Kate & Alf

Kate quickly and tactfully drew up a chair from the nearby visitors’ area. ‘Have a quick sit-down till it passes,’ she suggested, carrying the chair closer and gently helping to lower Vivian’s large frame into the flimsy plastic.

‘Don’t mind me. I’ll be as right as rain in a moment. Bet it was that bloody fish pie. I’ve a good mind to put a complaint in to the kitchen again.’

‘Oh dear, I bet the kitchen staff will be pleased.’ Kate giggled, noticing that Viv’s hands were steadying from their shakes. She felt relieved. ‘Shall I get you a glass of water?’

Waving her away in irritation, Vivian pulled herself up, her long, pleated navy skirt hitching itself higher on one side of her hip. ‘I’m alright now. It was my fault for rushing. I’ve got visitors coming you see…’ She winked at Kate.

‘Ah, visitors.’ Kate nodded with a knowing smile.

It was often remarked upon by new members of staff that many of Vivian’s visitors brought gifts of Guinness and cigarettes. She herself had once wondered why the guests to her room were often a constant and steady stream. However, she’d quickly got to discover why Vivian’s nickname was Tea Cup Viv and why the guests were often laden down with the alcoholic beverage of choice. ‘How many have you got today, then?’ she asked, noticing that the colour was coming back into Vivian’s cheeks.

‘Two. A mother and a daughter. Let’s hope I can work my usual magic.’ She chuckled and then suddenly looked seriously at Kate. ‘You ought to have one, you know. It might help?’

Kate felt her face flush. She loved Viv dearly, but she still couldn’t get her head around the idea of someone being able to read the future. It was an absurd and indigestible theory. And all from a cup containing the dregs of tea leaves?

Wrinkling her nose, Kate tried to think of a suitable response. Although her curiosity was piqued, she felt scared at the prospect. She trusted Vivian and knew she’d never dupe her into anything, for her heart was pure gold. But what if the predictions that were made did have some vestige of truth behind them? It was hard to consider that possibility, but then why did so many clients return to Vivian time and again?

‘Don’t look so frightened, love, there’s no need to fear anything. You’re clearly not ready yet. So forget I suggested anything.’

Kate stared into the distance, considering her words.

‘Go on, shoo now. We’ve both got work to do.’ Vivian was already waving goodbye and heading down the corridor before she had a chance to answer.

She looked on as Vivian rounded the corner and disappeared from view. She really was a bold character, much like Kate’s Aunt Evie had been. In many ways, perhaps that’s why she’d held Viv so dearly in her heart since her first few days at the Care Home eight years ago. She was like the nurturing mother figure she so desperately craved and had lost – twice over.

‘Right, where’d I put those files again?’ Kate muttered to herself, picking up the chair she’d placed in the middle of the corridor and setting it back in its rightful place. She scanned the corridor until her eyes rested on the reception desk and all at once she remembered.

Hastily walking across to retrieve the files, her eyes flittered over the grandfather clock and her stomach gave an involuntary lurch. Only two hours left of her shift and she’d be going home… and seeing Marcus.

Megan finished typing up the job description she’d spent the afternoon preparing and glanced at her mobile that lay discreetly beside her Rolodex. No calls from Jonnie. On one hand she was relieved, as no news was good news. But on the other, she couldn’t help but worry – it had been four days now and the knot of tension in her stomach was beginning to grow with every passing hour. It seemed silly after so many years to still experience the same conflicting emotions as always. She’d come to the conclusion it was a lesson ingrained and experience had taught her that no slip-up was the same as another. Yes, they followed the same pattern – it was, after all, a vicious cycle. Yet the devastation over the years had only seemed to worsen. If that was at all possible.

Her office phone shrilled loudly, disturbing her thought process. She recognized the caller display immediately – TopTen Recruitment. Rolling her eyes, she picked up the handset.

‘Good afternoon, Hamilton Insurance Brokers. HR Department.’

‘Hi, Megan, it’s Kaley over at TopTen.’

‘Hi, Kaley,’ she tried to sound enthusiastic, even though Kaley was her least- favourite consultant to deal with. ‘What have you got for me?’

Picking up her pen and turning the page on her jotter pad, she listened patiently as Kaley’s monotone voice rattled off the qualities of various potential candidates. It was a full five minutes later before she ended the call, feeling as if she’d been drained of all life force by the dull conversation. Glancing down at the notes she’d made on her pad, she realised that her mind wasn’t in the right mode for candidate selection. She could barely make sense of what she’d written.

Her mobile flashed suddenly and she felt her stomach lurch. Despite being set to silent tone, her brother’s name flashed across the screen. Grateful as ever for having her own office, albeit a small one, she slid the slider across the screen, a sickening feeling sweeping through her.

‘Jonnie?’

‘Sis…Can you come and get m…me?’ She noticed the unmistakable slur in his voice.

‘Where are you?’

‘Sss… Sss… Sid’s h-house.’

‘You’ve been drinking’ she accused, immediately regretting it. Ten years of the same pattern and yet she’d made the crucial mistake of pointing out the obvious, opening up a door for a tidal wave of denial and abuse.

‘Oh, for God… God’s sake. I haven’t been drinking. I… I haven’t touched a drink. Fucking always accu…accusing me of drinking. You nasty bitch.’ He spat the last word with such force that she held the phone away from her.

He continued with his rant. ‘I just wanted to… to see you. But no, you al-always think th-think the worst of me. Accu… accusing me all the time.’

Feeling sick to her stomach at the rising agitation in his voice and his abusive language, Megan took a deep breath to calm herself. She knew from experience that there was no way she’d be able to help him at this point. It would be a fruitless effort, with him directing his anger at her. It was better to distance herself and be thankful that at least he was still alive. He would undoubtedly begin to sober up within the next day or so.

‘I have to go, Jonnie. I’m at work.’

She cut the call with shaking hands. Even though she’d been through similar conversations countless times, the process always affected her emotionally.

‘At least he’s safe at Sid’s,’ she muttered to herself, thankful that he hadn’t been calling from a police station or hospital, as he had on many an occasion. Megan ignored the once again flashing screen of her mobile, turning the handset face down. She knew that if she ignored the calls for long enough, he’d eventually stop calling.

What saddened her about the situation was that it wasn’t directly his fault. Growing up with their alcoholic mother hadn’t been the best precedent to begin with. The difference was that their mother, to an extent, had been a ‘functioning alcoholic’. Whilst she hadn’t provided the same level of care that some of Megan’s friends’ parents displayed, she had managed to hold down a job and take care of the basic needs of her two children, single-handedly.

Having to learn to be highly responsible from a young age, Megan had automatically taken on most of the caring duties for her younger brother. It was she who ensured he was properly washed and fed. And it was she who eventually took over the role of guardian to Jonnie when, as soon as she turned eighteen, their own mother scarpered off to Scotland with her on-and-off boyfriend.

Jonnie had never really stood a chance. He was just thirteen when their mother had left and, despite Megan’s best efforts, the impact had obviously been too great. By the time Jonnie reached twenty, he’d already been in and out of prison for minor offences and began to drink heavily. It was heartbreaking to see her younger brother destroying himself. Especially as he’d been doing so well for the past three months – even securing himself a job at the local builders’ merchant.

Megan sighed as her PC monitor dulled and a screensaver took its place. Maybe, just maybe, once Jonnie sobered up, he’d get back on track and finally seek the help she so frequently and desperately tried to convince him that he needed…

She tapped her mouse and brought the PC back to life. Reluctant as she was, she had to get on with her work.

Kate re-dusted the rolling pin with a handful of plain flour and continued to work on the pastry she was rolling out. It had been an unexpected disappointment to arrive home the previous evening and find the house empty – she’d had hopes of getting to know more about her mystery guest, Marcus. It wasn’t often she come across men so beautiful and especially one who was going to be staying under her own roof!

Instead, she’d found herself greeting Alf a lot earlier than usual, thanks to an out-of-city local meeting he’d attended. Without waiting for her to ask, he’d explained that Marcus had been commissioned to cover a last-minute story for a national newspaper. Given his circumstances he’d jumped at the chance and headed back up North for the overnight stay. For a moment she’d been disconcerted, until Alf had swiftly followed up that he’d be returning to stay with them the next day.

As a consequence, her best-laid plans for an evening in Marcus’s presence instead gave way to a rather sombre affair, especially after Alf had spent most of it recounting the details of his client meeting. Part of her had wanted to tell him that she didn’t give a hoot about professional indemnity insurance aimed specifically at engineers and architects, and neither did she care that the chief executive was a ‘smarmy git’. However, she’d feigned considerable interest and calmly nodded in all the right places. Only when Alf finally seemed satisfied that he’d exhausted the topic, did Kate dare to bring up the subject that had been niggling at her.

Still raw from the proposal disappointment and without having the distraction of Marcus, she’d felt bold enough to raise the matter of the house being in need of redecoration. On some inner level, the uncomfortable association with the house’s neglected appearance reflecting their relationship was eating away at her. And she had wanted to remedy the situation, especially as she still hadn’t found the courage to broach the real reason for their issues…

Unfortunately, raising the subject of the house had done nothing but leave her feeling dejected. She’d immediately deduced from Alf’s quick glance around the room and nonplussed attitude to her suggestion, that he didn’t feel it absolutely necessary. Although she could have easily argued her case – and she was in no doubt that he’d have told her to go ahead if it was what she really wanted – his lack of initial enthusiasm disappointed her. She felt it was an omen of things to come.

A sharp tap on the front door caught her attention, breaking her thoughts. Sam, who had been sitting quietly by Kate’s feet, ran cautiously to the safety of his corner box as she dusted off her floured hands on a nearby tea towel. Walking into the hallway, she could vaguely make out the distorted sight of a man leaning against the glass. Her spirits lifted a little. She had high hopes for the evening ahead and was welcoming the much-needed presence of Marcus to distract her from her current relationship situation. The guilty part of her conscience did wonder why Marcus was striking such a chord within her – she’d never felt such felt such a bubble of excitement at the idea of spending time with a man who wasn’t Alf. Yet she pushed the self-reproach aside and told herself it was simply a diversion from her own mounting concerns, especially the fundamental issue of her problems with Alf.

Ignoring the thudding in her chest and her quickened breathing, she hastily opened the door.

The sight that greeted her wasn’t what she was expecting…

Chapter 6 (#u5c8b1489-5e57-5756-8aab-a2db1026aba5)

‘Jonnie…?’ Kate once again impatiently shook the shoulder of the slumping bulk of Megan’s brother on her doorstep. ‘Jonnie, get up.’ She heard the wariness in her own voice and tried to keep calm, despite her escalating sense of dread. Jonnie was refusing to stir and, aside from a gentle snort that assured her he was still breathing, he remained a dead weight half-propped against the doorframe. ‘Can you hear me? Please get up,’ she urged, knowing it was a fruitless request.

Upon opening the door and looking forward to greeting Marcus, she’d been dumbfounded to see a dishevelled and foul-smelling Jonnie instead. He’d barely managed to stay standing long enough to utter her name, before collapsing into a heap at her feet.

Panic suddenly shot to her core and Kate felt momentarily at a loss as to what to do. Thankfully, Alf wasn’t due home for another hour – she couldn’t begin to imagine his reaction at finding a drunken, passed-out Jonnie on their doorstep. It didn’t bear thinking about. Alf had never attempted to be compassionate or understanding of the situation with Megan’s brother, despite Kate’s gentle persuasion and subtle hints about the childhood he’d endured. It was no use, often falling on deaf ears. Part of her wondered if Alf’s refusal and inability to understand could be attributed to the fact that he’d had a relatively straightforward childhood. How does anyone know about tragedy and loss unless they themselves have experienced it first-hand?