Memory and Loss

There's not so much sex in this chapter (it's towards the end, if you can wait that long), mostly angst and emotion. But this woman is important to me, because she paid me the biggest compliment I have ever received from a woman, from anyone, in my life. So she is a permanence, even though she was transitory.

--- ooo OOO ooo ---

"Alex, is it OK if Cathy stays for a couple of weeks, while she finds a new place?"

It is many years later. I'm in the same house, and Rosie has moved in and out several times as she finished her degree and started work herself. We've had a couple of different people move into the house for a term here and a term there, but it's mostly been just me and Rosie, sometimes Rosemary and me.

I wandered a little, sweet kisses with other girls at the bottom of the stair-well or in a car, in a bar, or down by the lake. An occasional finger inside tight panties with the top button of her jeans undone, and a palm of my hand inside her soft bra, bodies turned sideways. But never another open, bare sex, legs spread wide. Incredibly loyal, me, incredibly loyal, even when Rosie was not.

I had a growing collection of Penthouse magazines, a monthly visit to various newsagents. Rosie loved the Forum magazine, also monthly and easy for her to read, pages turned with one hand, lips stroked with the other, clitoris peaked on my tongue with the book thrown to the floor.

When she was away, I had a series of favourite centerfolds spread on the bed around me, a stroke for each girl on each turned page. The cat would lick come from my belly. That cat had a beautiful, glossy coat.

Bob Guccione, I thank you for your taste in women - usually larger breasted than mine on the whole, but fuck, that hair and those lips hidden away in their deep mysteries. Ah yes, hair. I'm waiting for it to come back. Perhaps I should move to France.

I must have been fairly content, though, or surely I would have gone. Perhaps I had a contentment elsewhere in my life, I don't know. Or perhaps I was waiting for something to happen.

Maybe, looking back on that time now, maybe it takes a lot of energy to conjure up a spell, a whole truck load of energy, and that all takes time. Maybe magicians are slow and have to wait, because real magic takes time.

Now though, Rosie had a friend from her workplace who was coming out of a bad marriage and had finally made the decision to leave. She was on another couch these last few nights, just a suitcase full of her clothes. We had a spare room and could offer Cathy the comfort of a strange house.

They were both arty women, Rosie and Cathy, and had that in common through their work. I did not know Cathy at all, had never met her, but it's so easy to be kind. All you have to do is have a heart, and say yes.

"Yes, of course she can. As long as she needs. What are her plans, do you know?"

"Just a couple of weeks, probably. I think she's got a flat lined up and is waiting for the keys. She'll be company for you while I'm away."

Rosie was going overseas for a couple of months, travelling alone mostly but meeting up with him in Cairo. Her choices coincided with his, game changers both, but by this time I no longer cared. I just couldn't be bothered with the emotional hassle of their relationship. I was in a rut and knew it, and by this stage I was just waiting for it all to end. But seven years was a long time with Rosie, and endings of long times don't come quickly.

Cathy arrived on a Thursday night, tired and drawn. Her decay of a marriage had been going on for some time, I thought - she was thin, with big dark circles under her eyes, and pale washed out skin. She looked emotionally shattered, exhausted.

Rosie gave her a big hug, holding her close. Cathy couldn't help herself - as she was held, a simple human comfort, she rested her head on Rosie's shoulder and her own shoulders heaved with a sob. With tears on her cheeks she turned to me with a sad smile.

"God, I'm sorry, that's no way to greet two kind people who are taking me in off the streets."

"Cathy, look, don't be embarrassed. You're welcome here. Rosie has told me the basics and that's all I need to know. Come on, give me your bag and we'll show you your room."

I touched her gently on the arm as a welcome. She gave me a small smile in return; so that was worth it, seeing a sad girl smile.

Later, we sat around a table sharing a meal, talking of this and that, small talk, to take her mind off herself. The cat came and made a fuss, wrapping himself around Cathy's legs, his glossy coat soft against her bare skin.

"His fur, it's so soft, and look at his eyes, staring into mine."

The little cat knew lots about people, better than they did themselves.

It was a work day the next day, so Rosie and I would leave Cathy on her own. Rosie and I followed our usual nightly ritual - we would each go to our own bedrooms, one shared wall. I would lie, listening to her undress, taking off her make-up (naked in her room, it's a warm night). The sequence of her undressing, one article of clothing at a time, would bring a stiffening to my prick, naked under the sheets. I would hear the tinkle of her piss, the flush of the toilet, the running of water, the spit of toothpaste.

This night, there was a pause before my door opened. Rosie was checking on Cathy, making sure she was warm in her bed with a glass of water and the cat curled beside her. And girl talk, the things only women know. I would wait ten - fifteen minutes for Rosie, tonight. Cathy was more important right now, because she was hurting.

I was numb. But hard. I could wait fifteen minutes for Rosie, as she slowly left me.

Half way through the next week, Rosie left, driven to the airport in my new red car.

"Look after Cathy while she's with you, remember she's fragile. But you'll be good for her, I know that. Be good to yourself, as well."

With a tender kiss (even leaving can be tender, if you want it to be) Rosie was through the exit gates and gone. Her contribution to the mathematics of an unlikely coincidence was done and delivered, although I did not know that, not yet.

Returning home, I wasn't sure how Cathy would be, now that Rosie was gone. We didn't know each other, and I was a man and she had just left her man of five or six years. She might not like men, right now.

I did not need to be concerned. As a gesture of thanks for giving her space, time, and a place to stay, Cathy had cooked me a meal, with a bottle of wine, and the table set. I liked the formality of the table setting, she had made that extra little effort, and it was noticed.

The cat curled around her legs, and later she curled up on the couch, her legs tucked up under a big, baggy jumper. She looked comfortable and warm, a whole lot better than she looked when she arrived, a week ago. A thin girl, weight lost as she lost her marriage, but no longer gaunt.

That night, my evening routine was different, because Rosie wasn't there. Tomorrow being a work day, I bid Cathy goodnight at my usual time. She touched my arm as a thank you gesture, but there was a sadness in her little smile. The cat curled in her lap.

"Could you give him a feed, before you go to bed?"

I could see she needed to just sit with her own thoughts for a while.

Later, as I lay in my room I heard Cathy get ready for bed. Although her room was diagonally across the entry hall from mine, I could still hear faint movements. And despite myself, I found myself listening to her movements the same way I listened to Rosie's, with expectation. I heard the rustle of cloth as Cathy took off her jumper, or a blouse (I couldn't tell which), and then the soft glide of soft cloth against skin.

I imagined black panties sliding down Cathy's thin legs and her pale bum turning, and then I heard another slide of cloth and thought, oh she wears a nightdress. Rosie is always naked under her dressing gown, and she slides it off as she comes through my door, revealing the sexy sway of her full breasts. Cathy had no breasts at all, she was so thin.

I found myself listening for the same trickle of pee, and look at that, my prick is rising. That's rather nice, but rather wrong, since Cathy was nothing to do with me. No matter, I took my shaft in my hand and just held it as I drifted into a fast sleep, a nice heat in my hand.

Waking from my first deep sleep phase, I was dreaming of the cat crying, or thought I was. But it wasn't a dream and it wasn't the cat. It's poor Cathy, weeping. I crept out of bed and threw my dressing gown on, and knocked gently on her door.

"Cathy, are you OK, can I get you anything?"

I heard sniffles from inside, and a tiny voice.

"Yes, come in. God, I don't know what came over me."

"I do, you're grieving. It's tough."

My dad had died suddenly, that Christmas. I knew what grief was. A game changer, is what it was. More impossible maths, right there, a million bad sums rolled into one.

She was sitting up in bed, tears wet on her cheeks, sadness deep in her eyes, and I could only imagine what was in her heart. I reached for some tissues from the table, and she blew her nose, wiped her eyes.

"Fuck, it's hard, it's really hard."

"Yes, it is, it really is."

I knew enough about grief to know that you don't fuck about and pretend it doesn't happen, that it isn't there. It does, it is, and most times people want you to acknowledge that it's real, that it doesn't go away, and for God's sake, just stop pretending it's not there. It's fucking there, all right, and it's hard to get through. A damn sight fucking harder if people pretend it's just a phase, and look the other way.

I touched her shoulder and left my hand there as a gesture of solidarity. She took my hand in hers, and put it to her lips, softly.

"Thank you so much. Rosie said you were a kind man, and she's dead right. You're so kind."

"Hey, thanks. It's simple really, you just have to feel outside yourself. Other people are just as important."

I sensed that she wanted some closeness, just for me to be there, so I gently pulled her head to my shoulder, and cradled her hair in my hand. She rested her head there for a couple of minutes, her tissue clutched in her hand, her other hand just touching my neck.

"I can feel your pulse. It's so slow and steady, and so... peaceful. That's what your heartbeat is, steady and peaceful. Fuck, why can't more men be like you?"

"I dunno. All I know is how to be me. I don't have a clue how other men tick. Never did, probably never will."

Cathy seemed more peaceful.

"You OK, now?"

"Yes, I needed that. Thank you. Thanks for just being you, here for me."

She tucked herself down into the bed, her hand clutching the covers, small like a child. I bent down and gently kissed her on the forehead, just like my mother always did with me when I was a child, and stroked her hair. She reached to my hand and again, touched my fingertips to her lips. Then she reached up her hand and placed it around my neck, and pulled me down till my lips touched hers, a kiss.

"Goodnight, you lovely man, my kind man."

And her eyes were deep and serious, dark and intense, a steady gaze.

"I'll see you in the morning, yeah? Have a good sleep now, Cathy. Look, here's the cat."

"Yes, the cat with the lovely soft coat. Goodnight, A."

Goodnight Cathy, sad woman, brave woman.

In the morning I went through my usual routine of shave, shower, breakfast, and a quick cup of tea before I left for work. Since the kettle was boiled, I squeezed an extra tea bag into a cup for Cathy, who had one more day off work before the weekend.

She could wake slowly, and warm herself inside before facing the day. She was still sleeping a lot, getting back her strength and her will. Being asleep was also her way of stopping the hurting thoughts.

"Good morning, Cathy, here's a cup of tea, a treat for a sleeping princess in a bed."

Not sure that tea is a drink for princesses, not the traditional one anyway, but the gentle smile in her eyes revealed that she didn't mind being charmed, just a little. What girl doesn't mind a bit of harmless attention?

"I've gotta go now before the traffic starts, I'll see you this evening, yeah?"

"Stay. Stay just a moment."

Her eyes were dark and intense, deep and serious, a steady gaze. She was a sleepy thing, her hair wild about her head and a wave over her pillow, a rich darkness. One thin hand was outside the covers, reaching tentatively for my hand. Cathy clearly wanted company, not wanting to be alone. Scared, most likely, at the thought of making her own way, on her own, for a while.

I was used to it by now, Rosie had come and gone several times from this house over the years.

I sat on the bed, and started to stroke her hair, like you would a sick child. I figured Cathy needed soothing, before she needed anything else. I was right, she wanted a presence in the room, with nothing special to say. It also showed how bone tired she really was, because five minutes later I crept out of the room as quietly as ever I could, because she had fallen back to sleep, my hand in her hair, soothing.

"Cat, be there when she wakes up again," and scratched his ears.

A little chirrup was given in response, the cat's way of saying, of course, who do you think I am?

That evening Cathy was quiet, and we shared a simple meal, watched some crap on TV, and then went through our nightly ritual, separate rooms, separate beds, separate lives. Except I still found myself listening for the sounds of her. I had left my door a cat width open so he could come and go during the night - he's fickle, and will go where the bed is warmest.

Again, I heard the sound of Cathy getting herself ready for bed, this time her sequence was different. This time I heard her trickle of pee first, followed by the pull of her jeans over her thin legs. I heard a throw of denim on the bed. My cock shifted at the sound. She is standing there just in her panties and a tee shirt? Thin legs.

Then I heard the bathroom door close, and water running, and I imagined her brief panties under the black tee, cleaning her teeth, brushing her hair, stretching her skinny body as she reached her arms high to brush the longest sway of her hair. Or maybe she planted her feet wider for balance, and leaned forward, her hair dropping in front of her face, and brushing it that way, her hair a falling cascade. My cock was shifting along my thigh now.

The bathroom door opened, closed.

"Goodnight Alex, thanks again for everything." A soft voice, followed by her door closing. And then opening.

"Hello cat, what are you doing. Who do you want to go with tonight?"

Cat gives his little chirrup, talking back to her.

"OK, you little monster, come in with me then, you can burrow in under the covers like you did this morning."

Her voice had a gentleness to it, communing with this little creature who would give his undivided attention to anyone who gave it back, but only when he chose to, and only on his terms.

Lucky cat, looks like he's been in Cathy's bed. Good for him. Good for her.

The house fell quiet, and my cock softened. I heard a stretch of bed covers faintly from the other room, and a little grate of the bed springs. She must have rolled to her side, her arm up around cat's softness, maybe. I smiled to myself, and it was somehow nice that there was a little gap in both our doors, just open a cat's head width, to allow him to be our communion in the night. Sleep well, Cathy.

Then I heard, like a tiny drift of a ghost in the night, I heard a slow, rhythmic shifting of cloth, of movement, of air, a slight shift of sound, and then I realised what it was, what that tiny ripple of sound must be.

Her breath was faint through the space between us, but I could now clearly hear (the black night was so silent) the faint intake of Cathy's breath, rising with a catch at the end of each breath, each sigh a little quicker, and she was trying to be so quiet with each gasp of breath.

I imagined her long thin fingers running down the flesh of her sunken belly, she was so thin, and then sliding down between her legs, a gap between them, she was so thin, and into the slide between her lips. I wondered if her lips were smooth or fluted, a petal opening or a fine slit dividing, and for no reason at all I imagined a pair of dark petals, the colour of a bruise hiding the redness of her inner flesh.

Oh fuck, my cock has risen with the idea of her fingers gliding over her clitoris, assured of a result because they were her own fingers in her cunt knowing exactly what to do. But then I thought she is missing her man who would have known the rise and fall of his wife's flesh, even if he had failed to follow her mind and soul.

And then I thought, does she know that I am listening to the faintest sound of her rising pleasure, or was it just release, and does that excite her? Oh fuck, my cock has risen and my hand is upon it, and now I too am hushing my breath and suppressing my movement so that I too make no sound, but my own intake of breath must carry through the thin silence. Are her ears straining or doesn't she care?

In the still night surely she knows that both doors are open just a hand breadth and the sound of her silence carries just as the sound of mine must, and we have both used the cat as our reason. Of course it was the cat who could come and go, not our own desires. I'm sure we both knew that, of course we did.

With a small sigh, and a long exhalation of breath, the movement from Cathy's room stopped, and I imagined her fingers still between her legs, or perhaps cupping a long nipple in the palm of her hand. There was a pause of silence in the dark house, then with a final twist of my hand, I too finished what she had started, my come a silent spill on my belly.

The cat was with Cathy, so his coat was not so glossy, that night.

The next morning I was up at my usual time, a quick run down to the newsagent to get the Saturday paper, then back to the house. Cathy surprised me, getting up while I was gone, and was standing in the kitchen with a black silk gown wrapped around her thin shoulders and belted at the waist. She was so thin, standing there, her hand resting on the bench as if the act of standing was tiring.

"You've been inside all week, do you want get out this weekend, today maybe, go for a drive or something?"

She looked at me for a moment, me without a motive, but perhaps she was remembering a whisper in the house the night before and her own silence.

"Yes, I think that would be nice. Where were you thinking of going?"

"There's a road goes right down the west side of the city, about ten kilometres past the boundary, so it's in the bush. Then it loops south and crosses the river. On the way back we could stop at a gallery with a lovely cafe. It'd be a couple of hours and a bit. It's the right weather for it."

A slow drizzle, so the mountains and trees would be shiny with the wet, misty and spectral, and my red car would shine, glistening in the wet.

So we drove south, and crossed the border, left the chaos and disorder. No, wait, that was the soundtrack to this little road trip, Morrison's thickening rasp my constant companion, his Pamela not like mine at all, except that she too was an ethereal beauty.

Strangely, Rosie had shown me a photo of a bunch of her colleagues at a works do. It was uncanny, but Cathy with her hair dropped about her face and a slump to her shoulders, in that photo, reminded me of Jim. Very strange that a thin woman with careless hair could look so like one of my all time favourite singers. Weird scenes indeed, but no gold there.

But clearing skies, and an opportunity to climb through a fence and sit in a paddock, looking down over the antennas of the tracking station, sheep and magpies in the field. We sat together on a rug pulled from the boot of the car, and Cathy lay her head on my shoulder, my hand in her long, thin fingers, cold fingers.