by Julia Romp
“Well, thank you for ringing.”
“That’s OK. I know who you are because my temple is praying for you. We have a poster with a picture of your cat.”
As I got out of the car and stepped into the freezing night, I could see a woman standing in the road. At her feet was the body of a cat, which she was protecting from other cars to make sure it wasn’t run over again. She must be the landlady of the pub, I thought, just as the man had told me on the phone, and I silently thanked her as I got some towels out of the boot of my car before running across the road.
“I’m so sorry,” she said as I looked down at the cat’s body.
It was covered with blood and I kneeled down beside it before gently moving its head to check if it was still breathing. The cat was still warm but it wasn’t alive. It had gone, its life taken on a darkened road by a car that had driven on and left it to die alone. As I lifted it up, I could see it wasn’t Ben, but I didn’t feel relieved; I just felt empty. This cat was obviously loved, because it looked well looked after, and I started to cry as I wrapped it in the towels and thought of the family who it belonged to. Was this what had happened to Ben? Had he died with only strangers to look after him?
I stood up, holding the cat gently in my arms. I would take it to the vet tomorrow morning to see if it was chipped.
“At least you found him,” the kind landlady said quietly as she patted me on the back. “I know it’s hard, but you can take him home and give him a proper burial.”
As I silently cried I didn’t have the strength to tell her the cat wasn’t mine. I was exhausted by all the months of searching, all the hopes that had been dashed again and again. How could I keep doing this? Keep hoping enough for both George and me, when all he wanted to do was give up? Why couldn’t I just accept that Ben had gone?
“Thank you for all your help,” I said as I started to walk away.
My tears turned freezing cold in the wind as I went back to the car. Maybe I should just finally accept that I was never going to find Ben. It had been nearly three months now and I knew people were beginning to think that I was wrong to keep hoping. After the cat had been picked up by the dustcart, I’d even wondered myself if I was, and I talked to Mum and Wendy about it.
“Do you think I’m wrong to keep believing and telling George that Ben will come home?” I’d asked them. “Should I just accept that I’ll never find him and lie to George, just to give him a final answer?”
Mum and Wendy couldn’t tell me what to do, of course, but I knew what they thought.
“You might have to think about it, Ju,” Mum had told me. “You can’t go on like this. Your life has got to get back to normal. You’re making yourself ill with all this. You’re not sleeping properly and you can’t even get round the supermarket without rushing off. This has got to stop sometime and maybe it would be easier for George if it ended sooner rather than later.”
I’d lain awake that night for hours as I thought about what Mum had said. Maybe she was right; maybe I should tell George a lie just to release him from the not knowing. I could burn newspapers and put the ashes in a pot before telling George that Ben had died and been cremated. Then we could dig a hole in the garden and get a stone to remember Ben by. At least then George would have somewhere to go to be with him and he would know for sure that he was gone. But when I’d woken up the next morning and seen the sunshine outside I hadn’t been able to bring myself to tell the lie. I couldn’t say those words to George and see the pain on his face when he heard them unless I knew for sure that I had to.
Now I opened the door of the car and laid the cat gently on the passenger seat. It was too late to do anything more now, so I drove home, where I laid the cat in a box before taking it to the vet the next day. A few hours later the vet rang to say that the cat had been chipped and its owners had taken it home to bury it. The cat was a boy called Nibbles and the vet had told me his owners were very grateful that their children had been able to say goodbye. They wanted to thank me for what I had done and I was glad I had been able to help. But as I heard what the vet said doubts filled me again. Was it time for George and me to say goodbye too? Could I really keep clinging to a hope that just kept getting stretched thinner with every day that passed?
I sat down in the front row of the church beside Mum, Boy and Sandra. We all went to our local Spiritualist church because Dad’s mum, Edith, had been a Spiritualist and it was a bit of a tradition for our family. Dad’s feet had been far too firmly on the ground to take us to a church where people spoke to those on the other side, but it had always been there in the background when we were kids and I knew Dad believed in life beyond death in his own quiet way. I’d started going regularly when I was about 17 and while religion isn’t everyone’s kind of thing, and a Spiritualist church might be to even fewer people’s liking, I loved going there. It was one hour each week that was peaceful, and I liked seeing people find comfort as we celebrated life with singing and smiles.
But I wasn’t sure if even church was going to make me feel any better today. I was here to pray for Ben’s return, just as I did every week, but the night I’d found Nibbles was still fresh in my mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. George was struggling so much with the rehearsals for this year’s Christmas concert at Marjorie Kinnan that he kept running out of them, and we’d hardly had the TV on because it was so full of festive programs. George couldn’t bear to hear Christmas even mentioned.
I couldn’t help but think back to how happy we’d been last year, and I started crying quietly. I had never known it was possible to feel this lonely, as though I had an ache deep down in my bones, a sadness that could not be cured by sleep or talking. Of course I knew that I could phone my family any time of the day or night, but they had their own lives and I often had to deal by myself with my fears about what might happen to George if I did not find Ben.
I hardly noticed the service going on or the medium coming forward to talk to the congregation at the end of it, but when he pointed at me I had to listen.
“You with the white jumper,” the medium said.
I looked around.
“Yes, you with the curly hair,” he said to me.
Now you should know that every medium is different. Some see the shadows of spirits among the congregation, while others talk to them as though they’re having a chat with a person. Messages aren’t given out at every service, but I liked it when they were because there was such a feeling of peace in the room and a sense of comfort as people spoke to the ones they’d loved and lost. But I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as the medium looked into my eyes. I knew he would never be able to give me what I wanted, a postcode for the place where Ben was, because messages from the other side were never that exact.
“Things are going to change,” the medium said in a deep voice. “Something beautiful is coming your way.”
The man started moving his hands as he spoke.
“I can see a man. He’s tall and handsome.”
The medium rested his hands on his belly.
“He died from a long illness connected to the stomach.”
I froze. Dad had died of pancreatitis.
“Heaven was the only place he had left,” the medium said. “He didn’t ever want to leave you but he’s by your side now.”
I didn’t move a muscle and neither did Mum, Boy or Sandra, who were sitting with me.
“You have the same blue eyes as him,” the medium said. “A lovely blue that shines when you smile.”
I was the only one of the four of us with eyes the exact same shade as Dad’s. Could this really be true? Was he really here with us now?
“That’s better,” the medium said as I smiled. “It brings him closer when you do that.”
As I thought about Dad, I started crying again. I wanted to shout out, tell him that time was running out, that I had to find Ben before it was too late, and a rush of grief that we had lost Dad filled me, as raw as it was on the day when I first felt i
t.
The medium took a step back, looking at me.
“He’s leaving now,” he said. “But he wants you to know he’s listening, so keep talking.”
If Dad really was here, I knew what he was trying to tell me. For years, I’d chatted to him as I went about my days, telling him about what was going on as if he was still with us, and sometimes I could swear it felt as though he was. But I’d stopped doing it since Ben had gone, because I felt too sad to think about someone else that I’d loved and lost.
“He’s dressing you all in pink,” the medium told me. “You look like a doll.”
The medium gave a great big laugh and so did Mum and Boy. They knew what that meant. Dad’s nickname for me had always been “The Pink Princess’, because I loved the color so much that I’d have dyed my hair and skin pink if I’d been allowed to.
The church went silent again as the medium sat down and I wondered about what had just happened. I felt calm now, almost peaceful.
“I’ll always be with you,” Dad had told me when I was a little girl and had been woken up by a bad dream or when I was a grown-up struggling to do the best for George.
As the service ended, I knew what Dad had been trying to tell me: he was with me every step of the way, keeping an eye on me just as he always had.
Now you might not believe in all this, you might think it’s wrong to talk to the other side, but we all find strength in our own different ways, don’t we? Faith means different things to different people, but I believe it’s about what makes you smile inside, and I could smile again as I walked out into the cold. I had to keep believing. I could not give up on hope now I knew Dad was beside me.
Chapter 18
I ran to the phone like an Olympic sprinter when it rang on the morning of December 21. It was three months to the day since Ben had gone missing and I’d gotten more and more upset that in the past few days the calls had tailed off. I couldn’t understand why people had stopped phoning until Mum told me they were all busy getting ready for Christmas.
“I think I’ve found your cat,” I heard a woman say as I picked up the phone. “He’s in my garden.”
“Can I come over to look?”
“Sorry, but I’m leaving for my holiday in a minute. I’m going away for Christmas.”
“Can’t I just pop over quickly before you go?”
“No, love. My son’s coming to get me, but I’ll let you know when I get back.”
The woman slammed down the phone and I stared around the room, wanting to scream. What if she really had found Ben? He’d be gone from her garden by the time she got home from Christmas. It really might be him and I’d lose him because she didn’t want to be five minutes late for her holiday. Anger filled me as I sat down at the computer and logged on to the missing pet Web sites. Even the chat rooms, which were normally full of people, were quiet now. The world was shutting down for Christmas and I didn’t want it to. I wanted everyone to keep searching just as I was.
But I couldn’t ignore Christmas, however busy I kept myself. It was just four days away and I was dreading it. I didn’t know how we were going to get through the day and I hadn’t got a thing ready; but then again there was nothing to get ready because George and I were just going to have a quiet day. I knew that I’d breathe a huge sigh of relief when it was over, even though I hated the idea of starting a new year without Ben: it would feel as though time was moving on in such a concrete way.
The day dragged by and Howard was over to visit George when Wendy popped in at about 7:00 p.m. She came to see me each day, and although she didn’t say as much, I knew she liked to check up on me and George. As patiently as ever, she would listen to me rambling on and take another pile of leaflets before telling me to get some rest and going home. She was the best kind of friend.
As we sat chatting, the phone rang again and I picked it up with a sigh. The woman from this morning had just about finished me off. I wasn’t sure I could put up with another wild goose chase or a promise of hope that was soon dashed.
“I think I’ve found your cat,” a woman said.
“Do you?” I asked, in the kind of voice I’d usually use for a two-year-old.
“Yes. I think so. Is your name Julia Romp?”
“Yes.”
“Have you lost your cat?”
“Yes.”
She must be daft. Everyone within a five-mile radius knew I’d lost my cat.
“And is your cat called Ben?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he’s in my conservatory.”
“Really?” I sighed.
“Yes.”
This was getting to me now. What was wrong with people?
“And where’s your conservatory?”
“Brighton.”
I nearly fell off the sofa. Brighton was 70 miles away. There was no way this woman could have seen a poster all the way down there.
“Brighton by the sea Brighton?”
“Yes. And you live in London? That’s what the chip said. I got your phone number from it too.”
I felt dizzy as she spoke.
“The chip?”
“Yes. My daughter, Carla, saw a cat sitting in our garden for several days. It kept coming back and she persuaded us to take him in. So a friend of mine who works at a cat rescue center came over with a microchip reader and that’s how we got your details.”
I could hardly hear what she was saying any more; I couldn’t breathe as I listened and the blood rushed through my ears. She’d found a black and white cat that was microchipped with my details?
“Can I come and see you tonight?” I said in a rush, as Wendy stared at my white face.
“I’m not sure you’ll get here,” the woman said. “There’s been heavy snow and the roads are closed.”
I looked out of the window. There wasn’t a snowflake to be seen in Hounslow. Was this woman having me on?
“Snow?” I said.
“Yes. Two foot deep.”
I thought back to the news report I’d heard on the radio earlier that day as I’d done the washing up. Snowstorms and blizzards in parts of the country, people getting stuck in drifts and abandoning their cars—I hadn’t really taken it all in then and I certainly couldn’t now.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I said.
“Well, if you’re sure,” the woman replied uncertainly. “It’s a long drive.”
“I’ll leave now,” I said and took down her address.
Wendy looked at me as I put down the phone and started jumping around the living room, scrabbling to get my handbag and car keys.
“I’ve got to go,” I told her. “That woman said she had Ben in Brighton.”
“Brighton?”
“Yes. I think it might really be him because she says the cat has got a chip with my details on it.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
I grabbed my phone to text Mum, Tor, Boy and Nob to tell them what had happened. Howard could look after George and if I left now I’d get to Brighton by about 9:30 p.m. I was like a chicken with its head cut off as I rushed around.
Wendy looked at me. “I’m coming with you,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course, Ju. You’re not going alone. Are you OK?” Wendy asked.
“I think so.”
But I wasn’t sure. You see, as excited as I was, as concrete as all this sounded, there was still a doubt inside me. Could this really be Ben? After all these months and all my searching, was it really him? How on earth had he gotten to Brighton? It was miles away and Ben had been missing for so long. The woman sounded for real, but maybe this was a trick. If Ben really had been taken by someone, maybe they wanted to play one final joke before Christmas and had chipped another black and white cat with my details. I couldn’t be sure until I saw it.
I ran upstairs to tell George I was going out.
“A woman’s phoned,” I said as I went into his room. “She thinks she’s found Ben. I�
�m going to drive to the seaside to see.”
He looked at me. “It’s not him,” he said. “It’s another wrong cat.”
I didn’t want to get his hopes up too high, so I didn’t say anything more. Maybe George was right. I couldn’t go building him up just to knock him down again.
“Dad’s going to stay with you and I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I said and rushed out of the room.
My hands were shaking so much as I got into my car that Keith had to type the address into the GPS for me before Wendy got into the passenger seat. We’d only got halfway down the road when my phone started ringing. I knew who it was: my family.
“Can you talk to them?” I said to Wendy.
Mum wanted to know if I was sure where I was going, Nob wanted to be certain there was someone with me and Boy wanted to ask if this was another bad joke. The one thing they were all agreed on, though, was that I’d never get to Brighton because of the snow.
“We’ll be fine, won’t we, Wend?” I said as we got on to the motorway.
She gave me a weak smile.
Soon the snow was coming down so thickly that the windscreen wipers could hardly get through it. I’d never known snow like it. I slowed the car down to about 30 mph as we crawled up the M3 before turning on to the M25. As soon as we got on to it, I realized just how bad things were. There were cars abandoned on the hard shoulder, others stuck in drifts. I crouched down over the steering wheel, determined to keep going. I had to get to Brighton. Not even a blizzard would stop me.
Wendy and I didn’t chat, and I was concentrating on the road, but as I did so I couldn’t stop thinking. Was this really Ben? How could it be? And if it was, where had he been for all this time? Even as I let myself dare to think it was and a picture of George and Ben together again appeared in my mind, I pushed it out. I could hardly believe that after all this time I might have finally found Ben—and so far away. I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that this all might be another terrible trick that was being played on George and me.
It took us five hours to reach Brighton and the town was deserted when we arrived at around midnight. Everything was covered in a thick white blanket of snow as the sat nav told me we were getting close to the address and I did a right turn before it told me to take a final left. Wendy and I looked at each other as I turned the steering wheel. The woman on the phone had said she lived on a steep hill and she hadn’t been exaggerating: it looked like Mount Everest stretching up ahead of us.
