Deathwatch (13 page)

But her parents would want to know why. And they’d be bound to say no in weather like this. And the dark. She put some music on instead. Loud. The Kaiser Chiefs. An angry beat.

Her thoughts jangled. Her coach always said if you tried hard enough you could block out any distraction. But it didn’t feel like that. It felt as though things were going on around her, happening to her, that were not in her control.

THURSDAYS
after school were sacred. No training, no after-school stuff. Apart from homework, but homework could wait. This was a time for friends. Sometimes, Cat and the others met in a coffee shop, lingering on the sofas for longer than you were supposed to make one drink last. Or they went shopping, coming back in time for tea. Or in the summer they went to the Meadows and lay on the grass and chatted or kicked a ball or took revision notes if school tests were coming up. Not that much work got done.

Cat could not remember a time before this Thursday ritual.

Which explained her reaction when Bethan made her announcement, as they got onto the bus after school that Thursday, on their way to the coffee shop.

“I got a job! A paper round! I’ll be rich!”

“But you can’t get up in time for school, let alone a paper round!” said Marcus.

“No, the freebie one. Thursday afternoons.”

“But you can’t!” said Cat. “Not Thursdays! What about us?”

“Yeah, but I can’t say no, can I? I mean, it’s money.”

“Actually, I have a problem with Thursday too, starting in a couple of weeks,” said Ailsa, as they all found seats, squashing up together at the back. “I’m working in a charity shop for my D of E.”

Cat wasn’t doing the Duke of Edinburgh: she had too much else on, but most of the others had signed up.

She said nothing.

“Let’s go to the cinema or something on Saturday afternoon,” Ailsa said. “All of us.”

“Um, excuse me…” Marcus pushed Ailsa’s shoulder.

She looked embarrassed. “Go on, the others can come too, can’t they?”

“Sure.” He didn’t
sound
too sure. And this was obviously supposed to be a date.

“Yeah, we should all go – stop you two getting up to anything,” said Bethan.

“What, like talking about computers?” Josh said with a grin.

“I can’t come,” said Cat, quietly.

“Why?”

“The usual.”

“But we’re going in the afternoon. After your training ends.”

“It’s not training. It’s a swimming competition. Starts at twelve. And the national selectors will be there.”

The others were silent. They looked at each other.

“We can go another time,” Bethan said.

“But I want to come with you
now
!” Cat knew she sounded like a small child. But she was sick of this. Constantly considering her training. And now two of her friends were getting jobs and none of them seemed that bothered about meeting up less. But then they were maybe feeling cosy in their pairs. Because that’s what they were now, she could see. Bethan and Josh; Ailsa and Marcus. And Cat, the gooseberry. “I’m sick of athletics. I want to get a job too and have money and just hang out with you guys.”

“But your mum and dad will be furious!” Bethan looked surprised.

“So? I can’t do it for
them
, can I?”

“She’s right,” said Josh. “Your parents don’t get to decide your career.”

“But I’d love to be so good at sport,” Ailsa said.

“Are you sure? For a hobby, yes, but for your life?”

At their bus stop, they piled off and into the coffee shop. The conversation moved on. The others didn’t know what to say and Cat didn’t know if she could say anything without getting emotional, which she wasn’t going to do. So she kept her mouth shut and tried to join in the chat.

But one thing she decided. She
was
going to tell her parents that night. She would cut back on the training and try to get a part-time job. Even a few hours, just like the others. She
needed
to be just like the others. And her parents couldn’t stop her.

And the competition? No one could make her go. Or, if she did, no one could make her swim her best. And if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be selected. Which would solve the problem. Sort of. It wasn’t a great thing to think about but there wasn’t an alternative that she could see.

And so, later that evening, at dinner, after helping lay the table and being nice and polite and doing everything right, she began to say what she felt.

IT
wasn’t as easy as that. You can plan a conversation as much as you like – it doesn’t make any difference. Her
planned
conversation went along the lines of: Cat says she’s going to try to get a job; brother makes some sarky comment about no one employing her; Cat keeps her cool; parent tells Angus not to be a pain; parents express initial scepticism; parents ask, “What about your training?”; Cat says she wants to take a break from it, just cut back a bit as she’s worried that she’s overdoing it, maybe needs to cool it for a while till she’s older; parents look impressed that she has thought so maturely about it; one parent – probably her father – says it seems reasonable, that it would be bad for her to overdo it; mother disagrees but father talks her round; they agree to compromise in some way – or, more likely, talk about it later.

Meanwhile, Cat is
not
specifically told she can’t look for a job so she silently takes it that she
can
. She smiles secretly and looks forward to Saturday, when she will note down all the vacancy signs on her way to athletics and then deliberately not impress the selectors at the competition.

What actually happened was this.

Cat carefully and politely raised the possibility that she might look for a part-time job because all her friends were.

“Who’d give
you
a job?” asked Angus, taking two more potatoes.

“What about your training?” asked her mum.

“And schoolwork,” added her dad.

“You’re too young.” Mum.

“Wait till you’re sixteen.” Dad.

“So that’s a ‘no’ then? Just like that?” said Cat, angry already.

“Well, come on, Catty – how can you possibly fit a job in with everything you do?”

“But I want to
stop
doing some of it. That’s the point. I want to cut down the training.” It was out. She held her breath.

“You can’t be serious!” Her dad.

“You’ve got a great career in front of you. You can’t turn your back on your talent.” Mum.

“What will your coach say? He believes in you.” Dad.

“I don’t CARE what he thinks! It’s not his life, or yours. It’s mine! And I’m sick of all the training and the pressure. I don’t want to do it any more.”

“Don’t be silly. This is too sudden – you don’t have to decide now. You can’t throw it all away on a whim.”

Her mum wore an irritating fake-sympathetic smile. Her dad took another mouthful of wine. Angus was eating with his mouth open and grinning. Cat scowled at him and looked away. Actually, she wanted to hit him.

“It’s not a whim. I’ve been thinking it for ages. All my friends…”

“Oh, ‘
all my friends
’ – that old one!”

Her dad spoke. “It’s your life, not your friends’. Your friends will soon enough find their own paths but you’ve a talent you can’t ignore.”

“I didn’t ask for it! I don’t want it! Just because Grandpa did it; why do I have to?”

“It’s nothing to do with Grandpa. That’s not why… Is that what you really think?”

“Yes, actually. You’re always going on about it – him.” Her mum looked hurt, her dad bewildered. “But I just want to be the same as everyone else. I only want to get a few hours’ work – anyone would think I was dropping out of school or something. I could be taking drugs. Or shoplifting. Or getting pissed every night.”

Furious silence. Then Angus’s phone rang in his pocket.

“Get that phone out of here!” their dad shouted. And Angus slouched away, answering the phone while slowly and deliberately taking his plate to the kitchen.

Her mum looked at her. “Listen, Catty, let’s talk about this later, shall we? You can’t rush a big decision like that. I think you’re maybe just feeling a bit jaded. Just a phase.”

“And if you feel the same way later then we’ll see,” said her dad.

Oh, ‘we’ll see’? That old one.

“How much later?”

“Maybe after Christmas.”

Cat scraped her chair back and stood up. She couldn’t look at them. “Oh, just forget it! I
knew
you wouldn’t understand. And I’ll still feel the same after Christmas, I guarantee you. Except that before then I’ll have lost my friends. And I’ll have huge muscles like some frumpy weightlifter.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Catriona. Of course you won’t lose your friends. You might get different ones. Things change.”

“I don’t want different ones! How can you say that?” She stamped out of the room, flinging the door shut behind her, wincing at the crash of it, and ran upstairs. Noticing that her mum had not denied the weightlifter bit.

IN
her bedroom, Cat fumed. She couldn’t go on Phiz – she knew her mum would be up at any moment to continue the discussion. Her mum would never let things go.

She picked up her trainers and threw them at the fireplace, where they landed with a clatter among the candles. Catching sight of herself in the mirror she stared briefly. Horrible. Scowling, twisted mouth. And her hair all limp and rat’s-taily – enough to put her in a bad mood on its own.

Cat bent down and let her hair hang towards the floor in front of her as she brushed air into it. When she stood up straight again, it fell thick and blonde round her face. It wasn’t bad hair. Given a chance it could be one of her assets. And it
was
at the beginning of each day when she went to school, or if she was going out somewhere or had had a chance to deal with it. But when she did athletics… With both hands now she pulled it back off her face, scraping it into the tight ponytail she had to wear for running. Now her ears stuck out and her nose looked more pointed. Not a great look. She shook her hair free again and brushed it back to thickness.

Everywhere in her room were reminders of athletics. Trophies. Trainers. Running spikes. Boring untrendy tracksuits. A swimming costume twisted on the radiator. Certificates. A swimming hat, towel. Her kitbag. Two water bottles lying on the floor. Both unwashed. The calendar with the club logo – and all the competitions highlighted in purple. Even the ruler she’d been using for fencing practice.

Was she imagining it or was there a faint breath of chlorine in the air?

Did she actually smell of swimming pools and sweat?

And those muscles – they looked bigger than last week. A runner had nice lean long muscles but all the swimming she was doing was giving her a top-heavy bulk. She’d not really noticed it much before but now, every time she looked in the mirror, her eyes seemed to be drawn to her arms and shoulders.

Her mum knocked and came in when Cat mumbled an answer.

“Can we talk?”

“Is there any point?”

“I think so.”

“Go on then. You’re the psychiatrist.”

“Clever-clever.”

“Come on, Mum: what are you going to say apart from repeat what you’ve already said?”

“I don’t want us to argue about it. I just think it’s a very hasty decision and I think you might regret it. It’s easy to feel frustrated or bored or fed up if you sometimes have to train when you don’t want to, but you know it’s the only way to succeed.”

“But I don’t know if I want it any more.”

“It’s only natural to have doubts.”

“It’s more than that. I have to really want it and I don’t know if I do.”

“And another thing – it’s not about Grandpa, you know. He
would
be proud of you, of course he would. But you have to do it for yourself.”

“Exactly! That’s the whole point.”

“Do you remember the feeling of winning the other week? And all the other times? You know you love it.”

“I know but … it’s all the training.”

“It’ll be worth it. You’ll see.”

“It might not! I might easily not succeed. I might not get picked on Saturday or I might get picked and a year down the line get an injury or just not win or whatever. What then?”

“You’ll have your other subjects too. You’re good at history and English and there are lots of other subjects you could do at university. No one’s saying you should only do athletics. But you have a gift and you should use it. I bet you’ll regret it if you give up now.”

“But…”

“I think you maybe just need a bit of a push.”

“No: I get pushed all the time! That’s the problem. I want to be normal. I want to get a job, Mum, like the others. Just for a few hours a week.”

“Why don’t you be my personal trainer? I’d pay you! Look at this flab, Catty. I need your help!” And her mum grabbed a wodge of flesh at her waist.

Cat looked away. She wished her mum wouldn’t do that – it was normally only after Christmas or a holiday that Cat got the wodge-grabbing and wailing about being too fat.

“That’s not the same. That’s just pretend – not a proper job. I want to work in a shop or something. Why can’t I?”

“You’re probably not old enough. Don’t you have to be sixteen or something?”

“But other people do, just a few hours – there’s ways you can do that. Even a paper round. Washing up in a café. Anything. Why do you and Dad have to be so boring and uptight about stuff? I thought you’d be glad I wanted to get a job. Responsibility and all that.”

“Look, we’ll think about it, OK? If you find something, and if it doesn’t interfere with everything else, then we’ll think about it. Honestly. Now can I please borrow your bike tomorrow? And your helmet.”

“Friday’s hockey.
Remember?
” She glared at her mum.

“No, you haven’t.
Remember?
”

Cat remembered – no hockey because it was some year group’s parents’ evening. She grunted.