But her conversation with Joe was unfinished and she couldn’t stop it playing on her mind. Ignoring everything else that had happened, they were good friends, and she couldn’t leave things as they were. She should be mad at him – he had cornered her in the van, forced her into a position where she had to make this apology to Mark – but all she could think was that she didn’t want to give up on their friendship. She needed to clear the air. She’d do it first thing tomorrow.
Cat unlocked the front door and stood at the foot of the stairs, listening. It was the day after the protest, the first of October, and Cat had no idea how late the beach barbecue had gone on the night before. She knew Polly was working today, and she hoped she’d have the chance to speak to Joe alone.
‘Hello?’ she called.
She was met by silence. Not even Shed, Joe’s large ginger cat, came slinking out of the living room.
She climbed the stairs and went into her room, throwing her coat onto the bed. Her gaze fell on her dressing table and the ‘Bitchin’ Walks’ cartoon Joe had drawn for her when she was trying to come up with names for Pooch Promenade all those months ago.
Walking over to it, she traced the cartoon dog with her finger, thought again of him so close to her, the way her anger had dissolved, replaced by feelings she didn’t want to admit to. How she had hung onto his next words.
She closed her eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, and was jolted back to reality by a loud bang outside her door, followed by footsteps. Peering out onto the landing, she saw a large black suitcase sitting at the bottom of the stairs that led to Joe’s attic bedroom. She lifted it. It was heavy.
She heard someone moving about downstairs, quiet swearing. She followed the sounds and stood in the living-room doorway, watching as Joe rifled through papers on the dining table, a red hoody flung over his shoulder, arms strong and tanned against his white T-shirt. She inhaled and Joe turned, his eyes widening as he saw her.
‘Cat.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Hi.’
‘I wasn’t expecting you back.’
‘I do still live here,’ she said softly.
‘I know,’ Joe said, ‘but I thought after yesterday you’d be staying with him. I’m sorry if I made things hard for you. I should have thought about how it might look.’
‘I did have a bit of explaining to do,’ Cat said. ‘It wasn’t my finest hour, or my happiest.’
Joe sighed. ‘I’m so sorry. But he’s OK? Mark, I mean?’
Cat nodded, her lips pressed together. She saw that Joe was holding his passport. ‘You’re going abroad? I saw the suitcase.’
‘There’s this course, in Portland. Illustration, graphic design, the whole shebang. I’ve wanted to do it for ages, but it’s always oversubscribed. I’ve been on a waiting list.’
‘And a space has miraculously become available right now?’ She said it quietly but was shocked by the cynicism in her own voice.
‘I found out a couple of weeks ago.’ He left space for her to complete the sentence. And you weren’t here to tell.
‘Right, wow. Congratulations. How long’s the course?’
‘It’s three weeks, but I might take some time…I’ve always wanted to go to that part of America, so I’ll probably travel down the coast, visit San Francisco.’
‘So how long?’ Cat whispered.
Joe shrugged. ‘I’ll be back for Christmas. Your first at Primrose Terrace. I did – I was going to tell you yesterday.’
‘Ah.’
‘The paper are trialling my cartoon, running it up until Christmas. And then, if they’re happy, it’ll be a regular feature in the New Year. I wanted to get my skills fully up to date, and this course—’
‘You don’t have to explain to me.’
‘But I feel like I do.’ Joe put his hand on her arm, sending a spark through her. ‘After what I said yesterday, and then…this. It was planned, Cat, I have to go and do this. I’m not running away.’
‘I wouldn’t blame you if you were.’
‘Why? Because I made such a big fuck-up?’
‘No – that’s not what I meant,’ Cat said hurriedly. ‘I don’t want it to be awkward between us.’
Joe squeezed her arm. ‘I don’t either. Some space between us will be good.’
‘And it sounds like an amazing opportunity.’
‘It’ll put me at the top of my game.’
‘You’ve always been at the top of your game, Joe. You’re ridiculously good at what you do, your cartoons, your banner.’ She found she was grinning, and he returned the smile, the tension between them lifting. ‘And as well as all that, you’ve helped me so much this year, you’ve always been there. You’re just a really great person.’
‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ he said softly, his blue eyes locking onto hers. ‘And I’m sorry I won’t be here for the next few weeks. But I think now, maybe you don’t need – not that you ever needed someone, but…’ His words trailed off and they both looked away.
‘And the whole Curiosity Kitten thing?’ Cat rushed. ‘I don’t mind, really. I would never stop you realizing your dream, especially not for vanity’s sake, for some silly misunderstanding.’
‘Thank you, that means a lot. I hope you know, now, that I’m not making fun of you.’
Cat looked at the floor.
‘I mean it, Cat. You’ve made your mark on Primrose Terrace, you’ve helped so many people. Your curiosity, your tenacity – this place wouldn’t be the same without you.’
‘Everyone would be left in peace, you mean?’ She gave him a rueful smile.
‘Yeah, maybe. But without you, they wouldn’t have seen their potential. Frankie, the Barkers, Polly and Owen. You spread good vibes, positive thinking. Kind of like a real-life Santa.’ He laughed. ‘I bet you love Christmas, don’t you?’
Cat sighed. ‘I do love Christmas, but…’ She didn’t want to voice her sadness, the fact that this Christmas would see her parents leaving England to go to Canada, how much she would miss them. And here was Joe, doing the same thing. She’d almost got around to the idea of her parents being out of arm’s reach, but she tried to imagine the house without Joe’s presence, and found she had a mental block. How could she enjoy the run up to Christmas without him there?
Her phone rang and, giving Joe an apologetic glance, she answered it.
‘Hello?’
‘Miss Palmer? It’s Mr Cawston, from the council.’
‘Oh.’
