by Debbie Young
“You’re in no position to take the moral high ground. You’re only here to lobby people about your get-rich-quick schemes, not for Mum’s benefit at all. Mum would have forty fits if she knew what you were up to.”
Paul’s tone changed to defensive. “It’s only because I’ve got her best interests at heart.”
“Best interests, my arse,” said Stuart. “You’re just after a fast buck.”
There was an icy silence, inside the shop and out.
“What do you know about business interests?” retorted Paul. “You and your supposed business trips! What accountant does that much work away from his office? Playing away, more like. No wonder you’re always skint. As if throwing cash at fruit machines wasn’t wasteful enough.”
I thought Stuart might thump him. Instead he opened his car door and slid into the driver’s seat. I hoped neither of them had been drinking alcohol.
“If you expect me to support your scheme for the Manor House, you can think again. You’re on your own.”
Stuart slammed the car door, started the engine, and, with a crunching of gears, pulled away, leaving Paul standing alone on the pavement, his hands folded tightly across his chest.
Through the half light of the shop, we watched Paul’s face illuminated briefly by the flame of a cigarette lighter as he ignited a long, slim cigar. He inhaled and exhaled a couple of lungfuls of smoke, before turning back in the direction of the pub, where presumably he’d left his car.
The silence was broken by Jessica.
“Well, that explains it. I wondered why Stuart kept coming back to the Cats Prevention tombola at the Village Show last summer. I spent an hour helping on their stall in the afternoon, and he couldn’t stay away. I was starting to think he might fancy me, as he was buying so many tickets. He won some nice prizes, but gave most of them back, saying he had no use for them. Perhaps he wanted to hide the evidence of how many tickets he’d bought. Or maybe he just liked the thrill of the chase.”
“I trust Donald will get rid of the fruit machine now,” said Dinah. “I’ve been on at him for ages about being a gambling enabler, but he won’t listen. Says he needs the profit. If he wants to attract families to his new beer garden, he needs to change his tune.”
“Sounds as if he’ll have to get rid of this machine anyway. Perhaps Stuart’s done us all a favour by breaking it.”
“Honestly, you’d think being an accountant he’d be more savvy,” said Dinah. “With slot machines, the odds are always stacked against the players.”
“We all believe what we want to be true,” said Jessica. “I know I do.”
“Well, I feel sorry for him,” said Bella. “It’s not entirely his fault. Addictive personalities run through his family. His father used to spend a fortune betting on dominoes, and there’s Kitty’s old problem with drink and drugs, though I’ve heard that’s under control since she’s been back living with her mother.”
“And what’s Bunny’s addiction?” I asked.
“Having children,” said Dinah. “Ten of them. Can you imagine? I reckon that’s why she was so keen on having that reprobate Kitty back to live with her. Kitty still needs mothering.”
“I thought Kitty was Bunny’s carer?” I asked.
“So Kitty would like to believe. But I reckon it’s as much the other way round.”
“Sometimes I’m glad I’m an only child,” I said. “Although I always wanted to be a twin when I was little, or at least have a sister near my own age who was just like me.”
“How funny if you were a twin, then your twin could marry Hector’s twin brother, Horace,” said Jessica, clapping her hands with glee. “I wonder whether Mr Murray’s ever officiated at a double wedding before?”
I started to clear away the cups. It was time to draw the meeting to a swift close.
22 Escape at Elevenses
When Billy entered Hector’s House at the crack of elevenses, he kept his right hand stuffed in his trouser pocket, trying to still something that was moving about. I could see the outline of his knuckles through the sagging tweed, but not what he was holding. Had we been in a city centre, I might have feared he was about to pull out a gun and raid the till, but when he approached the trade counter, he produced nothing more threatening than a kitten.
The tiny thing was still young enough for its short, soft black fur to defy gravity. Sticking straight up from the kitten’s fragile body, it gave the little creature an air of permanent surprise. Or maybe that was just the effect of being transported in Billy’s trousers.
Hector took a step back from the counter. “I’m sorry, Billy, we only accept pounds sterling. But if you try the village shop, Carol will probably give you a good exchange rate on kittens.”
I set down the teacup I was drying and dashed over to join them. Picking up the tiny creature with both hands and holding her close to my chest, I could feel her miniature heart pounding against mine. I ran a soothing finger down her spine, her coat as soft as a dandelion clock about to blow.
“Oh, Billy, she’s gorgeous! What’s her name?”
Wiping his hands on his trousers, Billy shuffled over to his usual tearoom table.
“I don’t know, it hasn’t said.”
I followed him, still holding the kitten.
“But she is yours, isn’t she? Or did you find her as a stray?”
He shrugged. “It ain’t anybody’s. Catwoman brought it round. It just appeared on Kitty’s kitchen table first thing this morning. When Catwoman stepped out to use the lavvy, Kitty threw a saucepan at it, so I thought I’d better take it out of harm’s way.”
The kitten wriggled out of my grasp and climbed up to my shoulder, digging in claws as sharp as needles, before nestling down amongst my hair. Snuggling into the crook of my neck beneath my left ear, she began purring louder than I’d have thought possible for her size.
“Look, she likes me!” I sat down slowly in the chair opposite Billy, not wanting to disturb her. “Where did she come from?”
“Another cat, I’m guessing.”
Hector kept his distance behind the trade counter. “We can’t have a cat in the tearoom, Sophie. It’s unhygienic.”
Billy eyed the cake stands. “And it’s stopping Sophie from making my tea. I’ll have my usual, please, girlie.”
I put a protective hand to my shoulder to stop the kitten falling. Her purring stopped, only to be replaced by the cutest snore I’d ever heard.
“Hector, please fetch me the smallest cardboard box you can find in the stockroom, and some of that crumpled paper packaging from the recycling box. Little Pussykins here needs a nest for her morning nap.”
Holding her firmly on my shoulder, I got up to switch on the kettle, while Hector, muttering to himself, found a box and lined it with packaging. I lowered her in gently without disturbing her slumber.
“There, that’ll make her return journey more comfortable, Billy. You can just close the box lid till you get home.”
Billy sat back abruptly and raised his hands in protest. “I’m not taking it home with me. Nor back to Kitty’s neither. It needs a safer place than that, poor little mite.”
“I thought Bunny liked taking in cats?” said Hector.
I filled a teapot for Billy. “Besides, you’d think a kitten would trump cats. What’s not to love about a kitten?”
“Kitty don’t like ’em,” said Billy. “She gives short shrift to that wretched Catwoman when Bunny’s not listening. If it was down to Catwoman, the Manor House would be full of moggies. Left to Kitty, they’d all be six feet under. The cats, I mean, not the women. Though maybe Catwoman too.”
I’d clocked that Kitty wasn’t exactly fond of her feline residents, but I hadn’t marked her down for catricide.
“Catwoman’s with her right now, trying to win round Kitty in Bunny’s absence. That’s why I came out for a breath of fresh air. I left them to slug it out between them. I couldn’t take all the bloody swearing.”
“So did the kitten follo
w you of her own accord, or did you catnap her?” I reached a finger into the box to touch her little furry head.
“No, I just scooped it up and slipped it in my pocket before Kitty could do it any more harm.”
I set the full teapot down on the table and lingered to stroke the kitten again before fetching Billy’s toast.
“Isn’t that woman’s charity meant to be about neutering cats?” said Hector. “She can’t be much good at it, if she has to keep rehoming unwanted kittens.”
“Unwanted kitten?” I grinned. “Isn’t that a contradiction in terms? How could anyone see this little soul and not want to give her a good home?”
Hector looked so horrified that you’d think I’d suggested serving her to Billy on his toast.
“Well, I wouldn’t for a start,” said Hector. “You can’t have a pet in a flat. It isn’t fair on the animal. Besides, it would make a mess of my stuff.”
“And I’m not taking up cat keeping at my time of life,” said Billy, reaching out to stroke the kitten’s ears.
I wasn’t convinced. On Sunday afternoon, he’d looked right at home sleeping with Kitty’s cats on his lap.
“There’s a good chance it would see me out,” he went on, as if trying to convince himself. “Besides, if I was going to get a cat, I should get a dog instead. Something sensible that could go out and about with me.”
“I’d get a breed that likes digging, if I were you, Billy,” said Hector. “Something substantial like a Golden Retriever or a Labrador. Or how about a terrier? They go at holes like – well, like terriers. I can picture you with a nice Jack Russell. It would make light work of gravedigging for you. I’ve always fancied having a Border Collie myself.”
I’d never put Hector down as a dog man before.
“Yes, and it would wreck my garden too,” said Billy. I suspected he was more of a ferret man.
I laid protective hands over the kitten’s ears. “Don’t listen to these nasty men, Fluffy.”
Billy poured some tea into his cup as I went to fetch a jug of milk and some of Hector’s special alcoholic cream. Billy hesitated before choosing the milk. Perhaps a few days with the addle-brained Kitty was making him reflect on his own unhealthy lifestyle. But all he did with it was pour a little into his saucer and set it beside the box for the kitten, before topping up his tea with cream.
“Bunny would keep it, if she was at home,” he said, lifting the kitten out of her box for a drink. “But Kitty’s bent on getting rid of as many cats as she can before her mother comes back. She’s like Pol Pot in there.”
“Not famed for his love of cats,” said Hector. “Won’t Bunny be upset when she comes home and finds out?”
“Most likely she won’t even notice, there’s so many of them lurking about the house. I swear Catwoman brings a new one every time she visits.”
“It must be costing Bunny a fortune in cat food, quite apart from whatever donations Mrs Lot squeezes out of her.” Hector was ever practical.
I slid a finger underneath the kitten’s abdomen. “Not for this one. Look, her tummy’s no bigger than a matchbox.”
“No worries on that score,” said Billy. “They’re self-sufficient with all those mice in the Manor House, not to mention the rats and birds in the garden. And if I finds any dead mice in my cottage, I always save them and take them round to help out. I don’t like to see animals suffer, not even moggies.”
“Well, I’ll be happy to take this little one off their hands.” With droplets of milk clinging to her whiskers, the kitten jumped back into her box. I picked it up and took it over to the tearoom counter to keep an eye on her.
“You can’t keep it there, Sophie,” said Hector. “This is a shop, not a ship.”
“It would keep your mice under control,” said Billy, coming round to my side.
Hector frowned. “Yes, just like my elephant gun keeps away stray elephants. We don’t have any mice in this shop, thank you very much.”
“Nor do I in my house,” I said. “But that’s not the reason I’m offering to adopt her. I just fancy having a cat. A constant and loyal companion, something warm and welcoming to come home to.”
Billy shot a mischievous look at Hector and opened his mouth to speak, but Hector got in first.
“OK, take it home at lunchtime. Otherwise when the kids come in after school they’ll terrorise it with their affections.”
I stroked the little creature, proud to be her new owner.
“What shall I call her?”
“How about Kitty?” said Billy.
I laughed. “That might cause confusion.”
“How about Satan?” said Hector.
I carried her around the shop in her box, looking at the bookshelves for inspiration, thinking to name her after an author or a book. I hoped she might miaow when we passed something suitable.
Then the door creaked open, and a customer came in, followed by a few delicate petals of pale pink blossom blowing in from next door’s garden.
“Blossom,” I said straight away. “I think I’ll call her Blossom. She’s about as light as a flower petal anyway, and I think Auntie May would approve. It suits her already. Perfect.”
Hector turned his attention to the customer.
“I can drop it in at yours after I leave here, if you like,” said Billy. “I’m going back up the Manor House once Catwoman’s gone. A kitten won’t last long in there up against Kitty. If I take it out of the box, it’ll just fit nicely through your letterbox.”
“Billy, you’ll do no such thing! I’ll take Blossom home myself at lunchtime, as Hector says. But if you want to be helpful, you can deliver a book to Kitty that’s just come in for her. Apparently she ordered it over the phone last Friday.”
“I’m surprised she used the phone,” said Billy. “She don’t much like making or taking phone calls.”
“Yes, Bunny usually phones herself if she wants anything,” said Hector.
Billy looked glum. “Kitty don’t even like her voice leaving the house these days, never mind her body. It beats me how she hasn’t got rickets, with barely a drop of sunshine on her body from one day to the next.”
I looked at Hector, hesitating, until he gave me a slight nod of agreement to spill the beans.
“Are you sure about that, Billy? We think she does go outdoors. In fact, we know she does, because when we called round on Sunday and found you asleep, she was out in the garden gathering herbs to make mint sauce.”
Billy spluttered into his tea cup. “Herbs? Is that what she told you? I wouldn’t fancy her kind of herbs poured over my Sunday dinner. Though I suppose they might make me enjoy her terrible cooking a bit more.”
Hector grinned. “Oh, that kind of herbs! Does she claim they’re medicinal?”
Billy chuckled. “They’re about as likely to come on prescription as this here cream.” He held up the jug of Hector’s hooch, before succumbing to temptation and tipping a small amount into his second cup of tea.
Hector laughed. “No wonder she covered up the basket so fast when she saw us. The shape of the leaves would have given her game away.”
“Which herbs are they?” I asked. “I like rosemary.” With its sharp, astringent fragrance, this spiny-needled herb had long been my favourite in Auntie May’s herb garden.
“Pot plants,” said Hector.
“What, you mean like aspidistra?” I named the plant at random, having shelved a copy of George Orwell’s Keep the Aspidistra Flying that morning. I’d always wondered what an aspidistra looked like and was glad to have seen one on the book’s cover. My job is so educational.
Hector lowered his voice, even though we were the only ones in the shop. “No, you twit, marijuana.”
“Oh. Oh, I see.”
For a moment I felt sorry for Kitty. All that time and trouble that Billy had spent on the vast walled garden at the Manor House, the kind of garden my Auntie May would have killed for, and the only pleasure Kitty could extract from it came from what she could s
moke out of it.
Billy got up to pet the kitten one last time before he left. “Don’t feel so bad, girlie. It took me a while to catch on to why she didn’t want me to do any weeding in her special little glasshouse out the back. She told me at first she was raising an exotic variant of camomile, grown from seeds given to her by a Turkish tightrope walker. A proper camomile lawn is a wonderful thing, smells beautiful, it does, with every step you take, so I encouraged her.” He reached into the box and gently lifted Blossom’s tail. “Once the leaves of Kitty’s seedlings started to differentiate, I knew they weren’t no camomile leaves. But it wasn’t doing me no harm, and it was the only thing that ever got her to leave the house, so I left her to it.”
He shuffled over to collect the book from Hector. As he reached the counter, he turned to call over his shoulder to me.
“By the way, girlie, you might want to know little Blossom there is actually a boy.”
My mouth fell open in surprise.
“So, the book order, then.” Hector hauled the conversation back on track, holding up the cover for Billy to read. Billy squinted, struggling to make out the title at that distance without his reading glasses. As Hector read it out to him, Billy’s eyes widened in surprise.
“How to Plan a Funeral? When did you say she ordered it again?”
“On Friday morning,” said Hector. “The day before her mother was left for dead in your grave.”
23 Asleep at the Wheel
After Billy had gone, I finished calling the other customers whose orders had just come in, then the phone rang. The speed-dial directory told me the call was from Bunny Carter’s landline. As I braced myself for a telephone conversation with Kitty, it occurred to me that if she hadn’t ordered the funeral planning book, Billy’s delivering it to her could look like a tasteless practical joke.
“It’s Catwoman,” said a gruff male voice that I recognised at once.
“You can’t fool me, I know that’s Billy. What on earth are you playing at?”
“I mean Catwoman is in trouble.”
