‘That’s very decent of you but I don’t want to put you out.’
‘No problem. I’ll drive as I know the way.’ His tone turned this into a question. I nodded again, finding it hard to resist Ben’s help, he made everything sound so simple. ‘Great, you get the kitten and I’ll start the engine.’ He walked past a cream coloured Fiat 500 and I wondered who lived with him. Ben opened the door to a hatchback almost as old as mine. After removing the saucer, I carried the cardboard box outside, got in the back of Ben’s car and put the box next to me.
As Ben drove dappled moonlight fell on the kitten’s face and its gunky eyes. Now and again it meowed. I wasn’t sure what to do or how to make it feel better. I carried the box into the vet’s whilst Ben parked up. I sat in a tiled waiting room, silent apart from a distant dog’s whine. Bags of animal food filled wall shelves, along with manuals and toys to promote pet care. A man in a green overall called us into a treatment room that smelt of disinfectant. He lifted the kitten out of the box as little claws flexed. Matt ran a hand down each limb and opened the mouth, he examined the fur and got out his weighing scales. Eventually he called in a nurse who took it away for a clean-up. He pulled off his latex gloves and suppressed a yawn.
‘That’s one lucky little fella, there’s no serious injury as far as I can tell. He’s been mauled and is in shock, probably by a fox. It’s a miracle he isn’t dead.’
‘I saw an animal run off.’ He must have been scared by that car’s full beam before it could do any real damage.
‘We’ll check for a microchip but I’ve no doubt he’s a stray. He’s so weak because he hasn’t eaten for a few days.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with some people, he’s barely ten weeks old and will only have just been weaned. Whilst he objects to being handled, I’ve seen worse and think he’s used to human contact and that he’s recently been abandoned. It happens a lot during kitten season, by owners who haven’t bothered getting their cats neutered. His eyes are infected and his back left leg is swollen and sprained. We’ll keep him in tonight, get him eating and on antibiotic drops. The nurses will de-flea him.’
‘And then what?’ asked Ben, concern etched across his face.
‘A rescue centre if I can find one that’s not full. I’m sorry to say we can’t keep him here for long. He’ll need plenty of love and attention.’
‘Good luck to whoever tries that,’ I said and smiled.
Matt shrugged. ‘It’s usually the feistier ones who need more one-on-one. This chap will have been looked after by his mum and suddenly thrust into the world on his own. That’s a proper little fighter you’ve got there.’
I pictured it again bloodied, outside my house, alone and helpless – despite the spitting. Fate had torn my parents away from me twice. I could relate to it being ejected out into the world on its own, without the experience or confidence to cope. Living with my parents had felt so safe when I was younger. They’d never open the door at night without a chain and set the house alarm even if they were just popping around to a neighbour’s. As I got older, I realised the way they lived their lives must have had a lot to do with their work in insurance. For years I’d heard them talk about something called underwriting. Eventually I learnt that it meant assessing and evaluating risk. Suddenly their personalities made sense, it explained why they always looked for the negative – for the things that could go wrong. Opening a door at night? That could have let in a burglar. Not unplugging the switched off fan heater? That might have caused a fire.
Although just occasionally they let their reservations slip, like the time they danced at a party until two in the morning, even though they had work the next day. They’d walked two miles home in the dark, eating take-out kebabs – it was all very unlike their usual healthy hours and diet. Their loud laughter with the babysitter had woken me up and the next morning, despite the tiredness, they looked somehow younger than usual. It was as if I’d glimpsed a hint of different people altogether.
I looked at Ben who cocked his head and stared at me just before he drove the car onto the main road. I could read what that meant, but Streamside Cottage wasn’t where I really lived and pets weren’t allowed in my flat above the tattoo parlour.
‘No way,’ I said to him airily in the car.
‘What?’ he asked, and shot me a grin. I couldn’t help grinning back.
‘I’ve only just landed in Leafton myself. From what Caroline says the cottage isn’t one hundred per cent habitable for a human, let alone a vulnerable, ill pet. I’m only here for a month and what with the claws and shedding fur – I’d rather look after a snake.’
‘You don’t think you’ll want to stay longer?’
‘No,’ I said firmly and looked at him. I gave a shrug. ‘Long story.’
Ben didn’t push me to explain.
‘I can’t take him. You should see our Smudge chase other cats out of the garden.’ He turned past the estate agency. ‘At least give him a name,’ he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.
‘It’s not going to work, you know,’ I said, trying to maintain my superior air.
‘A name, where’s the harm in that?’ The false innocence on his freckled face felt so familiar, he was so easy to be around and my stomach fizzed a little.
He pulled up outside his cottage and I got out. ‘He’s a bit of a devil,’ I said over the roof of the car. ‘How about Taz?’
‘Perfect.’
‘What did Matt say?’ called a voice from the doorway to Ben’s cottage.
Lit by the porch light a slim woman stood in three quarter length denim trousers and a sensible white round-neck t-shirt. She drank out of a floral-patterned mug and I walked around to Ben’s side, our hands accidentally brushing as I passed.
Did he feel that heat too?
I headed over to the woman with her mouse hair that was tied back in a ponytail. There was a freshness about her face with the lack of make-up.
‘I’m Jill, you must be Lizzie. Ben told me about the kitten. Poor little mite, is it okay? I’d have come out to take a look but was in the bath when you stopped by.’
So, a girlfriend? Wife? She must have been at least ten years older than Ben. A small part of me felt as if it were sinking inside. Katya would approve, her last boyfriend had only just left college.
‘They’re keeping it in overnight,’ said Ben. He stood by Jill. ‘Would you like a drink, Lizzie, before you go?’
‘Yes, come on in, I’ll rustle up biscuits as well. You’re surely not sleeping in the cottage after all these months standing empty? Although I noticed a team of cleaners in a few days ago and I must say I love its understated prettiness.’ She wrapped an arm around Ben’s waist and his body stiffened before he pulled away awkwardly.
‘It’s fine, thanks. From the little I’ve seen of the place it’s not in a bad state and I might just give it another once-over.’
Jill gazed at me for a second. ‘Okay… well Ben can give you a hand if you like, when he finishes tomorrow. I’m at work.’
‘Mum, Lizzie may not want that,’ he hissed.
‘I thought you two were partners or married,’ I said before I could stop myself and couldn’t suppress my laughter at Ben’s horrified face. Jill joined in.
A black and white cat came out from their hallway and wound its way around her legs. Its pink diamante collar stood out and didn’t fit with Jill’s modest appearance. Now I could see the likeness between her and Ben. She had freckles, just sprinkled more sparsely, and they both had the same broad nose.
She tilted her head. ‘Look… it really doesn’t seem right you sleeping up there. Streamside Cottage hasn’t been lived in for six months.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘At least let me give you some blankets although you’re really most welcome to sleep on our—’
‘Stop fussing,’ said Ben in an exasperated voice.
Jill rolled her eyes. ‘Well, we’re here if you need anything and seeing as you’re staying for a few weeks it’s my birthday on Friday
– we’re holding a small party in The Tipsy Duck and you’re very welcome to join us,’ she said. ‘It’s always nice to see a new face around here.’
Ben took a visible breath and said, ‘Goodnight, Lizzie. Any other problems, you know where we are.’
As I walked up the road a chink of light came out of the lounge of the cottage opposite. An old woman stood looking out before she finished closing the curtains. I put my key in the lock and hovered before stepping back. Moonlight shone attention onto cracks in the woodwork and loose thatching. With a deep breath I let myself in and switched on the lights.
I rubbed my eyes and walked down the narrow hallway and into the kitchen where I sat down for a few moments, hardly taking in my surroundings as tiredness washed over me. Then I went upstairs and did a quick sweep of the rooms and, not bothered about the musty smell, settled on the biggest bed at the front. Before drifting off I peered into the darkness before burrowing into my sleeping bag. I would unpack properly tomorrow and explore. With ease I closed my eyes. The property felt neither too big nor too small, neglected but forgiving, as if it had been waiting for someone to arrive and love it again.
6
Now
It’s estimated that 10,000 people got the memorial Manchester bee emblem tattoo after the city’s 2017 arena attack
I woke up late, to loud bird song and sunlight streaming through the window. I got out of bed and stretched before making my way down the stairs, standing at the foot of them. The house looked more alive in daylight. To my right, opposite the kitchen, was a drab study, with dark laminate flooring, the perfect room for a snooker table, I imagined Ash saying as I went in. It was empty of furniture and my eyes narrowed as I stared at the wood looking for some kind of sign or clue. Further along, on this side, was a small lounge, its fireplace had a woodburning stove and was set against brickwork. The walls boasted a smooth buttercream wash. I ran my hand along the top of the threadbare beige three-piece suite that looked unappreciated and plain against the different textures of the building. My hands slid between the cushions, unsure why, or what I thought I would find. Nothing.
Next, I ventured across the hallway and into the large kitchen come diner. Warm pine gave this room a welcoming feel, despite a cobweb hanging in the French patio glass doors. It looked as if the agency had arranged for someone to give it a quick clean but it wouldn’t have met Mum’s standards, she liked everything completely spick and span. There was a pine table with four matching chairs and a welsh dresser. Gently I searched the cupboards. I looked behind the fridge and carefully pulled out the cooker.
The wood beneath my feet creaked in a friendly way as I went back up the narrow, twisting staircase. There was the simple black and white tiled bathroom I’d used briefly last night and three bedrooms, all with low mahogany roof beams. The mattresses tried hard to hide their lumps and I ended my search in the largest where I’d slept. I opened a window to combat the room’s stuffiness and looked under the bed. I went over to the wardrobe that was built into the wall. Running my hand into any accessible space, I worked my way from its top to bottom. About to give up I lay on the laminated floor and stretched my arm out, pushing right into the far left, bottom corner. Here the back panel had loosened. My fingers scrabbled against brickwork and touched dusty ground. I was just about to give up when they brushed up against… smooth, pliable card. I gripped it and tugged. It came free. I went over to the window.
An old photo.
I blew away dust. It was a street, the shot focused on a pavement and an ordinary looking building. A group of youngsters were walking along in flares and platforms – this must have been from the seventies. I squinted, the front door had a huge brass knocker in the shape of a pine cone and to the right was a gold plaque with G & B written on it. The property next to it was half visible – a pub called Best Inn.
I couldn’t help feeling disappointed and returned to the kitchen, placing my find on the table, willing the photo to talk to me. As I gazed out onto the back garden a sense of calm and contentment washed over me. A flash of turquoise dipped gracefully into the stream and emerged with a fish in its beak and again I felt a strong urge to sketch – an urge I hadn’t felt for such a long time.
I wondered if Taz was eating properly and gaining strength at the vet’s. The fridge whirred comfortably as if the cottage enjoyed company and was willing me to stay. I used to feel my first car was a friend. Ash used to chuckle when I called it Captain Awesome and I felt silly until I read an article about how in some parts of Japan there were funerals for inanimate objects because energy, wherever it was, in an item or living being, was seen as being connected, all of it worthy.
I pulled on some clothes and considered looking around the garden again. There wasn’t much here after all, and I should head home, back to London. But, despite thinking yesterday that this would only be a quick stay, I now didn’t feel quite ready to go.
My phone buzzed and I pulled it out of my pocket. The vet had promised to ring me with an update. I looked at the screen but it was just a Facebook notification about Katya’s most recent design. Maybe I’d wait for him to give me the latest news on the kitten and just nip out now for a sandwich. Then I’d decide what to do.
Humming, I walked into the village and down the high street. The Pen Pusher was closed even though all the other shops had opened up. I entered Blossom’s Bakes.
‘Hello there, again,’ said Tim and he smiled. ‘I hear you’re staying in Leafton, in Streamside Cottage?’ He put down a knife, his comb-over as smooth as the butter he’d been spreading.
‘Just for a while.’
Tim talked about the stream whilst he made my sandwich. We both agreed how picturesque it was although he said its innocuous appearance was deceptive as it had quite a strong current and for that reason young children loved playing Pooh Sticks in it.
He passed me an iced bun. ‘Have this on me, love – because you’re a friend of Ben’s.’
Eating the bun, I made my way back to the cottage. Still no word from the vet. I rolled up my sleeves feeling I could make this place feel a little less unloved. I found a hoover and dustpan and brush in the kitchen cupboards. I scrubbed the floors and polished shelves, just to give the cottage a bit of added shine. The team of cleaners hadn’t done a bad job but I felt this place deserved to be treated like a home. I washed the windows until they sparkled and as I removed each sign of neglect I felt as if I were getting closer to… I didn’t know… some sort of truth.
Long after lunchtime I sank onto a chair in the kitchen and devoured my sandwich. I’d enjoyed a good sleep last night despite having never slept alone in a large property before. My parents wouldn’t leave me overnight, not even in the Sixth Form. They worried about hob plates left on and unlocked doors. When I started university, I wore my room key on a piece of string around my neck. Dad said it was a good idea in case I ever lost my bag. A flatmate had laughed and said she used to do that in the lower years of High School, as both her parents worked.
Until my A levels were completed, Mum fitted her work hours around me. I’d been grateful for that when I was little. We’d hold hands walking back and have a juice and cake when we got home. After she died, I’d study mothers and daughters out together shopping, watching them in shops laughing at each other’s choices.
I remembered once when Mum seemed to throw caution to the wind. She bought pointed shoes she’d probably never wear and super glittery eyeshadow for me. I loved those glimpses of a more carefree parent that didn’t often emerge, like when I dared Dad, once, to do a handstand. The three of us couldn’t stop laughing when he toppled over, his chuckles being the loudest of all.
I toured the cottage with the spray can of air freshener I’d bought to eradicate any dank smells. As I walked on them, newly shined floorboards groaned their appreciation. As a thank you the windows gave me an even better view of my new surroundings. I collapsed onto the old sofa and, in return for me airing its cushions, it eased the twinges in my ba
ck. With everything really clean now it was easier to imagine the cottage as it deserved to be, with sheets on the beds and colourful cushions brightening the chairs, with attractive lampshades protecting the rooms from light bulbs’ glare.
I didn’t understand why but I felt protective towards this run-down place.
My oatmeal crockery would fit perfectly into the sunny pine kitchen. I imagined what it would be like to live here if Mum and Dad had left the property to me instead of Aunt Fiona. Various watercolours I’d done over the last few years would add flavour to every wall; not that I considered myself to be an accomplished painter. But that didn’t matter. Like my tattoos, those paintings encapsulated a period of my life that I’d always remember, like the first time I’d attempted to capture Ash on canvas. Anyone else might not recognise him but the picture summed up everything that appealed to me, like his bed hair that felt so soft between my fingers and the wide mouth that slanted sexily on the left. I’d added light to the eyes – that’s how they looked when he teased. He said he loved it and so did his mum. She had a photo of it on her phone and would show it to her friends.
My phone rang and I pulled my mobile out of my back pocket to see that the veterinary surgery was calling.
Taz had improved but they hadn’t managed to find a rescue centre. Financially and space-wise they could only keep him a couple more nights. As it was, the day had been busy and apparently, he’d not had the attention he really needed.
‘So what happens then?’ I asked.
I heard Matt pause at his end. ‘It’s one of the hardest parts of my job, putting down healthy animals.’
‘But surely…’ Just for a second I lost my breath.
‘It’s the kitten season. The people we’re in contact with who foster cats are overrun. If he didn’t need so much attention at the moment it might not be so much of a problem – but with those infected eyes he can’t go near other cats.’
‘Right.’
‘If someone could just foster him until his health and weight improves, well, it might be a different story in a couple of weeks, but in his present condition…’
Summer Secrets at Streamside Cottage Page 4
