Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  Someone else who was sceptical of all mysteries involving animals asked, ‘Which ear has your Kitty got that’s black?’

  Marie and Zack both spoke at once.

  Marie said, ‘Her right ear.’

  Zack said, ‘Left ear.’

  Spontaneous applause broke out.

  Zack, disgruntled by their mockery, said, ‘Just depends where you’re standing when you say it.’

  ‘In any case what’s the cat got to do with stealing lead?’

  Zack wasn’t too sure about that. But then he remembered Marie saying that their Kitty would do a better job finding the thieves than the police were doing. So he explained that, and then he added, ‘And I agree with Marie she could; she’s bright, is our cat.’

  Unfortunately that night Kitty was killed crossing over the by-pass, presumably on her way home to Turnham Malpas, which, sad though it was, appeared to prove she really was involved seeking out lead thieves. And this was how Kitty joined Jimmy’s legendary Sykes the Jack Russell in the mystical animal stories of Turnham Malpas.

  Chapter 19

  Fran had begun receiving regular texts from Chris. At first she read them minutely, savouring every single word. But after a week of receiving texts at least once a day, she began to bin them the moment she knew they were from Chris. He began by asking how she was, then he moved on to telling her she was always in the forefront of his mind, and the seventh one asked her to visit him in Brazil.

  Fran was tempted, very tempted. But he still hadn’t mentioned the distress of her miscarriage. There was no mention at all of what she had gone through; no sympathy, no regret, no sadness at his loss either. She stopped reading his messages. Damn him. Damn him.

  She worked in the store, harder than ever if that were possible. And gradually she began to rediscover her enthusiasm, so that some days she loved what she did, while on others she simply tolerated the work but had to struggle to be interested. But the texts still kept coming, and occasionally she read them. Finally he was begging her to reply. So she did: NOT COMING. STOP TEXTING.

  But he didn’t stop, except now they were longer messages sent less frequently. Inside Fran was desperately grieving for Chris, but mostly for the baby.

  She still enjoyed the gossip just like her Dad did, and she overheard Marie one day, sitting in the corner by the coffee machine enjoying her free coffee, while talking to Jimbo. ‘It broke my heart when our Kitty got killed, you know, Jimbo. She was such an interesting cat. So Zack and I went to the animal rescue yesterday and we’ve chosen a four-month-old kitten someone abandoned in that old quarry where they found . . . what was her name? I’m blessed if I can remember. I know! Jenny Sweetapple, her that was murdered. Anyway, this kitten’s beautiful. She’s a tabby with streaks of ginger, and we’re calling her Tilly, don’t ask me why, and we’re collecting her tomorrow. I can’t wait.’

  Jimbo said, ‘I’m not that keen on cats.’

  Marie looked up at him in surprise. ‘Your Flick had two.’

  ‘I know she did but I never liked them.’

  Suddenly out of the blue their conversation was interrupted by Fran. ‘I’d like a cat.’

  There was such longing in her voice that Jimbo recognised it and tempered his reply accordingly. ‘Well, I’m not that keen, but their plus is you don’t have to exercise them like when you have a dog.’

  Their conversation was interrupted by a rep arriving to see Jimbo and a customer wanting a frozen coffee gateau that required Fran going into the back to the main freezer and picking one out for her. In fact the conversation about cats never picked up again because Marie left, Jimbo went home to sort out some problem with the Inland Revenue that Jimbo described as the Inland Revenue getting far too greedy, while Fran took over in the post office because Tom had to dash home to rescue Evie from a flood in the kitchen.

  But later that night, her head having been full of wanting a kitten all day, Fran tackled her dad about it when he’d finished his evening meal. ‘I still want a kitten.’

  ‘Kittens grow up into cats, Fran.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘So I’m not too sure. Have you asked Mum?’

  ‘No. But she won’t mind.’

  ‘What if you decided to go to university? What then? We’d be left with it.’

  ‘Mum wouldn’t mind, and you never know, you might take to it straightaway.’

  ‘And I might not. Why did you throw your mobile on the floor in such a temper, just before we sat down? Are you getting unpleasant calls from someone?’

  Fran finished the last mouthful of her marmalade sponge, placed her spoon tidily in her empty dish and finally said, ‘If you want to know, I’ve started getting a lot of texts from Chris. Mostly I don’t read them, but sometimes I do. This time he’s wanting me to go to Brazil for a holiday, and he’ll buy the plane ticket and pay for it. First-class, believe it or not; that’s because I once said I’d never be well enough off to fly first-class.’

  ‘Tempting.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to accept his generous offer?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He thinks money can buy everything, but it can’t. Certainly not me anyway.’

  They heard the front door open. It was Harriet back from a meeting she’d been speaking at, and Jimbo went to greet her. Harriet came to sit down at the table while Jimbo supervised the microwave.

  ‘The talk go all right?’ asked Fran.

  ‘As well as can be expected, in the circumstances, thank you. They were all teenagers wanting to know how to become chefs overnight. What sort of a day have you had?’

  ‘All right, thanks. I want a cat. Dad says he’s not keen, but please say you are. Please.’

  ‘What’s brought this on?’

  Fran was silent for a moment and then said, ‘I just need something to love.’ Suddenly tears crept into her eyes.

  ‘Another bad day? I’m so sorry. I’ll see what I can do. Where from though?’

  ‘The cat rescue where Marie Hooper’s getting hers from tomorrow.’

  ‘Dry your tears before Dad . . .’

  Jimbo came in, placed a fresh pot of coffee on the table and put Harriet’s warmed-up supper in front of her. He sat down to enjoy another coffee with Harriet.

  ‘I’d really like a ginger cat. Ginger all over, no white feet or tummy, just ginger every bit, and I’d call him Tiger. What do you think, Mum?’

  ‘They are quite rare, ginger all over; they normally have some white.’

  ‘I know, but that’s what I want, otherwise I can’t call it Tiger. Please.’

  Jimbo kept his own counsel and waited to see the turn of events. He knew Fran was attempting to find something to fill the vast black hole left by Chris. He just wished the damned man would go away, preferably for ever. It might be a good thing for Fran to focus on a kitten instead of Chris and certainly a lot less painful; in fact he might just say yes.

  That night before they put out the light Jimbo told Harriet that Chris was pestering Fran with text messages.

  ‘Oh, no. The man is obsessive.’

  ‘I wonder maybe whether concentrating on training the kitten might be a good thing for her. Take her mind off him. He’s now offered for her to go for a holiday in Brazil, and he’ll pay the first-class fare.’

  ‘No! He hasn’t. Damn it. That’s where too much money becomes evil. Trouble is a kitten is a poor substitute for a good man, isn’t it? Although, I don’t know. Perhaps not.’ She smothered her laughter in her pillow.

  ‘Harriet. No, but if it helps her . . . And anyway Chris isn’t a good man.’

  ‘We still have the basket that Flick’s cats used, just needs new bedding, and it wouldn’t be on its own a lot because there’s three of us in and out of the house, and I love the dear little dishes and things they sell for cats now.’

  ‘Might be a good idea then. Shall we say yes, but kind of reluctantly, don’t give in too easily.’

  ‘Why
not be enthusiastic, just this once? She does need help to recover. Chris is a total cad, as my mother would have said.’

  Jimbo propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to kiss Harriet. ‘You’re right, she does. Goodnight, my darling, goodnight.’

  ‘I’m going right now to tell her.’

  ‘No, leave it till morning and then say you can go with her to the cat sanctuary or whatever it’s called straightaway tomorrow. More than likely they won’t have what she wants and so it’ll give us some breathing space to acclimatise ourselves to the idea. That way she can’t feel we’ve rejected her.’

  ‘There is one thing that I am determined on. We get a cat, no messing. She is desperate and that fool in Brazil hasn’t as much compassion in the whole of his body as she has in her little finger; she feels things very deeply. Remember that. She thinks the bouquet came from Chris, but it didn’t.’

  ‘It said so.’

  ‘It was the florist who wrote the card, as it always is when you do it over the phone; and I know that the florist acted according to Johnny’s instructions.’

  ‘Just a minute, I didn’t know you were a confidante of Johnny Templeton.’

  ‘I’m not, Alice told me.’

  ‘Ah, right. It makes Chris even more of a pig of a man than I thought. I should have hit him twice as hard.’

  ‘Considering the damage you did in the first round, I rather think not. Goodnight. I can’t wait for tomorrow.’

  The following morning Harriet did her yoga as usual but cut her programme short because she couldn’t wait any longer to tell Fran of their decision.

  ‘Fran, I know it’s your day off—’

  ‘It isn’t, that’s tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, it’s been changed. You have to have today off.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, you see I’m going to the cat rescue to look for a kitten or a young cat, whichever. Ginger, I thought. Come with me?’

  Fran sat up in bed, her face aglow. ‘You mean for me, a kitten for me? Is it all right with Dad?’

  ‘Of course. You can use Flick’s old cat basket and we’ll find some old blanket and cut it up, and I have a cushion I’ve no use for, so it can have that in the bottom. What do you think?’

  Fran was out of bed and heading for her bathroom. ‘I’m coming!’

  On the way to the cat rescue, Fran said, ‘We’d better not go, they’ll think I’m an idiot wanting a kitten at my age. Turn round, and we’ll go home.’

  ‘Certainly not. We’ll say the house feels empty now the other cat has died.’

  ‘Which other cat? We haven’t got one.’

  ‘I know but we can always say we have, mention Flick’s cat basket, you know, as if it’s only just been vacated. In fact I have a tear coming to my eye right now just thinking about it. Remember it was called Muffet. Kidney problems and old age, it died of.’

  ‘Honestly, Mum. OK then. It’s a family cat and not just mine. But it’s mine when we get home.’

  ‘That’s right. And no tears if they haven’t got one to adopt. We may have to wait for a while.’

  ‘I know. No tears, promise.’

  Fran leapt out of the car when they arrived in the cat rescue car park, then recollected she was twenty-one now although she felt eleven, straightened her face, and followed her mother into reception.

  There were regiments of cats of all colours and all sizes. Fran had never seen so many. Cage after cage. Black, white, tabby, part Siamese, part this, part that, and overwhelmingly adult. Some were cruelty cases brought back to full health; one had only three legs, another only one proper ear, one was totally deaf, another had only one eye. But while Fran felt incredibly compassionate about the damaged ones, she knew she had to have one in perfect health because at the moment she felt quite enough damaged without having a cat that was damaged too. She almost went back to take a second look at the damaged ones though, but she hardened her heart.

  Fran was standing watching three kittens playing together, obviously from the same family as they were all black with white markings in differing degrees of intensity. While she watched she felt something pulling at her jeans round about her ankle.

  She turned to see what it was. It was a tiny cream-coloured kitten in the next cage trying to get her attention because it wanted to play and couldn’t quite reach her. ‘Oh, Mum! Just look at that.’ Around its ears it tended to be chocolate coloured, but the chocolate was haphazard as though it had made an attempt to be Siamese but it hadn’t quite worked. ‘Oh, isn’t it beautiful.’

  Harriet wouldn’t allow herself to become captivated. ‘That’s not ginger and it’s never going to be either.’

  ‘I know. It’s like a Siamese misfit, just like I feel I am. A misfit, ever since . . .’

  ‘Fran. Stop it. I won’t have you talk like that. It’s not you who is the misfit, believe me. Go ask about this kitten’s history then, and perhaps they’ll let you hold it for a while. I think it looks too young to be going to a new home just yet, so don’t get upset if we can’t take it with us.’

  Half an hour later after both of them had played with it and completely fallen in love, they left. It had been agreed they could take the kitten home two weeks from today.

  ‘Oh, Mum, thanks for agreeing. Dad will like her, I’m sure. She is so sweet.’

  ‘She is. She looks naughty to me.’

  Fran looked delighted. ‘Really? Do you think so? Good. I’ll be pleased if she is. I can’t call her Tiger, can I? I’ll have to have a good think.’

  ‘She needs a distinguished name, if she’d been a boy Orlando would have been a good name.’

  ‘Orlando? For heaven’s sake, Mum!’

  Two weeks seemed to take an age to pass, but inevitably it did and Harriet deliberately pretended she’d too much to do to spare the time to go for the kitten, so reluctantly Fran went on her own with a brand new travelling cage in the back of her estate.

  She signed for it and became its official owner, and she drove home in her new role as little Bonnie’s owner. Fran couldn’t explain the feelings she had about Bonnie; they were so powerful that she almost couldn’t cope with them. Just how she’d been about Chris, but in a very different way. Overwhelmed, passionate, deeply possessive, deeply . . . she ran out of words, although Fran knew whatever the words were she was searching for, Bonnie was hers to be loved.

  She parked the car and got out full of excitement. But there was no Bonnie in the travelling cage. The door was open and she’d gone. Eventually Fran discovered her hiding amongst the collection of belongings Fran couldn’t travel without, curled in a ball under the plastic raincoat Fran had flung in the back of her estate one wet day when the raincoat was too sodden to take inside to dry. With relief she scooped up Bonnie, secured her in the cage and rushed her inside. Very, very gently, and with as little fuss as possible so as not to alarm Bonnie, Fran opened the cage and sat waiting. But Bonnie wasn’t for coming out, and so Fran went into the kitchen to get the bowl already filled with water before she left and put it on the carpet in front of the cage. Very slowly Bonnie took her first steps in her new home, stood on the edge of the water bowl, turned the bowl almost upside down, the water soaked her through before it soaked the carpet and the shock made her cry out.

  Bonnie shot back into the safety of the travelling cage and refused to come out ever again. Until, that is, Fran put a bowl of very tempting food in front of the cage, and when hunger got the better of her Bonnie dared to come out. Her new owner sat on the carpet to watch her eat. When Bonnie finished her food she glanced up at Fran. They looked at each other for a long moment and a bond developed between the two of them in that moment, which Fran knew could never be broken. Stuff Chris and his first-class travel. This was far, far better than that. This was loving on a grand scale, every minute of every day. All the same a feeling of desolation crept into Fran’s heart that she resolutely pushed away.

  Chapter 20

  Craddock Fitch had several cards sent to him
by his newly discovered grandchildren, and he had been thrilled to receive them. He immediately sent cards by return. But the biggest surprise of all was answering the front door one lunchtime, just when he was wishing that Kate would be home for lunch soon, and finding his son Michael on the doorstep. This strange oddball of a son said, ‘Hallo, Craddock Dad. Are you too busy to talk?’

  ‘I’m never busy nowadays. Come in. Please.’

  Michael came in and stood looking at his father. ‘You know I was too young to have a memory of you, but I’m glad . . . you know . . . glad we’ve met.’

  ‘So am I. I was just about to make my lunch. Have you time to have some with me?’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  Craddock was intensely aware of this tall skinny man following him into the kitchen. Michael had done all that growing and he, his father, had never seen it happen, and now Craddock felt shattered by the thought. ‘You were coming this way on business?’

  ‘Truth to tell, I’ve taken a day off to come to see you. I never take days off, never take holidays, except if Graham and Anita ask me to go with them. Nowhere to go and no one to go with. A sad state of affairs. So I thought about you and decided that I did have somewhere to go now, so I’ve come if that’s all right with you. But I’ll go immediately if that’s what you want.’

  Craddock was overcome with sorrow. This was what a ruinous family life had done to Michael. Craddock turned to face him and, meaning every word he uttered, he said, ‘While ever I am alive, you’ll always have somewhere to come. Don’t forget that.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you for saying that. Graham’s different from me, you see. He’s got a different kind of confidence, he can take hold of life in both hands, and he has so much belief in himself he can go right ahead, find a lovely wife and have five children with her. But me, when my mother left us I was ten and Graham was twelve, and it nearly finished me. I turned into the school bully, a thoroughly unpleasant son to Cosmo; he must have despaired of me, until I discovered this talent I had for computers, where everything was certain, permanent and secure. And I made it my life.’