gasps again.
‘Why don’t you go to France? You could see where your great-grandad is buried. I watched a TV programme about the centenary and apparently, you can trace your relatives and see exactly where they are commemorated.’ She slips excitedly into her theme and throws her hands up dramatically. ‘You should do the trip your gran should have done. It’s perfect. Your bonus and prize money would cover it and you’d be fulfilling your great-grandfather’s dream. Plus, Kieran and Gary won’t get a penny of your hard-earned cash!’
‘No. Not a chance am I going travelling to a foreign country alone! It’s a ridiculous idea. That money will come in handy for something much more necessary. A new sofa perhaps.’
She lets out a ‘hmph’ sound. ‘What, so Gary can leave an indent of his bottom on it? Stylish!’
‘You’re missing the point. I’m not frittering away the money.’
‘Why not? You never go away, and you have all your holidays left to take from about 1995, so it wouldn’t be a problem I’m sure. You never spend anything on yourself so it will just sit in an account until Gary wears you down and you end up loaning it to him. You won’t see a penny.’
‘Don’t be silly, I can’t just up—’ I’m interrupted by the electronic gong of the tannoy.
‘Attention. This is a staff announcement. Can Jamie come to checkout four, please? Jamie to checkout four.’ I glance at Kaitlynn in horror but she just winks as she lets go of the button, and a rather fed-up-looking Jamie approaches us.
‘Yes, Kaitlynn?’ he asks impatiently.
‘Jamie.’ She smiles sweetly. ‘As store manager and all-round supermarket don, can you please give Cath some time off for a holiday? She is the employee of the year you know. She deserves a break.’ He looks from Kaitlynn to me and back to Kaitlynn again and shrugs.
‘I don’t see why not. She’s entitled to them.’ He turns to me. ‘You accrue enough of them. Off anywhere nice?’
Heat rushes to my cheeks when I don’t have an answer. ‘Oh, no. I …’ I feel like a numpty and glare at Kaitlynn. ‘Possibly France.’ There’s no way I’m going to France alone, but perhaps some time off wouldn’t hurt. I could finally get the fridge fixed but I can hardly say that to Jamie.
‘How long will you need?’
‘I, er …’ I have no idea because up until forty seconds ago, time off wasn’t even on my agenda, but I’d feel too foolish to say it’s a mistake. ‘A few days,’ I say, feeling that would be reasonable for a fake trip to France. Now that I can afford one of those twenty-four-hour appliance repairmen it would still leave me a day or so of R&R.
‘Weeks,’ Kaitlynn interrupts, placing a forceful hand on my shoulder. ‘She means weeks, a few weeks.’
‘Okay. Pop in the office tomorrow and we’ll look at dates.’
By the time I get home, I’ve managed to convince myself it would be fun to try and learn French. Being able to read my great-grandfather’s letters would not only be a real feat, it would feel quite special too. While Kaitlynn had a point about fulfilling my grandmother’s legacy, she still has the frivolous air of youth that leaves most people at some point during their thirties. I, on the other hand, am beyond that. By a pinch.
When I get home, the electricity is off. Luckily, I’d topped my card up because I knew it would have been way out of Gary’s remit to go out and do it. He’s asleep on the sofa in the eerie twilight when I enter the lounge. The mail is still sitting on the mat, pots are piled up on the side in the kitchen, and when I check upstairs, I see the bathroom mirror he promised to fix back to the wall is still propped up on the floor. Bubbles of rage start to rise and pop in my chest as I storm back downstairs. I can’t facilitate this festering blob any longer.
‘Gary. Wake up. Gary!’ I prod him, and when he doesn’t move straight away, I wonder if he’s actually started to decompose on the sofa through sitting still for so long. That would be much worse than an indentation of his bottom.
‘What is it, Cath?’ He comes around slowly.
‘The electricity is off.’ I fold my arms and glare at him.
‘I knew you’d be back with a card so it seemed daft to go and top the spare up.’
‘I bet you were more than happy to use up all the emergency credit watching daytime telly, though. Hmm?’
‘Cath, I—’
‘And did you fix the mirror?’
‘I needed string. I wanted to ring you to pick some up from work but I didn’t have any credit on my phone.’
‘And what’s your excuse for not washing your own pots? Or picking the mail up off the mat?’ I’m practically yelling at him now.
‘Calm down, Cath, I was going to do all that; I just nodded off. I was down the Jobcentre today and they don’t half wear you down with all their questions.’
‘Do they? Do they wear you down? You poor, poor thing!’
Gary is sitting up now, looking at me with his eyes unusually wide. I’ve never spoken to him this way before. ‘I’m going for a shower,’ I say before something I’ll regret pops out of my mouth.
When I come back down, I hear rustling in the kitchen and a pang of guilt hits me when I realise he must finally be fixing the fridge. Maybe that’s what he needed all along: some tough love. I tiptoe towards the door. I don’t want an awkward conversation about it, nor do I want to disturb him and give him reason to stop so I make a mental decision to just thank him when it’s done by treating him with my windfall money. He used to like golf. Perhaps I could buy him some time at the driving range.
I hover in the doorway, watching his shoulders as he’s hunched over something. I wonder if it’s the broken part. I can’t profess to know anything about fridges or their accoutrements, but something about the way he’s holding himself seems odd – protective, like he’s shielding what he’s got in his hands. That’s when I notice he isn’t mending a fridge part at all; he’s got a knife wedged beneath the lid of my money tin, and he’s trying his hardest to unjam it.
The sound of it popping off makes me jump, and I gasp. Gary turns around and already in his hand is a twenty-pound note.
‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ I ask, shock and anger adding a punch to my tone.
‘Cath, I … er …’ He holds both palms up towards me. ‘It’s just a loan. I was going to put it back, and I saw that three-grand cheque you got from work … you can afford it.’
I don’t know what to say. The fact we came from the same DNA suddenly seems quite unbelievable. It’s as though every ounce of my goodness is mirrored by dishonesty in him. It hurts. ‘You—’ I jab a finger in his direction ‘—need to move out.’
His face pales and I notice his forehead is clammy. ‘Move out? You’re not serious. Cath, I’m sorry, I was going to put it back next week. You can’t kick me out. Where would I go?’ Desperation is etched in his features and his voice drops to a whisper. ‘You wouldn’t see your brother out on the streets,
