Come Home Kate Read online

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  KATE

  Copyright © Suzannah Hollamby 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission from the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-9998971-3-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-9998971-2-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Kate.

  ‘… I haven’t written for a long time now. Maybe too long, I’m sorry about that… But Kate, I still think of you. I can’t help it. The way things ended, you needed me and I wasn’t there. I’m not there, and it’s hard. I hope the dreams have stopped? That’s the only solace I hope to take from all this. Do you ever wonder how things would be if none of it had ever happened?

  Perhaps one day I’ll see you again and maybe then things could be different?

  Josef.’

  My hands trembled as I gently clutched the bittersweet letter between my hesitant fingertips. My mind racing at a thousand miles per hour as I processed the words in front of me, his handwriting tugging at my heartstrings. Part of me wanted desperately to believe this wasn’t real, perhaps like in the movies I’d wake up to the cliched it was all a dream ending but no, the cream paper now anxiously quivering in my grasp was as real as it came. Josef was reaching out to me.

  We’d agreed we wouldn’t do this, that the break would be indefinite at least until I’d found the time to sort myself out, get my life in some remnant of an order. It had been nine months of silence, nine hard, horrible lonely months, yet it was nine months too soon. I hadn’t got my shit together in the slightest. Nine long months of brooding yet needed silence, until this.

  Why Josef? Why? All my emotions were a jumble, anger, resentment, sadness, regret, happiness? I knew this would happen. I knew keeping in contact like this would only prolong the inevitable pain, we needed the distance, or perhaps looking down at the heartfelt words on his letter, perhaps maybe only I needed the distance.

  The bitter pill of guilt stuck in my throat, lodging itself there. I hated the thought of him miles away still hurting like this, still pinning for something that I had no choice but to end.

  Feeling the hot flush of tears brewing behind my resolve, a long-exasperated sigh slipped from my lips as I stared down once more at his name, his handwriting elegantly flowing across the paper.

  I willed myself to crumple it up, to toss it in the bin and pretend I’d never seen it and yet I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the strength within me to even do that, instead I remained glued to the letter, my throat tight as my heart pounded heavily in my chest.

  I just can’t do this Joe, I’m sorry. I can’t let you back in yet.

  I mean sure, I missed Josef. I’d missed him dreadfully. I’d even go as far as saying I craved his presence back in my life yet this break, this time apart, I needed it, I needed to move on and forget the past. And no, not to sounds like some cruel bitch, it was not to forget him, I could never forget my Josef. The whole purpose of the separation was to allow me room to move on from the events that happened in Brazil three years ago, to somehow find a way to sort out the mess my head had become, not just for me but for him. As much as it pained me to admit it, being with me wasn’t fair for him. I was and still am extremely damaged goods. I’ve come to terms now with accepting the fact that I’m not the same girl that stepped onto that plane three years ago. The things that happened to us, to me… it’s hard to even begin broaching the damage something like that does. When I came back from Brazil, that girl had vanished. I simply couldn’t live a lie anymore and unfortunately, letting Joe go was the collateral damage to that decision. Our relationship was unhealthy and my unconscious treatment towards him had become utterly unacceptable.

  It was laughable really… I’d almost fooled myself into believing I could feel human again like somehow the paranoia had slowly begun to fizzle into the dark shadows of my mind. Yet here I was, a single letter, a single name and suddenly my mind was catapulted into reliving it second by second. The sad truth hit me, I was as much over things now as I was then.

  I stared conflicted at the letter, his sweet handwriting a torturous reminder of the sad goodbye between us. We’d written a few times since our breakup and eventually the letters had just fizzled out, both mutually coming to the realisation that we’d never move on the longer we clung tightly to each other. So why would he do this to me? Why would he torture me by contacting me again? We’d gone nine months now. Nine months Joe! Why?

  Unable to stare at it any longer, I found the strength to crumple it between my fingers, the heartbreak simply too much as I threw it into the overflowing bin by the front door. What a stressful way to come home from a busy day at work, filled with a helping of self-pity I wiped away the stray tear rolling its way down my cheek.

  Slipping my feet out of the black heels I’d worn to the office that day, I grabbed the rest of my ignored post off the floor. Bills, statements, the usual bumf that no one wants to come home to.

  As I entered the kitchen, I launched the mail onto the circular table in the middle of the room and slouched against the cold, grey laminated countertop. I could feel my disillusioned world crumbling into a million tiny pieces all over again.

  Why Josef? It was all I could think, the same thought racing through my mind. Why did you have to write?

  The familiar seeping pressure of a headache leaked its way across my forehead as I rubbed my hands through my hair. I couldn’t do this, not today.

  In desperation, I threw open the fridge door and poured myself the remainder of the Merlot I’d steadily been making my way through the previous night.

  The cold, sweet taste on my lips mildly relaxing me as I took another deep gulp before making my way through to the living room…and yes, I am that person that enjoys red wine chilled.

  It still felt strange living in London, being alone in this modest townhouse on the outskirts of the big city. It’s odd really, you’d think living in the bustle of the city that you wouldn’t feel lonely yet here I was as lonely as it got. Times like these I missed the company of everyone back home, the comfort of familiar faces but I knew deep down I needed this. I needed the solitude whether I liked it or not. I needed to surround myself with new faces and people who didn’t look at me with the pity I’d become accustomed to from my nearest and dearest. This was good for me, even if right now I was filled with self-pity.

  I tried to think of the loneliness as a therapy of sorts, a way to find myself again with a new start, a house to myself without any noise but my tabby cat now blissfully purring at my feet.

  His company a welcome distraction as he hopped his needle-sharp claws onto my lap, pricking into my thighs under my pleat skirt. If it wasn’t for him, I’d feel a lot less sane than I already did.

  “You hungry, Jenko?” I asked, scratching behind his ear to which his eager eyes met mine longingly. I chuckled, foolish enough to believe the affection was anything but a rouse to coax me back into the kitchen.

  Scooping out the remains of yesterdays cat food can, I noticed how quickly the night was drawing in outside.

  The windows reflecting back the glare of the ceiling lights, the garden was nothing but blackness. A rare treat in London, my primary reason for choosing this exact house. It backed out onto small woodland and the houses either side were spaced enough apart that at times like these you could feel completely alone. It almost felt like being in the countryside
again, at least as close as surrounding London townhouses went.

  Drawing the blinds, I placed my dwindling glass of wine down on the side and caving into temptation took a seat at the dining table reaching for my notepad. Don’t do it. It was no use though as I feebly picked up a pen.

  ‘Dear Josef,

  Life in London is great, I couldn’t be happier.

  I’m fine, I’m actually so much better now. I don’t dream of him.…’

  I couldn’t allow myself to finish. My hand froze on the paper as the emotions rushed back to me like a wall of grief. It was all lies; every word I’d written just like every letter I’d ever written to him since we split. I wasn’t okay, just a quick glance at my bedside table at the multitude of pill bottles would show anyone my sleep was far from settled, and if that didn’t then I had quite the suspicion that the recycling men knew, given the fact I’d often fill the bin with wine bottles. I wasn’t okay… so why the hell did I constantly feel the need to pretend I was?

  Feeling angry at myself, I scrunched up the piece of paper and frustratedly threw it across the floor. Jenko scurried from his food bowl spooked by the projectile. Tears began to stream down my cheeks as I allowed all the pain to seep gradually back into my consciousness.

  The house phone rang on the counter, startling me out of my skin. Drying my sodden eyes and with an unflattering sniff of my nose, I got up to answer.

  “Hello?” I choked, putting on my best attempt at concealing the emotion in my breaking voice.

  “Kate! It’s Mum.” Her tone filled with the concern I had become accustomed to whenever she called of late.

  “Oh, hey Mum,” I replied, suddenly trying even harder to sound upbeat.

  Silence.

  Crap, I thought. She could always see through a lie a mile away, she knew my voice the way only a mother could. She knew in those very few words that I was pretending. I felt my stomach knot at the impending question that I knew was coming next.

  “Kate. Are you okay, Dear?” Her soft, caring voice saddening me more as I stifled back the urge to cry harder. She had heard it all before, I couldn’t will myself to tell her it was happening again. It would crush her. I desperately wanted her to believe I was better, I’d seen how broken she’d become seeing me at my worst.

  “I’m fine, how are you and Dad?” I asked, hoping the small talk might throw her off the scent.

  “He’s okay, I’m okay. I’m just… I’m worried about you Kate.” The sigh in her voice brought a lump to my throat as I struggled to keep up the show.

  I had to say something, anything, yet I froze completely caught off-guard. The silent pause confirming the suspicions I knew she already had.

  “Kate.” She whispered softly, after a moment. “Sweetheart, are you still taking your meds?”

  Meds. I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed and weak even at the mention of them. It was a secret I kept from many people. I just hated the stigma that went with them, I felt broken enough as it was without needing to be dosed to the eyeballs just to feel ‘normal’.

  My family, the doctors, and Josef had been the only people to know the true extent everything with Damien had left on me.

  I couldn’t bear to tell her that they weren’t working and hadn’t been for some time. Their effects no longer drowning the memories that relentlessly flooded back to me each and every night.

  The copious bottles of wine loaded in the rack seemed the only thing over the past few weeks that came close to the drugs' initial effects. How could I tell her that? That I’d turned to the numbing effects of the bottle instead of what the doctor prescribed. Sorry Mum, just to add to your woes your daughters trying to turn herself into an alcoholic.

  It was a shameful thing to admit, not just to her but to myself. I didn’t like the fact I drunk as much as I did, but lately it was the only thing to knock me out enough at night to block him out of my dreams.

  Snapping myself back to the conversation at hand I fruitlessly humoured the situation by responding with another lie.

  “Of course Mum! I’m fine, honestly. I’m just tired, it’s been a tough week at work and I’ve only just got home.”

  “Hmmm. Okay, Honey. I’ll pop by tomorrow. We can have a chat.” The clarity in her proposition clearly intending it wasn’t optional.

  “Okay, that’ll be nice. See you then.”

  We said our goodbyes and I retreated back to the solace of my wine, necking the remnants of the bottle before opening another. I loved Mum, I loved her more than anything and truthfully, I would have loved to tell her everything and come clean but the humiliation, the failure I knew I’d feel had stopped any usual excitement at seeing her tomorrow. She’d quiz me, likely realise I had lied and then slap bang, I’d be landed with another healthy dose of guilt.

  Moving back into the living room I sunk into the chair, pressing the cold glass against my warm, flushed cheeks, the alcohol beginning to dull the feelings of the day.

  It wasn’t long before my eyes grew heavy, bit by bit and sip by sip my eyelids closed before I fell fast asleep glass in hand with Jenko quietly purring on my lap.

  The next morning.

  The thump of Jenko springing from my lap startled me awake, the morning sunlight trickling its way into the room through the magnolia curtains and splaying onto the carpet. I rubbed my tired eyes, straightening from the armchair, my entire body creaky from an uncomfortable night’s sleep.

  Repentance creeping into the picture as it dawned on me that I’d spent the entirety of the night curled on the armchair still fully clothed from yesterday.

  My last few precious glugs of wine pitifully spilled on the floor beside a dropped glass. The deep red stain having long dried after seeping into the fresh cream carpet. Cursing under my breath I got up and marched into the kitchen to grab the stain remover and a cloth.

  Angry at myself I got to my knees and scrubbed vigorously at the floor remembering that my Mum was coming by this evening.

  Shit, I thought to myself. She’d spot the stain for sure; most likely give her more cause to worry about me. This was just what I needed! My Mum was smart, she could easily see through a façade a mile off, she was one of those people whose hunches were always right. She would read between the lines and more often than not, she’d be right.

  I put all my weight into the scrubbing brush until my manicured nails were scratching into the carpet. The stain wouldn’t budge, in fact if anything I’d made it a hell of a lot worse, just my bloody luck.

  My mobile phone buzzed to life on the coffee table, its noisy vibration distracting me from my futile cleaning attempt.

  ‘Where are you? Ian’s been asking questions. You okay?’

  It was a text message from Sara, my work colleague and I guess you could say a friend.

  Looking at the time I felt my stomach sink. 9.40 am, I’d overslept… This day was not getting off to the best of starts!

  Dashing upstairs, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror before brushing my teeth. My eyes were bleary with smudged mascara and black eyeliner. I looked a state, like some hussy after the nightclub lights come on at kick-out time. My makeup was thick, old and clumped, hardly my finest of appearances. After quickly removing the damage with a face wipe, I reapplied some mascara and threw on a new blouse. I still looked a bit of a mess but it would have to do, I hadn’t any more time to waste. I should have been at work forty minutes ago. I was already on borrowed time.

  After a stressful commute, running for the station, only just catching the train and then narrowly avoiding having someone spill their coffee down me in the street. I eventually stumbled into the packed office board room, all eyes cringingly darted my way.

  Smoothing down the messy bun of hair on my head, I anxiously entered trying my hardest to avoid all eye contact. Their gazes burning into my skull as I skulked across the floor.

  “Kate. I’m glad you found the time to join us…” Ian my boss broadcasted my late arrival drawing more unwanted attention my way. I
offered him an apologetic glance before rushing over to sit beside Sara amongst the rest of the ogling team, keeping my head down as I did so.

  “Well, that was a little awkward” I whispered to her. “Do you think he’s mad?”

  “No... to be honest the meeting hasn’t really started. You look like shit by the way.” She bluntly added, her voice a little louder than she perhaps intended. She swept her brown hair back over her shoulder as she smugly sat back in her chair regarding me.

  “I hope that’s because someone was having a good night?”

  Her taut face softening into a cheeky smile as she relished the opportunity to be a wind-up.

  I gave her a playful swipe, I’d let Sara think what she wanted in regards to my lateness. Whatever promiscuous encounter she believed was the reason for my lateness, then I’d rather she thought that than know the truth. That in fact, I’d drowned my sorrows with copious amounts of wine, the whole while being sat by myself at home talking to the cat on my lap as if he were human.

  Yep, it was definitely better her thinking I’d had some exciting rendezvous than her knowing the truth. Little did she realise how far from reality her visions of me really were.

  It wasn’t long before Ian hushed the room once more, beginning his long-versed speech on profits and company margins. Our usual Friday prep talk that Ian found so incredibly essential in his vision for keeping the office motivated. Little did he realise it was the joke of the working team, I almost felt sorry for him as he waffled on endlessly about how we all needed to grasp those new clients.

  ‘Become go-getters!’ he preached. The sad truth, that Ian was scarcely aware of was that the office was full of people that honestly didn’t care as he did. They didn’t care about his motivational bullshit, they didn’t care whether the company made a profit or a loss, they knew he was a soft touch and half the people in this room mocked him in his absence.