The Calico Cat Page 9

  I smile and nod at them briefly, because it is. There’s no denying that at all.

  ‘We’ll give you a donation, won’t we, Lottie?’ Caleb digs into the pocket of his rucksack and pulls out his wallet. A knot forms inside my gut and pulls tight. No, Lottie won’t, and Lottie does not like that fact that Caleb thinks he can volunteer her for things without asking first.

  Leo shakes his mane and waves Caleb’s twenty-pound note away. ‘Thanks so much, mate, but can you do it online? We have a fundraising cash thermometer and it’s great to watch it rise – it encourages others to give, too.’ I feel his amber eyes on me and wonder if that last bit was for my benefit. Leo hands Caleb a leaflet with information about the walk and how to donate.

  ‘Do you guys have a favourite charity?’ Neave asks, offering us pistachios. Caleb takes some and explains that he gives ‘as and when’ but feels guilty he doesn’t do it more often. Then everyone looks at me until the knot threatens to choke off my blood supply. Okay, they asked for it.

  ‘I don’t give to charity very often. Sorry if that make me unpopular.’

  Caleb frowns so hard that I think his eyes will disappear under the shelf of his brow. The other two look surprised and uncomfortable. Neave tosses her curls and looks out to sea; Leo coughs unnecessarily and dusts pistachio shells from his shorts.

  ‘Why not?’ Caleb asks, and folds his arms in a school teacherly way.

  ‘Because there is already enough money to buy the state of the art equipment needed in that hospital and in every other, enough to make sure nobody is homeless and everyone is well fed, enough for education and new schools, enough to make sure every old person isn’t left lonely and cold, enough, enough, enough,’ I say, and realise my voice is loud and tremulous.

  ‘But there isn’t – that’s why we’re doing this.’ Neave’s voice has lost its melody, become discordant, bitter.

  ‘How much do you think a Typhoon jet fighter costs on average? Go on, have a guess,’ I say, and fold my arms against all three reproachful expressions.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say—’

  ‘I doubt that.’ I cut Caleb off. ‘Eighty-seven million pounds each.’ I repeat the amount and watch each of their faces for signs of shock. There are only downturned mouths and shifty eyes. ‘The MOD has ordered one hundred and sixty of them. That’s nearly fourteen billion pounds of tax payers’ money on instruments of death instead of health and well-being. Now tell me again that there isn’t any money.’

  ‘So that’s why you don’t give to charity, because the government chooses to spend huge amounts of its budget on war?’ Leo says, through a tight mouth.

  ‘I do sometimes give, but I think it’s necessary to have this discussion first, otherwise the powers that be just sit back and get let off the hook time and time again.’ In my mind there are two pictures side by side. One is a picture of Leo and Neave in some hospital corridor clinging together to prevent each other being swept away by grief; the other is a jet fighter raining bombs and missiles on some unsuspecting target.

  Neave looks at me and shakes her curls. ‘Of course, what you say is true, and it’s not as if we haven’t joined demonstrations, written letters to MPs and lots of other stuff, but little gets done, so in the end we have to do something.’ She throws her arms in the air and three wooden bangles clack together as they slide down her wrists. ‘Ordinary people have to do something, or children die, people starve, people remain homeless, lonely and all the other things you said.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t have to!’ I say and chuck my pencil down. Already I am unsure of how I feel and can’t bear the sadness clouding the sparkle right out of Neave’s eyes. I try to block more images. I don’t want to think about her swollen belly, ripe for the harvest, and then hollowed out and clothed in black a few weeks afterwards.

  ‘No. But we do,’ Leo says, and I see his Adam’s apple bob. ‘We do.’

  They all look down at me and I don’t know what to say. I have words spinning around in my head but when they reach the springboard of my tongue they dissolve, and I swallow them. The sea shushes, and the breeze drags the plastic toggles of my rucksack back and forth against the rock, but there’s no other sound. Neave starts to pack her things away and I stand up and look out towards the horizon.

  A deep sigh leaves Caleb’s chest as if he’s been holding it there for ages and he says, ‘What would you do if you had suffered their loss, Lottie?’

  I look at him. His eyes are serious; he’s embarrassed by me, ashamed of my words. There’s a rush of blood to my cheeks and I feel like a naughty schoolgirl. Okay, perhaps I could have kept quiet just this once, given the circumstances, but then I wouldn’t have been true to my beliefs, would I? I’d have bowed to social norms and values, conformed, nodded and congratulated them, while all the time the argument about the jet fighters would have screamed in my heart for release.

  Leo turns away and hoists his rucksack; Neave places her small hand on his big shoulder and whispers something into his mane. Again, I can see them in the hospital corridor and something unlocks my words. I say in answer to Caleb, ‘I would probably have done the same, Caleb, though I have no real idea how I would react, of course, never having experienced such an horrific loss.’

  Neave turns to me and allows a small smile to lift one side of her mouth. ‘It took a good while before I could even get out of bed, but now this walk has given me a real purpose – something to aim for.’

  ‘I expect it has,’ I say and take a deep breath. ‘I really didn’t mean to offend anyone.’ I look at all three of them but especially Leo and Neave. ‘But I have to say how I feel, otherwise it’s all fake. If I was raising money for anything, just before I asked for a donation I would say, “I shouldn’t have to do this because…” and then I’d explain. At least then I’d have made someone think, even if it is for just a few seconds. There’s not enough thinking done about important things, if you ask me. I hope you understand, and I really do wish you all the best with it.’ I test a smile.

  Leo nods, slips his arm around Neave and she says, ‘Okay, we understand. And I will try that suggestion, Lottie, see how it goes.’

  Neave steps forward and gives me a warm hug as tears push behind my eyes. This surprises me. As you know, I’m not great with tears and I never let mine out in company. I kneel down and pretend to save my pencils from blowing across the beach even though they are only wobbling to and fro on the sketch pad. Caleb hugs Neave and shakes hands with Leo and we all say bye. When I look up after a bit more tidying they’re just about to be lost from view behind a line of rocks.

  Caleb gathers his stuff together and asks if I’m ready to go. For the first time since we have become close I don’t feel connected to him. It’s as if a wire has come loose in our circuit and normal service is not being resumed. We walk in silence across the wide sandy beach towards Perranporth. It won’t be me who breaks it, because didn’t I explain the reasons for my reaction very honestly to Neave? If she understood where I was coming from, then so should he. I kick a pebble hard. Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps I am in the wrong, what do you think?

  A little while later, Caleb stops and looks at the map. From the beach I look towards the town and feel like we have been away from civilisation for ages, not just eight hours. In a way, I wish we were going to spend the night in the tent under the stars rather than the guest house. Being out in nature might reconnect us.

  ‘According to this, the Seiner’s Arms is just off the beach over there.’ He does a wavy arm towards a big blue building on the edge of the beach.

  ‘I kind of remembered that from when I was booking it. Nice that’s it’s so close to the beach, we might be able to see the stars tonight.’ It’s the first time I have spoken for ages and my voice sounds unsure of itself.

  Caleb puts the map in his pocket and takes me in his arms. ‘I have all the stars I need when I look in your eyes, darling.’

  I frown. This isn’t like him, to be so cheesy. Then in hi
s face I see that he has one of his firework laughs building and my palm on his chest releases it. ‘Oh, very funny,’ I say. ‘I thought you were going all stereotypically romantic on me for a minute.’

  ‘Your face was a picture!’ He laughs again and then looks serious. ‘Lottie, I used the time during our quiet walk to have a think about the whole situation with Neave and Leo. At first you made me angry, disregarding their feelings just for the sake of your opinion. I thought you were bloody minded and uncaring.’ Caleb sighs and shakes his head. ‘But then the more I thought about it, the more I realised that you were right, and that it’s because you do care and look at the wider picture that you had to say what you did. I admire you for that, Lottie. I just wish I was as strong as you, but I’m not.’

  Then he kisses me and whispers into my ear. ‘And it’s true about the stars.’

  11

  In the Money

  The wind blows a few salt breaths in though my window the next morning and I am glad of it, because the breeze we had yesterday was half-hearted and ineffectual. Walking demands something more substantial when it comes to cooling hot feet and sweaty skin. I open the window further and look out along the length of the early morning beach. There are a handful of surfers astride their boards bobbing on the swell already, and splashes of purple and pink bursting from split seams in a cobalt sky.

  I expect you’re wondering what happened last night after Caleb and I talked on the beach. Well, I was happy that he said he realised I was right about the Leo and Neave thing and that we were reconnected; I didn’t know what the hell to make of the starry eye comment though. Yes, when he’d said it first he was just doing it to get a reaction, but when he said that he’d meant it, my nervous laugh filled the small space between us and, feeling trapped, I broke free of his embrace and hurried up the beach. He laughed and followed after me and nothing more was said about it.

  Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but don’t people say that kind of thing to each other when they are in love? Yes, I know that romantic love is a social construction, and that it is packaged and sold in a particular way to unsuspecting folk via various mediums but… I don’t know. I think it was the look in his eyes that worried me, all kind of soulful and honest. I’m not ready for all that, not sure I ever will be. I certainly haven’t asked for his love, nor do I want it. End of and simple as.

  After breakfast we’re on the move again. We have a packed lunch and two flasks of tea and coffee thanks to the B&B. Both of us are feeling refreshed and ready to go, which is lucky, because this time it’s a twelve mile or so walk to Portreath. Caleb has made a few notes of what to look out for on the way. He’s hoping to see kittiwakes, razorbills, guillemots and puffins from the sheer cliffs around St Agnes Head. I remind him that he didn’t see dolphins yesterday so should be ready for disappointment. He seems unperturbed and bounds up the steep and rugged path like a mountain goat.

  The wind that greeted me from the window this morning is thankfully still tagging along. I have to stop and put my hair into a tight ponytail though, otherwise I will be walking with a hair-blindfold over my eyes thanks to its efforts.

  It’s one of those fluffy cloud-scudding, yellow sun-filled, blue-sea-sky summer days. It’s the type of day where the sun can pretend that it’s actually not too hot, while all the time it’s sneakily painting red welts on the backs of exposed necks and legs. Well, I’m wise to sneaky suns and have put fifty tons of sunscreen on. I bullied Caleb into doing the same and this time I didn’t care that I sounded like my mother – it was a necessary evil.

  ‘How about stopping for a coffee and a look out for those birds, now?’ Caleb says as we walk onto the steeply curving crown of St Agnes Head.

  I join him at the edge and face the ocean and the stunning view of the rugged coastline towards St Ives. Caleb tells me that the pair of rocks out to sea are called Cow and Calf and I say it’s a poor description. He reads more of the guidebook and says legend has it that a child-eating giant hurled both rocks into sea. This appeals to me more, but I wonder out loud why he didn’t eat adults. Caleb doesn’t answer because he’s already doing a pointy finger at something in the distance.

  ‘See that there?’ he says, excitement in his voice.

  ‘What where? Give me clue.’

  ‘That bird! And there’s another!’ He does more direct pointing. ‘It’s not far from that walker with the green rucksack – look just to the left of it!’

  I see a black-and-white bird with red legs follow another in a nose dive off the edge of the cliff. ‘Ah yes, a couple of oystercatchers, I do love those birds.’

  ‘Eh? No, they were puffins! Never seen them in the wild before. Come on, let’s try and spot them again.’ Caleb begins a lopsided jog off the path and over the uneven ground, the heavy rucksack pulling him over to one side.

  ‘Be careful, Caleb!’ I say and run after him – the way he’s going he’ll be over the edge with the birds in a minute.

  We stand and peer over the sheer cliff and can see a few ordinary gull-type birds riding the thermals in lazy circles, some perching on rocks far below. ‘Can’t see them. They must have gone underwater.’ He pants, hoists the rucksack off, places his hands on his knees and tries to catch his breath.

  ‘Yes, or they just flew round to the next beach. Oystercatchers don’t dive, as far as I know.’

  ‘They were puffins, I saw the red markings on their beaks.’ Caleb stands upright, shields his eyes against the sun and scans the birds flying below us.

  Now I am almost one hundred per cent sure that they were oystercatchers, but he looks too famous-fivey for me to say that. Instead I shield my eyes and look left to the next stretch of path and see a few brown towers jutting from the land like a collection of bad teeth. Excellent, just the thing for a young lad seeking adventure.

  ‘Hey, Caleb, isn’t that Wheal Coates Mine, that you mentioned the other day?’

  He does the dog smile. ‘Yeah, looks like it.’ Puffins forgotten, he hoists the rucksack and sets off towards it. ‘Come on, slowcoach!’

  ‘What about that coffee first?’

  The breeze catches his reply and chucks it back to me. ‘Let’s have it at the mine!’

  I am unexpectedly moved by the hulking ruin of a tin mine. We find that it has claimed the lives of many miners over the years, and rumour has it that their ghosts roam the engine house. As the wind moans through the brickwork and we listen to the waves crashing against the rocks far below the floor of the building, I can almost allow my imagination to believe it.

  ‘Did you know that these guys had to work under the sea in cramped tunnels, listening to the rocks and pebbles rolling in the waves above their heads?’ Caleb says, reading the information board.

  ‘I did know, but I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like for them. It makes me feel sick to think of it.’

  ‘Me, too. And some of us feel that we’re hard done to, having to work long hours and not many holidays. Makes you think when you read stuff like this.’

  ‘Yes. It makes me think that we are so much better off today than they were. It also makes me think how much better off the super-rich are than us, because of their exploitation of the majority of the world’s population, and that thousands of people in the developing world have to face working conditions not dissimilar to those men that died here a few hundred years ago. It’s all relative, really.’

  Caleb turns from the board and gives me a wry smile. ‘There you go again, making me think.’

  ‘Yes, it’s good for you.’ I hope the levity in my voice tempers the school teachery sentiment. ‘Now are you ready to go again, or do you want more coffee?’

  Caleb pulls his mouth into a side twist. ‘I’ve been thinking that we might take a detour inland a bit to see the St Agnes Beacon. It will be a three-mile round trip and out of our way, but I think it will be worth it. You’ll like it, being an historian and all.’

  I notice that the famous-fivey look is creeping back int
o his eyes and decide that a three-mile detour will be okay, even though it’s another five or so to our final destination afterwards. You only live once, right? Well, that’s what they say, but how do we really know? I have heard some interesting stories about reincarnation and have an open-ish mind on that. I can’t see a really good reason for it though, so my mind is more closed than open, but the jury, as they say, is out. It tends to be out a lot over the bigger questions as I get older. Perhaps the jurors are having a too much of an argument to ever come back in.

  The beacon is another stunning sight, or rather the view from the top of the 629-foot hill is. A beacon would have been lit here to warn of invasion and was active during the Armada apparently. I didn’t know this, even though I have read lots of local history. I pretend I did know when Caleb reads it out – why, I don’t know. Okay, I do know. It’s because I think I should have known it, and if I say I did, I can almost pretend it’s true.

  I slip the rucksack off and raise my arms up and out to the side as if I’m flying. The cooling wind wraps itself around my body as I turn in a circle and look at the wide canvas of greens and blues. The colours are framed by the gently curving line of the north coast as far as my eye can see.

  ‘I wish I could fly,’ I say to Caleb. ‘Imagine what it would be like to just let the wind pick you up under the arms and carry you out over the ocean?’

  ‘It would be awesome.’ Caleb smiles at me, then sits on the grass and unwraps sandwiches.

  I sit next to him and stare at the horizon, but I can’t see where the join is between sea and sky. I take a deep breath and out comes, ‘Growing up by the sea saved me, I think. Though there was a time after the big fat secret and during the counselling where I considered throwing myself off a cliff into it.’ Saying that out loud hadn’t been the plan and it’s as much a surprise to me as it is to Caleb.