by E. Earle
“Who?”
“Each smell doesn’t come with a name tag,” Ben meowed. “It would be a lot easier if you put me down.”
“Ok... just be careful.”
Picking his way through the debris of a business, Ben jumped up and over the office furniture, some mouldy, some broken, some still wrapped in plastic. I flinched hearing swearing in the kitchen, followed by some wailing and covered my ears.
“This smells like something,” I heard Ben’s muffled voice by the fireplace.
“What?” I walked over and saw a pile of thrown papers. He pawed at a pink folder. I leant down and picked it up, instantly getting a sweet scent. You didn’t have to be a cat to know who the folder belonged to. I opened it up and pulled out qualifications and a C.V, all belonging to...
“Emily Rollason...” I jumped up and over a chair. “She was here!” I shouted. “She was here!”
“I know,” said Calloway, coming out of the kitchen wiping his hands with a kitchen towel. “And I know where she’s been taken.”
We left the perp taped up, Ellie-style in the kitchen. Calloway had called a couple of fellow police officers to come down and report a “burglary” for him to be taken and questioned. I was shivering with adrenaline when we got into the car.
It was starting to get dark by the time we got further into the Warwickshire Countryside. There was no saying that the address the guy had given us was real- but Calloway seemed to believe it was,
But wherever it was, Calloway wasn’t sharing. My hackles started to rise up when he pulled over on a country road, another car parked with two suited people waiting outside.
“Detective Calloway, nice to see you,” said a bald man, opening my door. He was dressed in a creased dark navy suit and looked as though he could do with a long sleep- or a coffee. His partner was an attractive woman in her thirties. Dark hair, dark eyes and an olive skin tone. She would have looked prettier if she smiled more, but she looked as tired as her partner.
“Miss Blackwell?” she said looking at me, in a tone that was used to soothe animals. I didn’t like it. “I’m Detective Daniels. We’re here to take you to a safe house.”
I looked over to Calloway, aghast. “You're dumping me?”
“It’s not like that,” he said, not meeting my gaze. “We can’t let a citizen endanger themselves.” He paused then and put a warm hand on mine. “You did well, but I can’t ask you to go for the next step. These are dangerous people. It may be the case that your friend-”
“Shut up,” I snapped, eyes welling up. “She’s alive, I know she is.”
He looked up at the Detectives and nodded. “Go with them, Ellena. You can’t be part of this operation.”
“Fine,” I snapped, wrestling with my seatbelt. “That’s absolutely fine.”
“Ellena-”
“No- I was good enough to break into her office, good enough to whack a guy over the head and save your arse, good enough to find proof that Emily was taken at the office- not to mention I was the one who found out she was in those cabinets in the first place-”
“Ellena- I was going to say, you just have to unclip your seatbelt.”
I glared at him, and Ben hissed.
As soon as I sat in that car with the Detectives, I felt I was under arrest. Ben was put into a little cat carrier, which he hated and so did I, and placed in the open boot. I had to keep twisting around in my seat to calm him down, as I glowered at the Detective in front and the one sitting beside me.
Daniels had a handkerchief to her mouth, eyes watering. “I’m allergic,” she said apologetically.
We drove to a “safe house”, which was literally a B&B where they sat going over papers and talked on their phones in a private room. I hated it- the not knowing. The room was abundant in frills, flowers and doilies. The only positive thing I could say about it was that the bathroom was nice and that it was pretty big- perfect for my pacing about.
45 minutes had passed and soon a call came from Calloway to say that the address had been hooky.
We had been screwed.
“Where did he go then?” I demanded.
“Just some flats,” the bald Detective whose name I learnt was Figgs. “The man who gave that evidence is being questioned as we speak.”
“So we have no leads?”
The Detectives looked uncomfortably at one another. “Not as yet.”
“Would you like some coffee?” asked Daniels.
“I don’t really...” An idea sprung. “Well, only if you’re having some.”
“I think we could all do with some coffee,” laughed Figgs, trying to make light of it. “I’ll call room service.”
I walked over to Ben’s cat carrier and stuck my fingers through, tickling him under the chin. “Marking the territory, Ben,” I said.
“Meow?”
“What was that?” asked Figgs, the phone to his ear.
“Oh nothing.”
The coffee service came up, including biscuits and the like, and whilst Figgs and Daniels were fussing over choosing Custard Creams and Chocolate Bourbons, I opened the cat carrier.
Ben darted out and started causing havoc, hissing and spitting, throwing himself about. Figgs and Daniels jumped up, almost to my horror, spilling the coffee canister.
“Oh God! What’s wrong with him?” I exclaimed, diving for my bag.
“How did he get out?” shrieked Daniels.
Figgs took off his jacket and tried to throw it over Ben, the clatter of car keys ringing loudly as he did. “Did you let him out?”
“Of course I didn’t! It must be the cat carrier!” I rummaged through my bag quickly and pulled out the Liquid Laxative, shoving it up my sleeve. “I don’t know where you got that one, but it doesn’t look good quality.”
I started moving towards the coffee canister.
“Oh God, my eyes are streaming- I can’t see-” wailed Daniels as she ran to the bathroom.
“We only bought the damn thing this morning!” growled Figgs as he dived over the bed for Ben again.
My moment couldn’t have been more perfect. I poured in the rest of the satanic liquid into the coffee canister and shoved the empty bottle in my pocket.
“Are you going to give me a hand? This is your damn cat!”
“Of course,” I said, rushing to the Detective’s aid. “Bennnnnnn! Bennnnn! It’s all right sweetie, come to mummy.” The tone in my words sickened both me and Ben, but he took it as his queue to calm down as he walked over to me, still hissing at Figgs.
I picked him up and gave him a big cuddle. “I think it’s best I just keep hold of him for a while until he chills out.”
“Then back in the carrier?”
“Then back in the carrier.”
Figgs threw a murderous look at Ben before knocking on the bathroom door. “Daniels? It’s all right- the cat’s under control.”
A red eyed Daniels came out, nose streaming. “I actually really like cats,” she said miserably.
“You could get a sphinx?” I suggested.
Figgs continued to mutter under his breath as he poured out three cups of coffee. “Sugar, Miss Blackwell?”
It really didn’t matter, because I wasn’t going to drink it, but I said two anyway. I watched them carefully as they poured milk and sugar into their own coffees- Daniels, unashamedly putting three heaped spoonfuls in.
“Here’s your coffee,” Figgs said, offering it to me.
“Oh, can you put it on the side, please? I’ll have it in a minute. Hands full, you see.”
He nodded and took a big slurp out of his own drink. He frowned, looking at it strangely.
My heart stopped.
“Need more sugar,” he mumbled. “My wife keeps telling me to cut down, but one sugar in coffee just doesn’t do anything.”
I held back a sigh of relief as I watched him dump in another sugar, and then cheekily a half more. Daniels was grinning at him.
“So, Miss Blackwell,” she said, turning to me with her own cup between her
hands. “Have you been at the U.C.W long?”
I launched into a conversation about the college, not because I wanted to, but to keep them drinking their coffee. They drank it pretty quickly and helped themselves to another cup- I must have been boring them.
“Your drink’s going to get cold,” Daniels commented.
“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” I said, leaning over to the tray. “I think I’ll just have a biscuit.”
The female Detective shied away from Ben hanging in my arms as I picked up a couple of custard creams. It was only then when I realised how hungry I was. I crushed up a biscuit and offered it to Ben, who clearly wasn’t interested.
They downed that cup of coffee and had a third. My eyes were watering at sight as these detectives glugged down that black liquid, busy calling colleagues, and checking out evidence.
“Do you have the recording?” Daniels asked me, finishing her third cup.
“Yeah,” I said, pulling out my new phone. It wasn’t as posh as my other one, but I had managed to download some files from my computer onto it, including some nice chubby photos of Rowan, which I showed to her, much to her delight. Figgs wasn’t as impressed.
“I’ve had five kids, Miss Blackwell,” he said. “Once you’ve seen one baby, you’ve seen all of them.”
Daniels disagreed with him, which made me feel even guiltier of what was to come swiftly their way. I opened the recording file and played it to them, the odd stomach rumble from them being the only thing that interrupted it.
“Ooh, sorry,” Daniels apologised, putting a hand on her stomach. “It must have been that Subway.”
The recording played on.
“Apparently his new bitch loves horses. I’d rather pull down my inheritance brick by brick, tree by tree than have her house her stupid ponies in there.”
I frowned then. Something was nagging at the back of my mind. Suddenly, Daniels looked a bit uncomfortable and then jumped up. “Excuse me,” she said, face red and rushed to the toilet, the hard lock loud as it snapped into place.
Groans very similar to Sabrina’s followed. Figgs stood up and asked tentatively if she was ok.
I shook my head and tapped the screen to go back in the recording.
“Right. Have you sorted out the accounts?”
“All done.”
“Good. This divorce is going to cost me. I’m not letting him have the farmhouse in Stratford.”
“Why would he want that?”
I jumped up at the same time Figgs started banging at the toilet door, clutching his stomach. “Let me in, Daniels!”
“Oh God...! What was in... that Subway Sandwich?”
“Daniels, for the love of God, let me in this room!”
“Are you ok, Detective Figgs?” I asked, mock shock on my face.
“No!” he yelled. “My arse is about to cave in!”
“I think I saw some public toilets downstairs?” I offered.
The look of hope lit up his face for half a second before his stomach growled, bending him in half. He turned to me then, and pointed a shaking finger at me. “You.Stay.Here.”
I nodded dumbly as he ran out of the room. I waited for two seconds before I grabbed his jacket and dug out his keys from the pocket.
Good. This divorce is going to cost me. I’m not letting him have the farmhouse in Stratford.
The Principal’s words echoed in my head, over and over again.
This divorce is going to cost me. I’m not letting him have the farmhouse in Stratford.
I opened the door to the room, my bag already slung over my shoulder and Ben at my feet. “Let’s go, Ben!”
I’m not letting him have the farmhouse in Stratford.
Farmhouse in Stratford.
Farmhouse in Stratford.
Farmhouse in Stratford.
I stopped my run as soon as I got to reception, quickly only when I heard moaning come from the public toilets and stepped out into the cold air of freedom.
I walked to the black rover the detectives had driven me here by and unlocked it without a moment’s hesitation.
I had 30 minutes tops before the detectives managed to scramble their way back into the world of the living and find me gone. Thankfully, I had seen both of their phones on the coffee table in the room, so there was no chance of them making any calls whilst they were cemented to porcelain.
I had never driven any other car except from my KA, (which my uncle insisted still was being fixed) and the car I learnt in.
“No worries,” I said, putting the keys in the ignition.
“I wish there were seat belts for cats,” Ben meowed.
I drove not really knowing where I was going to be honest. The radio in the car buzzed a couple of times, but I was too confused, and admittedly a bit scared to answer it. I was breaking the law. I was stealing a car.
If Sabrina and the Principal weren’t going to prison after this, then I certainly was.
“Ok, so we’re looking for a farmhouse on a patch of land in Stratford...” I murmured, pulling up on the side of the road.
Thankfully, someone genius had invented Google, and some divine being had decided that my signal was going to work that day.
I typed Principal University College of Warwickshire into Google, found her husband, Karl Bowers, and some pictures of them together.
Some were towards a charity do, some were at a political conference, others were with the major, but one photo was all I needed.
A couple, arms around each other holding a glass of champagne each posed in front of the camera in front of a derelict farm house.
I clicked on it and found the news page to go with it.
It was a news article from 2002 talking about the renovation plans to do up a piece of Stratford’s history, an old Saxon building that had been used over time, until it had been used as a cattle holding in the 18th century. I skipped the history lesson and found the name of the farm.
Aldrith Farm.
I drove on until I found some country walkers. “Excuse me,” I said, putting down the window. “Can you tell me where Aldrith Farm is, please?”
The two country walkers, who I took were married came over with two collies and looked curiously to Ben sitting in the passenger seat.
“You have a cat in your car,” the old man remarked, looking dumbfounded.
I shrugged casually. “Your dogs like to walk- he prefers to be driven, what can I say?”
The walker frowned at me as if I had gone mad.
“Aldrith farm is that way five miles out,” his wife said helpfully, cheeks red from the cold wind. “Follow the signs for Pennington and it’s there.”
“Wonderful- thank you!”
The roads got narrower as I followed her instructions. I think I got lost a couple of times and then I saw that glorious sign.
Aldrith Farm.
I pulled up in front of it, my heart beating. I pulled out my phone and considered calling Calloway. I looked at Ben as if for answers but he was involved in a much more important task of grooming himself.
I swore and pressed DIAL.
Calloway picked up on the second ring.
“Calloway here?”
I flinched at his formal greeting. “Err, hi, it’s Ellena-”
“Ellena! Where are you?”
Remembering that I hadn’t given him my new number, (which in hindsight is probably a stupid thing to forget) I ploughed on. “Look- you can shout at me later, but I’m outside the Principal's farm in Stratford- it’s a place called Aldrith Farm-”
“Why? Why are you there? You wait there for me, you hear?”
“No- I’ve got to check this out-”
“Listen Ellena, this is not a game,” Calloway growled. “You are not a cat with nine lives, ok?”
I looked down at Ben, rubbing his head against my arm, purring contentedly. He would go anywhere with me. I smiled and rubbed his ears, ignoring Calloway. Sometimes you just have to decide what is right and wrong in life. You can stand
here and allow things to happen, or you can do things about it.
Besides, things never worked out when I waited for people to make things happen with me.
“I’m going in, Arthur,” I said.
He started to splutter on the other end, I know, trying to find the right words that would make me stop.
“What’s wrong, Detective?” I said. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Ellena!”
I hung up.
The hill was a downward slope. It was muddy, cold and frozen in patches. I almost slipped a couple of times and I was thankful that Ben had his winter coat on. I could see the dilapidated farmhouse below past a cluster of trees. There were car tracks across the field, so someone had been here recently.
I pulled my coat tighter around myself. I had hidden the car down another lane and walked the rest of the way.
“Ben, if we’re both going to die today, don’t you want to tell me how you came back?”
“We’re not going to die today, silly human.”
“But don’t you want to tell me?”
He walked on ahead of me, tail high, fur burning brightly in the frost. “You don’t need to know how everything happens, Ellena.”
“How can you talk?”
He was silent.
“You’re never going to tell me, are you?”
“I don’t need to,” he said. “You’ll find that out for yourself one day.”
We were quiet then for a while as we ploughed on. “I tried to change your name to Aslan when I was little,” I said, suddenly remembering.
“You did.”
“It never stuck.”
“Like I said- my name is Benedict.”
I rolled my eyes and began to feel the true effects of fear as the farmhouse came close. It was strange. It was as if I was walking in a dream, as though my body was not my own. I didn’t want to think too much of it in case I ran away. It looked as though some renovation had been attempted on it in the past, but it had been given up on halfway through. It could be quite a pretty building, I thought. One story and long, its bright walls were made of sandstone. Someone had strapped tarpaulin over the windows and put metal sheeting where there wasn’t glass. The wind whistled through it sharply, and I dug my hands further into my pockets.
