Ghigau part 10

Catherine Booth was in her kitchen, cooking Halloumi burgers and salad, with fruit and Greek yoghurt to follow, and sipping wine. She checked her watch, it was past seven in the evening and Jake was late as usual. Recently he’d been getting home later and later. She wasn’t particularly bothered if he was home or not, it just annoyed her that he felt he could waltz in at whatever time he pleased, and expect food to be ready. She swigged back the dregs in her glass, then opened a kitchen drawer and rummaged in the back, eventually finding the little tin with her weed and papers. She rolled a big spliff and stepped out into the garden to smoke. 

    Jake had given up smoking weed over a year ago, and didn’t know that she still enjoyed the odd toke  — or perhaps he knew and just didn’t care. 

    She looked around the small, walled in space with it’s uneven lawn and uncared for borders. The air was still extremely warm and there was virtually no breeze. The lone cherry blossom had shed its finery and the ground was sprinkled with decaying Sakura. There was the faintest scent of vanilla in the air. Catherine didn’t mind what the garden looked like, it was all bullshit anyway; she hated the manicured, over-pretty plots that her neighbours took so much pride in. 

    They had been so thrilled when they got this house. Staying up late and talking about the future, a future that included babies, a bright, happy future. A future that never came. 

    At first, Jake had set about fixing the house up with such enthusiasm. But as with most things, his interest quickly waned. The ill-fitting bathroom door still stuck and had to be kicked open, the loose banister rail regularly dropped out and clattered down the stairs. After her operation, and the prospect of a life without children had sunk in, he had given up altogether. The house was probably worth a small fortune now, but that was luck, not planning, and they’d already re-mortgaged twice. Catherine knew that they were struggling to make the payments.

     She flicked her butt over the wall, taking pleasure in the thought of littering next door’s overdone show-garden. They’ll probably think it’s their kids, she smirked to herself, stepping back in to the kitchen.

    The food was prepared but there was no point in serving it before Jake got home. She sat down and closed her eyes. Her mind drifted back to earlier that day.

    People were so rude. This morning’s phone call from that police detective, had put her out of sorts. Why did the police want to speak to her? She hadn’t even talked to Nikki that day, in fact not for a few days, she thought, irritably.  They’d been best friends for many years, since university, but lately Catherine worried something had changed. They had been inseparable once, before Nikki married Lenny and they had Jamie. Even in those early days, Catherine remembered, Nikki had been the one who had everything handed to her on a plate. The one who’d turned down more offers than Catherine had ever had.

    Best friends should share everything, but perhaps that wasn’t the case these days. When Jamie had died, Catherine had felt desperately sad for Nikki. But lurking beneath that empathy was the glimmer of a darker, less noble emotion; in English there isn’t really a word to express it, but the Germans call it Schadenfreude. 

    And now Nikki had gone off somewhere, doing God knows what, for God knows how long. Decamped from a life that Catherine had always assumed was perfect. 

    As she wearily plated the uneaten food, covered it with cling-film and placed it in the fridge, Catherine thought to herself, ‘And what’s that got to do with me? It’s not as if it has anything to do with me' Or at least she hoped it didn’t have anything to do with her. 

    Feeling listless, Catherine climbed the stairs, intending to lie down for a while but instead went to the closet and pulled down the shoebox she kept on a high shelf above her clothes. She rifled through the contents until she found the photograph she was seeking. Three young students, leaning against a stone bridge, squinting in to the sun. The clothes looked so funny now, wide bottomed jeans and ill-fitting tee shirts. Long straight hair and little make up. ‘So different to the tarted up kids of today.’ She thought.

     On the left was Nikki, looking tanned and gorgeous as ever. Next to Nikki, in the middle, Catherine herself, twig thin, scowling slightly against the sunlight, her pale arms folded across her stomach. On the right, lounging back in an easy, confident pose, making up the trio, a young, dark haired man, dressed in chinos and a polo shirt, his face turned to the side, eyes fixed on Nikki. 

    The once vibrant colours of the image had faded, unlike Catherine’s bitterness which, if anything, had deepened in the intervening years.  She rubbed a thumb softly across the image, thinking of what might have been.

    She thought about the last time she had seen Nikki, just a few days previously. The things they had said, the tears and accusations and recriminations now feeling like ominous portents.  

Jake rolled in at nine o’clock. His breath smelled of beer and there was some kind of food stain on his shirt-front.

    “Sorry love. I promised I’d have a quick one with Liam and just wasn’t watching the time.” He pecked Catherine on the cheek and flopped down in an armchair.

    “You could have phoned.” Catherine kept her tone even.

    “I know, sorry. Phone wasn’t charged. I’m such a twat. You know what I’m like.” Jake wasn't looking at her as he said this, and had flicked on the television, already scrolling channels.

    Catherine's face reddened. She considered getting Jake's dinner and tipping it over his head. “Have you seen Lenny? Has he heard anything?” She asked, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

    Jake still didn’t look away from the television which was now blaring idiotically. “Yeah, he came in but no news about Nikki.”

    “And?” Catherine snatched the remote from Jake’s hand and, after three frustrating attempts, managed to mute the sound of screeching tyres and men talking about cars, women and their own genitals.     

    “Hey! I was watching that.” Jake exclaimed, finally looking at her and lunging for the remote.

    Catherine stepped back, lifting it out of reach. “Come on, he must have said something Jake. For God’s sake,” she insisted.

    Jake sat back and eyed her quizzically.  “No, not really. He said he had a meeting with the Police arranged. He left early for that, and I haven’t spoken to him since.” He paused, then added in a more conciliatory tone,  “She’ll turn up love. She obviously needs some space and she’s gone off for a few days. Now can I have the remote — please?”

    “Don’t be stupid Jake. Catherine said through gritted teeth. “Nikki wouldn’t do that. What about Lydia? And why wouldn’t she tell Lenny? ” Exasperated, she threw the remote in Jake’s lap causing him to yelp. '    

    "Jesus, Cath, watch the old crown jewels will you?" Jake exclaimed, squeezing his knees together and crouching in pain.

    Catherine had already turned away, leaving Jake to his mindless television programme. Serves you right, she thought.