Marmie is trapped, this time under the settee. I drag the couch away from the wall and as soon as I lift her she relaxes in my hands. I research ‘separation anxiety’ in puppies and kittens and it nearly kills me the pain they go through when separated from their pack. Need to get the little thing used to the idea of me coming and going, so I try the trick of going out for five minutes, then twenty, then two, then forty. Confuse and reassure. Arrange favourite treats, pieces of cheese, tuna, stuffed inside socks and plastic containers, turn soothing classical music on. I can now leave the room without being greeted by a shivering wreck on my return. Call David, arrange a walk in the park. This time I’ll demonstrate how ‘normal’ I can be by leaving the kitten at home.
32
My overzealous application of perfume, a sweet flowery concoction – perhaps it’s gone off? – swirls about me in the wind, gathering in intensity. My lank hair is whipping across my eyes, making them water, my cheeks more red than usual. I have noticed more broken veins on my delicate skin recently, and the application of old, caked foundation does little to tamp down my high colour. I see him, pacing along the edge of the pond, hands deep in his pockets, and have to fight a desire to bolt. My voice, when it makes itself heard, is a bubbling cauldron of unmediated bullshit: ‘Hi there, great to see you, windy day, nippy too, kitten home alone, getting Herbie back, cleaned the house in preparation, beyond excited, will he take to the kitten? – hopefully they’ll be pals…’
David nods, in amusement or bafflement, I can’t tell which.
‘Hi, Sonya.’ He bends to pick up a conker. ‘What a beauty, and I thought the season was over.’ He’s scrutinising the chestnut. ‘Like polished mahogany.’
Is he staring at his reflection in there? I sidle up to him, peer over his shoulder, experience a strange jealousy at the object of his fascination. ‘Hmmm, shiny alright.’ The strain of playing Ms Sanity is beginning to show, the seams of my character fraying at the edges.
‘The kitten is on its way to being trained; doesn’t shit now every time I leave the room.’ What am I doing? He doesn’t respond, just takes out another white starched handkerchief and wraps the conker in it. Does he have a nature table at home? Uncontrollable laughter rises.
‘What’s so funny, Sonya?’
He regards me from a wary distance, then surprises us both by tickling me in the ribs. I wriggle against him like a little kid. A charge is ignited between us that has nothing to do with being a kid. Inhale him, his signature citrus scent masking salt and sweat.
And just like that, he invites Elation in. My breath is caught high in my ribcage, my body saturated with beats. Frothy wisps of clouds gambol overhead, grass green and shining, drops of rain still clinging to individual blades, trembling. The air shimmers with music.
‘You ok?’
What does he see when he looks at me? An overwrought, strung-out woman of a certain age, too thin, ribs jutting through and all lustre gone from her hair. Washed-out blonde. Washed-up actress. I hope I wasn’t humming.
‘You seem brighter today, Sonya.’
Is that good? Bright, as in happy-bright, up-bright, intelligent-bright, or over-bright?
‘Yes. I guess I am.’ I shiver, quite dramatically.
‘Cold?’
‘A bit. Shall we go inside?’ I’m careful not to use the words ‘home’ or ‘to my place’。
He doesn’t say anything, just walks in tandem beside me, breath hawing in the cold air, as if we were both chasing down some fantastical dragon.
‘That’s quite a shade of pink!’ he says when we reach the front door. I smile. My fingers feel thick and clumsy; the keys drop, he picks them up, our hands touch. The kitten at my ankles, rubbing, purring. How sweet, how achingly sweet. I pick her up, kiss her, go into the yard. He follows me and leans against the door, observing me observing the kitten.
As I move past him to come back inside, my body brushes against his, one breast accidentally pushing against him. He grabs me, presses me against the fridge, its vibrations thrumming through me. He freezes, pulls away. I draw him back. ‘It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.’
‘Sonya, this is not wise.’
When have I ever done anything because it’s wise?
‘You’re not my counsellor, right?’
He considers this a moment. ‘Not in an official capacity, but still…’
I want this man in this moment more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
‘I’m a big girl, David. I’m sober and I’m making this choice sober.’