Deathwatch (23 page)

Cat’s head was spinning. “You met Danny’s uncle? But…”

“When David and Danny went off on the motorbike, he came round here. He was very agitated even though at that stage he didn’t know everything that was happening. He’d already called the police, who were about to break in here when Dad and Angus arrived.”

Cat wondered if her parents knew what Danny’s uncle’s opinion of them was. Did he know all along what his ex-wife was doing? She was too tired to ask about that now.

Terribly tired. Her eyes would hardly stay open. But she tried to concentrate. She’d missed something.

There was something she wasn’t being told.

AND
then she realized. Eyes wide open now, Cat knew what she was missing, the thing she hadn’t been told.

“You said ‘was’.”

“Sorry?” asked her mum.

“You said I knew who she
was
.”

Her mother looked away. Didn’t answer. Stroked Cat’s head.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” asked Cat.

“Yes, sweetheart. The news came while you were in the bathroom.”

“How did she die?”

“It’s best not to think about it.”

“I need to know.”

Her mother hesitated. “You know where the canal goes along the aqueduct, over the road?”

“Oh, God, she fell over the edge.”

Silence.

“Did she, Mum? Did she die instantly? Please say she did.”

“She did, Catty. Definitely.”

Silence hung between them.

“Was it because of the police chasing her?”

“It was an accident. Apparently a man was out walking his dog in the rain and he was walking along the towpath. But you know how, at that bit, there’s hardly room to pass? If the woman hadn’t gone over the edge, she’d have hit the man and his dog. And that would have been her fault.”

“So she did it to save him.”

“She would hardly have had time to think. But if she had gone the other way she could be up for murder or manslaughter now.”

“That’s horrible,” said Cat.

“It means we don’t have to worry about her any more. I’m sorry, but I am relieved.”

“I shouldn’t have left her. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t left her, she wouldn’t have…”

“No, if you hadn’t left her I don’t like to think what would have happened.”

“She was sad though. She went on about her dreams.”

“It’s NOT your fault, Catty. You can’t be responsible for what a fully grown adult does.”

Cat shivered, pulled the duvet more tightly round her. The woman had paid a heavy price for what she’d done, and Cat could only feel horribly relieved.

Her mum continued, “Besides, she’d been spying on us. She shouldn’t have done that.”

“Mum?”

“Mmm?”

“I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

“You know Phiz?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

“You know how she was an expert with computers?”

“No.”

“Well, she was. And she did something horrible to me with Phiz.”

A pause. “You aren’t meant to use Phiz.”

“I know. That’s why I couldn’t tell you before. But everyone does it.”

“Oh,
everyone
?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Well, it serves you right, you silly girl. What did she do?”

“She put a virus on my laptop.” No need to mention the insects.

“God, Catty, have you ruined it? You idiot! They’re expensive things!”

“No, Marcus and Ailsa sorted it out. It’s totally fine now.”

“Marcus and Ailsa … oh, for goodness’ sake!”

There was a knock on the door and Angus came in. “Mum, the police are going now and they want to talk to you.”

When she’d gone, and Angus too, Cat lay in her bed. Her room was filled with the smell of home. Warm, fuggy, the shutters firmly closed. Clothes had been tidied and folded neatly. Her mum always found that keeping things neat helped her feel in control. When she was stressed, she tidied. Anyway, her broken wrist had not stopped her, and now everything was very neat in her daughter’s room.

Cat listened to the sounds of the house below her. The storm still blew outside, rattling the slates, whistling in the chimney.

Then, restless, she got up, her legs a little wobbly, bandaged feet sore. She hobbled over to her window, opened the shutters, and stared out.

The rain had almost stopped. The clouds were thinner, the moon shining through a gap. Between the bare branches of the trees, she could see buildings, stars, and the lights of windows.

She watched them. They were familiar. She liked them.

Cat turned round and saw her training kit, which was still waiting for tomorrow, although she knew she wouldn’t need it. She crouched down and touched her running shoes, loving the soft worn leathery feel, imagining herself speeding along the track with the wind behind her. Beating everyone else. She wanted that again. Needed it. It was her. And it wasn’t supposed to be easy, because then everyone would want to do it.

She would do it again. She would probably do it as a career. Or at least go as far as she could. For as long as she wanted. It wasn’t really Danny and David who’d saved her life that evening – though she would always be grateful to them. It was her running, her swimming, her strength.

There was no photo of her grandfather in her room. There should be. She wished there was. In the morning, or soon anyway, she would find out more about him. Maybe they had letters or something. Maybe he’d even kept a diary. She wanted to know about him. “Some Olympic medallist I’ve never heard of.” Was that what she would be one day? It was a sentence that summed up the whole thing: the highs and the lows. But Olympic medallist would be worth the lows. Worth the risk. And if the point was the feeling inside her, the delicious sensation of winning, not whether some sad woman had heard of her, then that would be enough.

It was as she was about to go back to bed that she saw it – a large spider scuttling across the floor. Although at first she gasped and her hands flew to her mouth, only a second later she picked up the running shoe and hurled it at the spider.

Dead.

A
strange warm breeze blew as Cat walked home from the bus with Bethan, Ailsa, Josh and Marcus the following Thursday. November now, dark after school, and the weather should be cold and sharp.

It was nearly a week after she had been kidnapped and the memory was still strong. But it would fade. Her mum had told her it would shrink into something manageable. She could keep it in a part of her mind and as long as she realized that any time she wanted to talk about it, she could, that would be fine.

Still, in moments of silence or when she was alone, she found her mind taking her back to details of that night: the smell of the woman’s leather jacket, the mud that clutched at her ankles when she jumped in the canal, the roar of the motorbike behind her. And the woman’s desperate voice. Danny’s uncle had come round, looking sad now himself. He’d talked to her parents and she didn’t know what had been said, but they’d all shaken hands as he left.

At school, no one knew quite what to say. She’d been in the newspapers and people wanted more details. But there was Danny and everyone knew the woman had been his aunt. A couple of times someone had said she was a loony, and Cat had leapt to her defence, angrily. That was something they couldn’t understand, why she would do that when the woman had held a knife to her. But she was just a sad woman, said Cat. A wrecked life. Doesn’t mean you have to go round kidnapping people, said someone. And that was the popular view. Cat couldn’t be bothered to explain. Wasn’t quite sure she understood herself, but she knew what she felt.

She’d talked to her grandmother on the phone. And was going to go round soon to see letters and newspaper cuttings about her grandfather. There was a diary, her grandmother had said. “Maybe you’d like to read it? He always said if he had grandchildren they could read it. It’s not a secret. I didn’t know if you’d be interested. But he’d have been very proud of you, Catty.”

But she didn’t mind that now. It was just a phrase. And probably even true. And besides, she was proud to have a grandfather who’d done what he did. Because she knew something of what it had meant, what it had cost.

She’d given a statement to the police. It hadn’t been as bad as she’d thought – they’d been very kind, a woman and a man who’d come to the house so she didn’t have to go to the police station. Her parents had had to give a statement too.

On the Wednesday, they’d had fencing. Back to normal. But not completely – Mr Boyd was probably surprised to see Danny and Cat chatting as they got ready.

“How’s your uncle?” Cat asked Danny. Not, frankly, that she cared too much about Danny’s uncle. OK, so his wife had died, but she still found him disconcerting and slightly creepy.

“He’s OK, I think. My mum’s been there quite a lot. She’s really sad because Sheila was her friend but at least she knows now that Uncle Walter actually did care. But she seems to have made it up with him. She told me she felt really bad not making an effort to see both sides. It’s funny how it takes someone dying for adults to see sense.”

Cat pulled on her glove. “Yeah, you never know – my dad and your uncle could get to discussing the war together. Two old-timers.”

“I can’t see them becoming best friends. Not much in common, what with my uncle’s socialist principles.”

“Whereas you and I have got
so
much in common!” And Cat grinned. “Insect boy!”

“On guard!” he said. They put on their masks and fought a brief but one-sided fencing bout. Danny was no match for Cat, especially when she was determined, and he knew it. As they took their masks off and saluted each other in the proper way afterwards, he smiled at her. The cute smile she’d once fallen for. It was a long time since she’d seen it.

“For a princess, you’re a pretty tough fighter!”

She wouldn’t have a problem with Danny again, she knew. And was relieved. They’d never be together again, not in that way – once an insect collector, always a weirdo – but he’d saved her life, or liked to think so. And she was happy to give him credit for that. As long as he didn’t start getting ideas. A cute smile does not on its own make a boyfriend.

On Thursday evening, Cat arrived back home and was making a snack in the kitchen when the doorbell rang. A few moments later, her mum called her to the door. It was Danny and David. Smartly dressed from the funeral.

They’d brought flowers.

David was thin, haunted-looking and nervy, not really looking at her properly. Cat didn’t mind that as the idea of him still made her uneasy, even though her mum had reassured her that he wasn’t a danger.

He shook Cat’s hand as he handed her the flowers, and said he was sorry. And he did smile at her, so presumably his voices had stopped telling him that she was bad.

David pointed at the flowers, shyly. “They’re kind of for your mum and you,” he said. “From me and Danny.”

“Thanks, they’re lovely,” Cat said. “Any spider in them?”

“What?”

“Well, actually, Danny, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Thing is, the last time I got flowers, a massive spider fell out, and I was wondering…” She looked from one to the other.

“You thought I did it? Why would you think I’d send you flowers?”

Yes, it did seem a bit ridiculous, come to think of it.

“Forget it,” said Cat.

She spent some time in the kitchen with Danny and David, talking about this and that, eating biscuits, being annoyed by Angus, who had been horribly nice to Cat ever since the drama of the previous week.

And then Danny and David left and Cat saw them to the door, watching as they disappeared. She was about to go back inside, when Polly came charging out of the house, chased by Angus.

“God, Angus!” snapped Cat, stepping backwards to avoid him.

As she did so, she knocked into a large plant pot and it fell. Leaves had collected behind.

She was just about to put the pot back in its place when she saw a dirty white card half hidden under the leaves. In an envelope. From Blooms. Angus was still running round turning Polly crazy with excitement.

She read the words aloud: “Brilliant kid! Congratulations! Mr T.”

Her coach!

Cat grinned as she went indoors. She stuck the card on her noticeboard. It wouldn’t be the last.

JANUARY.
The sky from his window has the quality of pearl. This early morning, each branch of the tree that taps on his window is edged with frost, like glitter on the Christmas cards that still sit on his shelves.

New Year’s Day. The streets silent, sleeping, exhausted.

His book is finished. He wrote the last chapter last night, as people drank and danced the old year out, as the new one lurched its way into bleary sight. Fuelled by a special coffee – his Christmas present from Danny, as it happens – he had ground out the final words in a detached, heady haze. And then he had slept deeply.

It feels like closure. Though he will forget neither the war nor that awful, more recent night. He remembers looking out of his window that evening, after Danny had collected his phone and disappeared again. He remembers David coming home on his motorbike and then Danny rushing round once more, in a state, pressing the doorbell and shouting that something had happened. He remembers putting two and two together and, in terrible realization, making four.

Sending David off to the canal and Danny insisting on going too, rushing round to the McPherson house and calling the police when he couldn’t get a reply, and then confusion, fear, sirens splitting the air, questions. And then the relief when Cat was found safe.

Followed by that shocking, spearing moment when he heard that Sheila had died. He remembers his legs almost giving way, the breath being sucked from him. And, from then on, such a cascade of mixed emotions. And unanswered questions, including the biggest: what if?

But there was no point, ever, in asking that question. Because you’d spend your life never finding the answer.