A Night, a Woman, a Cat, and the Fridge

Night, a Woman, a Cat and the Fridge

Oh, don’t look at me like that!

Catherine gave her cat a piercing stare, as fierce as she could manage. She even cocked an eyebrow, a move her mother strictly disapproved of when she was little. In her childhood, Catherines brows had been thick and dramatic, a bold family trait inherited from her fatherthough she always wished for her mothers fine, pencilled arches that never looked intimidating.

Of course, by now Catherine had long since tamed her brows, and she was by no means a young girl these days. The cat was well aware, which is perhaps why the animal looked back with unblinking, emerald eyes full of cool judgement, refusing to acknowledge her severity. He lounged on the windowsill, sometimes gleaming wickedly when the night-light from the hallway caught one pupil, making him look almost spectral. The kitchen door, left ajar by Catherine in case she fancied retreating, fluttered gently with the draft. But it never properly closed, as if determined not to cut Catherine off from reality. This irked her; she secretly wished it would shut, granting her permission to open another doorthe fridge.

Catherine wriggled into a new position on the floor by the chilly wall, where shed been for over an hour, and fixed her gaze on the white behemoth, trying to hypnotise it.

Of course, she knew every last sausage and gherkin sitting neatly on the shelves shed recently scrubbed fresh. Catherine was the familys grocer and organiser, a running joke amongst everyone at home.

Catherine, why exactly did you buy capers? Who’s going to eat those? her husband, Charles, would tease, twisting the little jar curiously. Why?

They taste fantastic, shed reply.

Alright, then youd better decide how to feed us capers without causing a national emergency.

And Catherine would obligingly invent some strange dish, having never managed to follow a recipe in her life. Her family would stare suspiciously at her culinary creationat first. Then, inevitably, they’d devour every scrap, demanding seconds and thirds.

Her family. Everyone except Catherine.

She could never bring herself to eat what shed cooked. Ever!

The process of creating a meal thrilled her, gave her those delicious moments of inspiration and joybut the instant her latest masterpiece was ready to eat disaster! A strange old woman, a phantom from some forgotten lineage, would drift into the kitchen and mutter things Catherine barely understood, smacking her gums with a single tooth and cackling slyly before vanishing and leaving behind a ravenously hungry woman who couldnt bear to look at her own cooking.

Catherine suffered for it, snacking compulsively on whatever she could find. Her greatest criteria for a treat was that it required no cooking. Slices of ham and cheddar, plump buns, sweets, biscuits, and wafersshed even pilfer her sons tea biscuits, convincing herself that if they were meant for children, they must be the very symbol of healthy eating. Her conscience was hardly bothered; she told herself she was only looking after her health.

And surely, health was something Catherine always needed a bit more of.

She wasnt overweight. Not at all. Everything she ate went straight into fuelling the endless treadmill of her days: three children, a husband, a cat and a houseall needing her unwavering care. Then there was her job, which she respected and sometimes even loved, depending on how well it allowed her to focus on what mattered: her family.

In fact, complaining was not part of her upbringing. Catherine had absorbed a single, straightforward truth from her mother, one shed never questioned.

Itll sort itself out.

Yes, thats just what her mother used to say whenever Catherine expressed any complaints.

Oh, Cathy, dont be so dramatic! You dont have a temperature! Oh, youve measured it? Well then! Now, have some tea with lemon, get into bed, and itll sort itself out!

Those magical words accompanied her through every childhood ailment, and she believed them devoutlynothing ever needed real attention. It would pass on its own.

Perhaps thats why, for all her professional knowledge and despite the obvious signs, when her body began to malfunction after her first child, Catherine barely noticed. Who cared! No time for that! Itll sort itself out!

Things grew more difficult with her second son. Dragging herself from bed at the babys wail was torture, but she never complained to Charles. What sort of mother would she be if she couldnt take care of her own child?

Charles, though, understood perfectly without a word being said.

Cathy, love, let me handle the baby, hed say, gently lifting the little boy from her arms and shooing their eldest from the room. Me and the lads will manage. You get some kip!

Catherine would sink into oblivion, sleeping for hours. But when she woke, she was just as exhausted and guilty as before, plagued by the sense of being a drain on her family.

What sort of woman was she, if she was no use to anyone?

If Catherine had ever thought to ask herself where these feelings came from, she might have had her answer long ago. Its impossible for a woman to live happily when her lifelong motto is: Youre just a bit well, not quite right.

Sadly, it was a motto handed down by her mother and grandmother.

Sit up straight, Cathy! You look like a treble clef! Back straight, darling! Jane, are you just letting her be? The child will have all sorts of trouble! her grandmother, Lydia, would cry, clutching her little, well-manicured hands.

Mum, of course I know that! But theres just no point lecturing her. She wont listen! All the other children are normal, but Cathyshes in her own world! And you wouldnt believe how hard I work to hide the food from her! Shes always nibbling something! Its hopeless. I even tried punishing her! Nothing. Imagine?!

Five-year-old Cathy, lighter than a kitten, would sit bolt upright, send silent tears into her bowl, touching nothing, too afraid to look up again.

Her mother and grandmother must have been right. She simply wasnt the same…

Why had their family worshipped thinness and poise, Catherine only understood much later. As a chubby, spotty teenager who found even going to school a struggle, she one day stumbled across her mothers old albumsand her world shattered into sparkling pieces.

Why on earth did her mother scold her for every crumb and look at her with such disappointment? Because, on the old photographs, was a plump girl, bright-eyed and just like Catherine herself. Even facial spotsleftovers from teenage acne! Her waist was perhaps wider than Catherines would ever be…

So why all the criticism? Why did her mother and grandmother nag her so?

Then she got her answer.

You dont understand, do you? Look in the mirror! Whos going to marry you? Ilook, it took all my will! Thanks to Mum, I managed. I didnt even cook for your father, so I wouldnt be tempted. The whole family lived on salad.

Mum, when did Granddad leave Grandma?

What an odd question! You dont imagine theres any connection? No, of course not! There were irreconcilable differences. People split upthats life. Not everyone understands one another.

But Mum, how can you not understand someone you lived with for decades?

Cathy! Enough now. I wont answer silly questions. Gofind something to do.

It was always perfectly clear what something to do meant. Shed pull on her battered trainers and trek to the school playing fields. She wouldn’t run or join in if the boys were about, playing football or hanging around the climbing frame. Shed just perch on her favourite bench under the huge lime tree and think about life. Only when dusk fell and the fields emptied would she run a few laps, cursing herself for laziness.

These moments of reflection werent wasted. Catherine spent so many hours pondering, she eventually decided: if she was never going to be beautiful and marriage was out of reach, shed better be useful so people would stop staring. Shed realised long agoif a person is truly needed, looks barely matter. No one cares what you look like if you offer something valuable. Especially if that something is rare.

Mum, I want to be a doctor.

What has brought that on? Cathy, with your abilities

What exactly is wrong with my abilities? Its not about looks. Im a good student.

Well Fine, if you insist. Doctor is a respectable profession. No worse than any.

Of course it is! Catherine tried not to sound too triumphantshe knew her mother could easily revoke permission.

Catherine did become a doctor. And a particularly fine one. With so little personal life, she had mountains of time to studyand she used it well.

Her mother mostly just sighed but kept out of it; she had her own burdens. Catherines grandmother was ailing and needed care, so Catherine found herself briefly left in peace.

But only for a while.

Shell never find a husband on her own! All she does is study! Someone needs to help, her grandmother declared, and soon enough a matchmaker mysteriously appeared at their home.

No one ever learned how she was found; the woman was short, bustling, somewhat alarming. But she did her job quickly.

Youve got a real peach here! Clever and prettyshe’ll have no trouble at all!

Catherine nearly choked at this. Pretty? Her? The puppy fat had receded, her complexion was clearer, and she no longer stood out from her fellow students. But a beautynever.

Still, a suitor appeared soon enough.

Catherine, upon meeting him, barely kept a straight face. He was awkward, short, all elbows and knees, blushing and shuffling whenever addressed by the matchmaker or Catherines mother.

But Catherine was nothing if not polite; she would never be rude, not after her relatives hard work. So she kept her composure, understanding how much effort had gone into her future.

The tea at her mothers house went smoothly enough. A proper date was arranged. Catherine was very late, detained at medical school. She dashed to the chosen café, but the oddly-shaped young man was nowhere to be found. She was surprised, but not especially upset. Sighing, she turned to leave, when a waiter called out:

Miss, are you Catherine by any chance? He grinned so broadly that she couldnt help but smile back.

I am.

Youve got a note. The young man who was waiting got very nervoushe even broke a glass. He left this for you.

It was short and to the point: Dont look for me.

Catherine snorted.

I didnt plan to!

A huge weight fell from her chest. At last, a perfect excuse to counter her mothers meddling ways: shed been dumpedon a first date, no less! She was late, yes, but that’s perfectly acceptable for a girl, isnt it? As for nerves and dramaticswho needs such a husband? A lifetime caring for someone she neither admired nor fancied? No, thank you!

The waiter, whod read the note over her shoulder, frowned sympathetically, then brightened again.

So, what are you doing this evening? he asked.

Catherine herself couldnt have said what possessed her; she crumpled the note, studied the waiter, and asked,

Whats your name?

Charles.

Be honest, Charlesare you just pitying me?

No, why would you think that? His grin vanished, and he scrutinised her with a new seriousness that made her heart skip.

And if not Catherine peered into Charless face, searching for hints that she might be judged by him too. Ill be waiting by the green at the entrance to St. Albans Park tonight.

I know the place! Thank you! Charles beamed, and Catherine, to her own surprise, believed him.

She remembered their first date in vivid detail. To this day, she could have recited nearly every word theyd spoken. It felt lighter, as though theyd known each other all their lives. They both loved jazz, both loathed cottage cheese. Both dreamed of getting a cat and agreed neither had energy to raise a dog. They wanted a home of their own and careers that meant helping othersnot simply earning pounds.

And so they matched, perfectly, as if fate had grown bored of keeping these two lost halves separate.

Catherine and Charles courted for over a year.

Catherines mother could only clutch her forehead and plead for sense.

Hes not right for you!

Why, Mum?

Because

Hes a waiter?

Yes!

But you know Charles is at university, the café jobs just part-time. And what is so bad about being a waiter?

He cares for his ill mother and his five-year-old sister. Why burden yourself?

But surely, Mum, that’s proof hes a good man. If he cares for his family, hell care for me.

Catherine! What sort of talk is that?! What about self-respect?

Mum, Im really trying to learn that, actually. And I dont know what more you wantwasnt it you who insisted I marry? Charles has already proposed. What else?

NothingI just want you to think about yourself

I am.

The wedding was put off for a while.

Cathy, I just dont know what Ill do if Mum goes

Youll raise your sister!

Will I manage?

Is there a choice?

Catherine helped Charles care for his mother, but it was to no avail. When it became clear time was running out, Catherine and Charles simply went to the local registry office, gave notice, and married with only little Emma as their witness.

Are we a family now? the solemn five-year-old inquired.

Yes.

And me?

Youre our family too.

Good.

The simplicity and seriousness of her words showed Catherine how much children truly understand.

Charless mother appreciated what Catherine had done.

Thank you, my dear. For Emma, for Charles Forgive me for leaving you with such a burden. I wish I could stay much longer

Lets focus on getting better, shall we? Catherine stroked the thin, papery hand. Or did you want to wallow in self-pity?

Thank you, Cathy. Her mother-in-law smiled. You know it all, but you still try to cheer me Well get better then, wont we?

She passed a month after their wedding. Catherine made the arrangements and did her best to comfort Emma.

Mummy wont hurt anymore, will she? Emma clung to Catherine.

No, darling. Shell never cry again.

No more injections, either?

No, none at all.

Catherine herself was ready to sob with the child in her armsher mother-in-law, so bright and kind, had won her heart in such short time, and she mourned that theyd had so little together.

Catherines own mother, learning shed been married without notice, was scandalised.

And what about the wedding? Did I raise you for this? For you to just go off and do itno word, not even a celebration!

Mum, you know there wasn’t time.

I dont care! My only daughter married without a word! Thats all that matters to me. I dont wish to discuss it further.

Catherine tried to make peace, but her mother would not relent. So Catherine decided to let time healand time stretched into years.

Of course, she still visited, helped with chores, and saw to her mothers medical needs, but their conversations became so stiff and formal, they might have been strangers. No matter how hard Catherine tried, nothing helped.

Finally she reached her limit.

Mum, do you have any other children?

What are you talking about? Of course not!

Then why are you so intent on pushing me away? Catherine set aside her blood pressure monitor. Ive never asked before, but tell mewhy dont you love me?

Her mothers reaction stunned her. The always-stoic Jane, proper even in crisis, suddenly cried.

Mum, please! Donta momentIll get your valerian drops

It was the first time her mother had truly revealed her feelings.

Once shed recovered, Jane sipped water and sighed.

Of course I love you, Cathy. I was just never taught to express it. My own mother said you mustnt spoil childrentreat them sternly, as adults. Otherwise, they wont cope with life. She always said I mustnt cluck over my only chick. So I learned. But in the end, I lost more than I gained. You grew up almost in spite of us I saw my words bounce off you. Im glad now. But it aches, knowing youre so far from me. Sometimes it feels like Ill shout for you and you wont hear. It frightens me.

Her mothers confession unsettled Catherine. She feared, more than anything, that she’d repeat these mistakes with her own children. Though her sonsand Emmatrusted her, came to her about everything, she still worried if she was loving them enough, or supporting them as much as she should. And because this enough was so uncertain, she constantly felt something was missing.

Charles, noticing her distress, tried to help, but Catherine believed it was her battle alone. Not out of distrust, but out of the feeling that only she could puzzle it out.

Thats why she sometimes sat for hours on the kitchen floor in the night, thinking, with only the cat and the white, humming server of cheeses and ham and stolen biscuits for company.

There she sifted through her life, her relationship with her mother and grandmother, arriving at melancholy conclusions.

If shed only spoken up sooner, if shed told her mother how she felt instead of always being the good girl, things might have been different. Maybe the world would have seen her as a bit worse, but she would have felt a lot better.

This knowledge comforted her, yet also left her uneasyso much time lost to realising so little.

The kitchen door swung open. Charles entered, glancing at neither wife nor cat. He opened the fridge, withdrew cheese, tomatoes, and watercress, settled on the floor by Catherine, and wrapped her in his arms, handing her a sandwich.

Here, take a bite.

Charles, if I keep eating in the middle of the night, none of my skirts will fit.

Just eat, Charles grinned, winking at the cat. Do you want a bit, too?

Of course, the cat did not object. He hopped down, accepted his ration of cheese, and curled up in Catherines lap.

I love you anyway Charles said, watching Catherine chew and smiling. Even if you weighed a tonne, I wouldnt mind a bit. And you know that. Cathy, can I ask? Whats wrong?

She finished her sandwich, buried her nose in the familiar hollow of his neck, and stroked the cat.

Nothings wrong, she finally breathed, believing it herself. But, lets keep it under a ton, Charles. Im perfectly content with a size sixteen.

Sixteen! Couldnt be lovelier.

Say that often, will you?

Will you stop tiptoeing here for midnight fridge rendezvous then?

Charles!

What did I say?! Anyway, come on, time for bed!

And Catherine will smile, let Charles help her up, hug him in silent thanks for understanding her, even when no explanation is given. Shell quietly promise herself to tell him all the things that have weighed on her mind.

Cathy?

Yes, darling?

Are we expecting again?

How did you guess? Catherine looks at him in surprise.

Oh, woman! Is this my first day knowing you? And your night-time picnics have become a tell-tale sign. How far along?

Three weeks.

Brilliant! Charles hugs her, and she slaps his lips with her hand.

Shh! You’ll wake the kids!

The cat trails them to the bedroom door, then returns to perch on the windowsill, curling up to listen to the stillness.

Soon, silence becomes the norm in the kitchen at night, as Catherines new duties call her elsewhere, and the cats nightly company at the fridge becomes a memory. But hes quite happy to nap in the nursery, near the milky, sweet new cot, rather than the hard window ledgeAfter a while, Charless gentle snore filled the darkness, and Catherine lay awake, her hands tracing the outline of her belly beneath the covers. The hush of the house felt deeper tonight, weighted not with loneliness, but with new, soft hope.

Somewhere in the hallway, the cat stretched and padded silently to her side, leaping gracefully onto the foot of the bed. He made exactly three turns, kneaded the duvet with his velvet paws, and settleda living, breathing sentinel to dream-thoughts and secrets kept.

Catherine listened to the nearly imperceptible hum of the fridge through the wall. For once, it seemed a friendly lullaby. Tomorrow would be busy with children, early rounds, homework, and something simmering in the oven. There would be sandwiches with capersdefinitely capersand sour little jokes from Charles, and perhaps forgiveness, gradually growing between two stubborn women, mother and daughter, across kitchen tables and cups of tea.

She didnt know how to do everything right. But she knew, finally, the most important thing: how to stay, how to love, even when her heart was uneasy and nothing was perfect. In the morning, she would open the windows, let the sunlight in, and find something sweet amid all the demands, the laundry, and the laughter. And if a quiet moment called her to the fridge again, she might simply put on the kettle and invite everyone to join her.

For the first time in many nights, Catherine allowed herself to drift towards sleep, held safe by warmth and ordinary, persistent loveconfident that, in her world of midnight worries, odd cats, and well-tamed eyebrows, everything truly could sort itself out after all.