Night, Woman, Cat and the Fridge
“Stop staring at me like that!”
Catherine gave the cat her fiercest glare, even lifting one eyebrow in a way her mum always swore was unladylike and a sign of impending villainy. In her school days, Catherines joined-at-the-middle bushy brows were inherited straight from her dad; all she wanted was her mums neat, pencil-thin arches. Naturally, Catherine had long since brought the offending brows under control, and she was no spring chicken these days. The cat, of course, was perfectly aware of all this and thus ignored Catherines stern expression altogether. He sat perched on the windowsill, looking at her with a mixture of amazement and faint contempt, his green eyes occasionally giving off an eerie glint when the hallway nightlightstill oncaught them through the partially open kitchen door. Catherine had left it ajar, big on options as she was, so she could retreat if she chickened out, but the draught made it randomly thud, never closing entirely and shutting her off from the world of proper grown-up decisions. That annoyed Catherine, who would have quite liked it to slam shut and give her licence to open a rather more important door. The fridge.
She wriggled, settling herself against the wall on the cold kitchen floor, where shed been sulking for over an hour, and resumed her hypnotic staring contest with the fridge.
Of course, Catherine knew what was inside, right down to the last sausage; shed scrubbed those shelves herself just the other day. Food shopping was always her responsibility, which amused her family no end.
Capers, Catherine? Who do you suppose is going to eat those in this house? her husband would laugh, waving the little jar around.
Theyre tasty! shed insist.
Fine, then cook something edible out of themwithout turning dinner into an Olympic event.
She always did. Invented somethingadmittedly, often peculiar, because following recipes was not a superpower of hers. Her masterpieces were received with suspicion at first, then rapidly demolished, leaving only a lingering sense of doubt over whether they hadnt just devoured an abstract art installation.
The whole family ate. Except Catherine.
She simply couldnt eat anything she cooked. At all!
The act of cooking absorbed her entirelymoments of inspiration and genuine delight. But as soon as her culinary opus was complete, something dreadful occurred: a mysterious granny, with no relation to Catherine (possibly just a by-product of being British), would materialize, mutter cryptic things, suck at her one remaining tooth, smirk wickedly, and departleaving a hungry Catherine staring blankly at her homemade feast as if it were a rare fungus.
So, Catherine dealt with her kitchen neuroses by snacking on treats not requiring an oven. Sausageher beloved, cheap and cheerful supermarket brandcheese that was already suspiciously weepy, tea cakes, biscuits, healthy cereal bars which Catherine had been known to pilfer from her own oblivious son. Baby biscuits, she reasoned, were obviously part of a healthy diet, and her conscience didnt prick her too much. After all, she cared about her wellbeing.
Lord knows, Catherines health needed all the help it could get.
She wasnt fat. Goodness, no! Everything she ate merely fuelled the endless treadmill of family lifethree children, a husband, a cat, a houseeach requiring every ounce of her attention. She had a job, too, which she grudgingly respected (occasionally even enjoyed, if it allowed her to focus properly on the true art of caring for her flock).
But complaining about health was simply not the done thing, as Mum always said, ever since she was a child.
“Itll pass!”
Thats exactly what Catherines mum reassured her, whenever shed moan about feeling poorly.
Catherine, darling, dont be daft! Youre not running a fever. Oh, you checked? Wonderful! Have some tea with honey, darling, get to bed. Itll pass!
That magic phrase saw Catherine through all her childhood, and she clung to the belief that most things take care of themselves, no additional effort needed.
Possibly for that very reason, in spite of her medical background and a clear understanding that half of Mums folklore was entirely fictional, Catherine ignored early warning bells from her own body after the first child was born. Pfftwhos got time! Itll pass!
The second son was trickier. Catherine could only just wake to the demanding, glorious scream of babyhood, and even then, tried hard not to whinge at her husband.
What sort of mum cant look after her own child?
Richard, Catherines husband, understood without discussion.
Look, Catherine, Ive got this, hed say, gently shooing her away from the little one, corraling the elder two. Well have a boys club, and you have a proper sleep. You need it.
Catherine would spiral off into a black void and sleep for hourswaking not rested, but heavy with a guilt so profound it could have moored a battleship. What use is a woman who can barely function?
If Catherine had just once considered the roots of her self-doubt, the answer would have been obvious: you cant be happy under the banner of Youre just not quite right
Mum and Grandma had helpfully embroidered that banner for her.
Sit up straight, Catherine! Dont hunch like a question mark! Ann, why arent you saying anything? The child will have posture issues! shrilled Grandma Lillian, her hands plump and immaculately manicured.
Mum, you know I tell her constantly! But its pointless! She never listens! Most kids are just normalCatherines got her own ideas! And shes always eating! Whats with that? Nothing works! Ive even tried putting her on the naughty stepno use at all!
Five-year-old Catherine, who weighed little more than a starved squirrel, would sit up straight, weep into her mashed potato, and wouldnt dare reach for her fork again.
Of course, Mum and Grandma were always right. She was not right.
Why this obsession with thinness and delicacy ran rampant in her family Catherine only realised much later. Already a spotty, slightly chubby teenager, mortified by the thought of merely entering school (though her classmates were all basically in the same leaky boat), Catherine came upon some old photo albums. There was her mumsmiling, plump and bright-eyedher own face at that age, freckles and all, nearly identical even down to the pimples. Actually, Catherines waist was trimmer than her mums at the same age
So why the relentless nagging? Why the endless criticism?
That answer emerged soon enough.
You dont get it, do you? Look in the mirror! Wholl marry you? Id lost all hope as a girl, until I got discipline! Thanks to Grandma! Wouldnt even cook for your granddad, so as not to tempt herself. Whole family on a diet!
Mum, when did Granddad leave Grandma?
What sort of question is that? Do you honestly think its connected? Of course not! They had irreconcilable differences! Like me and your dad. Happens, you know. People drift.
Mum, how do you not understand someone youve lived with for years?
Catherine! Enough already! Go do something useful!
There was no confusion about what Catherine was meant to do: trainer on, off to the school field. Shed never run, obviouslynot while the boys were around, booting footballs or showing off on the monkey bars. Instead, shed perch on a favourite bench under a towering English lime, pondering life. When dusk finally silenced the rowdy hordes, shed run a few embarrassing laps, scolding herself for her laziness.
Those reflective moments were hardly wasted. Catherine thought so much, she decided: If she was ugly and doomed to eternal spinsterdom, shed at least be useful, so people wouldnt look at her sideways. Shed figured out early that achievement trumped looksif you had something others needed (preferably rare), nobody cared about appearances.
Mum, I think Ill become a doctor.
What brought that on? Catherine, with your skills
Whats wrong with my skills? Its not about looks. Im good at school.
Well, I suppose If you must! Doctorings as good as anything else, I suppose.
Precisely! Catherine tried not to sound too triumphant. Mum could always change her mind.
So, Catherine became a doctor. Quite a good one. Since her social life was virtually non-existent, she had loads of time to study. She used it wisely.
Her mother watched her efforts with weary sighs but didnt interfereshe had her own hands full with Grandma Lillians dwindling health, leaving Catherine blissfully unattended for a while.
But not forever.
Shell never find a husband on her own! All books, no wits! Well have to handle it.
Grandma, though frail, took up the cause once more.
This is how the matchmaker entered the chat. Nobody quite knew where she surfaced from, short, dark, endlessly fussy and talkative, but she got the job done.
Your daughter is a peach! Clever and lovely! Men will be queuing up!
Catherine nearly choked on her tea.
Who, her?! Sure, shed lost a bit of weight and her skin looked clearer, but problems remained. Shed resigned herself, become adept with makeup, and faded into the crowd of medical students. Lovely? Not a chance.
A prospective suitor materialized soon enough.
At first sight, Catherine just about managed not to say anything unkind. He was short, awkward, limbs everywhere, eyes glued to the floor while talking to the matchmaker and her mum.
Catherine, well brought up, would never dream of being rude, so gamely played alongafter all, her family had moved heaven and earth to find her a match.
The tea party, orchestrated by her mother, was uneventful. The first date was set. Catherine, delayed at university, dashed into the café, frantically scanning for his ungainly figureonly to discover hed already gone. She exhaled. As she turned to leave, a cheery waiter caught her attention.
Excuse me, youre Catherine, arent you? He was so genuinely friendly she couldnt help smiling.
Thats me.
Message from the chap who was waiting on youlooked a bit harried, broke a glass, and then legged it. Here you go!
The note was blunt: Dont bother looking for me.
Catherine snorted.
I wasnt going to!
She felt a boulder lift from her spirit. At last, an irrefutable reason to fend off her mothers matchmaking bids. Shed been dumpedinstantly, on the first date! Sure, she was late, but wasnt that a classic feminine move? Why all the dramatics? Why bother with a nervous wreck for life? There are limits!
The waiterRichardgrinned and, reading the note over her shoulder, seemed to draw the right conclusion.
So, Catherine, what are you up to tonight?
Catherine couldnt have said what possessed her. She scrunched the note, gave him a long look and asked:
Whats your name?
Richard.
Do you feel sorry for me, Richard?
No Why would I? His smile faded; he looked at her seriously.
And if youre notwell. Catherine squinted as if searching for any hint Richard might see her as not quite right. Fine. Meet me at the entrance to the little park by the medical school this evening.
I know it! Cheers! Richard beamed, and for some weird reason, Catherine believed him: no pity.
Her first date with Richard, she remembered in vivid detaileven years later, she could practically quote every line. It was effortless being with him, as if theyd known each other ages. Both loved jazz, hated cottage cheese, longed for a cat (but never a dog; too much discipline, not enough time). Shared dreams of a house and careers serving others, not just a paycheque. It was as if fate was fed up with their wandering and glued them together for good.
Catherine and Richard were a couple for over a year.
Her mum could hardly cope and pleaded for her to reconsider.
Hes not right for you!
Why, Mum?
Because
Because hes a waiter?
Yes!
Richards at university; the cafés just his side job. But even thenwhats so bad about waiting tables? Sorry, I dont get it.
His mums ill, and he has a five-year-old sister to support. Why take on all that?
Isnt that what makes him a good man, Mum? He cares for them. Hell care for me, if ever needed.
Oh, Catherine! Listen to yourself! Honestly, have some self-respect, will you?
Mum, thats all Im working on these dayshonestly, I am. Its what you wanted, isnt it? A husband for me? Richards proposed. Happy now?
I just want you to think of yourself.
I am
They postponed the wedding, of course.
Catherine, if Mum Richard started, unsure.
Wed raise your sister, of course! Catherine replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Do you really think I could cope?
Do you see another option?
Catherine helped care for Richards mother, but eventually nothing helped. When time was almost out, Catherine and Richard simply marched off to the registry office, submitted their papersand brought little Iris along as witness.
So now youre a family? asked wise-beyond-her-years Iris as the registrar rattled on.
Yes.
And me?
Youre our family too.
Good!
She said it with such dignity that Catherine realised that a five-year-old could carry the world.
Richards mother was grateful, despite it all.
Thank you, darlingthank you for Iris and for Richard Sorry youll have such a burden. I so hoped
Youre thinking the wrong things! Catherine chafed her mother-in-laws transparent hands. Are we getting better, or are we giving up?
Thats just it, Catherinethank you! You still try to cheer me up, though you already know the score
Richards mother died a month after the wedding. Catherine organised the send-off and tried to comfort Iris.
Mums not sore anymore? the child clung to her.
No darling, she wont cry again.
No more injections either?
No not anymore.
Catherine wanted to weep, just as Iris did, because in that short time, Richards mother had won a permanent place in her heart. There was never enough time.
Catherines own mother sulked for months, wounded that her daughter had married without so much as an announcement.
What about a wedding? Did I raise you for this? To be treated like some bystander, no word at all! Not even a bit of a do!
Mum, surely you understand why there was no time
Dont talk to me! My only daughter got married and didnt sayThats all I need to know!
Catherine did her best to mend fences, but her mother retreated into a meticulous, cool formality. Catherine ran her errands, helped her with the house, and monitored her blood pressure; but emotionally, a chasm yawned between them.
Eventually, Catherine couldnt take it any more.
Mum, am I your only child?
Wheres this going? Of course you are!
Then why are you so keen to lose me too? Catherine, putting the blood pressure monitor away, shrugged. Ive never asked, but I do want to know: why do you act as if you dont love me?
The reaction stunned her. Her normally steely, self-possessed mother faltered, dissolving into tears for perhaps the only time Catherine could recall.
Mumoh, for heavensdont cry! Wheres your valerian?
For the first time, Catherines mother showed just how deep her feelings ran.
Once composed, she sipped her water and sighed.
Of course I love you Catherine, I always have I just They never showed me how. My mum insisted we shouldnt spoil children. Speak plainly, always, or they wont cope with the real world. No chick mothering only one chick, she said. I tried. I see now I lost more than I gained. You became a good person, almost without my help. I thought you never listened, that my words bounced off you Perhaps Im relieved, but it hurts, you grew up so far from me. Sometimes I think if I called and called, you wouldnt hear That frightens me.
Catherine calmed her as best she could, but her mothers words struck deep. More than anything, Catherine dreaded repeating the same coldness with her own children. Her kidsyes, including Irisclung to her, trusted her, always coming first to her with their worries. But Catherine still doubted herself, terrified shed withhold love by accident. After all, enough is an immeasurable thing.
Richard saw the silent storm inside her and tried to help, but Catherine fought alonestubbornly, not for lack of trust, but because she felt only she could untangle this knot.
Thats why, some nights, she would sit for hours in front of the fridge, the cat for company, and the fridge itselfthe white, humming guardian of all forbidden treatsproviding the backdrop to her quiet unravelling. Here, she could think. The fridge, like the cat, neither judged nor interruptedplus it kept all the good stuff safely out of reach for years.
Shed replay growing up, relitigate her mothers and grandmothers attitudes, and always arrive at the same exasperating conclusion: Had she spoken up, things might have been different; perhaps worse in public opinion, but far better inside her own mind.
This was comforting, and yetinfuriating. Why, oh why, had it taken so long to see?
The kitchen door opened; Richard wandered in, ignored both Catherine and the cat, opened the fridge, produced cheese, tomatoes and a bit of rocket, assembled a sandwich, slid down beside her, and draped an arm around her.
Eat.
Richard, if I keep this up, Ill soon burst out of my skirts.
Eat. Thats an order. He smirked at the cat. Want in?
The cat, philosopher that he was, leapt from the sill, accepted his fragment of cheese, then curled up on Catherines lap.
I love you anyway, Richard grinned as Catherine begrudgingly ate. Even if you weighed a ton. You know that. Catherine, can I askwhats wrong?
She chewed in silence, nuzzled his familiar neck dimple, and stroked the cat.
Its all right she finally breathed, believing it for the first time. Justmaybe not a ton, Richard. A size 16 is all I ever need to be.
Sixteen, you say? Luckiest number in womens fashion! Ive never seen a lovelier woman.
Say it more often, will you?
If you quit these midnight snack rendezvous with the fridge?
Richard!
Just saying! Nowback to bed, woman!
And Catherine did extend her hand, let her husband help her up, hugged him, grateful thatwithout needing explanationshe simply understood. She quietly promised herself to tell him everything soon.
Catherine?
Mmm?
Are you are we expecting another one?
How did you guess? she looked at him, amazed.
Oh, Catherinethis isnt my first rodeo. And all these nocturnal kitchen vigils Come on, how far along?
Three weeks.
Brilliant! He hugged her; she batted his mouth with her hand.
Hush! Youll wake the little ones!
The cat escorted his humans to the bedroom door, then returned to his perch on the windowsill, curling up for a contented snooze.
Soon enough, quiet would become a frequent guest in the kitchen. New adventures awaited Catherine, the cat would trade night-time kitchen watch for dozing next to a cot smelling of milk and baby powdera much comfier spot than a draughty windowsill any night.
