‘Ow!’
The little shit.
This little ball of fluff I was so worried about has taken a step back and then launched himself at my finger and clamped his teeth down as hard as he can. Which considering he has kitten teeth is pretty damn hard. I withdraw my finger sharply and shake it whilst the kitten holds eye contact with me as if issuing a challenge – Go on, come at me again and I’ll take the damn thing off!
No shame and not so cute.
Seems Ihavegot Cass back, just in kitten form.
When it comes to my sister and her relationship with Jasmine, I know all the theory. My day job, running community programmes at City Youth, means that I understand how people have to reach decisions themselves, they can’t be pushed into doing things that they don’t want to do, that sometimes people have to hit rock bottom before they can truly reach out. I’ve done endless training on this, both receiving and delivering. But what I have never truly understood before, other than on a theoretical level, is how hard it is to watch. I go around in circles trying to rationalise things. I know it could be worse. It’s not as if Cassie is sat slumped in her flat freebasing, it’s just that I really don’t like her girlfriend.
No, it’s more than not liking, much more. I don’t trust her, there’s something off there and it runs deep. She has me on my guard, my hackles up whenever I’m in a room with her. I can’t name it but it’s there, it is, and I don’t understand how Cass can’t sense it.
I feel guilty that when Cassie came out, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief, a belief that if she wasn’t into men then she’d never have to put up with the bullshit I know many men mete out. Even today when we tell each other that men are better educated now, that this generation coming up have been weaned on issues like consent, I know – I see it at work – that some boys are still often driven by their ego and their cocks.Obviouslynot all, but enough. I thought if Cassie were gay, I wouldn’t have to worry so much about control and bullshit. But control and bullshit aren’t merely the preserve of heterosexuality. I had needed to learn that, yes, but I hadn’t wanted to learn it this fast. And not with Cass.
‘Meow.’ Darling Dimkins’ tone is as aggressive as his claws, but he has a point.
‘Yep, you’re right. We can’t sit here all day, let’s get you home. I’m happy to look after you –’ I waggle my finger at him, the bitten one ,’but you’d best not test me.’
‘Meow.’
‘Chopsy as well as violent, huh?’
My phone beeps and I wriggle it out of my front pocket whilst casting a look up at the window of Cass’s flat. Ever hopeful.
It is not a message from my sister begging me to free her from her tower. Instead, it’s a notification about a podcast some of the girls from work made me add, something they’re raving about and challenged me to listen to.The Love Doctoror some such nonsense. It’ll do no harm to give it a listen and it’s important to show the girls I respect their interests. You never know, it may feature a segment on non-violent confrontation for Darling Dimkins. I reckon he has an awful lot to learn if we’re to live in harmony.
I press the notification and it leads me to the latest podcast so I hit play and then turn the ignition. The introduction bursts into life and immediately I can tell this woman is a professional.
As I drive away from the flat, I remember Chloe’s words as she had been holding court at the Youth Centre, preaching that everyone should be forced to listen to this woman.She’s a Bristol gal and she don’t talk shit. If it’s consensual it’s fine, if it’s a no, it’s a no, you understand? She ain’t about the looks, she’s not telling no female to lose weight or get BBL, nah, she’s all about being true. I like her, youshould give her a listen. Serious.
I had left the room smirking at how forceful Chloe was with her peers, confirming my belief that she would be an excellent ambassador in a wellbeing project I am currently working on. But as I let this woman’s voice spill over me – discussing healthy sexual choices and how much input our friends should have – I realise I should have taken Chloe’s advice earlier. This Love Doctor woman is practical, no-nonsense and professional with the advice she gives.
And that is exactly the sort of advice I need, to make sure I don’t cock this up with Cassie. I know I’m too close, too emotionally involved to look at her life rationally. That if I follow my instincts, the carry-her-out-under-my-arms ones, then I’m going to mess this thing up big time. The look she gave me today as I started to question why she couldn’t keep Darling Dimkins was her full-on don’t-you-dare eye, a look that indicates she knows what I’m thinking and isn’t having any of it.
And the thing is I know my sister, she’s damn stubborn. Pig-headed like a mule, Dad used to say back when she was a toddler and even though there was a definite dearth of mules in the city, I knew exactly what he meant. She used to give us all hell, would pin me to the ground and give me such a whipping, even though she was three and I was nine, with Dad watching on the side, laughing as his son got beat down by a baby and he sprinkled spices into the goat meat simmering for hours on the stove.
But for all her don’t-mess-with-me-unless-you-like-the-mortuary attitude, the one ingrained in her very veins, I’m not convinced she is exercising this with Jasmine. I don’t recognise my sister inanyof that relationship, not the Cass I know, the venom-spitting, injustice-fighting, if-you-come-for-the-queen kinda girl I grew up with. The firebrand I know, the one who is all flash and flare, seems to have been doused by Jasmine, a kumbaya type who has not just contained the flame that is my sister but has, I am scared, completely put her out.
When Dad died, Cass was left with only me. I had to be her warrior hero, slay the dragons. I thought I just had to get her to eighteen safely, that then we were home and dry. No one had told me that there is no cut-off date, no one had told me that it’s not just protecting her from predatory men when she’s young and vulnerable, that there is no age or gender cut-off for abuse.
There is nothing I can do right here and right now. Cassie doesn’t appear to be in imminent danger. From the looks she was shooting, I am the one with quicksand beneath my toes. She wants another romantic night in with Jas and me to sod off with her cat.
A myriad thoughts scroll through my head – each one doom-laden – as I drive back home but once I pull up to my house I know the best thing I can do is get in, get the bloody kitten settled and then get myself down to the gym.
I wait for the podcast to wind up, listen to The Love Doctor sign off and give Darling Dimkins a Very Strict Look as I lift his carrier out of the car in the hope that he understands who is feeding him from now on.
Chapter Three
Lily
Ilie in a foetus curl, all rounded like a snail shell, and wonder whether whimpering out loud is a step too far. It is. But I so want to whimper. The act of making a noise, even just a little-lamb-lost plaintive bleat, is comforting. But I’m not alone in the house so I keep the whimper in.
Everything hurts, every little patch of me, each square millimetre of me is fatigued, and in my heightened emotional state I wonder if this is how it feels to be bleeding out. I know that this is not a rational thought and that this will pass. But my mind does go to dramatic places when I’m like this. My mind is not always my friend and my hormonal mind is very much my worst enemy.
The truth is I have periods so rarely that they are heinous when they arrive. These aren’t normal periods, not ones like my mum has or my sister, as horrid as theirs are. These are completely disabling, a minimum-two-pads-and-a-super-max-tampon hideous. Sleeping on two towels whilst my stomach cramps so hard, part of me wants to reach within my skin and rip it out, watch it bounce across the floor, no doubt concertinaing with cramps as it goes. And my back, my back aches so bad and as yet I have found nothing much that touches it. And this is potentially going to go on for seven days.
Seven days.
