, but I've had some bad news from Bernie.'

'Not Lionel...!'

Catherine had been worried about her other old neighbour for months.  He always seemed so frail, as if a gust of wind could carry him away, like a tuft of down from his globe artichokes. 

'Goodness, no.  Nothing so drastic,' Ralph said reassuringly.  'It's something much more routine, but still rather annoying, I'm afraid.  There was a break-in to the site and some of the sheds have been burgled.  I'm afraid yours was one of them.  Bernie thinks some of your tools were taken.  He said that whoever did it seemed to know what they were looking for and carted off the better quality ones, and of course your Will always bought the best.  Bernie lost some too.'

'Oh no!'  Catherine felt more pity for her neighbour than for herself. 

'What's wrong?'

Catherine turned around to find Alex standing behind her.

'Our allotment shed has been broken into,' she explained.

'Is that all?' she asked.

'It matters to your mother, Alex,' Ralph said, clearly irritated by her lack of sympathy..

'I don't.'  She stalked back into the living room.

'Oh dear,' sighed Ralph, quietly.

'She's cross because I won't let her go to see a band tomorrow night,' Catherine explained.  'Well, not on her own, anyway.  And she lied to me about where it was.  She said it was at the community centre.'

'Where was it really?' asked Ralph.

'The Temeraire, I think.'

Ralph smiled.  'I see.'

'I'm not happy about her going to a pub on her own.  She's too young.'

'I quite agree.'

'Some of her friends are going, though.  They're only her age.  She feels left out.  She thinks I'm too strict, too over-protective.'

'Awkward.'  Ralph pursed his lips.  'I suppose you could go with her?'

'I'm sure she'd love that!'  Catherine laughed.  She couldn't imagine Alex finding taking her mother along as chaperone any more palatable than an all-out ban.

'It's quite a nice pub, you know,' Ralph explained.

'I'm not sure I've ever been there.'  Nice or not, a pub was no place for a fifteen-year-old.

'They have a very good restaurant.'

'That's worth remembering.'  Perhaps she would take the girls the next time they had something to celebrate, like a birthday or Alex's exam results, if she could afford it then.

'I'd better let you get back to your meal,' Ralph said, after an awkward lull in conversation.

'Yes.'  Catherine opened the door for him.  'I'll check the shed tomorrow morning and see what's missing.  Thanks for letting me know.  It would have been miserable, getting there and finding things gone.'

'Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.'

'That's not your fault.  I appreciate you calling to tell me.  Goodnight.'

'Goodnight,' Ralph said. 

He stepped out into the frosty night.  As she was closing the door again, he turned back towards her.  'We could have dinner,' he said.

'Sorry?'  Catherine wasn't sure she had heard him correctly.

'If the girls are that keen to hear their band, you and I could have dinner at the Temeraire tomorrow evening.'

'I don't know.'

Ralph smiled apologetically.  'It's only an idea.  I thought it might get you ought of a tight spot.  If you'd rather not...'

'It's not that I wouldn't like to, Ralph.  It's just...'  She wasn't sure quite what.

'Why not suggest it to Alex, as a compromise?  She'll probably say no, but at least she can't say you were unreasonable.  Let me know.  I'll probably be at the site tomorrow morning, to check my own shed.'

'I will.'

He smiled and, with a little wave, set off down the path to his car.

Catherine heard arguing even before she came back into the living room.

'If the only way you're allowed to go is if she has a date with Ralph, you can't go!' Kirsty was shouting.  She had clearly been listening in and reporting back.  'You can't!'

Catherine came in.  The girls seemed poised to scratch each other's eyes out.

'It's not a date,' she said.  'And I haven't agreed to go.  It is an option, Alex, if you are that keen on seeing your band.  I think you would have to come too, Kirsty.'

'Why can't I stay here?  I'm old enough!'

'Yeah, I don't want her to go.'

'Do you want to go?  Is it that important to you?'

'No, it's not,' Kirsty answered.  'Not if you have to go out with Ralph.'

'I do not need your permission to eat out with a friend,' Catherine informed her daughter.  'Alex, this is my final offer, and you're extremely lucky this is even on the table after lying to me.  Do you want to see this band?  If so, Ralph and I will take you there, we will bring you back.  We won't be in the same room as you but, at ten-thirty, it's time to go and go you will.'

'Ten-thirty?'

'Or not at all.

'God!'

Alex made a dramatic exit.  Despite that, Catherine was fairly sure she would accept the terms over breakfast the following morning, unless Kirsty talked her out of it.  She too slunk out of the room.  Neither wanted a dessert.

Catherine carried the remnants of the meal out to the kitchen, carefully sorting the leftovers - in the serving dish and on her daughters' plates, into plastic margarine tubs for freezing.  They would do her for odd lunches.  She would need to make some more small economies if she would soon have to pay for a restaurant meal.