Page 62 of Things We Never Said
‘It was OK,’ Sean says. ‘Actually, it was mouldy, to be honest. And the lack of light drove your mother a bit crazy.’
They head back outside and find Ronan and Toby wrestling the small, wooden-armed sofa from the van. ‘Can you two manage the armchair?’ Ronan asks. ‘It’s pretty light.’
‘Of course,’ Sean says, then, ‘And you be careful, April. Don’t take any risks.’
April climbs into the van and lifts one side of the armchair, then laughs. ‘It weighs about the same as a packet of crisps,’ she says.
‘Yeah,’ Ronan shouts back. ‘It’s just bulky. But do it together and you’ll be fine.’
‘So the lack of light is going to drive me insane, basically,’ April says, once they’re on the move with the chair. ‘That’s always good to know. Did I have my own room in Mitcham’s Corner?’
Sean smiles. ‘No. We used to put you in the bedroom and then move you to the lounge when we went to bed. Nothing ever woke you up.’
‘Still doesn’t,’ April says. ‘I could be abducted by aliens while the house burns down and I’d still carry on snoring.’
‘Well, now you know why,’ Sean says. ‘But do get yourself some good, strong lightbulbs,’ he adds, returning to her previous comment, ‘and maybe one of those SAD lamps before winter strikes. Because the light thing, that’s real. Believe me.’
‘That’ll be Ronan’s problem, not mine,’ April says, ‘and he doesn’t care about sunlight. He could live in a cave, that boy. He even likes it when it rains. The freak.’
‘I’m Irish,’ Ronan says as he walks past. ‘Of course I like rain.’
‘But when the baby’s born,’ Sean says, once they’ve squeezed the armchair through the front door, ‘then you’ll be at home all day, won’t you?’
‘Actually, no, I probably won’t,’ April replies. ‘Ronan says he wants to try baby-rearing. He’s home all day anyway, so he reckons he can combine working from home with looking after the baby.’
‘So Ronan’s going to workandlook after a newborn baby?’ Sean asks, once they have placed the armchair next to the sofa.
‘I know. Don’t you think we’re terribly modern?’
Sean laughs. ‘Modern wasn’t the word that came to mind,’ he says. ‘I was thinking more along the lines of optimistic.’
Snapshot #19
35mm format, colour. A scabby, semi-furless black-and-white cat is sleeping on top of a pile of clothes in a laundry basket. The laundry basket is perched on top of an old front-loading washing machine.
Sean reaches behind himself and winces as he rubs the base of his back. His spine is still sore from all the box-carrying.
He looks down at the photo of the cat and thinks,Solo! I might have guessed that you’d be in there somewhere.
Sometimes Sean had worried that Catherine loved Solo more than she loved him.
He wonders, if there were to be an afterlife, whether cats and humans might end up in the same place. A space filled with floating, angelic cats would certainly fit Catherine’s idea of heaven.
To begin with, they had argued about the cat. Sean hadn’t wanted a cat, that was the thing. He didn’t much like them. He thought cats were selfish and aloof. Plus, since he had been promoted, their finances had been improving to the point where they were beginning to envisage the possibility of foreign holidays. He didn’t want the presence of a cat throwing a spanner in the works.
But April’s friend Sophie had a cat, and so, of course, April wanted one, too.
Their new little house on Thoday Street had a long straggly strip of a garden, and the back door even had a cat flap left by the previous owners.
Once Catherine had joined the battle, reminding him constantly that their daughter was an only child and explaining all the different ways a cat would be good for her, he had known it was only a matter of time.
Cassette #19
Hello sweetie.
I bet you weren’t expecting this one. A photo of old Solo looking his worst. That must have been just a couple of days after I brought him home.
April wanted a cat so badly – do you remember when she tried to smuggle Sophie’s cat home in her backpack? And you really didn’t want one. But I knew I’d wear you down in the end.
