Page 7 of On The Edge

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Her mother cuddled Cat as they both looked out to the water. “Don’t worry, there’s no monster in there,” she said wiping away Cat’s tears. The bright light pierced through the clouds, and the sun came out as Cat buried further into her mother's arms.

Cat woke with a start. She still had her clothes on from last night and must have dozed off while reading, going by the magazine sticking to the side of her face. She scrambled off the bed and headed to the bathroom. The mirror presented a woman from a horror film; her makeup was smudged and her eyes blotchy. She glanced at her watch, a silver René Macintosh that her mother had given her on her eighteenth birthday. Swirls of roses were embossed around the outer face, with the message To my wee one which Cat cherished so much. She had changed the straps on it several times, but the watch itself remained as beautiful as the day she had received it. She still had a bit of time, it was 7am, and breakfast service would be starting soon. She desperately needed a wash, so she ran the bath, and poured in some luxurious bubble bath. She took off last night's clothes, and threw them in the corner of the room, then put on a face-mask and stepped into the bath with a sigh of utter pleasure. Sounds of blowers floated in the distance, chugging boats and men’s voices carried from the bay to the bathroom window. Thirty minutes in the tub passed by like so many seconds as she watched the sun rise over the calm water ahead, casting its flickering golden beams onto the bathroom wall. She could happily have stayed submerged all day. But her stomach gurgled loudly; she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. The ferry trip ended any appetite she may have had. Cat reluctantly pulled herself up, quickly put on some makeup and pulled back her wet hair into a ponytail.

Down in the breakfast room, Cat saw an elderly couple silently sipping tea and munching on toast. They smiled at her as she bid them good morning, and glided over the deep blue tartan carpet to the small table at the window.

“Good morning, I trust you had a nice sleep?” Cat was startled to see the blonde woman from last night standing over her. Her tailored grey dress clung to her body, highlighting her huge bosom again. Cat found herself thinking, slightly mesmerised, those cant be real...?

“I did, thank you!”

“I’m Monique, by the way. So are you holidaying around the islands? It’s going to be nice weather soon, hopefully we’ll finally get a nice Spring this year!” Monique looked out at the blue sky.

“Yes I’m here to see the island, though I'm... not too sure how long I’m here for…”

“Oh really?” She raised an eyebrow “No family here then?” She arranged Cat’s knife and fork, playing for time.

“No, I’m just here to see what it’s like. I may stay on for a while.”

“Well in that case, we could do a deal for you if you want to stay longer than a week,” Monique cut in. “It’s a slow start, we wont be getting too many visitors until the festival happens, but that’s a wee while away yet. Oh - breakfast! What can I get you?”

“Oh I don’t mind, what is there available?” Cat asked with interest.

“Well you could have the usual scotch breakfast, toast, fruit... or my husband does a mean pancake stack?” Monique got out her pen and pad ready to take the order. Cat’s stomach gave an alarmingly loud rumble.

“Pancakes and coffee please!”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Monique wiggled out of the room and Cat stared after her. She was the sexiest woman Cat had ever seen. She looked at her own reflection in the window, saw her wet, flat hair and pale forehead, and decided she needed to do something different. Her hair was limp and her natural red was hidden under a mousy brown dye that she couldn’t quite remove. She had her hair many colours when she was an art student – green, red and blue at times. She had loved matching her outfits with her hair and drawing attention. After college she had looked for work, but offices certainly would not accept anyone that didn’t conform to the norm. So the loud locks went, and the brown dye was slapped on. Cat looked again at her boring reflection and sighed.

Monique came out with a large mug of coffee and a plate of toast. “I thought perhaps you might like toast as well, you sound hungry?” She gave a little giggle and Cat couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

“Monique, is there a hairdresser or a beauticians near by?” Cat asked, sipping at the coffee.

“Oh yes, a good friend of mine – Sally Sinclair, she’s only down the road. I’ll make an appointment for you,” Monique said, making her way towards the phone on a side table near the door.

Jeez, Cat thought, I really must look bad if the landlady is tripping over herself to get me beautified.

“OK, er, thanks,” she smiled.

After the toast and pancakes were devoured, and three cups of coffee swallowed, Cat put on her bright green anorak and small rucksack and ventured out. Walking along the stone flags, she looked again at the small shops along the street. Stopping at a florist, she saw her favourite flowers – bluebells. Deciding to buy some, she gathered a small posy and continued walking to the end of the street to a small jetty. She stood there quiet and still, watching a small fishing boat go past with two fisherman in yellow waterproofs sitting together, smoking, chatting and surrounded by lobster creels. Breathing in and out deeply, she felt light as a feather, and at this moment in time, completely content.

Returning back along the quiet street, she came across a white-lit window with a large painting taking up the whole space. The sign over the white wooden door said “Pier Gallery”. It looked rather professional, and slightly out of place in this fishing village. Stepping into the gallery, the bell on the door gave a gentle echoing tinkle and Cat was confronted with a wash of wall-to-wall colour. The space was deceptively large, and the light flooded in from windows all around. She looked at the work on the walls in depth and took in the texture of the waxy paint, the brush strokes and the scenic interpretations of the landscape. The style was very like the pieces that hung in the tearoom; this had to be Barbara the waitress’ daughter. Cat was alone in the big room, but she could hear classic rock music somewhere in the distance. The door at the back was ajar and a girl’s voice could be heard in time to the music. Cat decided not to intrude, so she gently stepped back to the front door and opened it once more; the music stopped as soon as the bell rang.

“Hello,” she heard the voice from the back room, “is anybody there?”

“Erm...yes,” Cat said quietly, then spoke up. “Sorry to interrupt you work,” she called out.

Out came a petite blonde with her hair up in a polka dot bandanna and paint on her face. Her Bowie t-shirt was ripped at the neck with paint speckled over it. Her fresh face broke into a bright smile, which showed her pale blue eyes to sparkling effect.

“Hello, you’re not interrupting! Come in and look around. I always sing to get the creative juices flowing!” She wrinkled her nose slightly and chuckled.

“Thank you; these paintings are beautiful. You are truly gifted.” Cat took in the pictures once more and walked over to a portrait of an old man with a pipe in his mouth and smiling. “I love this one, it’s amazing you do both portraits and landscapes.” She turned around as the blonde came towards her looking at the picture.

“That’s old Donald. He worked as a Gardener for the wealthy Power family. He spent almost all his life outside, creating their beautiful garden. You can go and see the little world he cultivated for them. He died last year, but I was able to paint him before he got ill.” She smiled sadly. “He was a character though, made me laugh, told me stories of this place from back in the day.”

“I can see he’s a character!” Cat looked at the portrait once more, “the mischief shows in his eyes.” Both girls smiled at each other and giggled.

“I'm Jessie, but you can call me Jess.” She extended her paint-covered hand, looked at it in horror and then decided to wipe it on her already paint-splattered t-shirt.