Ten Things My Cat Hates About You

by Lottie Lucas

  “You heard that from out here?” I groan, my anger momentarily dissipating in the face of this news. Brilliant. Just what the museum needs right now: more scandal. And, yet again, I’m right at the heart of it.

  “It was so romantic.” Ruby’s eyes are shining. “I never knew he had it in him.”

  I can only assume she’s talking about Josh now; luckily, I’m used to the random leaps her mind makes. I watch the man in question as he pushes his way through the glass doors and out into the sunshine. Despite everything, I feel a small pang of longing. It’s such a shame; he really was perfect in so many ways. “Well, you’ve changed your tune,” I say sourly. Obviously, he well and truly worked his magic on her earlier. “You couldn’t stand him before.”

  “Such passion,” she’s saying dreamily. “And so well hidden, for all of this time … Apparently still waters really do run deep, after all.”

  I stare at her. I even reach up and feel her forehead to check she’s not feverish. “What on earth is wrong with you today?”

  Everyone’s acting so bizarrely; it’s like some sort of distorted dream. And, besides, I’d hardly describe Josh as still waters. More like a bubbling, sparkling stream. The kind that you can’t wait to dip your toes into on a hot summer’s day.

  Oh, Lord, listen to me. Whatever Ruby’s got, it’s obviously catching.

  “Nothing.” She regards me uncertainly. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you’d be happy.”

  “Why the hell would I be …?” I shake my head. “Never mind. I’m getting out of here. If Jeremy asks, can you tell him that I’ve gone home with a headache? I’ll make up the time later in the week.”

  “Sure,” she says slowly.

  She looks confused, which, in turn, only makes me feel confused. I have a fleeting, disquieting sensation that we might be talking at cross purposes somehow but, for the life of me, I can’t work it out.

  “Clara!” Adam appears at the top of the stairs, glowering down at me. “You are not walking away from me this time. Not until you’ve let me finish.”

  Ruby’s mouth drops open. “What the …? But I thought …”

  I barely hear her. My ears are already ringing with fury all over again. Just the sight of him is enough.

  “Watch me,” I mutter.

  I turn and whirl towards the door, slamming my way out into the street.

  ***

  I stomp along the pavement, kicking at the leaves which dare to get in my path. Autumn is well advanced now and they’ve turned an uninspiring brown, their edges curling in upon themselves.

  I’ve never been so relieved to be on my own. Well, as alone as one can hope to be in a bustling place like Cambridge. But there’s an anonymity to walking in a city which feels like solitude. None of these people know me. They rush past, not paying me the slightest attention, lost inside their own heads. I could almost be invisible, which is exactly what I want at the moment.

  I was hoping that the fresh air and the walk would calm the storm inside me, but it seems I was wrong. It’s only intensifying with every step.

  My pulse is pounding. I’m still shaking all over. I try to calm myself down with some meditative walking. Just putting one foot in front of the other, letting my mind go blank. No thoughts. Nothing but the swish of the leaves beneath my feet, the breeze tickling my face …

  What makes him think he has the right to tell me how to live my life?

  … the weak, flickering sunlight …

  Seriously, though, what?

  … clear the mind, just focus on the breath …

  Because he’s such a bloody know-it-all, that’s why.

  The answer elbows its way through forcefully. I give up on the meditative state. It was never going to happen.

  He’s insufferable. He’s always been insufferable. I should never have got involved with him. He just makes me so angry, with his supercilious air and his unwavering conviction that he’s always right, even if he knows absolutely nothing about the situation. He simply presumes that because I’ve confided a few things to him recently he knows everything there is to know about me. And that in turn gives him the right to interfere. It’s enough to make anyone see red.

  And then it makes me angry that he makes me angry. Because I am so not an angry person. I’m usually so measured, so …

  “I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life.” His voice emanates from somewhere to my right.

  I close my eyes briefly. I’m imagining it. I must be.

  Except I’m not, and I know it. I turn my head and there he is. On his bike, cycling along the edge of the road next to me.

  “Are you following me?” I demand incredulously.

  “You never let me finish,” he says stubbornly, as though that’s all the reason he needs.

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to hear it. Now go away.”

  I pick up my pace, although of course it makes no difference. He just pedals faster.

  I stalk onwards, looking straight ahead. If I ignore him, maybe he’ll give up.

  “Tell me, what does Josh think about your new exhibition?” he asks casually.

  I grit my teeth. I know exactly what he’s doing. “He’s very excited.”

  Well, what else could I say?

  “Oh, he is, is he?” Adam muses. “And will he be planning to cause a scene at the opening of that too?”

  I snap my head around. “I will push you off that bike. I mean it; don’t test me.”

  “I’m only saying what you won’t admit to yourself,” he insists.

  That does it. Whatever self-control I’ve been holding together finally cracks.

  “Do you have any idea how patronising you sound?” I cry. “As if your own life is so perfect. You can’t even stand up to your own father. You’re willing to run away from the greatest opportunity of your career just so that you don’t have to have an emotional conversation!”

  His eyes darken. “Don’t make this personal, Clara.”

  “Why not? You are. Apparently my life’s fair game for you to cast judgement upon. Why shouldn’t it work both ways?”

  His mouth sets in a grim line. “We’re going off topic.”

  “I don’t think we are.” I’ve hit a nerve, I can tell. It gives me a rush of vindictive pleasure. Let’s see how he likes a taste of his own medicine, shall we? “I think this is very much the point. Why shouldn’t we talk about you? Why should you always be the one who holds yourself at a distance, judging other people’s problems like they’re some sort of academic experiment? What makes you so superior?”

  “Don’t go there,” he says warningly. The car in front of him pulls in suddenly, and he swerves around it with a bitten-off curse.

  But I’m on a roll.

  “Why not? There’s so much to talk about. Dysfunctional family, emotional repression, inability to hold down a relationship …” I stroke my chin, pretending to muse. “You know, you’re not half as dull as you make out. The question is, where to start?”

  “Don’t try and make this about me.” Frustration colours his voice in vivid strokes. “Why can you never just accept responsibility for your actions? Why is it always everyone else’s fault?”

  That’s so below the belt that I gasp. “I do take responsibility for my actions!”

  “No, you don’t,” he scoffs. “You … oh, bollocks.”

  The traffic light has turned red and he’s forced to skid to a halt. I carry on walking, feeling jubilant.

  Not for long, though, because soon he’s back beside me, albeit panting slightly from the sprint he’s just put on.

  “You lean on everyone around you,” he gulps. “You project this aura of helplessness which makes them all come running to your aid. And then you have the gall to complain about it when they do!” He breaks off, heaves in a deep breath, then says, “Have you never once thought that perhaps the common denominator is you?”

  “Stop it!” I choke. If it wouldn’t just prove his point, I’d put my hands over
my ears to block out his words. We’re on my street now; I can see my house. Soon, I’ll be able to get away from him. From all of it. “I won’t listen to this.”

  “Maybe it’s time you did,” he says harshly. “It’s time someone made you see sense.”

  “Maybe I don’t want to see sense,” I cry, feeling faintly hysterical. “Maybe I’m okay with taking a risk. Maybe I’m okay with getting it wrong sometimes. I don’t want to be like you, Adam. Contained and narrow-minded, never having the courage to leap. I won’t live like that. I’d rather get it wrong; I’d rather be scared and embarrassed sometimes. I’d rather get hurt and cry it out. Why can’t you stand that?”

  “Because I can’t bear to see you get hurt, all right?” he yells, and it’s like the words have been ripped from his soul. “Not when … Christ, Clara, if you’d just wake up and look … maybe someone else can make you happy.”

  I stop dead. I feel like a firework has exploded over my head.

  “What are you talking about?” Surely he can’t possibly mean … “You?”

  “Yes, me! It’s always been … Damn! Casper!”

  He slams on the brakes, screeching to a halt with such force that he almost goes flying over the handlebars.

  Casper, who’s sitting in the middle of the road, looks up briefly to see what all the fuss is about, then carries on washing behind his ears.

  “This cat will be the death of me,” Adam manages weakly.

  Chapter 31

  “What did you mean, when you said it’s always been you?” I repeat. I need to hear it from him. If he’s saying what I think he’s trying to say …

  “Do you mind if I get out of the road first?” He hauls his bike onto the pavement and unclips his helmet. “And you might want to get your cat, before he causes another accident.”

  I rush forward and grab Casper, who yowls in protest at being manhandled. Just in time, I think; he looked about ready to lunge at Adam.

  “What did you mean?” I demand again, even more insistently.

  “Surely you know that.” He takes off his helmet and ruffles his hair. He looks weary. “Don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed at all. I don’t think I hid it particularly well, despite my best efforts.”

  I feel dizzy, like all the energy has rushed to my head. Can this be right? Can he really mean …?

  But yes, of course he can. All I can think about is that kiss on the bridge; the way he looked at me in my kitchen, that day after we fell in the river. It wasn’t exactly obvious, despite what he might say, but still … it was there. Can I really have been so unseeing?

  More to the point, can I really have been so woefully stubborn? Did I just not want to see it?

  Because Adam … he’s not the one. He can’t be. We’re so different. And we argue all the time. How can we possibly be suited?

  And yet …

  And yet. I look into his eyes and I feel that familiar thrum of electricity between us. It’s always been there, hasn’t it?

  Now I’m thinking about it, the images are flying through my mind unbidden. The way my pulse fluttered when I saw him in a suit. The way my pulse flutters even when he wears that hideous tweed jacket. The way I so wanted to kiss him back that night, even though I’ve never been able to admit it to myself.

  The way I love talking to him, even when he’s in a bad mood.

  The way that when I’m with him, everything suddenly seems all right.

  Me and Adam. I test it out in my mind, turning the words over. Somehow, it works. It doesn’t seem at all alien. In fact, despite everything, it sort of sounds … right. There’s no other way to describe it. Perhaps it was never meant to be Josh after all; he was only a distraction. Perhaps it was always meant to come down to this.

  Adam’s standing there, looking at me with such intensity in his face, and my heart begins to pound. Could this be it, then? The moment? The one you hear about and dream about? The moment when everything just falls into place, and you’re swept into his arms and …

  Okay, so I’ll admit it’s perhaps not quite the way I’d envisaged. I mean, ideally he’d have come whizzing along on his bike (unhindered by traffic, of course) which he would then have proceeded to dash to the ground before striding over for a gloriously romantic kiss. As it stands, we’ve had a blazing row and he’s almost run over my cat. Again.

  But you know, I find that I don’t much care. Not about the Casper thing, of course. I’m very glad he didn’t run him over. But about the rest of it. Because if I’ve realised anything today, it’s that all of that flowery romantic stuff is overrated anyway. I’d rather have something real.

  And if this is what real looks like, then I’ll take it.

  “Adam …” I begin stutteringly. Where do I even start? This has come at me sideways; I’m still a bit dazed. I give a weak laugh. “Sorry, it’s just … This is so not what I was expecting …”

  “You don’t have to say any more.” His voice is brusque.

  Taken aback, I look up at him. His face is dark with emotion, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. I feel the first warning pang of alarm; something isn’t right.

  “I’m well aware that I’m not the romantic hero you’re after,” he says bitterly. “How stupid of me to think that I might stand a chance against your fairy tale expectations.”

  “Adam, wait …” I take a step towards him. I can tell that something’s got lost in translation. “That’s not … you didn’t let me …”

  But he’s not even listening.

  “You know what?” he says wildly, jamming his helmet back on his head. “Maybe I’ve been wrong all this time. Maybe you don’t deserve better. Maybe you deserve exactly what you’ve got: someone who’ll give you all the hearts and flowers you so desperately crave, and nothing of any substance. Because that’s all you’ve ever really wanted, isn’t it?”

  I’m still reeling from how quickly this has all spun out of control. Dimly, I know that he’s just lashing out, but it doesn’t stop a responding spike of anger.

  “You don’t know what I want.”

  “Oh, don’t I? I think you’ve made it pretty clear. And you call me intractable. You’re far more closed-minded and prejudiced than I’ll ever be. You made a decision about me the first day you met me, and you’ve never even tried to revise it, have you?”

  Okay, now I’m mad.

  “Well, you made a presumption about me too!”

  “And I was right!” he yells. “You’re so wrapped up in your daydreams that you can’t even see what’s right in front of you.” He breaks off, looking away. “God, Clara, when I think of the fool I made of myself over you. The things I did … I jumped into a river after you! I put up with your demonic cat. I even got Jeremy to give you that damned speech! And all for what?”

  There’s a beat of silence.

  “You got Jeremy to do what?” I try to swallow, but my mouth has gone dry. “What are you talking about, Adam?”

  His gaze shifts away from me. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “It does to me.” My voice is rapidly rising. Another pantomime for the neighbours, I think dimly. They’ll be loving this. “What are you saying? That you … what? Called in a favour? Used your influence?”

  “It was nothing like that,” he says calmly, but there’s a tenseness about his jaw which is telling. “I simply pointed out what an underused asset you were, that’s all.”

  “That’s all?” I echo disbelievingly.

  I feel like the floor has been ripped out from under me.

  All this time … I thought I did this. I thought that my hard work had finally been noticed. But it was never that, was it? It was never even anything to do with me. It was just … politics.

  I’ve never felt so used and humiliated in my whole life.

  And then something else occurs to me.

  “What else did you offer him?” I ask in a low voice.

  Superstar academic or not, Adam’s word alone wouldn’t be enough. Jeremy would need more incentiv
e than that.

  “What did you barter me for?” I rephrase the question less delicately, not bothering to hide the contempt in my voice.

  Adam flushes. “You make it all sound so sordid. It was simply a case of …”

  “What was it?” I all but yell.

  He winces. “The subject of my next two papers. And, if I make head of department, a first year module focused around the contents of the museum.”

  “You have no respect for me at all, do you?” My voice sounds more hollow than angry. I pull Casper closer. I’d almost forgotten I was holding him, he’s been so quiet. That’s very unlike him; I get the sense that he’s listening intently. “You think I can just be moved around like some pawn on a chessboard and it won’t matter. I don’t matter.”

  “Clara, that’s not true.” His tone is like steel. “You’re overreacting.”

  If I wasn’t still holding Casper, I think I’d be tempted to hit him at this moment.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I am embarrassing you? But of course, that’s all you’d expect from a hysterical ignoramus like me, isn’t it? If I were a lofty intellectual such as yourself, I wouldn’t take it to heart.”

  “I compromised my professional code for you!” he blazes, his facade finally beginning to crack. “By rights, I should never have interfered. But I wanted to help you. Does that mean nothing?”

  “And you expected me to … what? Fall into bed with you out of sheer gratitude?” My voice drips with sarcasm.

  He stills. “Is that really what you think?”

  “I think we’ll never understand each other.” A wave of frustration engulfs me. “Just look at us; we can’t even have a civil conversation without it descending into an argument!” I shake my head. “What are we even doing, Adam? Pretending that we could ever be friends? That we could ever be more than that? We’d be a disaster from day one. You’re better off without me, truly. And I’m certainly better off without you.”

  Something flashes in the depths of his eyes. “So now you’re telling me what I need? Does the hypocrisy not strike you?”

  “Don’t throw that back at me.” To my horror, tears are beginning to build up behind my eyes. “It’s not fair.”