Page 39 of On The Edge

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Johnny stood washing the dishes as Cat came in wearing another new outfit, this time in a deep red wool dress and a black cardigan. She popped on her heels and scraped up her hair into a bun all the while drinking a quick coffee and munching on a slice of toast. Johnny leaned against the kitchen basin wearing rubber gloves and an apron, looking over Cat like a proud mother.

“You look good, girl!”

Cat gulped down the last dregs of coffee and fiddled with her keys. “All thanks to you for styling me!” she went to kiss him on the cheek.

“It’s a joy to dress a beautiful red head with long legs, every man’s fantasy!” he laughed, turning back to the dishes.

Cat stood in the doorway eating her marmalade on toast. “What're your plans today?”

“Well I thought I might pay Mrs White a visit. Maybe see what the school looks like.”

“Really? I thought you’d find all that boring?”

“What makes you think that?” Johnny looked back with hands still submerged in the soapy water.

“Kids, Johnny? You’ve never liked them!” Cat recalled all the nights out with other friends who had children, and how every time they were mentioned, Johnny would get bored and change the subject.

“People change,” he murmured, looking distantly out the window, as Cat left in a hurry, distracted. Johnny remained, quietly washing the dishes, and thought of the many application forms he had previously printed and half-filled out. He knew something needed to change in his life, and those possibilities lay on his bed upstairs. The question was, could he make his idea work?.

Cat parked a little outside the village, as her usual parking spots were all taken up.

“Jesus!” She muttered to herself as she walked in her heels up the street. She thought uncomfortably of the last thing she had said to Johnny; had she been unfeeling to him without knowing it? Maybe she was a terrible friend, and didn’t give people enough time to be themselves? Johnny was going through a crisis in love and here she was making all sorts of assumptions about what he wanted from life. She stepped out into the road and at that moment her stiletto heel caught in the cat’s-eye in the middle of the road, making her trip and fall. It was at that exact moment a van turned the corner, speeding towards her. Cat stared helplessly at the fast-approaching vehicle; it was too late for her to move, and she closed her eyes thinking this was the moment she would die. Her mum’s eyes flashed in her mind and then… no pain came. The van had stopped, just in time, right in front of a cowering Cat who looked up at it, terrified. Patrick got out of the driver's side.

“Cat...! Are you OK?”

Cat got to her knees and couldn’t help the rage from building inside her. “What is the matter with you, you could’ve killed me?” She pressed her hands onto the cold tarmac road and slowly got up.

“I’m sorry...” Patrick tried to help her up but she shrugged him off. “I didn’t expect to see someone lying in the middle of the road...?” He put his hands up letting her compose herself.

“You were driving really fast!” Cat looked at her bleeding knees and wanted to cry. But she was determined not to cry in front of this individual, that was all she needed. Cars started to block the road, and Cat hobbled off to the pavement in the direction of the gallery. Before she knew it Patrick’s van was slowly crawling beside her.

“Let me give you a ride!” came the Irish accent. Cat couldn’t look at his face, she felt angry and sad all at the same time. These feelings she couldn’t push away, they were always hiding in the depths of her, no matter how many landscapes she painted. Derek was right to be skeptical, she thought glumly.

“Leave me alone Patrick, I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly not fine, you’re in shock!” He stopped the van next to her and got out again. “Let me help you fix your knees at least?”

“I need to get to work, we're opening the show tomorrow, I don’t have time!” Cat started to walk on again.

“OK, well let me give you a ride to the gallery” Patrick blocked Cat’s path. “Cat, please!”

She stood on the spot, and looked at the cars Patrick was holding up on the road.

“OK then!” she said huffily.

They drove down the main street, and Patrick continued on, driving past the gallery.

“Where are you going?” Cat protested, “I need to get to the gallery!”

“We’re taking a detour, we’ll fix your knees first, thank you very much.” Patrick drove the car at a slower speed through the cobbled lanes and shortly after parked at the end of the dreaded avenue. They went up to the familiar door at which Cat had met the lovely tanned girl in what she assumed was Patrick's t-shirt. He opened the door and let her in, leading her through a long hallway to a bathroom.

“Now - sit up on there.” He pointed to a washing machine in the corner of the room.

Cat did as she was told, and sat down showing her scraped, cut and very sore knees. The blood dripped down her leg and she almost gagged at the sight of it. She hadn't realised she was squeamish until now. Patrick came back into the room with a stool and sat across from her. He tutted at the knees and rinsed some towels under the tap before gently dabbing the red-raw cuts. Cat could not work out what had happened here, she was crossing the road, then the next minute she was on the brink of becoming a pancake under a speeding van... ? And now here was Patrick in front of her, holding her ankles gently in his warm firm hands as he cleaned her cuts?

“This might sting a bit,” he said as he dabbed a little more.