‘She got what she wanted – I’m out of the way and now she has the house for just her and Shane.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Cathy said. ‘But that’s not what I want. I think your uncle would choose you over me every time.’
‘He wouldn’t.’
‘He’s doing all this for you – what does that tell you?’
Tansy pressed a peeled carrot to the grater and started to scrub viciously. Cathy watched her. Everything about her was spiky and full of resentment, and, right now, she just didn’t see any chink in that armour. And even if Cathy could breach it, how on earth would she press home that advantage when she was so hopelessly out of her depth?
She was beginning to realise that this whole mission was foolish. She’d wanted a breakthrough with Tansy, a way to make her understand that not everyone was out to get her, that they could be friends, but she didn’t have kids and she hadn’t been a teenager herself for a very long time. She doubted she’d been your average teenager, even then. She had no clue how a girl of Tansy’s age thought or felt, even the ones with stable home lives and sunny dispositions. Perhaps the best course of action here was to sit and wait for Matthias to come back and resume his role as go-between. Maybe the best outcome Cathy could hope for was a cold tolerance from the girl who looked set to be around for the foreseeable future.
Tansy reached for another carrot and, as she did, her arm caught the mug sitting next to her. The contents flew out, soaking everything. It dripped from the edges onto the floor, it soaked into Tansy’s leggings, it speckled the bowl of flour and spread a steaming puddle across the wood of the table.
Cathy leapt up to find a cloth, but when she came back to start mopping, she saw that most of it had tipped over her handwritten recipe book, the very same book she’d spent hours working on – the one that had all those precious connections in its pages.
‘Oh!’ she cried, desperately trying to mop the worst from it, although the pages were already mushy and some of the writing fading. She glanced up at Tansy, tears pricking her eyes. ‘Why don’t you watch what you’re doing?’
‘It’s just a book,’ Tansy snapped.
‘It’s not just a book!’ Cathy snapped back. ‘You know how hard I’ve worked on this!’
‘You can make another one…’
‘I could make another one but it wouldn’t be this one!’ Cathy cried. ‘That’s not the point! I could make another one but that’s not the point… Why don’t you get it?’
‘I just don’t see what the big deal is.’
‘No,’ Cathy growled, turning back to her mopping, ‘you wouldn’t. You don’t get the point of anything unless it’s about you.’
‘What?’
‘You’re not the only person who can be hurt, you know. You’re not the only person who’s had a hard life. You think you’ve got problems with your mum – try giving up everything to look after a mum who only goes and dies on you anyway! Try being left alone by your mum and not even being able to phone her to ask if you can come home! Try having nobody to run to!’
Tansy’s face contorted into a grimace, and for one moment Cathy thought she was going to launch a counter-attack. But she just ran from the room, and a second later Cathy heard the front door slam shut.
As she began to cry she felt warm breath on her hand and looked to see Guin next to her. She’d almost forgotten he was there, he’d been so quiet in his basket. Perhaps even he’d had more sense than her – enough to know when he ought to keep his head down and stay out of the way.
Giving his head a quick fuss, she sniffed hard and turned back to her cleaning. The book was beyond salvaging now and there was no point in wasting any more time on it. Perhaps, if she dried it out, it might look better later, so she took it to a radiator and perched it on top. Then she went to the sink to look for a damp cloth and some detergent.
As she was searching she heard the front door slam again, but this time it was Matthias coming in. He appeared at the doorway of the kitchen and the smile on his face faded instantly as he saw the mess.
‘What happened?’ he asked, though still with humour. It wasn’t until he really looked at Cathy’s face that he realised something more than just a clumsy spillage had happened. ‘What’s happened, Cathy? Where’s Tansy? Did she do this? Has she upset you?’
‘It was an accident.’
‘Then why are you crying? Why isn’t she helping to clean up?’
‘I… I lost my temper. It was silly… the tea… it went all over my recipe book and I was so annoyed, I couldn’t help it.’
‘So rather than take it on the chin she ran out? That’s about right.’
‘It’s not her fault; if anything it’s mine.’
‘No, it’s not yours. Did she even try to apologise?’
‘I didn’t really give her the chance.’
Matthias strode across the room to take Cathy in his arms. ‘She might be my niece and I might be very fond of her, but even I know she can be a complete pain in the backside. When she comes back I’ll have a word.’
Cathy pushed away from him and rubbed her eyes. ‘No, I’ll talk to her. I made her feel as if her situation wasn’t worth anything and that isn’t right. I made out like she had no right to feel sorry for herself and that wasn’t right either. Her feelings are as valid as anyone else’s and if they hurt then that’s valid too, no matter whether you think her situation is worse or better than anyone else’s.’
‘She has to be told or she’ll never change. Just look at your book. She knew how much that book meant to you.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s just a silly book. I can write it again.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘It’s exactly the point. Eventually we all have to move beyond our past; we can’t let it define us. Maybe that’s what the book was for me, and maybe if I don’t have it I can’t keep clinging to that past.’
‘It’s not a bad thing to keep some connections though. Remembering and honouring the past doesn’t have to mean you’re trapped there.’
Cathy looked up and she felt that maybe Matthias wasn’t talking about her book now. Was he talking about his connection to Sidonie and Beau?
‘I feel terrible about shouting at her,’ Cathy said.
‘I’ll go and find her – I think I might know where she’s gone. There’s a brownfield site up at the back of the old factory and she goes to see some horses that run loose on there. I reckon that’s where she’ll be now. It’s only a couple of minutes away on foot, and even if she’s not there I don’t think she would have got much further than that anyway.’
‘Horses?’ Cathy blinked. ‘Whose horses?’
‘No idea. They just run about on there. There’s a fence so they can’t get out but nobody seems to know who owns them. I think maybe that’s why she likes them so much – I think secretly she feels they’re a bit like her.’
‘If anyone should go to her, it should be me.’
‘I’ll bring her back and you can talk.’