by Mandy Morton
There was only one cat left in front of her when Hettie realised that she had spent all her money in Hambone’s and had nothing left to pay for the tea with. She felt the hot, red stain of embarrassment rise to the top of her ears and looked round shiftily for anyone she recognised in the queue who might sub her out of trouble, but there was no one from whom she felt she could borrow. Her turn came and she stared blankly at Elsie, who stood wielding a wire basket full of freshly fried chips. ‘I’ve only got the cod now,’ she said apologetically. ‘Haddock’s all gone. Is that fish and chips twice?’ Hettie nodded as Elsie slapped two sizzling pieces of battered cod and two large shovels of chips in newspaper and handed them over the counter. She fumbled in her empty pockets but Elsie raised her paw. ‘Put your money away! Have these on me in celebration of Miss Tilly’s recovery. Jessie was in earlier and told me she was better. Happy Christmas to you both!’
Scarcely believing her luck, Hettie added the parcel of fish and chips to her trolley, returned Elsie’s Christmas wishes to her and the rest of the queue, and headed home as the snow began to fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
It was only a short distance home, but the snow was settling fast. By the time that Hettie had reached the Butters’ shop, there was a thick covering on the ground and the wheels of Meridian Hambone’s trolley had developed a spirit of resistance to moving forward, let alone in a straight line. Hettie virtually carried the trolley for the last few yards, and parked the offending item by one of the bread ovens at the back door.
Tilly hardly noticed that she had returned, as Cleopatra was preparing to play out her final death scene with Mark Antony in her pyramid. Not wishing to disturb her, Hettie grabbed the Sellotape from her desk drawer and went to do battle with the Christmas paper and the contents of the trolley. The fish and chips were still warm, in spite of the snowstorm they’d been subjected to, and Hettie unloaded them into one of the ovens which still held the heat from the Butters’ final batch of pies. Wrapping anything had never been high on her list of achievements; her large paws always seemed to get in the way of any careful folding, and the end of the Sellotape was a mystery that had to be solved every time she reached for it. Eventually, she managed to make a reasonable job of Tilly’s and Bruiser’s presents, but the bench proved too much for her and she decided that she would need Tilly’s assistance with such a big box. She put the wrapped presents back in the trolley and dragged the big box and what was left of the wrapping paper into their room, only to find Tilly sobbing her heart out.
‘Whatever’s happened? Are you feeling ill again?’
Tilly looked up, her eyes full of tears. ‘No, I’m all right, but I wish there was a happy ending for Elizabeth Traybake. She always dies and in such a nasty way, bitten by an asp viper and bricked up in a pyramid. I wish I hadn’t watched it now.’
Hettie worked hard to resist the laughter that rose in her throat. ‘I’m sure that the actual Elizabeth Traybake is having a lovely Christmas, just like we are. As for Cleopatra, it was all so long ago that I’m sure she’s stopped minding being bricked up in a pyramid. Anyway, it’s time for our fish and chips, and I’ve got something exciting to show you out of the window.’
Tilly brightened immediately, wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her Christmas cardigan, and joined Hettie at the window. The snow lay thick in the Butters’ backyard and the garden beyond was a real winter wonderland, lightening a night sky which was now full of stars. Hettie expected a squeal of delight from Tilly, who loved the snow; instead she just stared out of the window, pulling her cardigan closer around her. When she eventually spoke, it was in a very far-off voice. ‘That big bright one is the North Star. It leads the sailors home.’
Hettie was confused. ‘I didn’t mean the stars. What about the snow? How perfect is that for Christmas Eve?’
Tilly shivered as the memory of her fall down the mineshaft at Jam Makers Inn came flooding back to her. ‘I hope Osbert Twigg is all right. He looked so jolly in Absalom’s hat,’ she said, returning to the fire to warm her paws.
Hettie shook her head with concern. Tilly was most certainly back in the land of the living, but the cat flu had taken its toll and she was still in a very vulnerable state of mind. ‘Look!’ she said. ‘I’ve bought a present for us to give to Betty and Beryl. It was a real bargain at Hambone’s. I think they’ll love it.’
Tilly left the fire to investigate the box that Hettie had propped up by the table. ‘That’s a lovely present, but it doesn’t look very Christmassy.’
Hettie proffered the Christmas paper. ‘I thought you might like to help me wrap it before we have our tea.’
Tilly was thrilled to be involved in wrapping such a big present and cheered up immediately. The two cats battled with paper and Sellotape until the parcel looked almost respectable. They ran out of paper before they’d quite finished, but Tilly improvised and patched the ends with some bits of birthday wrap which she’d stored in the staff sideboard for emergencies.
‘Right,’ said Hettie, ‘I’ll stick this out by the ovens and bring in our tea. Let’s settle down by the fire and watch the programmes you’ve chosen for us.’ She dragged the box out of the room and returned with the parcel of fish and chips. ‘Elsie Haddock has sent these as a present to celebrate your recovery, so you’d better eat them all up.’
Hettie unwrapped the food, dividing it between two plates and filling their room with a tantalising aroma. Tilly purred as the smell reached her nostrils. She suddenly realised how very hungry she was, and the thought of a chip buttery – as she called it – was almost too exciting. The friends sat together in front of the fire, crunching and munching on their supper and watching It’s a Wonderful Cat. By the time they’d finished, they were both covered in butter and chip fat and had to spend much of the film in a concentrated bout of face, whiskers and ear cleaning. Full and content, Hettie climbed into her armchair and filled her pipe with catnip. Tilly selected an almost clean pair of pyjamas from the filing cabinet and changed out of her Christmas cardigan, settling down on her cushion just as the band struck up the theme to Scrooge on Ice.
Tilly loved to watch ice skating and was a big fan of Torpid and Jean, who had taken the international stage by storm with their Ravel’s ‘Boléro’ routine. Torpid was playing Scrooge in this particular Christmas special, and as far as Tilly could see, all the other leading parts in the story were being played by Jean, whose costume changes were a critical part of the performance. Hettie had never seen the point of skating on ice, even though it had become a metaphorical factor in her own life, but she had to admit that – after a pipe of catnip – Torpid and Jean’s endeavours looked altogether more entertaining than she had expected. Tilly was mesmerised until the moment when Jean glided across the ice as the Ghost of Christmas Past; at this point, she suddenly lost interest and busied herself in putting some of the presents she’d wrapped under the tree.
Watching her friend turn away from the television at such a high point in the production saddened Hettie, and she knew that she had to encourage Tilly to face up to the demons which were troubling her. ‘Come and sit by the fire,’ she said. ‘I’ve so missed your chatter since you’ve been ill, and I think it’s time you told me where you’ve been these last few days.’
Tilly stood back to admire their tree, then returned to her cushion by the fire. ‘I’m not sure where to start, really,’ she began. ‘I’m feeling a bit silly about it all. I know none of it happened, but it still seems so real.’
Hettie refilled her pipe and sat back in her chair as Tilly began her extraordinary story. The characters were so vividly presented that within no time she found herself believing in them as much as Tilly did. It was long past midnight before the story was brought to its horrific conclusion, and Hettie found herself on the edge of her seat as Tilly played out the final acts of her nightmare. When the story was over, the two cats stared into the fire in silent contemplation.
Hettie spoke first. ‘No wonder you were s
o troubled, with all those characters swimming round in your head. I’m surprised you got better at all, but it was certainly an adventure. I just wish I could have been there, instead of filling hot-water bottles, spooning in cough mixture and pacing the floor.’
‘But that’s the point,’ said Tilly. ‘You were there. We shared everything, even the nasty bits, like we always do.’
Hettie nodded. ‘Well, at least we got a “case solved” out of it. Time for bed, I think. We have a busy day tomorrow.’
‘Today,’ corrected Tilly. ‘Happy Christmas!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Hettie woke first, which was a very rare thing. She stretched, strangely happy to embrace the new day without any reservations. The fire was almost out and the clock peeping from between the Christmas cards on the staff sideboard informed her that it was ten past ten: Christmas day was already well established. She gathered some bits of kindling and coaxed the fire into producing tiny flames, adding small bits of coal until the grate came back to life. Tilly slept on, oblivious to the movement around her, and Hettie cast her eye across the tray of pastries that the Butters had left them with the day before. She selected some sausage rolls and a collection of cheese straws and put them onto a plate before switching the kettle on and preparing two mugs for morning tea. Then she pulled the curtains open onto a beautiful, sunlit scene of undisturbed snow, stretching down the Butters’ garden to Bruiser’s shed at the bottom. Tilly was right. It was the best Christmas ever.
Taking the tea and breakfast back to the fire, she added the greasy newspaper from their supper to the flames, which spat and leapt up the chimney. The crackle woke Tilly, and Hettie added more coal to the flames. ‘Ooh, what a lovely sleep I’ve had,’ Tilly said, sitting up. ‘And festive pastries for breakfast!’ She helped herself to a cheese straw and waved the pastry at Hettie, who had already managed two sausage rolls. ‘Better not have too many of these. I think the Butters’ Christmas dinner is going to be huge.’
Hettie was pleased to see Tilly looking so bright and untroubled. The burden of her nightmare had been lifted in its telling, and now a day of friends, feasting and a few wrapped surprises stretched out before them. Hettie posted two more sausage rolls into her mouth, brushed the excess pastry which clung to her dressing gown into the fireplace, and headed out into the corridor to fetch one of Tilly’s presents.
Betty Butter was staring into the bread ovens and jumped when she realised that Hettie was standing next to her. ‘Ee lass, you’ve frightened me to death, creeping up like that! Me and this ’ere turkey was ’avin’ a chat.’ She nodded towards the glass door, and there – sizzling in all its glory – was the biggest turkey that Hettie had ever seen. ‘’E’s been in there a good three hours, and ’appen another two will suffice. We don’t want tough old drumsticks or dried up breast, do we?’
Hettie marvelled at the sheer size of the bird and secretly wondered how long it would take to carve the creature. No doubt turkey pie would feature highly on the Butters’ menu board when they reopened their shop after the holiday. ‘Is there anything we can do to help with the lunch?’ Hettie asked, keeping her paws crossed that her assistance wouldn’t be required.
‘Bless you for askin’, but sister and I have it all under control. All you need to do is bring yourselves upstairs by one o’clock, both wearin’ your eatin’ trousers.’ Betty made her way back upstairs and Hettie grabbed the wrapped Teasmade. She skipped into their room, pursued by the unmistakable smell of turkey, which added to the festive spirit that positively bounced off the walls.
‘You’ve got two presents from me, one now and one later,’ she said, placing the box in front of Tilly.
Tilly clapped her paws with excitement and scrambled under the Christmas tree, emerging with a small parcel. ‘And this one’s for you!’
Hettie took delivery of the present and Tilly wasted no time in ripping the paper off her own box. She stared at the picture on the front for some time, trying to work out what exactly it was for. ‘Aren’t you going to get it out of the box?’ Hettie prompted.
‘It all looks a bit important,’ said Tilly earnestly. ‘It says it’s a two-cup Teasmade, but the picture has a clock face on it.’
‘That’s because it has a radio clock alarm and it makes the tea!’
Tilly stared in amazement at her present. She was slow to trust new technology and had only just got used to their kettle switching itself off; the thought of a machine that woke you up, switched the radio on and made the tea was almost too much to cope with. Hettie hurried things along by helping her to unpack it, and the two cats set the Teasmade up on the staff sideboard, making sure that the plug reached the socket. Tilly pulled out the instruction leaflet and sat staring at it. ‘Gobbledy gook!’ she exclaimed, before casting the piece of paper aside. ‘Why those Chinese cats think we can all speak Chinese I don’t know! And why can’t they write across the page instead of up and down?’
Hettie picked up the instructions and had to admit that her Chinese wasn’t any better than Tilly’s – but there was a series of diagrams showing a cat’s paw performing various manoeuvres, numbered one to six. ‘Let’s have a go at this,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you what to do step by step.’
Tilly stood nervously next to the Teasmade, awaiting Hettie’s directions. ‘One, plug it in and switch it on.’
Tilly did as she was told and a small red light appeared on the front of the machine, confirming that it was working. ‘Two, lift that flap on the top and fill it with water.’
Tilly lifted the flap to tip the water in, only to discover a small packet of tea bags. ‘Oh look, we’ve got extras – good job I saw them before the water went in. What’s next?’
‘To be honest it’s hard to say,’ said Hettie, scratching her head. ‘I think you’ve got to set the clock. The knobs are round the back, so you’ll have to twiddle them all until we get the right one.’ Tilly pushed and pulled on the various controls until the hour and minute hand sprang into life. She set the clock to match the one next to it on the staff sideboard, and awaited further orders. ‘The next bit’s easy – put a tea bag, milk and sugar into the cups, stick them back into the machine and press that big button on the top.’ Tilly did as she was told and stood back, waiting for the magic to begin. The Teasmade stared back at them in defiance. The red light was still visible, the hands on the clock were moving steadily around the face, but they were no closer to having a cup of tea than if they’d ordered it from Malkin and Sprinkle’s cafe.
‘We may as well put the bloody kettle on,’ said Hettie, taking a closer look at the offending item. ‘This was too much to hope for, I suppose.’ Her words were snatched away by a whirring noise, coming from the Teasmade; next came a whistling and spitting sound, followed by a full convulsion of boiling water spilling into the cups that Tilly had prepared. The alarm and the radio came on at the same moment, both at full volume, and the overexcited Teasmade danced across the staff sideboard in triumph.
Tilly hid behind Hettie’s armchair, thinking that a safe distance was the way to go. Hettie waited until the machine had settled and pounced on the plug socket, switching the machine off and rescuing the two cups of tea it had produced. ‘I’m sure we’ll get the hang of it eventually,’ she said, passing the tea to Tilly.
Surprisingly, the tea was very good and Tilly was thrilled with her present, if not a little alarmed by its behaviour during its inaugural flight. ‘I think you should open your present now,’ she said, returning to her cushion by the fire. ‘It’s not as exciting as mine, but I think you’ll like it.’
Hettie picked up her present and turned it round in her paws. She sniffed it and finally tore the paper off to reveal a beautifully crafted wooden pipe and a packet of her favourite extra strong catnip. ‘What a perfect present! Where did you find such a lovely pipe?’
‘I bought it from a stall at the cloche hat and feather festival that Jessie took me to in November. An old cat sat there carving the pipes all day. Look
– he’s put your initials on it.’
Hettie was very pleased to see ‘H. B.’ just inside the bowl. It was a very special present and she put it in pride of place on the mantelpiece next to the catnip, hoping that there would be time to try it out when they returned from the Butters’ later.
The two cats busied themselves tidying their room and dressing for Christmas lunch. Tilly had decided to wear her new Christmas cardigan, and Hettie picked out a shirt and waistcoat, choosing a pair of her stretch business slacks in the knowledge that Christmas lunch would put a great deal of strain on her waistband. It was five minutes to one, and time to collect the Butters’ present and follow the overwhelming smell of turkey up the stairs to their landladies’ flat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The door was wide open and Beryl had stationed herself just inside to collect coats and hand out small schooners of sherry. Hettie accepted a sherry, although she wasn’t keen – the taste reminded her of a posh sherry party back in the mists of her time which had rendered her speechless and legless for several days. She decided that to refuse would cause offence, though, especially as Tilly had already made it clear to Beryl that she would prefer a Vimto with a straw.
No sooner had Tilly received her Vimto than Lavender Stamp bustled up the stairs looking like something from The Heroes of Telemark – or Eskimo Nell, as Hettie would suggest later. She had obviously dressed for the snowy conditions, but the fact that she had only had to cross the road from her post office suggested that her efforts with outdoor clothing were slightly over the top. She eagerly accepted a schooner, and downed it in one before removing her galoshes.
