The Judas Scar

by Amanda Jennings

  Will moved his cursor over the Add Friend button and hovered there.

  ‘No,’ he said aloud, his voice stark against the stillness of the study. ‘Don’t.’

  But then, as if someone had moved his hand for him, he pressed send.

  Friend Request Sent.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Will, as he sat back and rubbed his face.

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  Will sat in the dead silence and closed his eyes. He saw the silhouette of Alastair Farrow’s face burnt on to the back of his eyelids, a ghostly retinal scar. He opened his eyes quickly and then leant forward and turned the computer off.

  The phone rang, piercing the silence. He snatched at the receiver.

  ‘Harmony?’ he said urgently.

  ‘No. No, it’s not Harmony, William. It’s Frank.’ Will’s heart sank. ‘Hi, Frank. Is everything okay?’

  ‘Um, well, that’s the thing,’ said Frank, his voice shaky and faint. ‘I don’t think it is. You see, Eric’s away, being important at a writer’s retreat or something, and … ’ He broke off and Will heard him take a steadying breath. ‘Well, it’s Pinwheel. He’s had a little accident … ’ He didn’t finish his sentence.

  ‘Do you need me to come over and help?’

  ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble,’ said Frank, so quietly Will could only just hear him. ‘But the poor darling is in a bit of a state, and I, well, he needs a vet. It’s his leg. Oh dear, I’m not very good at coping with things like this.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ said Will. ‘You sit tight. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Will grabbed his keys from the hook by the door and went out to the car. Frank and Eric lived in Chiswick, which was about fifteen minutes away without traffic, in a pretty mews house with lilac-painted woodwork. When Will pulled up outside he saw Frank, hovering anxiously on the doorstep, pale-faced and jittery.

  ‘I think he’s going to be fine,’ Frank said, as Will got out of the car. ‘I hope I haven’t got you here under false pretences.’

  Will’s heart went out to him and he rubbed his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Harmony’s out tonight. I wasn’t busy. Let’s have a look at him, eh?’

  ‘Yes, yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that,’ he said, with a slight hesitation. ‘The vet has an out-of-hours surgery. I should probably have called a taxi and gone straight there rather than bother you.’ Frank smiled weakly at him.

  ‘It’s no bother at all. Now where’s the patient?’

  Will followed Frank as he walked slowly into the kitchen. ‘Eric normally deals with this sort of thing. He’s absolutely super in traumatic situations. He knows just what to do and has this amazing sense of calm about him. I get in all of a dither. I hope my boy is going to be all right. He seems terribly quiet.’

  Frank led Will to where Pinwheel lay wrapped in a soft blue towel on a cushion on the kitchen table. The cat’s eyes were open but he wasn’t moving, his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth and Will could hear how laboured his breathing was.

  ‘I found him on the side of the main road,’ whispered Frank.

  ‘I was calling and calling for him, but he didn’t come in. He usually comes at my first call; he’s terribly greedy, you see.’ Frank had one hand against his mouth and he nibbled on his thumbnail as he spoke. ‘He couldn’t get to me, because, well, he’s hurt his leg.’

  Will lifted the edge of the towel to look at the cat and winced. One of its hind legs was badly broken, blood and dirt matted its fur and the jagged bone pushed through the wound. But it wasn’t the leg Will was worried about. Pinwheel’s back looked broken too, with an unnatural curve to it. He laid the towel back on the cat and gently ran his fingers over his head. Pinwheel blinked slowly.

  ‘Poor thing,’ Will said under his breath. ‘Let’s get you to a vet, shall we?’

  Will carefully picked Pinwheel up. The cat mewed and his small body tensed. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re taking you to the vet. You’ll feel better in a bit.’ Then Will looked at Frank. ‘You’ll be all right to hold him while I drive?’

  Frank nodded.

  Frank directed Will to the vet’s surgery, but other than that they didn’t talk. Will glanced over every now and then to see Frank cradling Pinwheel like a baby, his eyes shining with a film of tears. He parked at the back of the surgery in the small, scruffy car park filled with rubbish and overflowing wheelie bins, and aggressive signs threatening clamping for unauthorised cars.

  A young girl answered the door when they rang. ‘Is this Pinwheel?’ she asked.

  Will nodded. ‘He looks like he’s been hit by a car.’

  ‘Take a seat,’ she said, gesturing to some wooden chairs in the window. ‘Stephanie will be with you in a minute.’

  They sat and waited in the reception area. It was quiet and still and smelt of animals and surgical spirit. The shelves were crammed with sacks of pet food, plastic animal toys, leads, collars, muzzles, and the noticeboard was covered with photographs of past patients who’d made fabulous recoveries and information posters on fleas. Will looked at Pinwheel; his eyes were closed now but he was still breathing, though with more irregularity and an ominous rattle that came every now and then from his chest.

  ‘Would you like to bring Pinwheel though?’ said the vet as she came into the waiting room. Will stood but Frank didn’t move.

  ‘Come on, Frank,’ Will said gently.

  As soon as the vet looked at Pinwheel, Will knew she wasn’t going to give them good news. There was a look of genuine regret on her face, but either because she had to or because she thought it would be best for Frank, she went through the motions of checking the cat over, listening to his chest, taking his temperature, feeling his stomach. She put a pair of silicone gloves on and then, very gently, investigated the wound. Then she stroked the cat and removed her gloves.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t good. It sounds to me as if his lung is punctured and obviously his leg is badly damaged, his pelvis is broken in several places, and I’m afraid his back is also broken, though I can’t say for sure how badly without x-raying it. There appears to be no reflex in his legs, which indicates damage to the spinal cord. I’m certain there’s nothing I can do for him. I’d prefer not to put him through any more discomfort by having an x-ray taken.’ Here she paused, looking from Will to Frank. ‘It’s very much your decision. I will x-ray if you’d like me to, but perhaps you should consider—’

  Her sentence was interrupted by a moan from Frank. Will jumped at the noise, loud and strangled, and looked at Frank, whose face was twisted into a pained grimace. Will put his arm around him and stroked him.

  ‘There must be something we can do?’

  The pain in Frank’s voice cut through Will, who glanced at the vet. ‘Is there?’ he asked her.

  ‘The damage is extreme,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I could amputate the leg and set his pelvis, but he’s almost certainly paralysed in his back end. He wouldn’t have the strength to move himself around, he wouldn’t be able to go to the toilet or walk. His quality of life would be greatly compromised.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘Then, of course, there’s his lung.’ She exchanged a look with Will that suggested there was no hope. ‘I hate putting animals to sleep and really, we do this as the very last option in all cases, but with Pinwheel … ’ She left the sentence hanging.

  Will nodded and then turned to Frank. ‘He’s had an amazing life with you and Eric. The very best an animal could wish for. It’s the kindest thing. It really is.’

  As Will spoke, Frank leant down and pushed his face into the cat’s fur. A few moments later he lifted his head and looked at the vet and nodded.

  ‘It will take me a few minutes to get things ready.’ She put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. ‘Do you want to be here with him while I do it?’ she asked gently.

  Frank couldn’t speak but nodded again.

  ‘We’ll both stay,’ said Will, reaching for Frank’s hand.

  On
the way home Frank stared out of the window, no doubt reliving the euthanasia. It had been awful to watch, Frank cradling Pinwheel in his arms, whispering apologies, his tears soaking the cat’s soft fur as the vet injected the lethal blue liquid to still his heart. When they arrived back at Frank’s house, Will turned the engine off and they sat in the car in silence for a few minutes.

  Eventually, Frank spoke, his voice distant and soft. ‘Have you ever had a pet, William?’

  Will didn’t answer straight away. It was something he’d never talked about, not even to Harmony. ‘A long time ago,’ he said. ‘A cat too.’

  ‘Were you sad when he died?’

  Will tensed and hesitated. ‘It was a she, and yes, I was. Very.’

  ‘But you have good memories of her?’

  ‘Lots.’

  ‘Tell me about her.’

  Will stared at his hands on the steering wheel. ‘I found her in a disused farm building amongst some rotten straw bales. I was taking photos and heard this faint mewing. I followed the noise and there she was, between two bales, her little feet pressed together and these big blue eyes looking up at me. I picked her up and she started to purr immediately.’ Will felt his stomach knot as he remembered the kitten. How she’d batted his fingers and pounced on his shoelace when he’d waggled it on the ground like a snake for her. ‘I looked for her mother but there was no sign. I think she’d been abandoned. I couldn’t leave her there alone, she looked so helpless, so I tucked her into my jacket and took her home.’

  Frank nodded. ‘I would have done the same.You couldn’t have left her, the foxes would have had her in no time.’

  ‘My father hated animals, especially animals in the house, so I was sure he’d say she couldn’t stay, but he happened to have seen a rat that morning and my mother suggested she might be useful in keeping them away. Anyway, he said yes. I couldn’t believe it. I’d wanted a pet for years, I was an only child and was mostly very lonely.’ Will looked at Frank. ‘She wasn’t allowed in the house though. I had to promise she would stay in the shed. Mum and I found a cardboard box and we cut a bit of one side out so she could get in and out, and got some old towels for blankets.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘I called her Socks because of her little white feet. She used to wait for me by the garden gate if I went out and as soon as she saw me, she’d scamper over and wrap herself around my legs, purring like mad.’

  ‘No wonder you were sad when she died.’

  ‘Yes, I was. It was awful.’

  Will didn’t tell Frank any more. Not about the day she died, that day in early January, so bitterly cold the river had frozen over. He’d gone out to the shed to see Socks and found her curled up in the corner of her box. She was shivering and when he came in she didn’t get up as normal, but stayed in a ball, her eyes flicking upwards at him, just a single mew the only noise she made. It was arctic in the shed, with swirls of thick frost on the inside of the window pane, and the air so cold it stung his lungs.

  ‘It’s too cold for you out here, isn’t it little girl? Don’t worry, I’m here now.’

  He picked her up, then hesitated – his father would hit the roof if he found her in the house. But then he caught sight of the frozen water in her bowl and without thinking any more he hid her under his jumper and walked back to the house where his parents were watching television.

  ‘I’m not feeling too well,’ he said as he walked past the door to the living room. ‘I’m going to go up to bed. Good night.’ Then he went up the stairs, keeping his eyes to the floor, praying his father wouldn’t notice anything unusual, and once inside his bedroom, he closed the door.

  ‘Right, you,’ Will said, lifting his jumper up and putting Socks on his bed. ‘Not a peep, okay? You can sleep under my duvet tonight. It’ll be like a den for you. You’ll be toasty warm.’

  He stroked her head and she stood up on her hind legs to meet his hand, purring, and rubbing her nose and cheek against him. He undressed, put his pyjamas on, then, needing to use the bathroom, he opened the door to his room. He jumped out of his skin to see his father standing outside it. He pulled the door shut behind him, and keeping his hands on the door knob, looked up at him. His father blinked slowly and stared, his mouth twitching at the sides.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Will asked him, trying to keep his voice light.

  ‘What are you hiding?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He dropped his hands from the door handle. ‘I’m just going to clean my teeth and then I’m going to bed. I’m not feeling very well.’

  ‘You’re hiding something, William. Don’t lie to me. You know if you lie it only ever makes things worse.’

  Will swallowed. What should he do? Lie or tell the truth? If he lied and then his father found the cat he’d go mental. ‘My cat,’ he stammered. ‘She was so cold. I bought her in to warm her … ’

  His father stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. Then without a word he opened the door. Will dived in front of him, putting himself between his father and the cat, who was sitting on the bed, licking her paw, cleaning herself. His father glared at him.

  ‘Get out of my way,’ he said.

  ‘She was cold!’ Will said, opening his arms wide to stop his father’s advance on Socks. But his father pushed him aside and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. He held her up, pushed her towards Will’s face. She squirmed in his grasp.

  ‘What is this animal doing in my house?’ Will tried to speak but his voice failed him.

  ‘Answer me, you idiot! I asked you a bloody question!’

  Will watched his father’s hand squeeze into the cat. The cat screeched.

  ‘Stop it!’ Will shouted. ‘You’re hurting her. She was just cold! You’re hurting her!’

  His mother came up the stairs. ‘Phillip?’

  ‘The boy brought this bag of fleas into my house. He told me there was nothing in his room. He’s a bloody liar.’ With each word his father shook the cat, who was writhing in his hands, the whites of her eyes showing.

  ‘No, I didn’t lie. I—’

  ‘The bloody cat should be out-bloody-side!’

  ‘It’s all right,’ his mother said calmly. Will looked at her, and she opened her eyes wide at him, trying to communicate, nodding with purpose. ‘William’s sorry, aren’t you, William?’ She continued to nod at him slowly. ‘He’ll take the cat back to the shed.’

  Will shook his head. ‘But it’s too—’

  ‘Won’t you, William?’ Her voice barked at him with a level of sharpness he seldom heard. She stared at him, willing him to take her lead. ‘It’s best that cats live outside, and she likes her shed.’

  Will glanced at his father who seemed to have relaxed a little. He’d stopped shaking Socks and she had stopped twisting and turning, and hung in his hand like a rag doll instead.

  ‘I’m sorry I bought her inside.’

  His father held the cat up to his face and looked at her. ‘I saw a rat again a couple of days ago. If this thing doesn’t get rid of them it’s gone. You hear me?’ He gave the cat a final shake, and then, from nowhere, Socks put her ears back and hissed at him, swiping at his face, her claws bared.

  His father yelled and before Will could do anything he’d hurled Socks at the wall. The thump of the impact of cat against wall reverberated around them. Will screamed and ran to Socks, but his father clamped his hand on Will’s shoulder and yanked him out of the way. He watched in horror as his cat lay on the landing, dazed and struggling to get to her feet. His father lifted his foot. Will screamed.

  His mother ran up to his father and rested an arm on his. ‘No, Phillip. Don’t.’ His eyes rounded on his wife and Will noticed three faint scratches streaking his top lip.

  ‘How dare you tell me what to do!’

  Then he raised his foot and powered it into Socks, sending her tumbling down the stairs. Will ran to the banister to see her bouncing down the last step. He pushed past his father and leapt down the stairs t
wo at a time and fell to his knees at the bottom. There was a thin trail of blood from the cat’s nose and her eyes were open and staring. She was totally still, not breathing, unresponsive when he touched her.

  ‘You’ve killed her,’ he said, as his father came down the stairs.

  ‘You killed my cat.’

  His father wiped at the scratches on his lip with a handkerchief. ‘I didn’t kill it. You did. If you’d kept it in the shed, like you agreed to, it would still be alive.’ And then he walked away from them, into the living room and switched the television back on.

  Will picked up his cat, her body limp and lifeless in his arms.

  ‘I’ll get our coats,’ said his mother without emotion. ‘We’ll bury her.’

  But the ground had been too hard for either he or his mother to dig, so they wrapped Socks in newspaper and left her in the shed. The following day a noise woke him in the garden. It was only just light and the world was frozen. He knelt on his bed and stared out of his window, his breath blooming and fading on the icy pane. His mother was standing in her boots and a heavy grey overcoat prodding a fire in the galvanised incinerator. Will watched her bend down and pick up the roll of newspaper with Socks inside. She dropped it into the fire, then put the lid on. When she turned around Will saw she was crying. He’d never seen her cry before.

  Will got out of the car and went around to open the door for Frank. ‘Do you want me to sleep on the sofa tonight, Frank? I’m not sure you should be alone.’

  ‘Bless you. I’m fine, though. I’ve got Pie to look after me.’

  Will took him inside, and while Frank got ready for bed he made him hot chocolate and then carried it up to his room. He was already in bed with Pie curled up beside him.