Page 62 of On The Edge

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Cat lit the fire, trying her best to warm up the cold cottage. The chill refused to leave, however, so she dressed in all manner of different layers, pulling on anything remotely clean that she could find, and started baking. The smells of cinnamon and spices floated through the house. She had classical music on very loudly and hummed to the orchestra. Her favourite piece came on over the speakers as she turned up the volume even more; two female voices sang out the Flower duet, Lakmé de Delibes and she pirouetted in the living room, humming along to their lulling angelic harmony. In that moment she felt like a ballerina in a fairy story, and danced her heart out, letting her body move in any way it desired. Then a knock came at the front door. Startled, she almost crashed into an armchair, and peered hastily out the window to see a tall figure by the door. She couldn’t make out who it was as they huddled into the shadow of the porch. The sky above was covered in thick dark clouds, and the sea ahead roared and sprayed across the rocks at her usual swimming spot.

Patrick smiled as she opened the door. His chin was stubbly again, and his curly head of hair was covered in a black beanie, making his green eyes stand out.

“Hi, I was just passing and I thought I might drop by?” He bit his lip slightly, and smiled. Cat had to stop herself from swooning. Not this time.

She invited him in and caught sight of herself in the living room mirror; her hair was scrapped back in a messy bun, and she was wearing about four jumpers, and a bright yellow scarf tightly wrapped around her neck. Oh well, doesn’t really matter, she thought. I don’t want him anymore anyway. She put on the kettle and gestured for him to sit at the kitchen table.

“What’s that smell? It’s like... burnt curry?”

Cat looked at him confused, then gasped and frantically opened the oven door to a very blackened smoky cake.

“Oh no!” She threw the cake tin down on the table as the smoke alarm blasted above. Cat opened her small kitchen window while Patrick wafted tea towels under the smoke alarm, trying to get the sirens to stop.

“You made a curry cake?” Patrick shouted over the noise and his constant fanning.

“It was a spiced cake!” Cat roared, annoyed at the disruption he had caused. All this was his fault really; regardless of whether her ballerina action had had anything to do with burning the cake, she was sticking to that theory for everything from now on. She ran through to open the front door to find it was already getting dark outside and snowflakes were falling gently. The smoke alarm stopped, and the house was silent. Patrick followed Cat and leaned against the doorway to find her open armed and catching snowflakes on her tongue twirling on the spot outside.

“You are such a big kid, you know that?” he chuckled. “It’s only a bit of snow!”

Cat had not actually seen snow in years, but it reminded her of Christmas time. Sledging with kids in her neighbourhood, then her mum calling them in for hot chocolate and mince pies. Her feet would be freezing cold in her wellies but she hadn’t cared, all she had wanted was to sledge and build snowmen all day long. She spun around in the gloomy light, surprised at how short the days were this far north.

“Come in you crazy girl, it’s cold!” He rubbed his arms and hands. He was wearing a light-coloured Aran jumper and dark jeans. He removed his boots and placed them at the door, revealing bright orange and green striped socks.

“Wow, you really are Irish, right down to your feet!” Cat giggled, and walked in, closing the door on the snowy afternoon.

“The cold is making you silly in the head. Now, make yourself useful, go put another log on the fire and I’ll make the coffee.”

“Yes sir,” she teased, and fuelled the fire. A moment later he came out with two cups and sat on the sofa next to Cat.

He looked around the room and sipped his drink. “It’s looking good Cat, you did well.”

“You did do a lot of the work, remember - thanks again for helping me.” Cat went quiet and awkward. Looking back to those days, there seemed to be some serious fireworks between them both, only for her to discover that they had never really started after all. Well, maybe on her side. She sipped her coffee. “Hey!” She smelled the dark liquid. “You spiked my drink!”

“I didn’t spike your drink, I just made it taste better. I thought a little Irish coffee was a good idea!” He had a twinkle in his eyes which Cat casually ignored.

“How is Alan? He didn't want to come over with you today?” Cat changed the subject with ease.

“Oh Cat, I’m sorry, I thought you knew - he left today.”

“What? But... I thought he would stay longer? He never said goodbye.”

Patrick gave a grim smile. “He decided it was best. He called to the gallery to tell you, but I think you had left.” Patrick rummaged in his pocket and produced an envelope. “He wanted me to give you this.”

Cat opened the envelope, to find a wodge of money stuffed inside, along with a single-sided letter. “I can’t take this, he needs the money, I’m sure!” Cat protested.

Patrick’s eyes remained fixed on hers. “He knew you and Jess wouldn’t take it otherwise, so he wanted me to give you it in person.”

Cat opened the letter reading the hastily scrawled words:

“Thanks Cat, for not calling the police, and for giving me time. I'm sorry for what I did.”

“He’s off to sort out a new job in Ireland, but I think he’ll be back. There’s still a lot to patch up between us, but something’s changed. I don’t know if it’s just being somewhere new, getting away from our town, and the memories, and the people, or that we have just one another now...” He trailed off, and sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

“He might also, in time, want to find his biological father,” Cat suggested softly, unsure of what reaction she might receive by addressing the fact out loud that they both came from different paternal beginnings.

“Yeah, you could be right.” He nodded briefly and let out a breath. “Things are better, and I know you are a big part of that.”