Cat
by Andrew Lee-Hart

 

London, July 13th

 

Hello Cat

I bet you are surprised to hear from me. Well, I am free! I won’t go into the details as I am not sure whether you will get this letter, and if the F.P. get it….well, a lot of people will be in the shit. But I am safe and in hiding, and hopefully will remain so.

 

Just think, you and I are the only ones left now from our little group; all the rest have disappeared or turned. Hopefully you are still the same Cat; feisty and kind. I remember our time at University; even when I first saw you, walking into the lecture late and chewing gum, clearly not giving a damn about anything, I knew that we would be friends. And nothing that has happened since has made me change my mind, despite everything.

 

I only go out at night; I don’t know how active they are looking for me, but it is best to be careful;  I try to convince myself that they won’t care, that I am just one more escaped dissident, but I cannot kid myself, there will be someone, somewhere in an office trying to work out where I might be, and men in uniforms, knocking on doors with batons or rifles.

 

Maybe once the ports and airports are re-opened, I will be able to travel abroad, or I might, somehow to get down to the coast and see if I can steal or borrow a boat, which would be safer. But the roads and streets are so empty I am not sure how to go any distance without being spotted. Well we will see; at the moment I feel quite safe… I have money and there is shop nearby for food and other necessities…. It is quite Bohemian here (well for these times) so I don’t stand out too much, although perhaps one of their spies is at this very moment, making notes, or sending a message.

 

Money?  Well you remember that robbery our brothers Marc and Jamie committed? Well I met Marc later on in prison, and he told me where they had stashed it. Of course he doesn’t need it anymore, so a couple of days after I arrived, I decided to see if it was still there, after all I cannot live on nothing.

 

Marc had told me that the loot was buried in an ancient churchyard near Epping, at the back, between a gravestone for a William Burrows and the wall. It is not a great distance from where I am living, and I made it there without attracting attention.

 

Fortunately it is quiet there, and so I hung around until it got dark and then with a trowel I had on my person, I started to dig. It was very deep and hard work, but eventually I found it, wrapped up in a plastic carrier bag (remember them?) and presumably untouched for half a dozen years. Nothing lasts forever but it will keep me going for the time being, and be enough for any bribes I need to pay out, as well as food and the usual.

 

Dear Cat, I do hope that this finds you. I remembered the code to put on the envelope; hopefully someone in the Post Office is still with us and knows where to send it. And – also hopefully - you are still here in London, I really cannot imagine you living anywhere else, but these are strange times aren’t they, and perhaps you have escaped too somewhere less repressive and kinder. Wherever you are, I hope that you are safe or at least alive.

 

Do you remember me visiting you? Staying with your parents when we were still young, and walking through the city in the dark, holding hands and kissing lightly by the British Museum. I loved you more than anything, and I still do. I hope this gets to you.

 

All my love, Vicky.

 

 

 

July 17th

 

I don’t know if I am paranoid, but someone was outside the house where I was staying. He was a man, dressed smartly; a really fashionable whistle, which made me suspicious. Who dresses fashionably apart from those connected to the government or the F P?  He was lounging about as I watched from the window, as if he was waiting for someone. But whoever it was, they never came, but he just stayed.

 

I tried to forget about him and got on with some cooking and then listened to some Berlioz on the Radio. After a couple of hours I looked again out of my window; at first I thought that he had gone, and breathed a sigh of relief, but then I looked further and saw him down the road, almost out of sight, but not quite, still waiting.

 

Oh Cat, what do I do? I felt so safe here….

 

(Written later)

Well, I fled in the end. I cannot take risks; if I am caught now, that will be it, no more chances; up against a wall or drowned in the Thames. Fortunately, there is a back door to the house where I am staying with a large garden, so I gathered my belongings into a shoulder bag; a few clothes, my book of Andrew Marvell’s poetry and toiletries and ran down the garden, hoping that nobody was waiting there for me. Despite it being July I shivered with fear, desperate to be on the move. I had just reached the gate at the end of garden when I realised that I had forgotten the money…. I cannot tell you how I felt then, my own stupidity and my heart sank.

 

I ran back to the house, but just as I reached it there was a loud crash and the sound of shouting and I realised that I had lost my chance. I sprinted out of the back gate and out into the London streets, knowing that at any moment I could be grabbed, either by the F.P. or someone even less savoury.

 

I am writing this on a bench by the river, exhausted, but I cannot afford to sleep. And I only have two one shilling notes and some coins to my name, which I happened to have in my pockets; I will even have to send this letter without a stamp. I curse myself for my stupidity. I am in despair, if only you were here to put your arms around me and hold me tight.

 

 

 

20th July

 

Dear Cat

 

You will be glad to know that I am sort of safe, well at least I think so. Of course I don’t really think that you are reading this. I just cannot imagine you alive, still holding on, not after so many died. This is surely the end, just a mopping up; and we actually never had a chance; they were always going to be too strong for us, and the most sensible of us realised that.

 

Well, anyway, enough of that, no point in making me feel sad. Do you remember that flat Pat and Leigh shared? I am there!! I had completely forgotten about it, until on my endless walk I recognised a school and realised where I was. And there was the building where they lived, for several years, it was looking empty, as did most of the houses nearby.

 

The lift was inevitably broken, but there were the stairs, and as I walked up to the third floor, all was quiet. I remembered the secret key, which they hid in the drain pipe in case any of us needed somewhere to stay. And it was still there. How long had it lain there, wrapped in plastic? I bemoan my fate, but I have been lucky; this secret geography of London; stolen money, places to stay. At least I can stay alive, at least for now.

 

The key was dull but worked as well as it ever did, and I hurried in. The flat was as musty as you would expect, and there was some absolutely foul rotten food in the fridge which caused me to gag, but at least I had somewhere to stay and I could get clean at last. How long was it since anybody had been there? What had happened to Pat and Leigh? Pat so calm and kind whilst Leigh looked so fragile, but sharp and witty. I could not imagine them in the hands of the F.P. Hopefully they had run before things got too bad.

 

There were a couple of empty cups on the kitchen table but everything else was put away and neat and tidy. There were piles of books and the bathroom had all the necessities. There were even some clothes in the wardrobes, and whilst Leigh was much slighter than me, I could fit into Pat’s t-shirts and shorts.

 

I wondered if I had been followed or there was someone watching, but I was so tired I could not bring myself to care and so I fell asleep in a damp and pungent bed and slept for almost a full day. Waking up to another wet July afternoon. To my relief the water still worked, albeit it is cold, and so I had a cold shower. At last I am almost presentable.

 

There is nobody hanging around outside so far as I can see. The street looks deserted, just the occasional car driving past at a fair speed. That evening I gazed out the window for a long time, enjoying the quiet and the dark. The moon was hidden by trees, and I felt a peace I have not felt for years. A mindless, empty peace which is precious because how fleeting it is.

 

I miss you,

 

Love from Vicky xxx

 

 

 

July 24th

 

I have a gun!!  I decided to search the flat; I had no money at all, which made me anxious. Fortunately there is a freezer, with some food, so I am not starving, but I needed something. So I spent the day searching; tapping skirting boards and floorboards and peering under chairs and cupboards. I know the usual hiding places but the only thing I found was some old leaflets which I helped write. I tore them up into fragments and then flushed them away. Even now they could get you into serious trouble.

 

I had really given up hope of finding anything and was going through the motions, until I searched the wardrobe in my room for the second time and realised that it had a false floor, and there was a green bag, like a satchel, very heavy. I put it on my bed, and there was a revolver, bullets and – thank God - some money…. not a great deal, but enough for a few days.

 

The revolver worked okay, I tried it without bullets and the mechanism is fine, and now I do feel safer. It is small enough for me to carry when I go out, and when I am here, I will keep it by my bed, just in case I get any visitors.

 

Having the gun, reminded me of the old days; going into Argylle woods to practice shooting. It seemed so exciting, but then when it came to the real thing…. Of course, we had to fight back or we would have been killed - or that’s what we told ourselves -. But children? Old People? They had done nothing wrong. Did we become monsters, as bad as what we were fighting against? You always seemed sure of our cause; no doubts or questions; but perhaps at night you too, lay awake, wondering what we were doing and whether we were really doing good.

 

 

 

1st August

 

Can we meet? I miss you so much, and would love to have someone to talk to, if only for a minutes. The last time I had a proper conversation with someone was in prison, and even there you had to be so careful; you never knew who was true and who was false. I talk to myself constantly, and surely that is not a good thing. Perhaps I am going mad, but really I just long for some company.

 

In the past there was always the rest of us; however bad things were, there was someone to communicate with but now…. I woke up this morning and had a desperate urge just to chat to you. Go out walking with you as we used to. Following the canal and buying a sandwich at a bakery and eating together on a bench, holding hands and smiling at each other.

 

I miss the ordinary things of life, but then perhaps our lives were never that ordinary, not once we met. We knew we were involved with things that could mean death or imprisonment, but when your cause is right and you have friends who believe the same things as you then everything seems possible and you feel safe…. but now I cannot even remember what we were fighting for, well not really, and I feel alone, like a tiny star surrounded by dark space, a star that at any moment will disappear.

 

Could we meet in St James Park? You know the place. I understand if you cannot get away, but if you can… I will come a week on Sunday, so you should have had my letter by then. Perhaps they still have that ice cream van, and we can eat cornets and pretend we are still young and that the world is still normal.

 

 

 

12th August

 

I thought that you might not be able to come, but I waited and waited. And then I left weeping, so that an old man asked if I was all right, and he gave me some money and some chocolate, which made me cry even more.

 

I understand, I do understand.

 

 

 

August 16th

 

Life goes on, the flat seems safe and there are plenty of books to keep me occupied. I am running out of food, but not quite yet. I do hope things will open up and I can escape. But then how will I know? The news on the radio, is just propaganda, praising the New Age, as if the world was a bright, happy place, which you and I know it isn’t.

 

I know that Scotland held out, and perhaps the Highlands would be safe. If only I could find a way of getting there. I went to Euston; but the farthest the trains travel is to Glasgow, and they only go once a day and I am sure that there will be checks en route. But perhaps you could come with me. You were always a tough one and I am sure you could find a way to get away. It is something to think of.

 

I dream about you at night, and wish you were here, everything would make sense and seem worthwhile if you were.

 

 

 

August 25th

 

Shall we meet? I am sure you are out there, just waiting….

 

You remember the Playground? Meet me a week on Friday, at 11:02. I realise that you might be busy, or scared but I would love to see you…. even if it is just for a moment.

 

Kisses, Vicky.

 

 

 

Cat walked into the park, nervously looking around but everything seemed safe, so she carried on. She was as thin as when Vicky new her, perhaps thinner, with the gauntness of the committed. She hoped Vicky had brought the gun, just in case; a couple of bullets could give them time, if they were spotted.

 

She had read the letters; at first cynical and disbelieving and then crying and hoping that they were true, prepared to believe because what else did she have? And then there had been that day when she sat in James’s park, watching Vicky (or someone who looked very like her) sit down and look around, searching for somebody. But she had to be careful, although she so much wanted to go over and hold her, something held her back, and even now she knew that she was taking a risk, but what the Hell, and if she was there… well they could start a cell, and begin again, side by side, fighting for what is right.

 

She sat in the Playground, it was derelict, but even when they used it as a meeting place back in the old days it had been the same. The swings had long gone, with just the rusting frames still standing, the roundabout was on its side and the slide was lopsided and clearly unsafe. Even the bench she set on wobbled slightly as she sat waiting, looking everywhere.

 

There was space all around the playground, which was why they had used it as a meet-up, so nobody could sneak upon them, well that was the theory. Everywhere seemed quiet. She thought about Vicky; her regrets and guilt; but then she had always been soft, which was why she had loved her, but perhaps despised her a little as well. But she had escaped and was still free so she must have been stronger than she looked. And hopefully with Cat by her side, she would pull herself together and be prepared to fight or even die….

 

And then Vicky was there; hurrying over to her; looking surprisingly healthy and plump. She smiled a little nervously as she walked towards her old friend.

“Cat”.

Cat stood up, and took Vicky in her arms, realising that she too was lonely; being in the arms of someone who knew all about her, was such a relief, after all the lies and emptiness inside.

 

“Oh Vicky” Cat murmured, and kissed her lightly on the lips, lips that were cold and not as soft as she remembered. Something was off, Cat was not sure what. Was it Vicky’s smell; too exotic, or the feel of her, less pliant that she once was, she felt different, but surely that was inevitable after so long.

 

And then there was the swift sounds behind her back, and Vicky withdrew…..

“I am sorry” Vicky said as Cat was pulled out of her arms by men in uniforms, “please forgive me. But it was the only way to find you. We had tried everything else. It is for your own good.”

 

As Cat was dragged towards the black van, for one moment she managed to look around, to see her friend one last time, but she had already gone, and Vicky knew that whatever horrors there were to come, she would have to face them on her own.

 

Rate this story.

Copyright is reserved by the author. Please do not reproduce any part of this article without consent.