Ten Things My Cat Hates About You

by Lottie Lucas

  I’m saved from my own thoughts as he snags me by the waist and pulls me against him, bending his head to brush a kiss across my lips. It fairly takes my breath away, and I sound decidedly wheezy as I ask, “How long have you been up?”

  “A while. I wake up at six every morning, whether I like it or not. Yet another hazard of the job. You were still sleeping; I thought I might as well make good use of the time.”

  He flips the bacon, and my stomach responds with a low growl.

  “This looks amazing. I’m absolutely starving.”

  He smiles knowingly. “I thought you might be.”

  I’m about to reach up and kiss him again when a movement catches the corner of my eye, and I spin around to see Freddie sitting at the far end of the kitchen table, a half eaten bacon sandwich in front of him.

  “Freddie,” I splutter, automatically springing away from Josh. “I didn’t think you were up and about yet.”

  “Evidently,” he says, with a barely disguised smirk.

  I glare at him.

  He looks back at me with raised eyebrows.

  “My fault, I’m afraid.” Josh’s transferring the bacon onto a slice of bread, so has missed our silent sibling exchange. “I opened the kitchen door when I came downstairs and Casper got through. I had no idea he could be so quick.”

  “He came straight upstairs and jumped on my bed,” Freddie adds petulantly.

  I smile privately to myself. Casper’s bad behaviour does have its occasional uses.

  “You did get breakfast by way of apology,” Josh points out good-naturedly.

  “True,” Freddie muses. “Why don’t we ever have bacon sandwiches in the morning, Clara?”

  “Because this isn’t a hotel,” I retort.

  Josh slices the sandwich into triangles and puts it on a plate, which he hands to me.

  “Are you not having one?” I ask in surprise as he starts putting the things away.

  “I ate earlier. Besides, I’d better get going. I have hockey practice at half nine.”

  I bite into my sandwich and try to swallow my disappointment. Although I suppose I get to carry the image of him scampering around in brief shorts for the rest of the day, which is some consolation.

  Vaguely, I realise that he’s still talking.

  “I’m sorry to rush off like this, but I’ll give you a call later, okay?” he’s saying as he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair, checking the pockets for his phone. And then, just as soon as he appeared, he’s gone, only pausing to brush a kiss across my lips before he’s off into the cold, bright morning with a slam of the front door.

  Silence reigns in the kitchen for several moments. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, I force myself to look at Freddie.

  “He was just … I mean, that was nothing …”

  He doesn’t look impressed by my bungled attempts at an explanation.

  “Clara, you’re a twenty-five-year-old woman. You can do what you like. You won’t hear any judgement from me.”

  For a second, I don’t know how to respond. I’m actually quite touched that he’s being so understanding. Maybe he really has started to grow up lately.

  My train of thought comes to an abrupt end as he proceeds to ruin it by adding, “Even if it is with the local vet. What next? The milkman? The man who delivers fish on a Friday?”

  He’s impossible. Usually, I could take the joke, but suddenly a strange mood has come over me. Josh’s kiss is still tingling on my lips; now he’s gone, I feel listless and fidgety. How am I ever going to concentrate on anything else today?

  I need a distraction. But what …?

  I’d begun to stalk out of the room in umbrage, but now I slowly turn on the spot as an idea begins to form in my mind.

  “What are you doing today, dearest brother of mine?”

  He immediately looks suspicious. “Why are you asking?”

  I’ll take that as nothing, then.

  “Upstairs,” I command, whipping his empty plate away before he can protest. “You can have the first shower.”

  Now he just looks wary. “Why, what are we doing?”

  I drop the plate into the dishwasher and close the door. “Get dressed and you’ll find out.”

  ***

  “Punting?”

  The incredulity in Freddie’s voice is palpable.

  I roll my eyes in exasperation. “Yes,” I explain slowly. “It’s involves a boat, a river and a pole.”

  “I know what it is. But why?”

  That’s about the twelfth time he’s used the word why already, and it’s barely eleven o’clock in the morning. It’s like having a small child with me.

  “Why not? We used to do it all the time when we were kids.”

  Dad used to take us. I don’t say that part out loud but, by the beat of silence which follows, I know that Freddie’s thinking it all the same.

  He points at a nearby punt, which is bobbing gently on the surface of the water. “That looks like a reasonably sturdy craft.”

  I clamber in tentatively, only to be followed by Freddie jumping on after me. I clutch at the sides as the boat wobbles precariously. “Freddie! I don’t want us to capsize.”

  “I think it’s pretty hard to capsize one of these.” He retrieves the pole and passes it over to me. “Come on, then. You can do the first leg. If I remember rightly, you’ll be whingeing for me to take over before we’ve made it to the second bridge.”

  I stand on the back of the boat, trying to keep my balance. The smooth surface of the wood is wet and the rubber soles of my plimsolls struggle to gain much purchase. I prod at the riverbed with the pole.

  Nothing happens.

  “We’re causing a queue,” Freddie points out, somewhat unhelpfully.

  “It’s harder than it looks!” I snap.

  With a gargantuan effort, I try again, jubilant when the boat inches forward slightly.

  Okay, so here’s something I’d forgotten about punting. The boats apparently have a mind all of their own. No matter how hard I try, it’s almost impossible to make it go straight. Instead, we zigzag along the river in a disjointed, lurching fashion for several painstaking minutes, Freddie looking less and less impressed as we go on.

  “Do you want me to take over?” he asks at last.

  “I’m fine,” I say, feeling hopelessly flustered. “I’m just … reacquainting myself with the technique, that’s all.”

  We go under a low arched bridge and I duck, almost losing control of the boat altogether in the process. Why did I have to suggest this? I think despairingly. I’d thought that doing something nostalgic would be a good chance for us to bond, maybe even get him to open up to me about what’s on his mind. Now I’m wondering if we couldn’t have bonded just as well over a drink in a nice warm pub somewhere.

  As we emerge from beneath the bridge, though, the sight which greets us immediately makes me take it all back. How could I have forgotten about this view?

  There’s a reason they call this stretch of the river the Cambridge Backs. All along the bank, flanked by manicured lawns and terraced gardens, is a part of Cambridge which can only really be seen from the water. The backs of the colleges rise up out of the ground in towers of honey-coloured stone, every piece as impressive as the frontages which face onto the street. We pass King’s College chapel, its unmistakable outline reaching for the heavens. Clare College sits solidly next to it, a rigid block of pure Classical architecture, softened by serene walled gardens with views out across the river.

  “Best view in Cambridge,” Freddie and I both murmur in unison, before looking at one another in surprise.

  “You remember that?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t think you did.” His eyes glaze over wistfully. “Those were some of the best days of our childhood. Dad loved it out here.”

  “It was a lot of fun, even when it was going wrong,” I agree. “Do you remember the time when the pole got stuck in the mud on the riverbed and Dad ended up clinging onto i
t while the boat drifted away with us in it? We weren’t very old at the time.”

  Freddie smiles in recollection. “And he made us swear never to tell Mum about it.”

  “She’d have killed us all if she’d found out. I suppose we’re lucky that it turned out the way it did. It could have been much worse.”

  “We’d have been fine. Dad always knew what to do.” Freddie sighs deeply. “Sometimes I wish there was a way that I could still ask him stuff. Get his advice, you know?”

  He’s gazing out across the surface of the water, looking totally lost, and in that moment I know that we’re talking about something specific here.

  This is the moment. I might not get another opening.

  “Freddie,” I venture. “You know, if there’s anything you want to tell me …”

  A heavy thud makes us both jump. The boat, left to its own devices while we were talking, has lodged itself firmly against the side of the riverbank. I try to push off, but it won’t budge.

  “Are we stuck?” Freddie asks, watching me beadily.

  “Er … no.”

  “We are, aren’t we?” He stands, causing the boat to rock from side to side. “Here, hand it over. I’ll fix this.”

  His patronising tone makes me bristle. “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

  “Don’t be stubborn, Clara.” He’s grabbed the pole and is trying to wrench it out of my grasp. “Just give it to me.”

  “No way.” I yank it back towards me. “Let go.”

  “You let go.”

  “No, you—”

  My feet slip backwards. The momentum’s against me and for a split second I’m in mid-air.

  Then I hit the water. It crashes over my head, submerging me in its icy embrace. I surface, gasping with cold and shock.

  “Clara!” Freddie’s peering down at me from the safety of the boat. “Are you all right?”

  “All right?” I screech, flapping my arms around wildly in fury. “No, I am bloody not all right. I’m in the river!”

  He actually starts to laugh, the swine.

  “Are you crazy?” a voice bellows from somewhere along the bank.

  The next thing I know, there’s a splash as someone takes a flying leap into the water. I go still, watching in astonishment as they emerge, dripping wet and furious.

  “What the hell?” Adam splutters as water cascades off his head. Then his eyes lock with mine. “It’s you. Why am I not surprised?”

  Chapter 13

  “What are you doing here?” I yelp, my voice coming out several octaves higher in surprise.

  “This is my college.” He gestures towards the sweep of lawns behind him as he struggles to his feet. The water only comes up to his waist. “I was on my way back from a tutorial. I thought you were drowning.” He glares at me accusingly. “Obviously, I was wrong.”

  A tutorial? On a Saturday? I feel for his students.

  “Well, no,” I say lamely. “The Cam’s not very deep around here. Didn’t you know that?”

  “No, because, believe it or not, I’ve never had cause to dunk myself in it before.”

  Freddie stifles another laugh, and I shoot him a warning glance. Adam doesn’t look in the mood to find humour in the situation just yet. In fact, he looks positively thunderous.

  “This is my brother, Freddie,” I say speedily. “Freddie, this is Adam. He’s a professor at the university.”

  “Hi.” Freddie stretches out a hand. Adam stares at him like’s he’s totally mad.

  “Charming as these introductions are,” he says acerbically, “don’t you think we’d better get out of the river first? Before we freeze to death?”

  I suppose he has a point. But, then again, he doesn’t need to be so damning about it. It’s not like it’s my fault that he came hurtling into the water like a hero in a Victorian novel. And what kind of person lives in Cambridge and doesn’t know anything about the river? Has he never been punting, or something?

  I take another look at his stern face and immediately conclude that no, he hasn’t. I don’t imagine that a workaholic professor has much time for such frivolities.

  “Come on.” Freddie pulls me back into the boat. Immediately, I start to shiver as the wind bites into my wet clothes. He gestures to Adam. “Do you want a lift back into town?”

  Adam shakes his head, eyeing our boat distrustfully “It’s all right. I have my bike.”

  “You can’t go home on that,” I protest, between my chattering teeth. “You’ll catch your death. Come back with us. It’s the least we can do.” I’d never forgive myself if he caught pneumonia on my account. “We only live on the other side of the park, and I’m sure Freddie’s got some spare clothes you can use.”

  He still looks reluctant. But then the breeze picks up and he shudders. I can practically see his resolve crumbling.

  “All right.” He allows Freddie to help him onto the punt.

  It’s a quiet journey back. The cold has completely sapped my energy, and Adam doesn’t look much better. His pale face is in sharp contrast to his black hair. I’ve never been so relieved to see my house as I am this afternoon. I almost cry with joy when the front door closes behind us and I’m enveloped in warmth. I will never complain about Freddie turning the heating up ever again.

  Adam insists that I have first use of the bathroom, and I don’t put up much of a fight. By this point, I’m so numb with cold that I can hardly feel my legs. I stand under the shower, letting the jets pummel me with hot water, thawing me from the outside in. After that I feel better, but nonetheless I pull on my warmest jumper and stuff my feet into my fluffiest socks. Right now, glamour is not high on my list of priorities.

  Even Freddie’s obviously taken pity on us because when I come down there’s a cup of tea waiting and a saucepan of tomato soup on the hob. Above us, I can hear the sound of the shower turning on.

  “Here—” he hands the mug to me, and I cradle it in my hands, revelling in the hot steam curling off it “—this will help.”

  “Thanks.” I take a large gulp, not caring that it’s too hot. As far as I’m concerned at the moment, there’s no such thing as too hot.

  We stand in companionable silence for several minutes.

  “So, who is he?” Freddie demands suddenly.

  I almost splutter my tea everywhere. “I told you. He’s a professor at the university.”

  Freddie leans back against the counter, folding his arms. “Yes, but who is he to you?”

  I frown at him over the rim of my cup. Why does everyone keep assuming that there’s something going on between us? It’s utterly perplexing. “Since when did you get so nosy?”

  He gives me an arch look. “What, because nosiness is solely the prerogative of sisters?”

  “No,” I shoot back. “But brothers never normally bother to ask.”

  “Am I interrupting something?” Adam appears in the doorway. His hair is damp and curling at the ends, and he’s wearing a grey T-shirt and jeans, both borrowed from Freddie. It’s a good thing they’re both tall because they fit … Well, they fit very nicely, as it happens. I’ve never seen him out of his tweed jacket, so the sight of his toned arms is a surprise. He’s more athletic than I’d expected.

  It’s so strange, seeing him in clothes which don’t age him by about thirty years. He looks different. Younger, somehow. I mean, of course, I knew he was young, but something about him usually makes you forget.

  “Not at all.” Freddie beats a less than subtle retreat. “I’ll … er … leave you to it. Places to be, you know.”

  Great, now my brother’s got it into his head that I’m some sort of temptress, with a man in every port. Or at least every district of Cambridge. I sincerely hope that this doesn’t get back to Dominic. I’ll never live it down.

  “Here.” I thrust a cup of tea at Adam, who’s scanning my bookshelf of romantic novels and spiritual self-help guides with a dubious expression. “Freddie made it. I warn you, it’ll be vile, but at least it’s
hot.”

  He takes a sip, then visibly tries not to pull a face.

  “Does your brother live here with you, then?”

  “No, he’s just squatting temporarily. Not that you’d know it; he seems to have taken over the whole house.” I fidget with the handle of my cup, trying to gear up to what I want to say. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I know you were just trying to do a good deed. You must feel like I’m a plague on your life.”

  “Like I said, trouble does seem to follow you around,” he says lightly. “Although it provides a certain degree of entertainment.”

  There’s a slight curve to the corners of his mouth as he says it, which causes me to look at him sharply.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “Do I look like I’m laughing?”

  I tilt my head and regard him for a few moments, trying to make up my mind.

  “I don’t know,” I admit at last, putting my cup down on the counter behind me. “You’re not easy to read.”

  “It has been noted in the past,” he acquiesces. “Apparently it can be very frustrating.”

  He says it easily enough, but the faintest of shadows crosses his face, making me long to ask more. But of course I can’t. Something about him is so enclosed, so self-contained, it positively repels intimate questions. Irked, I throw out a challenging line.

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway. I know exactly what you think of me. You’ve made it pretty obvious.”

  He looks entirely unmoved. In fact, he almost looks bored. “I highly doubt that.”

  The soup has started to bubble violently, and I’m grateful for the excuse to turn away from him. How does he do that? One minute we’re having a perfectly civil conversation, and the next thing I know, he’s managed to push all my buttons.

  “There’s no point lying about it.” I stir the soup, horrified to find that my hand is shaking with emotion. Why does this bother me so much? “You can say it, you know. Let’s clear the air between us once and for all. You think I’m a liability.”

  “Not at all. In fact, if you must know, I think you’re fascinating.”

  I drop the spoon into the soup, my head whipping around in amazement. “Believe me, I’m not fascinating at all.”