‘Honey, you got laid?’ Jamal gaped at Catherine from the opposite side of the table at Shell’s Shack. She’d sent him a text begging him to meet her that morning for breakfast. ‘Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?’
Catherine laced her fingers together and rested her elbows on the table. The final week of the summer had arrived and instead of feeling relaxed and ready for September as she usually did, she was a boiling pot of nerves and anxiety.
‘Jamal… I couldn’t. I had to deal with my mother and try to get my head straight.’
‘But I’m so happy for you!’ He clapped his hands. ‘We should be having champagne.’ He frowned. ‘Except it’s Monday and I have a client scheduled in for a cut and dye at ten. Best not have any alcohol with breakfast, I guess. But tell me everything and let me share in your special time.’
He leant forwards, his brown eyes fixed on Catherine and for a moment she felt like jumping up and running away. She could pack her bags, get on a train and leave Penhallow Sands for ever. She could do it, if she wanted to. She had savings and she could get a passport and just keep on moving around, go from place to place and never be hurt by anyone. If she was the one to leave, then no one could leave her.
‘Hey.’ Jamal reached across the table and took her hands. ‘It’s okay. You haven’t done anything wrong.’
‘But I have.’ She shook her head, still outraged at herself for behaving so rashly. ‘I can’t just go around sleeping with… with tourists whenever I feel like it.’
Jamal squeezed her hands.
‘Now listen to me, Catherine Bromley. You are being ridiculous. Mark is more than a tourist. He’s a warm, friendly man who clearly likes you a lot. You haven’t hurt anyone by spending the night with him. You haven’t done anything wrong at all. It’s not like you shot someone or went out in your thong and danced in the rain.’
Catherine snorted in spite of her distress.
‘In my thong?’
‘Yes, you know, singing It’s Raining Men or something like The Time of My Life with your baps flopping all over the place.’
‘My baps?’ She giggled. ‘What are you on about?’
‘Well, if you were just wearing a thong, your boobies would be out and then everyone would see them and that dreadfully unruly bikini line of yours.’
‘Jamal!’ She forced her mouth closed. ‘You are outrageous sometimes.’
‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘But admit it, that image did make you smile and let’s be honest, that would have been far worse than enjoying some long-awaited sex.’
‘Firstly, my boobs don’t flop around. They’re quite… firm, I’ll have you know. Secondly, Mark didn’t even seem to notice my bikini line… not negatively, anyway. And thirdly, yes, the thong and boobies scenario would have been a lot worse, I guess. Although, I do wonder if I would feel this vulnerable if I had danced naked. I don’t think much could top this feeling of insecurity that’s now bubbling away inside me.’
‘Aw honey, I’m sorry you’re feeling insecure. Making love to someone can make you vulnerable but not if they care about you. I’m sure Mark does care. I’m convinced of it.’
Catherine watched her friend’s familiar face carefully. He seemed to believe what he was saying about Mark but even so, she would never know exactly what Mark was thinking or feeling. It was impossible and a relationship needed trust. Catherine didn’t know if she could ever trust someone enough to love them fully.
‘I just don’t know, Jamal. How can I be sure? How can I trust any man after what happened between my parents?’
‘I’m a man and you trust me, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but that’s different.’
‘Not that different. I love you, Catherine. You’re my girl and I’m here to support you and make you smile. Always. Give Mark some credit. If you allow yourself to trust him then he might surprise you.’ His eyes widened. ‘So… how was he?’
‘Jamal, I’m not going to tell you that.’
He pouted. ‘Your first romantic encounter in… goodness knows how long and you won’t even tell your best friend.’
‘It’s… kind of private.’
‘At least tell me that you had a good time.’
Catherine sighed as she recalled the sensations of Mark’s hands in her hair, his soft kisses on her lips and the scent of him on her skin that she hadn’t wanted to shower away.
‘He’s lovely.’
Jamal released her hands and sat back then tilted his head.
‘You love him.’
‘I do not! And shhhh, people can hear you.’
Jamal glanced around them. Apart from Shell, who was behind the counter staring at her mobile phone and an elderly man in the corner reading a newspaper, they were alone.
‘But you do, don’t you? I can see it all over your face. You have that post-coital glow and that bright shine in your eyes that says I’ve been done and done good and now I love him.’
‘Jamal, it’s Monday, and I spent Saturday night with him. How can I have a post-coital glow?’
‘You do. Trust me. He must have done a good job.’
He giggled and Catherine shook her head. It was clear that her best friend wasn’t going to listen to her. Jamal wanted her to be happy and in love and for a short while, she found herself wanting to believe in hope as much as he did. She picked up a menu and tried to read it but the words swam in front of her eyes.
‘Have you heard from him since?’
‘He sent a text yesterday afternoon, just to check that I was okay and asking what I was doing.’
‘Did you reply?’
‘Briefly. I didn’t know what to say to be honest, so I just thanked him again for a good evening and said I’d see him soon.’
‘Catherine, you gave him the brush off?’ Jamal glared at her.
‘No, I didn’t. I just… I couldn’t have asked him to mine, could I, and I didn’t like to invite myself back to Plum Tree.’
‘It sounds like he wanted you to suggest something. The poor man!’
Catherine groaned. ‘I’m not good at this whole romance thing. I don’t know how to act or what to say. Besides which, yes, I like him but I don’t know if I want anything else from this, us, you know?’ She said the words but they sounded hollow. Part of her was begging her to give Mark a chance, to at least find out how he felt after Saturday, but the stronger voice in her head – that sounded remarkably like her mother – was telling her not to be so foolish.
‘I despair of you, woman.’ Jamal fanned himself with his menu. ‘He’s hot, sweet and talented. You’re both single. What have you got to lose?’
‘According to my mother… quite a lot.’
‘She knows?’ He raised his eyebrows.
‘She knew I’d been out all night and she was a bit… concerned.’
‘Catherine, I love you and Diana, but you are a woman past thirty. You aren’t a teenager anymore and your mother has no right to tell you how to live your life.’
‘The thing is, Jamal, I know that. I’ve known it for years deep down but living with her makes it difficult to deal with. She can be so kind and loving and my heart aches for her and for what she’s been through.’
‘But she’s your mother, not your responsibility. Bloody hell, Catherine, my parents disowned me when I told them I was gay. They never wanted anything to do with me after that, but, as I told them before I left their house, I am who I am and if they couldn’t accept me for me, then I didn’t want them in my life either.’
‘I know how hard that’s always been for you, Jamal.’
He nodded.
‘I want better for you, Catherine. I want you to have happiness without having to sacrifice who you are. You deserve to be happy.’
‘I don’t need a relationship to be happy, Jamal.’
‘You don’t need one, no, but you’ve met someone special, a man who likes you for who you are. I’ve seen how Mark looks at you and I know that he’s right for you. If you just give him a chance, give yourself a chance, you might find a happiness you’ve never had before. Look at Bradley and me and how happy we are.’
Catherine smiled sadly. Jamal was such a romantic at times, so much so that she sometimes thought he must read more romance novels than she did. But he’d always believed in the power of love and that there was someone out there for everyone.
‘Look… I could have a word with Diana. Not wanting to overstep the mark here but she does like me and she might listen to me.’
‘There’s no need, but thank you. ‘I think that she’s mainly worried because she sees this as rushing into a love affair and she’d prefer me to take it slowly rather than end up regretting sleeping with Mark in the heat of the moment. To a certain extent, I have to agree with her. It was a bit irresponsible and uncharacteristic of me.‘
Jamal smacked his palm against his forehead.
‘Slowly? Regret? I’m not going to get through to you, am I? You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘Using all these excuses to avoid dealing with the real issue here.’
‘Which is?’
‘You really like Mark and know that he likes you, but you’re afraid to let yourself enjoy being with him in case you do have to admit that you’re falling for him. Being single, being the strong, introverted deputy head teacher with daddy abandonment issues is easier than opening your heart to love. Love could hurt you so you think it’s better to avoid it.’
The sadness in his eyes made Catherine’s breath catch in her chest. She had her reasons for wanting to avoid being vulnerable to pain. After all, men didn’t always hang around, even when there was a child involved. Her dad hadn’t so why would any other man be any different?
‘Catherine…’ Jamal took her hands again. ‘Mark isn’t your father.’
She swallowed hard then replied, ‘I know. But I don’t know why he would want me anymore than my father did.’
She thought of the polite emails they’d exchanged after she’d emailed her father. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him but she was also afraid of hearing the answers. Who wanted to hear that their father hadn’t loved them enough to stick around? Was it better not to know and to leave their relationship in the past?
‘Your mother has damaged you, Catherine. I don’t think she meant to but she has scarred you, honey. You need to take a step back and think about what you’re doing, analyse why you feel the way you do. You are amazing and any man would be lucky to have you for so many reasons.’
A tear trickled down Catherine’s cheek.
‘But’ – Jamal stood up and came around to her side of the table then crouched down and hugged her – ‘until you’re ready to let love in, I’m happy to be the man in your life.’
Catherine buried her face in his neck and closed her eyes. Jamal was a good friend and sometimes he knew her even better than she knew herself. Perhaps it was time to make some changes, but first she needed to work out where to start.
Mark stared at his phone. He was tempted to fling it across the kitchen just to hear it smash, but he knew that would be foolish and that he’d regret it immediately. However, the text he’d just received from Catherine had left him reeling.
For the past three days, he’d been glued to his computer screen. He’d only got up to wash, eat, drink and pop to the loo. After he’d woken to find Catherine gone, he’d been compelled to write and the urge had been overwhelming. Inspiration had struck and he’d been afraid to delay in case it left him again. Having experienced writer’s block, he didn’t want to stop writing in case it returned. It had been months since he’d been able to get more than two thousand words (that he’d often delete) written in one sitting, but in the past three days, the story had poured from his fingers and he now had the best part of half a novel.
And it was all thanks to Catherine.
She had become his muse.
And he wanted to thank her for inspiring him, as well as to see her, so he’d sent a text that morning inviting her out for dinner, or, if she preferred, to have dinner at Plum Tree Cottage. He hadn’t heard from her since the text she’d sent on Sunday and that had been brief and non-committal, but he’d thought she might need some time to get her head around things, just as he did. Their time together had been brief but intense and Mark didn’t want to rush Catherine or himself. Plus, he wanted to write while the urge was upon him.
She hadn’t replied to his invite immediately, so he’d assumed she was busy, but the reply he’d received just now, as dusk was falling, made his heart heavy. She’d said that she didn’t think it was a good idea, that she liked him but she thought what they’d done had been a mistake. She apologised for telling him in a text but said she was too upset to speak to him right now.
Mark read it through again, hoping he might have misread it or that he would detect in it a sign that she did care. But there was nothing to give him hope.
He pressed the button at the top of his smart phone then swiped the screen to turn it off. He had three choices right now: sit here and wallow in his disappointment; head into Penhallow Sands, find Catherine and have it out with her; or get back to his book.
He hated sitting around feeling sorry for himself. He also knew he shouldn’t rush to see Catherine right now as he might say the wrong thing and she clearly needed some space to think. So that left writing. The one thing he’d had as a constant in his life. The one thing he’d always been able to rely on before as a way of escaping. It was like free creative therapy, cathartic and constructive, so that was what he’d do.
He made a coffee, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, loaded a plate up with snacks then placed them all on the coffee table in front of the sofa in the lounge. He grabbed his laptop, got his quilt from the bed upstairs and returned to the lounge, flopped on the sofa and snuggled up. He had everything he needed; he just had to let the words flow.
And they did.
Deep into the night.