by Angharad
I felt under a state of siege, and began to batten down the hatches, well pull the curtains at any rate. The only problem being that it means they can’t see in but neither can you see out, and therefore, what they are up to.
The phone rang and Tom answered it. “Certainly not, goodbye.” He put the phone down and turned puce. “The impudence of it, would we like to come out and talk to them?”
I felt quite sick. Why can’t they leave me alone? I’ve done nothing to hurt any of them, so why are they chasing me like I was some sort of criminal? I wanted to sit in the dark and suck my thumb. I wanted Simon here to make it all better. I wanted to be somewhere else. I wanted to scream, so I went upstairs and pulling a pillow over my face, screamed loudly into it until I needed to take a breath. I didn’t actually feel any better and I now had a sore throat.
Tom came up to see me, “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I think so, apart from being totally pissed off by the circus outside.”
“I think that makes two of us. I’ve done a quick inventory and we have a cupboard and freezer full of food, and we have several litres of milk and oodles of teabags. We could wait them out for a couple of weeks if we were sparing with resources.”
“What’s the point? If it isn’t me, it’ll be someone else like me who has done nothing to cause it?”
“I first encountered this with my own daughter….”
“You never mention her name?”
“No I don’t do I, I don’t know why, perhaps it’s still painful to me? I don’t know.”
I put my hand on his leg, “It doesn’t matter and I don’t want to rekindle old wounds.”
“You’re a good girl, Cathy, I’m proud to be your adoptive father.” I got up and hugged him. “Actions speak louder than words.” He hugged me back and kissed me on the cheek.
“So you’re an old hand at the waiting game with the paparazzi?”
“I wouldn’t say that, but I’ve had a bit of experience. They did us three times with Catherine, goodness, I’ve said it and the sky didn’t fall in.”
“That was her name? Do you have any photos of her?”
“Somewhere, I don’t know why I took them all down, those of her and her mother–I suppose I couldn’t cope thinking of what I’d lost.”
“Poor, Daddy Tom, I feel so sad for you, you deserve better than this. I’m just a trouble for you, aren’t I? Maybe I should leave, at least they’d leave you in peace then.”
“What? How can you say that? We’re in this together, daughter, or do you want to dissolve the arrangement?”
“Oh no, no I don’t. But I feel so guilty, causing you all this grief and bother. If I wasn’t here, they wouldn’t be either, would they?”
“Cathy, you will never make a serious scientist until you look at all the evidence. You’re here because I asked you to come. Because you’re here, you met that fundamentalist imbecile Montgomery. Because of him, all this happened. You’re not to blame, I might be, but you are innocent.”
“I’m the one who hit him,” I blushed as I said it, having a vivid memory of the event.
“Yes, you caught him just right, and the shock knocked him off his chair.” Tom chuckled adding sound effects, “Whack–thump, hee hee.”
“You’re not to blame for anything except uncommon generosity and kindness.”
“I employed him, and I’m beginning to wonder who he is, because I have grave doubts that he is actually who he says he is.”
“Yes, so do I, but that doesn’t help here and now does it, besides you employed him in good faith, like you do everything.”
“If ever I need a reference, can I come to you, Cathy?” I blushed as he said this.
“Well you are a really nice man.” I hugged him again.
“I think we need to get beyond eulogies and start planning our next move.”
“And do what?” I felt despair creeping in again.
“That doesn’t sound like you, Cathy, what’s wrong?”
I began to cry, “I’m just so fed up,” I sobbed as he held me, “everything I do goes wrong.”
“I don’t know girl, you’re a real cracker, so that was something right.”
“I don’t regret it, but I do regret that the world seems unable to allow me to get on with my life without the label transsexual and be treated as some sort of sideshow freak. I’m not, I’m just a woman trying to do my own thing and earn my living legally and honestly.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know. These muck-rakers, priests, politicians and lawyers are the only ones who profit from pointing out our differences. The rest of us benefit more from a policy of inclusiveness, or at least an attitude of one. It’s all futile, really, caused by the media’s addiction to novelty to give to it’s public and whose gratification far outweighs the cost of the sacrifice of the unfortunate individual.”
“But I’m old news, Tom.”
“I know, Sweetie. It’s them who don’t.” He disengaged himself from my hug, and got off the bed. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
“You’re not going to leave me?” I felt a surge of panic.
“No, of course not. I need to do something.”
“What?” I gasped.
“Make a phone call, I’ll be back shortly, try and rest a bit.” He went and I sat there feeling sick and weepy. I lay back and tried to rest, but my stomach was churning and I eventually had to rush to the loo and throw up. I knelt in front of the loo, thinking that I was ridiculous. The last time I’d been interviewed by the press, I was in some sort of control, so why did I feel so anxious now? It didn’t make sense.
I cleaned my teeth and went back to my bedroom. I felt cold and pulled the duvet over me and fell asleep. I awoke with a start, there was someone on the bed. I looked and it was Tom.
“How do you feel?” he asked me.
“Awful, what about you?”
“I’m okay,” he said smiling.
“I was sick.”
“I’m not surprised, you looked quite poorly.”
“Did I?” I tried to smile back, but my facial muscles didn’t want to cooperate. He ruffled my hair, like a father would.
“They’ve gone.”
“What all of them?”
“Every last one of them.”
I sat up and the room swam, so I lay down again, “But…how..?”
“I called the Dean, and explained what was happening, he set up a press conference and they’ve all gone to it.”
“What happens if they come back?”
“He doesn’t think they will, he’s going to tell them about our little friend and release his address–by accident of course–so they have someone else to character assassinate, someone who I think we’ll agree, deserves his moment of celebrity.”
“So the hounds have been given another fox?”
“In a word, yes. It couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” he said and we both laughed.
Comments
The Biter Bit
So I wonder how Mr Mont-bloody-gomery will like having the newshounds on his trail? Serve the b*st*rd right. Maybe out Cathy will get a little peace for a wee while. It would be nice if Simon could put in appearance and Stella as well, as she seems to have merged into the background.
Good chapter, Ang.
Hugs,
Gabi
Gabi.
Way to go, Tom and yes, even
Way to go, Tom and yes, even the Dean. Excellent thinking of how to deflect the problem. Sorry if I offend anyone who is a reporter and reading this, but I have always felt that journalism schools should teach their students that "people they go after" do in fact have lives and are not simply words on paper or the TV. Nowadays it seems no-one cares about the feelings or the disruption of the lives that they cause by stuff such as Cathy and Tom are experiencing as long as they can get "a story". The other side of the coin is that all too often, the story is not quite what it seems, so truth goes by the wayside or before being printed, someone (an editor) somewhere, decides it needs to be "juiced up" to sell copy. What is equally obnoxious is how some reporters, who should know better, act like the worst of people because they want to get an exclusive or be the first to know; create a bad scene and don't care, "because it is their right to know the story and to give it out". And exactly where is that written down?
Right there, they have shown a blatant disregard for the feelings and life of the person they are pursuing. Just my rant on this as it has bothered me for many years, as I saw it a lot working in Law Enforcement. J-Lynn
Having been 'outted'
three times by the press, my feelings are somewhat biased. However, I well know the 'siege' experience I describe here, where one is anxious about opening the door and it gets locked and bolted, and the curtains drawn, and the phone is answered nervously. Some journalists do retain some decency, one interview I gave was done anonymously, however, it led to one that was anything but anonymous in a national sunday tabloid. We never did find the leak - if ever I do, I might just forget I'm a lady and....
Angharad
Angharad
autobigraphical elements
I hope the other horrible things that happen around Cathy aren't also based on your actual life.
Oh, man,Tom...
doesn't just get even... Imagine getting him angry with you... what might he do.
I do understand stress induced illness... And, I really feel sorry for Cathy.
Thanks,
Annette
Yes, The ***** Can be Hounds After Blood,
But there are a few honest, hard working members that won't stoop to such bull****. Cathy simply needs her own press agent.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
Tom's gettimg the press gouls after the Montybank.
That was really neat. I just sooo liked that. Amazing how you can always find a new unexpected twist. Thanks for continuing. I wish this tale will never ever end.
Briar
Briar
Curse You
This is not the last you will hear from me!
Something this Monty character might think, if not say.
Meanwhile, he gets to explain who he really is to the press.
"And release the dogs of war"
I really hope this works. And I wonder, like Tom whom the HELL this guy is , And does he know any Russians.
All of this and not a peep out of Stella.
Cefin