by James Barrie
Just then Sam, who had been looking for her dog since she got up, put her head over the hedge.
She screamed. Then she shrieked, ‘Steve! Steve! They’re barbecuing our Charlie!’
Steve, just arrived back from his nine holes, appeared at the hedge. ‘Hey! That’s our dog you’re cooking!’
Patrick removed the dog from over the heat and, realising what it must look like, said, ‘I was just warming it up…’
‘Animals!’ Sam shrieked.
Charlie wriggled frantically in Patrick’s hands.
Patrick dropped the dog, and Charlie dashed over to the hedge.
Moments later Sam was cradling the Chihuahua in her arms. ‘Oh, Charlie,’ she said, ‘whatever would have happened if mummy hadn’t saved you?’
Theodore watched the events from the bottom of the hedge. But then his attention was drawn by voices from behind.
Ellen had opened the backdoor, wearing a dressing gown.
‘Why didn’t you answer the door?’ Penny said.
‘I just did,’ Ellen said.
‘Before,’ Penny said. ‘I’ve been knocking for ages.’
‘I was in the shower,’ Ellen said. ‘You’d better come in… What a surprise! Mum will be so pleased to see you.’
Ellen went inside and Penny followed, closing the door behind her.
‘Where’s mum?’ Penny said.
‘She’s upstairs in bed,’ Ellen said. ‘Hardly ever leaves it… You know what she’s like.’
‘I’ll go straight up and let her know I’m here,’ Penny said.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Ellen said.
Penny went upstairs, but Ellen didn’t put the kettle on. Instead she picked up the iron and stood to one side of the kitchen door.
When Penny returned moments later, she said, ‘She’s not there… Her bed’s not been slept in. Where is she? Where’s mum?’
Then Ellen cracked her over the head with the iron. Theodore blinked.
‘Well, that was all a bit melodramatic,’ Trish said, once the commotion over the chilled Chihuahua had died down.
‘I think the lamb might be salvageable,’ Patrick said, holding up a cutlet that Charlie had partly chewed before succumbing to hyperthermia and asphyxiation. ‘I’ll just need some scissors to trim them up a bit.’
‘Well, at least no one was killed,’ Trish said and laughed.
Jonathan stared at the back hedge. He had heard Penny bashing on the back door of Ellen’s house. Now it was quiet. Too quiet.
Then he noticed that Theodore had gone from the bottom of the hedge. He looked around but he was nowhere to be seen.
Theodore made his way across Ellen’s lawn, heading straight towards the shed.
The shed was six feet high but he managed to scrabble up one side, the side not facing the house. He pulled himself up onto the felted roof, and then inched towards the apex. He peered over the top of the shed roof.
Ellen had already removed her sister’s body from the kitchen. There was just a large pool of blood and red smears across the linoleum where Penny had been dragged into the hallway behind and then up the stairs, red smudges across the beige carpet pile.
Ten minutes later, Ellen appeared. She filled a bucket with hot water at the kitchen sink and then began to wipe up the blood. She washed down the fronts of the cupboards onto which blood had splattered. She got into the cracks and crevices, wringing out her cloth into the bucket that she refilled a dozen times. Finally she took a mop and turning the radio up loud, mopped the floor with maniacal energy to Wham’s Club Tropicana.
From time to time, Theodore glanced over at his own house. Emily, Jonathan and Trish were sitting at the patio table while Patrick was cooking the lamb chops over the barbecue, metal tongs in his right hand.
Theodore turned around. Ellen had finished in the kitchen. She had left the kitchen window and door open to dry the floor. From inside he could hear water running. She must be running a bath.
He jumped down from the shed and trotted across the lawn. He paused at the back door. Water was still running in the upstairs bathroom. He entered the kitchen.
It was only once he was halfway across the kitchen floor that he realised that he had left muddy paw prints on the linoleum. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now.
He looked up at the side and spotted the little wicker basket. He jumped up and began to investigate its contents. There was a mobile phone, its screen blank, its battery no doubt dead. He pawed some pens aside but could not find what he was looking for. He furrowed his brow. The ring, Tessa’s wedding ring, had gone.
He jumped down and padded into the hall.
He walked through a door into the dining room. On the dining table he noticed many beige card-backed envelopes and an album lying open. He jumped up onto the table.
The album contained stamps. Each page was a plastic envelope holding mounted sheets of stamps. There were a dozen cardboard-backed envelopes, some with names and addresses already written on in blue biro.
Then he noticed the iPad. He swiped his paw across the screen. It opened to eBay.
Ellen evidently had 98% feedback rating. Theodore looked at the items she had put up for auction.
‘1841 1d Red Pl 176 NA Superb RARE PLATE with CERT Cat. £2900.00. Looking for Quick Sale’
‘1840 1d Black Pl 11 JK 4m IRISH NUMERAL Matched in Red RPS Cert Cat £4730.00’
‘SG. 351. N14 ½d green. "DOUBLE WATERMARK ". A very RARE superb mint’
They were all rare stamps, Theodore realised, many valued in the thousands of pounds. The auctions were due to end the next day. Ellen was set to make a small fortune.
He remembered that her father Colin had been a keen stamp collector. Ellen was selling off his collection, raising money. Money to disappear, thought Theodore. The fur along his spine began to bristle.
The running water had stopped.
He heard a door open and then steps on the upstairs landing. He jumped down from the table and trotted under the table. He saw Ellen pass in front of the dining room door. A minute later she walked past again, a pair of scissors in one hand and a carving knife in the other.
Once she had gone back upstairs, Theodore followed. He paused on the landing. He heard noises from within the bathroom. The door was pulled to but not closed. There were another three doors. Bedroom doors.
Theodore approached the back bedrooms first. He went into what had been Tessa’s.
The bed was made up. The curtains were closed. There was nothing to suggest anything untoward. But a smell lingered. It was the smell of unwashed sheets, urine, sweat and perfume. The essence of Tessa Black that lingered after her death.
Then he went into Ellen’s bedroom. It was very tidy: nothing out of place. A My Little Pony poster on the wall over the bed. A pink duvet pushed up against the wall. A wrinkled grey sheet. A full ashtray on the bedside table. The smell of stale cigarettes, unwashed sheets and perfume.
He jumped up onto the windowsill and slipped behind the curtains.
He looked down on his own back garden. He could see Emily, Jonathan, Trish and Patrick sitting at the patio table eating lamb cutlets and potato salad.
Theodore went into the front bedroom. This had been the master bedroom, where Colin and Tessa Black had shared the double bed, before Colin had burned to death in his shed, the fire started by a cigarette end thrown from his younger daughter’s bedroom window.
On the wall facing him there was a large, framed studio photograph of Penny and Ellen, taken by Mr. Marley, the local photographer.
Penny was eight years old and Ellen five. Penny’s hair was long and brown; Ellen’s was short and blonde, like her mother’s – before she pulled it out.
Apart from the age and hair differences, the two girls looked very similar. They had the same broad nose, brown eyes, puckered lips and slightly protruding ears.
The glass from the photo frame had shattered. Shards lay on the pink pile of the carpet at the foot of the wall, below
the photograph.
A pair of short, sharp stainless steel scissors stuck out of Penny’s forehead.
Theodore carefully picked his way across the pink carpet, wary of the broken glass.
He jumped up onto the salmon pink duvet, laid across the king-size bed, and then up onto the windowsill. He looked out of the window, onto the street below.
In the driveway he noticed a Ford Escort. Its tyres were completely flat, rubber black pancakes on grey concrete. The car had not been moved since Colin’s death, Theodore deduced.
The toilet flushed and Theodore knew it was time to leave. He made it to the top of the stairs just as the bathroom door swung open.
He raced down the stairs, into the kitchen, skidded across the still wet floor, and out the back door into the garden. He reached the shed in the corner of the garden and scaled the side. He scrambled over the apex of the felted roof. He turned round and edged back to the ridge. He peered over.
Ellen was in the kitchen. In her hand she carried the kitchen knife, its blade coated with blood. She looked down at the paw prints on the newly washed floor. Then she approached the kitchen door. She looked out into the garden.
Dr Theodore
Theodore stayed below the ridgeline of the shed. He turned round and faced his own garden. Emily, Jonathan, Trish and Patrick were still sitting at the outside table. They were onto the dessert course.
He scaled the side of the shed and darted through the bottom of the hedge into his own garden. His intention was to alert Jonathan to the latest murder, this time sororicide.
But as he approached the table, he was grabbed up by Patrick, who had already finished his dessert.
‘Ah, Theo. Where have you been? You’ve missed lunch!’ Patrick petted him heavily. ‘He’s a bit matted,’ he said. ‘Needs a good brush.’
Theodore felt Patrick’s soft belly beneath his paws. He began to knead his paws against the warm flesh. As human bellies went, it was one of the best he’d had the pleasure to work with. He began to purr.
He was just beginning to enjoy himself when he felt something move below his paws. Something that was in Patrick but not of him. He moved his paw following the gliding movement and then dabbed at it.
Patrick groaned.
‘What is it, dad?’ Emily said.
‘Probably nothing,’ Patrick said. ‘Indigestion.’
‘It’s all the raw meat you eat,’ Trish said. ‘Steak Tartare for breakfast. That can’t be good for you.’
‘That’s only on a Saturday,’ Patrick said. ‘A little treat.’
He groaned again as Theodore pushed in his other paw, trying to trap the movement inside him.
Theodore closed his eyes, deep in thought.
It was a beef tapeworm of the species taenia saginata. It had been inside Patrick for almost two years, now ten feet long.
‘I think that’s enough of your prodding,’ Patrick said. He picked Theodore up and placed him on the ground before the cat could complete his diagnosis.
‘Maybe you should get it checked out,’ Emily said.
‘I’m sure it’s nothing,’ Patrick said, his own hand on his side and a note of uncertainty to his voice.
‘Please, dad,’ Emily said. ‘For me, if not for you.’
‘You have been complaining of stomach pains,’ Trish said.
‘Yes, all right then. I’ll make an appointment on Tuesday.’
Theodore examined the floor for any food dropped from the table. He then remembered that he had been about to alert Jonathan to the latest murder before he had been grabbed up by Patrick. He approached Jonathan’s feet and miaowed.
Jonathan had already managed to manoeuvre the conversation back to his murderous neighbour. By the animation in his voice, Theodore understood that he had had more than a couple of glasses of wine. ‘She’s killed her mum, I swear… And now she’s probably about to kill her sister.’
You’re behind the times, thought Theodore.
‘Well, at least it has stayed fine,’ Trish said.
‘Yes, it’s been a lovely afternoon,’ Patrick said. ‘Just a shame about that little dog getting stuck in the cool box.’
‘Well, never mind about that,’ Trish said. ‘There was no harm done.’
‘A killer in the house behind,’ Jonathan said, slurring slightly, ‘and not one of you cares. She even killed a Shih Zhu and then a guide dog…’
‘Talking of dogs, what do you get if you cross a bulldog with a Shih Zhu?’ Patrick said.
‘It’s no joking matter,’ Jonathan said. ‘She’s a homicidal maniac. A killer… A psychotic killer!’
Emily slammed her wine glass down on the table, causing a crack from stem to lip. ‘Will you just shut up?’ she said, staring at Jonathan. ‘I’ve had enough. Enough!’
Jonathan shook his head. He didn’t say anything.
Patrick filled the gap. ‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘It’s a bullshit. Get it? A bull dog and a Shih Zhu…’
Nobody laughed.
‘Maybe it’s time we were going,’ Trish said. ‘Leave these two to it.’
‘Yes,’ said Patrick, gazing at the two empty bottles of Chardonnay on the table. ‘We’d better be getting back to Acaster Mildew.’
Theodore Plays God
After the barbecue had been cleared away and the washing up done, Theodore turned his attention back to Ellen. He took up position on the shed in her garden. He watched as Ellen poured come clear liquid from a bottle into a glass. She downed it and winced.
Theodore looked over at Geoffrey’s bungalow.
Geoffrey was in the kitchen. He was going through his cupboards, his hands grasping at small packets and packages.
Theodore watched as Geoffrey began to pop tablets from plastic containers into a bowl, his hands shaking. When the bowl was half full of tablets, he poured a glass of water and then carried the bowl and the glass into the conservatory. He sat down at the table, the bowl and glass in front of him.
He removed his dark glasses. His milky white eyes were red rimmed. He picked a couple of pills from the bowl and washed them down with a mouthful of water. He took another handful and swallowed them too.
Theodore jumped down from the shed roof and darted through the gap in the bottom of the hedge that Lucy had made. He approached the glass doors of the conservatory.
Inside Geoffrey swilled down another couple of tablets. Then he wiped tears from his eyes before reaching for more.
Theodore scraped his claws against the glass.
Geoffrey didn’t hear. He took another handful of pills and swallowed them.
Theodore scratched again against the glass.
Geoffrey turned to the doors. ‘Lucy?’ he said. He got to his feet. He crossed to the conservatory doors. He slid open the doors.
Theodore slipped through the opening. He jumped up onto the table.
Geoffrey was still standing at the conservatory doors. ‘Lucy!’ he called out to the garden. ‘Is that you Lucy?’
Then Theodore knocked the bowl of pills to the floor. The bowl smashed and the pills were scattered across the floor.
Geoffrey turned. ‘What’s going on?’
He staggered back to the table. He felt across the surface to where the bowl of pills had been.
Theodore jumped soundlessly to the floor.
Geoffrey got down on his hands and knees. He knelt on the floor; then placed the palms of his hands together. He looked up to the ceiling, his milky eyes filled with tears, and said, ‘If it be your will…’
Theodore jumped up onto the kitchen side. He looked at the empty packets of pills and wondered if it were possible to overdose on multivitamins and cod liver oil capsules. He jumped down and a moment later exited through the conservatory doors.
He glanced behind him. Geoffrey was still on his knees, still gazing up at the ceiling, his hands placed together in prayer.
Emily Packs Her Bags
The French windows were open when Theodore got back home. He wandered into the loung
e.
Jonathan was on the sofa, watching The Birds on the television. Theodore jumped up onto the cushion next to him.
Jonathan paused the film. ‘You believe me, don’t you?’ he said.
Theodore purred back reassuringly.
‘She’s a murderer,’ Jonathan said.
Theodore purred his agreement.
‘We just need to prove it,’ Jonathan said. ‘We need proof. Then we call the police and they can deal with her.’
Proof, thought Theodore; he needed to find Tessa’s wedding ring. But if it wasn’t in the house behind, where was it?
Theodore went upstairs to look for Emily. She was in the bedroom, sorting out clothes.
Theodore jumped up onto the front windowsill.
In the fading light, he saw Linda exit the side door of her house. In her hands she carried a jam jar of brushes, another jam jar of water, a box of acrylic paints and a palette.
Linda crouched down by the side of Steve’s white Audi. The car was again parked on the verge in front of her house. Dead daffodils lay flattened beneath its tyres.
She squeezed a dollop of green acrylic onto her palette and licked the end of her paint brush.
This is going to be interesting, thought Theodore.
He turned his attention back to Emily.
She had a small suitcase open on the bed and was pushing her clothes into it.
‘Guess we’ll be travelling light,’ she said. She looked over at Theodore. Her eyes were red from crying.
Theodore jumped down from the windowsill and then up onto the bed. He let Emily pick him up and hold him to her chest.
‘This house,’ Emily said. ‘It’s like a private trap… It holds us in like a prison. You know what I think? I think that we’re all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out. We scratch and we claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch.’
Clap trap, Theodore thought; a house is what you make of it. He was reminded of the sign hung on the vestibule door: A House is Not A Home Without a Cat. He was a cat. This was a house. It was their home. It was as simple as that.