by Jo Watson
“No, they’re all gone now. My one grandma only passed away last year, though,” she said softly.
I turned and looked at her. “Sorry for your loss.”
She shrugged. “She had a really good innings, you know. She was over ninety when she died. That’s when my brother and I inherited this place.”
At that, I swung around. “Your . . . uh . . . brother?” My heart started drumming a big rock solo in my chest.
“Yes—Mike. He lives here, too,” she said casually, not knowing that the information she’d just given me was like music to my ears.
“Brother?” I asked again, in case I hadn’t heard correctly.
“He’s two years younger than me. We fought like cats and dogs when we were little, but get on like a house on fire now. Weird,” she said.
Weird. That was an understatement. If Mike was her brother, that meant he was also related to Edith. He was her grandson. How was this all happening and unfolding like this? Like there was some preconceived plan out there that was playing out, and we were all just pawns in it, falling into place, falling into predestined roles. Did I even believe in all that? But what was the other explanation? That this was all some huge coincidence, right from the moment the lift had fallen?
“My brother is actually the sheriff of this town.” She smiled proudly.
“Really? I’d better not get in any trouble,” I quickly joked.
“Funny you should say that. God—he was a naughty little shit, growing up. I never imagined him as ‘the law,’ but I guess that just happened by accident.” She carried on walking up the hallway and I followed behind her. “So what do you do?” she asked me.
And, before I could make something up, I said it: “I’m a writer.”
“Really? Wow!” Ash spun around and looked at me with a smile.
I quickly played it down. “I should say aspiring writer. I’ve written a few articles, some blog stuff . . . not much else.” I shrugged.
“Still, that’s amazing. Well done!”
“Huh?” I looked at her, confused, taken aback. She just smiled and kept on walking. No one had ever just said well done to me. What the hell was going on? I had known this woman less than a day and she was being nicer and more supportive to me than anyone in my life. And I was trying to use her for information . . . God, I was a bad person. Truly, I was horrendous. And there is no need for you to dislike me right now, because, trust me, I disliked myself enough.
We continued walking and I looked around. This house was configured in exactly the same way as the other one. “This place feels like two houses that were joined together by a passage,” I said.
“They were,” she said, over her shoulder. “The one you’re staying in was the original family home where my grandmother lived as a child, and this one was built a little later. I’m not really sure why, to be honest.”
“Are all of these paintings of the family?” I asked.
“Yes.” She stopped and pointed at one.
It was definitely the man from the letter, right down to the scar on his cheek. I shivered as I looked into his icy blue eyes. “Scary,” I said, without even realizing it.
“Apparently he was. A very, very hard and difficult man. We don’t really talk about him much, and some of his pictures were taken down because we didn’t want them up.”
“Why?” I asked.
She shrugged and suddenly looked embarrassed. “He was very . . .” She paused and swallowed hard—I could hear it. “He was, uh . . . very . . . racist,” she said quietly.
“Oh. OH!” I said, although this wasn’t news to me.
“His daughters were all scared of him; I think that’s why they all moved away. Except for my grandmother, Edith—she was the only one who stayed here. But I don’t think she stayed of her own free will.”
“Really?” The pennies began dropping. I could almost hear them in my head, the sound of them falling into a tin can. “Can I see a painting of her?” I said quickly.
“I can do better than that.” Ash walked further down the hall and I followed her. “There’s a beautiful photo of her from her wedding day.”
My heart thumped in my chest as Ash stopped at yet another gold-framed picture. I was so eager to see her, but, when I finally did, I felt like crying. She looked so beautiful in her vintage wedding dress, holding her bouquet of white flowers that hung all the way down to the floor. She stood next to a handsome man. There was no doubt about it, he was very good looking—clean cut and smiling from ear to ear. Edith was smiling too, but her smile was different from his. She had a Mona Lisa smile, the kind that concealed something. And her smile certainly didn’t extend to her eyes, which seemed distant and far away, as if they were looking at something else.
“She looks sad, right?” Ash said, leaning closer to the picture.
“Yes, she does,” I immediately returned. “Why?” I asked.
“It was basically an arranged marriage. Her father organized it. I think she was terrified.”
I leaned in and looked closer. She wasn’t terrified. She was heartbroken. She didn’t know how she was going to live without the man she loved, let alone breathe without him.
“But I guess they grew to love each other. They had three kids,” she said. “My mom was one of them. Apparently, I got my artistic abilities from my grandmother; she was an artist.”
“Oh? Do you have any of her paintings?” I asked.
“There was a fire and they were all destroyed.”
“Really?” I perked up.
Ash looked over at me. “She never painted again, after that. Who knows, maybe she had an artistic temper and burned them all herself because she hated them. I can relate to that,” Ash said, dismissively.
But that wasn’t what had happened at all. I knew that. I looked back at the photo of her.
“What date did they get married?” I scanned the picture for a date.
Ash reached up and pulled it off the wall. She turned it around in her hands and read out the date: “The first of December, 1949.”
My heart thumped. The letters had ended just before this date. This was where my love story technically ended, but I just couldn’t see it really ending there. My mind was ticking away, forming connections, joining the dots and creating images and pictures and filling in the gaps.
We continued walking until we got to a massive room that was completely unfurnished, apart from some canvasses standing in the middle of it. I looked around in wonder. I’d never seen such a big room in a private home before.
“This used to be the dining hall,” she said.
“It’s enormous!” I exclaimed.
“I know. It’s pretty impressive. It’s actually where my grandmother got married.”
“Really?” I swung around and looked at her in surprise.
“The aisle she walked down was right there, where you’re standing.”
I looked down at my feet and was overcome by such devastation. She’d walked over the very spot where I was standing as she made her way down the aisle to marry a man she didn’t love. Leaving behind, forever, a man she’d loved with her entire heart and soul. I could almost hear her footsteps as she walked over the wooden floor towards a destiny that was not hers. Sad, tentative footsteps.
“Wait!” Ash said. “Why aren’t you over at the cat show? It’s starting soon.”
“Huh?” I looked up at her, almost forgetting, and then quickly remembered. “I, uh . . . just wanted to come here quickly and apologize for last night, and then I was going to go.”
Ash looked down at her watch. “It starts in half an hour; you should get going.”
“I will,” I said. “Thanks for showing me around.”
She smiled at me and I hurried out. I wished I could have stayed longer, but I had to keep my cat story going, even if I wasn’t really going to go to the show. I was going to go to the town hall to see if I could find the secret room under the stage.
CHAPTER 35
I drove to
where Google told me to go, but, when I arrived, I got quite the fright and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The place was packed with cars and cats and people carrying cats.
I looked up at the massive banner that hung from the roof of the hall, flapping in the cool autumn breeze: Annual Persian Parade 2019. Just my luck. There was only one place I needed to see, and it was inundated with cats. I slung my bag on to my shoulder and climbed out the car. A huge queue had formed outside and I stepped into it and waited. But when I got to the front . . .
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you in unless you have a ticket,” the man at the door said, when I failed to produce such a thing. He looked like a real “cat person.” He was such a stereotype, right down to the T-shirt he was wearing that said, Cats, because people suck.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied flatly. The real reason he thought people sucked was probably due more to his bedside manner as a human, and less to do with humans at large. Because this man had the social graces of an aardvark. He had beady eyes, his shirt was covered in cat hair, he wore thick glasses and, quite frankly, there was a strange smell that seemed to linger on him.
“I lost my ticket.” I tried to put some flirt in my voice; it didn’t work. I fluttered my eyelashes a little, too, hoping that perhaps my feminine wiles would get me in . . . Wait—what was I thinking? This was 2019! Women didn’t do that anymore. How truly un-feminist of me! It didn’t work, anyway; the man was unswayed.
He shook his head. “No ticket, no entry. We have been sold out for months, now.”
“Pleeeease, is there noooooo way I can get in? Pleeeease?” I tried a new approach. Begging. It was undignified and revolting and I hated myself for doing it, but I was desperate.
A few people behind me sounded like they were getting irritated. They looked like they were dying to go in, as if this was the highlight of their entire year. The man looked at me blankly. Still unmoved. Concrete features on his face. Unblinking.
“I guess that’s a hard no, then?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t respond. “Okey-dokey, a hard no it is. I get it.” I left the queue, much to the relief of the others.
I turned and looked at the hall. Crap! I needed to get into this place. A potential clue was waiting inside, but the man was still staring at me, as if he knew I was up to something. I started whistling a tune and made my way around to the back of the building, where I found a steel door labeled Exit.
I grabbed the handle, but it was locked. There was no way in. I was just about to turn around and leave when a woman burst through the door, looking agitated. She reminded me of the woman in the lift—the one with the brows. She held the door open with her foot and lit a cigarette as if her life depended on how quickly she managed to inhale it. She released the smoke with a huge sigh.
“Hey,” I said, acting casual.
“Hey!” She sounded pissed off.
“Bad day?” I asked.
“Our cat groomer couldn’t make it. The show is in less than an hour.”
“Oh, that’s a pity,” I said, playing along.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears, and that’s when I jumped without thinking. Without even pausing to think about thinking, without even—
“I’m a cat groomer.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked, looking at me suspiciously. “What are you doing out here?”
I rolled my eyes and gestured at her cigarette. “Trying to quit.”
The woman looked down at her cigarette. “Tell me about it.”
“Have you tried vaping?” I asked, adding some more details to my story for authenticity, even though I thought vaping was literally one of the worst things ever to have happened to the world.
“Didn’t work,” she said.
“Me neither. I even did hypnotherapy once,” I said. “I did manage to stop biting my nails, though.” I held my hands up and she smiled at me.
“So, who have you groomed?” she asked.
“Uh . . . Well, last year, I groomed Lady Catterly of Kitashia,” I said, thinking about the car I’d stolen the sticker from.
“Lady Catterly won last year!” She dropped her cigarette and put it out with a stomp of her foot.
Shit. I hadn’t really meant to choose such a high-profile cat. But it was the only cat’s name that I knew.
“Are you grooming her this year?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“How much do you charge?” she asked.
“Oh . . . uh, you know. Industry norm.”
“So, about 500 rand?” she asked.
“Exactly.” I smiled. “Would you like me to . . . ?”
“Yes! But where are your tools?” she asked, looking at me.
“Oh, they’re inside,” I said quickly.
“Great! Thanks. This is such a lifesaver. I really feel like Countess Claw-dette has a real chance, this year.”
I smiled at her. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” she asked.
“Sam.” I smiled as I said it, walking straight inside.
“I’m Greta.” She closed the door behind us and I couldn’t believe my luck.
I was in!
CHAPTER 36
Oh My God!
I looked around as I followed Greta through the room. I’d never seen anything like it in my entire life. It was literally full of people and cats, and I felt my nose itch.
“Here we are,” she said, as we arrived at a table with a cage on it.
I looked inside the cage; the bloody cat was huge! An enormous grey thing with bright green eyes, its squished face gave it a distinctly grumpy look.
“This is Countess Claw-dette.” She opened the cage and placed the massive ball of fluff on the table in front of me. The fluff immediately collapsed, stretching out regally. It looked like a particularly lazy thing. Not the kind of cat that was out hunting small creatures and climbing trees.
“She’s gorgeous.” I didn’t know the first thing about cats. This could be a cross-breed runt with a gammy paw and I wouldn’t know.
“You think?” Greta asked quickly.
I nodded. “Definitely. Very regal.”
Greta smiled, and I suddenly felt very bad. Oh God, why did I keep getting myself into these terrible situations? Was I just a terrible person? Greta looked at me expectantly and I jumped.
“Right. Yes!” I took a step closer to the cat. “Better get started, then. Time to turn lovely Claw-dette, here, into a paw-fect winner.”
Greta laughed at my lame joke, and now I felt really bad! I looked down at the cat. There was so much of it, where did one start? I didn’t know what to do, I’d never groomed a cat before, so I reached out and placed my hands on its head. Greta looked at me, clearly confused.
“I like to gauge the cat’s vibe first,” I said, answering her silent question of, What the hell are you doing to my cat?
“And?” she asked, looking interested.
“Great vibe. A real winner, here. She seems very psyched for the competition,” I added quickly, as I stroked the cat and smiled up at her.
“You communicate with them?” she asked, with wide eyes.
Oh, damn—what had I just done? “It’s more of a feeling I get, you know. A sense of the animal.”
“That’s incredible.” She smiled at her cat as if it were her most prized possession. “What else are you picking up on?”
“Uh . . . well—” I put my hands by the cat’s head again—“she loves you very much.”
Greta raised a hand to her chest. “Aaaah . . .” She seemed genuinely touched by this. “Can you tell her I love her, too?” she asked.
For fuck’s sake, Becca! How had I gone from groomer to pet psychic in thirty seconds? This was all ridiculous and I really needed to put an end to it. “She knows, Greta. She knows.” God, I needed to get out of here. “Oh damn,” I said. “I need to fetch my tools from the
other table. I’ll just go and get them.” I started backing away from her, but she reached out and stopped me with a hand on the shoulder.
“No worries; I have everything you need.” She pulled a brush out of her bag and handed it to me. “We’ve lost enough time, already. We need to get started.”
Double damn!
I took the brush and moved towards the cat again. Just brush her. Just brush her. How hard could this be?
“Hey, kitty,” I said to the cat, who looked very unimpressed with me. Or maybe it was just her face. This cat had a real resting bitch face.
“Her face needs a trim, too, as you can see,” Greta said, passing me some nail scissors.
The cat’s whole body looked like it needed a bloody trim.
“Her eyes also need cleaning, and her nose.”
“Of course,” I said, feeling this massive wave of performance anxiety push down on me as I started to lower the brush towards the cat. It was as if it went in slow motion, as if the whole world was watching me, waiting for the brush to come down on the cat—and, as it did, the cat purred. I smiled, thrilled that I’d done the right thing.
“She likes you,” Greta said. “She doesn’t like many people.”
“I have a way with cats,” I said, as I brushed her thick fur.
Greta gave an even bigger smile and her shoulders relaxed. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of coffee.” She took a step away from me. It looked like she was leaving. Perfect!
“No, thanks, not for me.” I smiled at her as she turned and started to walk away. Lying to this poor woman was one thing, but then also taking coffee from her? I couldn’t do that.
“Trim the face. Don’t forget,” she said, over her shoulder.
I nodded. “Doing it right now.” I lowered the scissors towards the cat’s face as Greta left.
I was just about to put the scissors down and walk away when someone came up behind me. I turned and saw an elderly woman with a badge that read Judge, and she was looking closely at Countess Claw-dette.
