The Performer
That cat is the very devil, Jane! You really ought to get rid of it! Margaret Goodwin sniffed with disdain, glaring at the one-eared, ginger tom curled possessively at her sisters feet.
What a thing to say, Margaret! Jane gasped, clutching her hands together. Hes a living being, you know!
A being? Yes, Jane, thats exactly the word. Dont you think he gets away with far too much?
The cat as if on cue to back up Margarets point arched his back, hissed, and slunk with wounded pride towards the intruder, his muscles tensed for battle.
You see! Margaret jabbed a triumphant finger, though she hurriedly retreated a safe distance. What did I tell you?
Oh, darling, please, dont! Jane called, voice trembling. Everythings fine, really!
The ginger tom paused, gave his mistress a backward glance, and, just like that, all his warlike fury ebbed away. He sidled back to Janes ankle, gently nudged her poorly leg, and settled at her side, a silent promise to be forever on guard.
Absolute ruffian! Margaret huffed, warily circling the cat before lowering herself into an armchair. And yet you coddle him!
Somebodys got to look out for him Janes voice was threaded with weary fondness.
Percival that was the cats name, though the girls at the dressmakers made endless fun of it had landed in Janes home three years before, during perhaps the darkest stretch of her life. Her husband gone before she could even say goodbye, then as if fate must twist the knife her only son died not a year later. She was left in a house that echoed with emptiness, save for the companionship of her sister and a handful of distant friends. Jane had never really kept close friends.
But there was Margaret. Her sister.
Margaret was the elder, though only by a touch. Their parents made much of this difference: Margarets the eldest so sensible, so trustworthy! Anything you ask of her will be done to perfection. But Janey shes our little angel, always lost in thought a dreamy child, poor thing!
The girls grew up quite certain of their roles: Margaret, the clever, pretty star; Jane, the scatter-brained darling.
And why do they praise you? Margaret would complain, wounded, on the rare occasion Jane brought her school report home agleam with high marks. Getting good grades thats only whats expected! Whats there to praise in that?
Oh but, Margaret, Im not nearly as bright as you. You always get straight As. I have a bit of everything.
Quite, and yet you get all the fuss, Margaret would pout, while Jane hid a secret smile, refusing to provoke her further.
Margaret finished school at the top and vanished off to university, rarely coming back.
Hows it all going? Jane would try to catch her, longing for news.
Its moving, just not nearly quickly enough. If only there were more hours in a day.
For work? Jane would ask, her worry plain.
Hardly! For a social life! How can one possibly ever meet a decent bloke if youre always running round chasing your career?
Oh, Margaret, I never thought about that
Did you ever think at all, little one? her sister would tease, always missing the tiny sting of her words. Thats the grown-up world, not for you!
Jane would retreat, hiding her hurt, but always proud of her sisters shining path. She was the starJane could only bask in the glow.
By the end of university, Margaret was still alone. Suitors kept their distance, wary of her sharp wit and steel-like tongue, and nothing their mother said could soften her edges.
Mum, really do you want me to lounge in corners, eyes down, waiting for some eligible to sweep me off my feet? Thats for Jane not for me!
Darling, no one expects you to change entirely. Just be a little gentler. Boys like that.
Oh, Mum! How would you know what lads like these days? The worlds moved on!
Perhaps, Margaret was right but only up to a point.
Then out of the blue, it was Jane for whom no one even dreamed of university, of whom everyone said, Its better she learns a trade than wastes her time… who suddenly brought a fiancé home.
Meet Alex…
Handsome, clever, wryAlex charmed Janes parents nearly at once. He was a journalist, just carving out his reputation in local London telly, already earning a moderate but honest name.
Most importantly, he was hopelessly in love with Jane plain Jane, by her familys measure (and especially in Margarets eyes), who studied at the local college for dressmaking. Jane had always loved crafting beautiful things, wanting to bring happiness through clothes.
Good gracious, Jane a seamstress?! Margaret scoffed.
Im no scholar, Margaret, but not just anyone can design a skirt or blouse. I like making people look lovely bright clothes can make people happy, you know.
Well, whatever for? Jane, your heads always in the clouds!
Dont know but I do think your dress came out rather well, didnt it?
Well enough. Though, really someones sending rockets to the moon and my sisters fussing over hems. Oh, Jane
And again, Jane didnt understand what was missing, why her sister could never quite be pleased. Even so, Margaret wore Janes dresses with pride. Jane designed them from scratch, working well into the night adding bright poppies to the skirts hem, and smiled, secretly delighted, when she saw Margaret twirl before the mirror.
Janes outfits were so exquisite that people often asked Margaret where shed bought them. Shed never confess.
Secret!
I see imports, then? Got friends in the Foreign Office?
Wouldnt say its a secret, and it isnt mine, Margaret would say, masking her pride in Janes talent.
Alexs arrival stung Margaret. How could it be that the unremarkable sister not clever or pretty should be the first to marry? Impossible.
Margaret sat at Janes wedding with a face like thunder. The guests couldnt understand her mood. Jane, in the dress she made for herself, was so radiant even the most inattentive relatives took notice for the first time.
A beauty, truly! And her young mana perfect match. Heres to their happiness!
That was when Margaret first felt the sharp bite of jealousy, gnawing at her heart.
Sisters got a handsome groom. And you? No one at all.
Parents doting on Jane, eager for grandchildren. And youre not even close.
Jane shines, her light suddenly brighter stealing away your glow.
Margaret slipped away before the end, fled home, clamped the pillow between her teeth, and wept for the life shed not had.
But when she returned to the old nursery, she composed herself.
Are you alright, love?
Perfectly, Mum. Nothing to fret about.
Margaret married within six months, to the first man who asked. Her husband was older, balding, thickset, and sharply intelligent. He saw through her in a moment.
I can give you what you want. But lets be clear: this is a contract.
Terms? Margaret lifted an eyebrow.
A child, maybe two. Ill support your career nanny, cleaner, anything you need. Ill stay faithful, youll do the same. What I ask for: supper on the table, a warm bed, and peace at home so I can work. No arguments. Understood?
She did not hesitate.
Done.
Oddly, the arrangement worked well. There was no passion as in Janes household, where laughter and love seemed to fill every corner, but there was stability, certainty. Margaret had her son and then a daughter, raised by the nanny with military precision, every minute scheduled by Margaret to ensure their future success. She had no time for bedtime stories; there was always a thesis to finish, business lunches, or society events for which Margaret always sported yet another of Janes dresses, never giving up her secret.
Jane took life at her own gentle pace. In the shaky nineties, she worked from home clients whispered her address from ear to ear.
Shes a miracle worker but doesnt take many new ones.
Really such a genius?
Look at my pink dress. She did it!
I thought it was a designers.
So what? The big designers started out like this. If Jane risks it, youll see shell make it big!
It was true. Jane made dresses for ambitious wives, for MPs, even for West End stars. Never two alike; she understood the scandal that could erupt if two socialites arrived in the same gown. When things finally settled, Jane opened a little dress shop, which quickly became a salon where people formed connections, gossiped, or slipped in unseen to escape the world. Margaret found the property, a suite of rooms on the ground floor of a Georgian house in Islington, and helped fit it out.
Margaret financed the equipment, told Jane not to worry about money.
Well settle up. Its important you feel steady underfoot.
As she watched Janes life unfold, Margaret now chastised herself for years of envy. Staring at her sturdy, healthy children, she could have howled at the cosmos for fates cruelty: Janes beloved son, the star she had dreamt of all her life, had been born sickly.
One day, Margaret heard someone call him Sunshine the nickname stuck, and she called him nothing else.
Oh, my darling boy, my Sunshine! Aunties brought goodies! Shed be greeted by such a trusting, radiant smile it nearly broke her heart.
Margaret, youve more time for my Harry than for your own children! Jane would say, watching her son who usually allowed no one close embrace his aunt.
It was rather true, and Jane clung to the faint hope that her son might get well.
Margaret looked after them both. She found a nanny, helped Jane run the dress shop.
Work, Jane! You need it. Alex is always away, youre barely ever together. Why sit at home, alone?
I cant, Margaret. I have Harry.
Youve plenty of space at your shop make a playroom, hire help. Ill see to the nanny. You run things, and Harry stays nearby.
Oh, Margaret, I dont know where Id be without you.
Thats what sisters are for! Dont make me cry I just spent an hour on my makeup! Ive a meeting.
Life went on.
Margaret watched over Jane and Harrys health, sought out every doctor she could findheart problems, organs never quite right.
I dont understand, Margaret Jane would sob, just the two of them. What did I do wrong, that my son should suffer like this?
Nothing, love, truly nothing. Thats just fate playing her cruel tricks. But dont cry! Well cope. Harry may never be fully well, lets not pretend. But to keep him safe and happy that we can do, Jane. Whats more important than warmth, care, and love?
Maybeyes.
Right, lets get on with it! Ive found a top neurologist three-month wait, but never mind, Ive put us in the queue. Lets see how he does!
Margaret
No talk now! Put the kettle on, make me a sandwich. Ive not eaten all day.
Margarets husband understood.
Shame theres so little we can do for the boy. But if you ever need anything, let me know. Ill help.
Those spare, awkward words meant the world to Margaret. She realized, finally, she truly loved her husband with a calm, far-seeing warmth that only comes with time and faith.
Children grew; parents aged; the sisters drifted past rivalry and misunderstanding.
Who else could share ones heart, if not a sister?
And Jane looked after Margaret too. When trouble came at Margarets husbands work, Jane asked Alex for a favour. The investigation was difficult, nearly cost him his life Jane never found out until much later. But the truth prevailed. Margaret thanked Jane simply but deeply:
You dont know what you and Alex did for me. I promise so long as I live, neither you nor your family will ever want for anything.
And she kept her word.
She stood by Jane through Alexs illness. He faded away, day by day, until Jane broke, sobbing into Margarets shoulder:
Why? Hes so young still
Margaret stood firm, supporting her every day, reminding her there was still Harry.
Then came the day when Harrys little heart stopped forever. The sisters clung together, dry-eyed as the doctors explained; and then, arm in arm, they walked across London silent, hand in hand, after leaving the clinic.
The yellow t-shirt and red trainers
Yes
There was no need to say more. They wanted it done as Harry would have liked.
After her sons death, Jane seemed to deflate. She ran her business on autopilot, leaving most things to her staff. Margaret often found her sister hunched over her sketchbook, hands limp, unable to draw so much as a simple line.
Jane
I just need a rest, Margaret, please? Jane would lift dull, empty eyes. Just let me be
That isnt living! Margarets heart broke for her.
Its all thats left, Jane replied with a sad smile. Thats all…
Then, one day, a cat strolled into the shop.
No one knew where hed come from, ragged, streaked with London grime, one ear torn. It was a busy street you rarely saw cats.
He tried the door and was shooed away. So he lay on the front step, paws and chin dangling over playing dead. Thats how Jane found him, turning up late that morning.
Girls, whats this? She stared, amused by his performance.
Its a cat, Mrs Goodwin. Wandered in and made himself at home wont budge!
Is it alive even? Jane nudged him cautiously with her shoe.
The cat cracked one eye, gave a distinctly human sigh, and stuck out his tongue, as if to say:
What are you cruel humans up to, eh? Im at deaths door here! Not a soul to remember me; lost even my name, and Ive gone hungry a week or more. All your fault! Not a drop of pity!
Watching this display, Jane smiled for the first time in months.
Oh, what a performer! Girls, do you see him act? Hed have Stanislavski wild with jealousy! Alright you win. In you come. Therell be food and a fuss for you yet.
She scooped him up, inspected him, shook her head.
No first to the vet. That ear wont do, and who knows what else.
The cat made no protest. He rode on the front seat, stoic for the jabs and prods, though he did growl at one jab that stung too sharply. Jane offered him a treat, which he ate with ceremony, and followed her out of the clinic with ginger dignity.
Well, Ive never had a cat before. How shall we manage, Percival?
Percival assumed his Sphinx pose, dignified and inscrutable, eyeing Londons roaring traffic, making Jane smile again.
Well then lets see if Margaret will have you
Margaret, of course, did not approve at least not to look at. She shooed him from her path, but secretly watched with a kind of relief as Jane began to come alive again, fussing over his comfort, talking to him, forgetting her own pain in looking after someone else.
He looks at you oddly, Jane!
I know, Margaret. No ones looked at me like that in ages.
How?
With love.
Hes a fraud hes lying to you!
He cheats, maybe but he warms my feet and watches films with me in the evening. You should see how he stares at the screen as if he truly understands!
You asked for this! You couldve called him Muffin or Tigger What name is Percival for a cat? Performer indeed!
It suits him perfectly, Jane would laugh, and Margarets heart would thaw.
Her sister was smiling again, and for that, Margaret would forgive the cat anything.
But Margaret finally accepted Percival utterly the night she nearly lost Jane.
It was a Saturday. Margaret had made no plans to visit, but passing near the shop, decided to check in just to see Jane wasnt working too late. Ever since Percival arrived, Jane had begun truly working again her clothes more in demand than ever.
She let herself in with her keys.
Jane? Its me!
A ginger blur flashed past and Margaret shrieked as the cat clawed her ankle, shredding tights.
Percival! Have you lost your mind?
He looked wild his eyes burning, body tense. Margaret stumbled back, worry mounting.
Goodness, whats wrong with you?
She grabbed a ruler from the table, ready to defend herself, but suddenly Percival mewed, darting back and forth between her and the door to what used to be Harrys playroom Jane could never bring herself to change it.
What is it? Margaret asked the cat, her voice faltering. Wheres Jane?
She rushed to the door, forgetting the cat entirely, and gasped to see Jane collapsed on the floor, clutching a photograph of her son.
Jane!
Ambulance; hospital; a day in intensive care…
Margaret paced corridors, arms locked tight, praying as best she could: Please, dont take her. Let her live. Please.
Shed later learn that Percival had thrown himself at every door, yowling with such agony that, even locked away, staff had never heard such a sound from him until Jane was brought round after that, he simply curled up, touching neither food nor water.
Jane came home three weeks later.
Margaret, take me to the shop first.
Jane, you dont need to Ill bring that wild beast to you myself!
No, Jane said. I must see him.
Carefully ascending the steps, Jane was greeted by laughter from her staff as Percival streaked down the hall, wrapped himself around her ankles, purring so loudly that even Margaret was swept away.
Oh, Percival!
Jane gathered him up, stroked the healed ear, and confessed, He called for me, Margaret. I heard him first Percival, then you, before the hospital. And there, too
What do you mean, there?
I dont know how to explain. First Alexs voice, then Harrys then just the cat. Only him and then you turned up.
How strange Margaret was lost for words.
But Percival seemed to know. He patted Janes chin, rubbed against her; then, casting Margaret a sage glance, curled into her hands, utterly content.
Margaret let out a laugh. It seems Ive finally been approved dont know for what, but hes made his decision.
Percival blinked, his green eyes sparking, purring all the louder, banishing sorrow and promising peace, while Jane finally smiled again, making Margarets heart sing.
In the end, thats all one really needs: loved ones near, and peace within.
So little and yet so much.
