During our time in Scotland, we quickly settled into a routine.
At weekends, it was like being on holiday. In the almost unrealistically gorgeous surroundings of the Highlands there was plenty of walking and sightseeing to be done, and like me, all three Duffys were keen walkers. They seemed to love taking me round the local beauty spots, telling me the history of the place, as if having someone to show it all off to made it new in their eyes too.
On weekdays, though, we worked. If the weather was fine Jack would take his sketchbook down to the loch and work on the next Tilly and Billy, or else shut himself in the camper, while I stayed in the house and got to grips with my PA duties.
I’d set up a little corner of my en-suite room as an office area, with my brand-new phone and laptop looking very official perched on the dresser, and from nine to five every day I sat there: updating Jack’s Facebook, Twitter and the new Instagram account I’d set up, arranging interviews, answering emails and letters, and getting his website – which really was horrifically amateurish, for as big a name as he was – redesigned. I even managed to sort out my first book signing.
Jack was a terrible influence on his own staff, constantly trying to get me to play hooky so I could go out walking with him – egged on by his ever-unsubtle matchmaking parents. But I was determined to be professional, and no matter how the sun shone, how beautiful the loch looked, I refused to leave my desk.
My one concession was that sometimes, little Muttley was allowed to sit with me. At five weeks old our pups were getting to be quite a handful, tearing around the house chasing each other, chewing anything in sight, rough-housing on the stairs until Chrissy finally complained she was going to trip and break her neck if Jack didn’t keep them downstairs.
He spent a lot of time with them, housetraining mainly, and encouraging Sandy to start weaning them. In just three weeks, he said, they’d be ready for their new home. I was already dreading the parting.
And it wasn’t just rehoming the pups that was disturbing my peace of mind. It was what was going to be happening right after.
Once a week I called the only two people I wanted to talk to at home, Laurel and Nan – always on a Wednesday, when I knew Mum would be off doing her weekly shop, and always being careful to withhold my number. And while I’d tried to ignore it at first, dismissing it as tiredness or the general symptoms of old age, eventually I couldn’t lie to myself any more. My nan’s memory was worse every time I spoke to her.
‘Are you sure you’ll be okay to go visit?’ Jack asked as he perched on the edge of my bed one Wednesday while Muttley ran laps around his legs. ‘It won’t get you upset?’
‘Probably. But I have to see her.’
‘Will she tell your mam?’
I sighed. ‘Her memory’s so bad now, she probably won’t even remember I’ve been there by the time she sees Mum.’
‘Aww, Kit…’ He reached out to give my hand a squeeze.
‘I’d better ring her now. It’s my usual time to call.’
He stood to go. ‘All right so, I’ll leave you to it. Better take the Muttster back to the others for another lesson on why piddling in Nanny’s new boots is not going to make us any friends round here.’
‘Well, I did tell you not to.’
He laughed. ‘See you for dinner then.’
‘Wait.’ I grabbed his arm to stop him leaving. ‘Stay a bit. I’ll put it on speakerphone. I’d like you to meet her.’
He looked pleased. ‘Oh. Okay. Will she remember though?’
‘No, but I will.’
I withheld my number – a habit that’d become almost automatic, now – and dialled my nan. When it started ringing, I pressed the speakerphone option on my mobile and put it down on the dresser.
‘Hello?’ a frail voice said after it’d rung for a good minute.
‘Hello, Nana. It’s Kitty.’
‘Kitty…’ She sounded puzzled for a moment.
‘Grant’s Kitty,’ I said gently. ‘Your granddaughter.’
‘Oh, Kitty! Hello, love,’ she said, sounding happy to hear from me. I smiled at Jack, who pressed my shoulder. ‘And how’s university? I hope they’re feeding you properly.’
‘I’ve finished university now,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a job. I’m working for an author as his PA – personal assistant, that stands for.’
‘A secretary, you mean?’
‘A bit like that,’ I said, deciding it was best not to get into a detailed explanation of the differences between secretaries and PAs. ‘Only not so much typing.’
‘Oh, well. It sounds very important anyway. Is he a famous author?’
‘Yes, very. He writes for children.’
‘Ooh. I can’t wait to tell the milkman.’ No family news was considered truly legitimate till my nan had passed it on to her milkman.
‘Nana, there’s someone I want you to talk to,’ I said, flushing slightly. I nodded to Jack to introduce himself.
‘Hello, Mrs Clayton.’
‘Hello, Ethan. I hope you’re looking after her.’
‘It’s Jack, Nan,’ I said. ‘Ethan’s… it didn’t work out with Ethan.’
‘Didn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ she said absently. ‘Still, marry in May, rue the day, you know. Bad luck. I did tell Petra…’
That was my nan, a superstition for every occasion. But it did show she remembered there’d been a wedding, and the month too. That was encouraging. Maybe her illness wasn’t progressing as quickly as I’d started to fear.
‘Jack’s my boss,’ I said, bringing her back to the now. ‘He’s been very kind to me.’
‘No need to worry about her, Mrs Clayton,’ Jack said with a jovial courtesy I knew she’d appreciate. ‘I’m taking good care of her.’
‘Is that an Irish accent, lad?’
‘It is. Good solid Wicklow stock. You?’
‘I’m a Kerry girl myself. Tralee.’
‘Ah, so that’s where Kitty gets her good looks,’ he said. ‘No roses bloom like the roses of Tralee, my grandad used to say.’
She practically giggled.
‘Oh, I like this one, Kitty,’ she said. ‘You hang onto him, won’t you?’
I flashed Jack a smile. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Now, before you go again, I’ve got someone here who’ll want to say hello. She’s just in the kitchen, putting my shopping away.’ She raised her voice. ‘Petra love! It’s your Kitty on the phone.’
Mum! I stared at Jack, horror-struck.
‘Hang up! Quick!’ he whispered.
‘Yes. Yes.’ I started fumbling in panic for the phone, clumsily knocking it across the dresser in my haste. But it was too late. Before I could hit End Call, a too-familiar voice came softly through the mic.
‘Hello, Kitty.’
She sounded very calm. It was the ‘not angry, just disappointed’ voice I remembered so well from when I was a kid. And not infrequently, from when I was an adult.
‘H… hello,’ I faltered.
‘Seriously, hang up!’ Jack hissed.
But I couldn’t. Not now she was there. Like Pavlov’s dogs, I’d been trained to obey, and although I could feel my brain willing my hand to pick up the phone, some built-in reflex blocked it.
‘Where are you?’ she asked, still in the same calm voice.
‘I’m… not telling,’ I whispered.
‘Where are you, Kitty Louise?’
Jack shook his head as I stared at him in horror. I could actually feel the words, the whole bloody address complete with postcode, lining up in my brain. It was going to force me to tell her. Oh God! And then she’d come find me and…
I thought of the wedding. I thought of Ethan. I thought of all the years I’d done nothing but what him and Mum had told me to do, and I forced myself to stay strong, physically biting my tongue to prevent the words spilling out.
‘Mm-mmm’ was all I could manage, my lips pressed shut.
‘You’re a silly girl who’ll tell your mother where you are at once,’ Mum snapped, the calm breaking at last. ‘Do you know what you’ve put me through all these months? How worried I’ve been?’
‘Well maybe it’s not about you.’
I flashed a grateful look in Jack’s direction for coming to my rescue. I couldn’t trust myself to speak. And yet… and yet I couldn’t bring myself to hang up either. I just stared with ghoulish fascination at the glowing screen of my mobile, silently thankful I’d remembered to hide my number.
There was quiet for a moment.
‘Kitty, who is that man?’ Mum demanded at last.
‘Jack,’ I managed to gasp, then clamped my mouth shut again before I let anything else slip.
‘Jack? Jack who?’ She paused, then when there was no answer carried on. ‘Now stop playing games, young lady. I’m on my last nerve. Tell me where you are right now.’
‘Jesus, that’s how she talks to you?’ Jack said. I nodded, one hand still clamped over my mouth.
‘Now, Kitty,’ Mum said in her most dangerously gentle voice. ‘I can see you’ve fallen into some bad company. I’m not going to be cross. Just come home and you and I will make everything all right again, the two of us. You know you don’t have to talk to Ethan if you don’t want to.’
Ethan’s name finally managed to break through whatever spell had taken my speech.
‘No,’ I said with as much strength as I could muster, anger forcing its way through my panic at last. ‘No. I’m staying where I am. You can’t tell me what to do any more, Mum.’
‘We don’t say no to our mother, Kitty Louise.’
‘I think she just did,’ Jack said brightly. ‘Are you offended by strong language, Petra? Because I’m about to use some.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’m not. Fuck off.’ He grabbed the mobile off the dresser and hit the End Call button with force. I’d never seen him look so angry.
As soon as it was over I crumpled in my chair, sobbing hysterically. Jack stood over me, stroking my hair and making soft, comforting noises, until I was calm again. Poor little Muttley just blinked up at me, puzzled about why Aunty Kitty had all that water coming out of her face.
When I’d cried myself out, Jack took my hand and pulled me up into a comforting hug.
‘What happened to you, Kitty?’ he asked gently. ‘Why didn’t you hang up? I could see you wanted to.’
‘I… couldn’t,’ I whispered. ‘She… her voice. It has that effect on me.’
‘She’s brainwashed you.’
‘No. No, she… I just got used to doing as I was told. When I was a kid, I mean.’
‘She’s brainwashed you, Kitty. Listen to you, making excuses for her. Just like you did for Ethan.’ He shook his head. ‘Peas in a pod, those two, aren’t they?’
My brow lowered. Now Mum was gone, the anger was starting to take over. Anger at Mum, but more than that, anger at myself. That I still let her have power over me, even now.
‘You don’t know the half of it,’ I muttered.
‘The way she talks to you like you’re a naughty five-year-old,’ Jack said. ‘All that “a girl’s best friend is her mother” crap. God, what is she, Norman Bates in drag?’
‘Never heard you swear at anyone like that before.’
‘Never felt like it before.’
‘You understand now, don’t you?’ I asked. ‘Why I can’t go home?’
He held me back to look into my eyes. ‘But this is exactly why you have to go home.’
I frowned. ‘What?’
‘Don’t you get it? She’s trained you up, like a bloody performing seal. Trained you so that when she says “jump”, you say “how high?” Or “off which cliff?”, by the sounds of it. God, between her and that fucking husband of yours, I’m surprised there’s any of you left.’
‘That’s not—’
‘You’re not going to get over it by spending the rest of your life running away. You need to confront her, Kitty, or you’ll always be afraid of her.’
I wriggled out of his hug. ‘What do you know about it?’
‘I know I just saw my smart, confident PA crumple like a little kid because her bullying mother gave her a dressing-down. And I know no one has the right to make another human being feel like that.’
‘It’s my life,’ I said, glaring at him. ‘You’re not the boss of me.’
‘Well, technically speaking I am.’
‘Don’t joke. I told you I don’t want to go home. If you really cared about me, you’d respect that.’
‘Well I’m sorry, because I can’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Some day, you’ll need to go back and face her. You can’t hide forever.’
‘What, you’re giving me lectures now?’ I demanded. ‘You’re just like the rest of them. Telling me what to do.’
‘I’m not telling you what to do, Kitty, I’m trying to give you some advice. You need to tell your mam clearly and firmly that you’re your own person. She needs to treat you like an adult, with respect. Otherwise how can you ever move on?’
‘That’s a bit rich coming from you.’ I bent to scoop up little Muttley, who was letting out a low, anxious whine at seeing her humans arguing. ‘She wants Sandy. I’m taking her down.’
‘What do you mean, it’s a bit rich coming from me?’ Jack demanded, jogging after me down the stairs.
I went into the front room and plopped Muttley down with her sister Princess, who greeted her immediately by diving on her and biting her ear.
‘Well, it’s not like you’re so great at facing up to things, is it?’ I said.
‘Meaning what?’
‘You know exactly what.’
His brow knit. ‘Cheap shot, Kitty.’
‘It wasn’t any kind of shot,’ I said. ‘I mean, Jesus, Jack, you can’t even sleep indoors. It’s pretty clear you’ve got some serious issues because of Sophie’s death and you’re doing bugger all to fix them.’
‘Yeah. Well I’m sorry if seeing my wife get knocked down by a car right in front of me left a bit of a scar,’ he said darkly.
‘Of course it left a scar. And something like that, it never will heal completely. But you can’t live in a campervan all your life because of it.’
‘Why can’t I?’
‘Because you’ll never be properly fulfilled, will you? You’ll never be able to have a normal life with – with the things in it that other people have. You need professional help, Jack.’
‘I know what I need. Freedom’s what I need. The van gives me that.’
‘You’re not free, not really,’ I snapped. ‘You’ve made that thing a prison for you and your grief.’
‘I’m okay how I am.’
‘And so am I.’
‘I don’t need a normal life.’
‘I don’t need to go home.’
‘And I don’t need advice from you.’
‘Me either.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine.’
We were quiet a moment, seething silently.
‘You know, you can be a sanctimonious son of a bitch sometimes,’ I said at last.
‘And you can be a stubborn cow when you put your mind to it.’
‘You know your problem, Jack? You just won’t see the world as it is. Everything’s fucking Sunshineville to you, isn’t it? Because there is no tomorrow, right?’
‘You know yours? You latch on to the nearest convenient person, because that’s what you’ve been conditioned to do. Your mam, Ethan, me. Kitty Clayton’s never enough for you, is she? That’s your problem.’
There was silence. He glared at me. I glared right back at him. Perhaps what was making me angrier than anything was the fact that I knew he was bloody right.
And yet… no. I couldn’t go home. And I wouldn’t be told what to do, not by Jack or anyone else. Those days were gone.
The air was heavy with tension. The weight of things said that couldn’t be taken back. Of things unsaid we were both too afraid to put into words.
‘Right,’ he said at last, his voice hoarse. ‘Bloody well come here.’
But I was way ahead of him. I flung myself towards him at almost the same time as his arms went round my neck, and the next second we were kissing. And crying, both of us. And kissing.
‘Kitty, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, peppering my neck with kisses.
‘No, I am. I shouldn’t have said that. Any of it.’ I grabbed his face to kiss him on the lips again.
‘What happens now?’
‘I don’t know,’ I whispered. ‘Jack, you know I—’
There was the sound of a throat clearing, and we turned to see Jack’s parents standing in the doorway, grinning at us.
‘I hope we’re not interrupting,’ Michael said, quirking an eyebrow. ‘As if I didn’t know we were.’
‘Just came to let you know dinner is served,’ Chrissy said. She was beaming like she’d just found a winning lottery ticket.
‘Oh. Thank you,’ I said, flushing crimson. ‘Um… thank you. We’ll be right there.’
Jack just smiled.