The Ghost of Christmas Paws

by Mandy Morton

  ‘Now then, Miss Tilly, you need fattening up, my lass,’ said Betty placing a mountain of what would now for ever be known as scrumbled eggs in front of her. ‘No more than a pipe cleaner, you are.’

  ‘Ee and you can get yer whiskers round this cream horn when you’ve finished that,’ said Beryl. ‘Fresh-baked this morning, just how you like it. You need spoiling, you do. Got to get your strength up for your Christmas dinner tomorrow. There’s a nice big turkey and all the trimmings laid on.’

  Tilly spluttered on a spoonful of egg that Betty was attempting to post into her mouth. ‘You mean today is Christmas Eve?’ she squeaked, making everyone laugh.

  ‘Bless you,’ said Betty. ‘Back with us just in time for Christmas, and the best present any of us could wish for. Poor Hettie’s nearly wasted away she’s been so worried. Couldn’t even tempt her with one of my best sausage pies. She’s worn a hole in your carpet, pacing up and down. And as for Bruiser, he’s washed that motorbike and sidecar every day, polished it till it gleams ready to take you out for a ride when you got better.’

  Beryl nodded to Hettie, encouraging her to get on with her own breakfast, and the two sisters left them in peace to enjoy the treats they had so joyfully given in celebration of Tilly’s recovery. The peace didn’t last long, as word soon spread that Tilly had rallied. First over the threshold was Bruiser – or, to be precise, the biggest bunch of red carnations followed by Bruiser, who used them to hide his shyness. ‘These is from Miss Scarlet and me,’ he said, hopping from one paw to another. ‘They’re a bit Christmassy and that’ll brighten up yer sideboard. Meridian Hambone let me ’ave ’em ’alf price as they were fer you. Miss Scarlet’s all lovely and shiny and waitin’ till you’re well enough fer a little spin out.’

  Tilly beamed at the thought of a trip in Miss Scarlet. The image of Marlon Brandish and his beaten-up old van popped into her head, but she knew now that he was a figment of her imagination and graciously accepted the flowers. Bruiser, thrilled to see Tilly looking so much better, skipped down the garden path back to his shed to carry on reading the Christmas edition of Biker’s Monthly in the company of Miss Scarlet and his paraffin stove.

  Hettie put the carnations in a jam jar on the staff sideboard and took in their room for the first time in days, realising that – quite simply – it resembled a pigsty. The table was full of half-eaten plates of food; there were several mugs of untouched beef tea, boxes of tissues, and clothes strewn everywhere; and in the middle of it all a half-hearted attempt at Christmas. The tree was beautiful, but strangely out of place amid the chaos.

  Tilly had made a good effort with her scrumbled eggs, although the front of her pyjamas had also benefited from her breakfast. Hettie cleared away the dishes, piling them up in the small sink which was already overflowing with dirty crockery. She had never regarded cleaning as a priority, and only since Tilly moved in had she felt the benefit of a clean and tidy home. Tilly was undoubtedly the home-maker, and without her, even after just a few days, things had got out of hand. Hettie sighed as she stared at the mountain of washing-up, not really knowing where to start, but help was about to knock on the back door.

  Tilly’s friend Jessie ran the charity shop in Cheapcuts Lane. She’d inherited the shop from Miss Lambert, an elderly cat who adopted Jessie after she was abandoned as a kitten. Jessie had become a permanent fixture in Miss Lambert’s life and she had nursed her in her final months. In the days when Tilly had wandered the streets of the town, cold and hungry, Miss Lambert had occasionally taken her in and given her a warm bed and a hot meal, and that was how Tilly and Jessie had become friends. These days, Tilly was often called upon to mind the shop for the odd afternoon, which gave her an excellent opportunity to choose from Jessie’s extensive cardigan range, kept in stock especially for her.

  Jessie had spent many hours reading to Tilly over the last few days, allowing Hettie to take the occasional brief nap or stock up with shopping. She had been desperately worried about her friend, and had decided to shut her shop on Christmas Eve to spend more time with her. The last thing she had expected to see was Tilly sitting up on her cushion, beaming as she bustled into the room laden with Christmas parcels. ‘Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?’ she said, dropping her parcels on the floor and bounding over to give Tilly a hug. Taking off the red cloche hat that she always wore, Jessie looked for somewhere to put it and realised that the best place was back on her head. ‘You two look like you could benefit from a bit of a bottoming, as Miss Lambert used to say. Shall I roll my sleeves up and get stuck in?’

  It was Hettie’s turn to smile. ‘That would be lovely if you can spare the time. I’m afraid I’ve let things go a bit.’

  ‘That’s probably the understatement of the week,’ said Jessie. ‘But running a hospital wing isn’t the easiest thing to do and you’ve managed brilliantly. Look – your patient is doing very well. Why don’t you make us all a nice cup of tea and I’ll have this mess sorted out in no time.’

  Hettie tackled the washing-up with a new resolve as Jessie set about the room like a whirling dervish. Within a very short space of time, all was spick and span.

  ‘I’d quite like to get dressed,’ squeaked Tilly, throwing her blanket off. ‘These pyjamas don’t look very nice.’

  Jessie reached for one of the parcels she’d brought with her. ‘As you’re feeling better you can have an early present.’

  Tilly took the parcel and tore the paper off to reveal a bright red cardigan, decorated with white snowflakes, patch pockets and a hood. ‘Ooh that’s the loveliest cardigan I’ve ever seen, and I can wear it with my best green woolly socks!’

  Hettie and Jessie laughed as Tilly threw off her pyjamas and wriggled into her Christmas cardigan. It fitted perfectly, and Tilly was so pleased with it that she would wear it constantly until the early summer heat forced her to abandon it. Jessie stayed for a while, exchanging bits of the town’s gossip as the three cats munched through a selection of mince pies and sausage rolls from the Butters’ tray of treats. Tilly was growing stronger by the minute, and Hettie noted that if her appetite was anything to go by, she was well and truly on the mend.

  When Jessie had gone, Hettie filled up the coal scuttle from the stack in the Butters’ backyard. She suddenly felt so very tired, and for the first time she realised that she had hardly slept since Tilly had been taken ill. Her days and nights had blended into one, punctuated only by visits from friends and well-wishers. She struggled back in with the coal scuttle to find Tilly adding baubles to the half-dressed Christmas tree.

  ‘Don’t overdo it,’ she said. ‘You should have a rest. You’ve had a very busy morning and we want you at your best for Christmas day upstairs at the Butters’.’

  Tilly clapped her paws in excitement. ‘I think it’s going to be the best Christmas ever! Why don’t you have a sleep while I finish the tree?’

  Hettie crawled into her armchair and immediately fell asleep to the contented sound of Tilly squeaking her way through a selection of Christmas carols.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Hettie awoke with a start several hours later. She hadn’t meant to fall into such a deep sleep but the relief she felt on opening her eyes to find Tilly sitting on her cushion, working her way through a pile of Christmas cards, made her heart sing.

  ‘Ooh good,’ said Tilly. ‘If you’re awake we can have the TV on. It’s time for Carols from King’s. I know you think the nine lessons are boring, but those tiny kitten choristers are lovely to watch. And look – I’ve opened all our Christmas cards and there are some shiny, sparkly ones. There’s also something addressed to the No. 2 Feline Detective Agency, but I haven’t bothered with that as it’s Christmas.’

  Hettie stretched, noticing that Tilly and her new Christmas cardigan were covered in bits of glitter, and she glistened like one of the many cards in front of her. ‘You look like something you’ve forgotten to hang on the tree,’ she said, laughing as Tilly switched on the TV just in time to watch a lone
kitten strike up the first verse of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’. The carol service was embraced by cats all over the world, and even Hettie – who thought that the religious aspect of Christmas spoilt the rest of it – had to admit that the sight of a choir of tiny kittens dressed in white was enough to bring a tear to the eye of even the most extreme atheist.

  Wiping that particular tear away, she flung off her blanket and devoted some time to making herself a little more presentable. The cleaning ritual required more effort than usual, as she had to chew out several stubborn tangles which had gathered in her long tabby fur when she wasn’t looking; during the dark days of Tilly’s illness, it wasn’t just their room that she had neglected. Satisfied that her appearance was greatly improved, she selected a bright red jumper and a clean pair of ‘at home’ slacks from the filing cabinet.

  Tilly sat glued to the pomp and ceremony of Christmas, occasionally adding her squeaky voice to the carols she liked best. In her mind, she found herself revisiting the terrifying blizzard as she escaped from Crabstock Manor, and she wondered why the delirium brought about by her cat flu was having such a profound effect on her. She wanted to share what had been a very strange adventure with Hettie, but the horrific turn of events was too fresh in her mind to speak it out loud. Here, in their safe, secure world, there was no room for anything that would spoil Christmas.

  Hettie busied herself in putting the mountain of cards up around their room. By the time she had finished, the staff sideboard looked considerably more festive than it had earlier and the mantelpiece – reserved for sparkly cards only – looked a picture. With great relief, she recognised the opening notes of ‘Hark! The Herald Angels Sing’, and with the end of the carol service in sight, she felt able to raise the subject of supper. ‘How about fish and chips for tea?’ she suggested. ‘I could pop down to Elsie Haddock’s and pick some up as a treat. It is Christmas Eve, after all.’

  Tilly clapped her paws together in sheer delight, pushing a vision of Arnold Fritter to the back of her mind. ‘That would be lovely! Shall I find us something nice on TV to go with them?’ She picked up the copy of the Daily Snout which lay discarded by Hettie’s chair and boasted a full run-down of radio and television for the holidays. Although it was the Christmas edition of the town’s daily newspaper, there was very little cheer on the front page: the headline proclaimed ‘DEATH TOLL REACHES 100’, and Tilly fell silent as she read the article, knowing how close she had been to becoming a cat flu statistic.

  Hettie buttered several slices of bread, knowing that they would need a chip butty or two with their supper. ‘Shall we have fiery ginger beer or a cup of tea?’

  Tilly thought for a moment as she flicked through the TV listings. ‘I think ginger beer might be too scratchy for my throat, so a cup of tea would be nice. Oh that’s good – It’s a Wonderful Cat is on at seven, followed by Scrooge on Ice.’

  Hettie cringed at Tilly’s selection, hoping that the catnip she intended to smoke later would dilute the sentimental nonsense in which her friend invested so much viewing time. ‘Does it get better later?’ she asked. Tilly gasped as she read that Hitchcock’s Jamaica Inn had been programmed for the midnight movie slot, and Hettie looked at her, puzzled. ‘Why are you upset? It’s one of your favourite films, and you love the book. I read you most of it while you were ill.’

  Tilly sidestepped the question as images of Absalom and Lamorna Tweek knocked on her psyche. ‘I think a midnight movie might be a bit late for me, especially as we have such a busy day tomorrow.’

  The realisation that she had made no proper preparations for Christmas day suddenly put Hettie into a panic. According to the clock on the staff sideboard, it was half past four on Christmas Eve and she hadn’t wrapped so much as one present for Tilly. In all honesty, she hadn’t had the heart even to think about Christmas while her friend was lying so gravely ill, and now she had nothing to give her. ‘I think I’ll have to pop out for a bit,’ she said, as nonchalantly as she could. ‘There are a couple of things I need to attend to before I pick up the fish and chips. Will you be OK or shall I ask Bruiser to come and sit with you?’

  Tilly was still deeply engrossed in the TV pages and suddenly squealed with delight. ‘Look! Cleopatra’s starting any minute! What a treat!’ She scrambled to change the channel and was just in time to see the opening titles proclaim that her favourite actress, Elizabeth Traybake, was about to lead a cast of thousands in a two-and-a-half-hour epic of Roman intrigue. Hettie piled more coal on the fire, grabbed her coat, scarf and hat and a ten-pound note from her desk drawer, and left Tilly engrossed, praying as she trudged out into the cold that some shops in the high street would still be open for last-minute purchases.

  As she came down the alleyway, she noticed that Lavender Stamp’s post office was shut. The Butters had long since wiped their surfaces down in the bakery, and there was no sign of life at Hilda Dabit’s dry cleaners. With great relief, she noticed that Elsie Haddock’s Fish Emporium was in full swing and she quickened her step towards Hambone’s hardware store, hoping that Meridian might have lingered in order to catch a late pound or two before the lure of a festive bottle of milk stout got the better of her. She was in luck: the pavement at the front of the shop boasted a few bedraggled Christmas trees and a couple of poinsettias which were desperate for a drink, and the lights were on inside. Pleased that she wasn’t too late to buy Tilly something nice, Hettie wasted no time in pushing the door open.

  ‘Blimey! If it ain’t Sherlock ’erself,’ came the greeting from Meridian Hambone as she sat perched behind her counter, her long claws grappling with a pair of knitting needles which were creating something woolly and yellow. ‘I was just about to call it a day. You lookin’ for anything special?’

  ‘Yes, I need some presents for Tilly,’ Hettie replied, trying not to sound too desperate.

  ‘Well yer’s come to the right place, then, ’aven’t yer? She must be past ’er flu if yer getting presents. That’s a nice bit of news. What sort of stuff are yer lookin’ for? I got some nice bits in me ’lectrics department, and they make nice Christmas boxes. You go an ’ave a good look.’

  Hettie made her way to the bottom of the shop, picking up a trolley on the way. She passed an Aladdin’s cave of homeware, garden tools, paint, and a particularly large display of patterned Fablon sticky-backed plastic which Meridian’s son, Lazarus, had come by. Lazarus had an eye for things that fell off the back of lorries, and he made sure that his mother’s shop was first to benefit. Hettie smiled as she passed the Fablon, remembering how Betty and Beryl Butter had come to Lavender Stamp’s rescue back in the summer; on the hottest day of the year, Lavender had decided to give her kitchen surfaces a makeover, but had bonded with the Fablon herself long before it reached her units; the Butters had used up a whole tin of Vim cleaner in scrubbing the sticky mess off the embarrassed post mistress.

  Meridian Hambone’s electrical department was one of the most popular outlets in the town, partly due to her prices and partly to the innovative range of stock. The latest fashions and trends could always be found, often minus their boxes and occasionally with the added bonus of a dent or two which kept the ticket price modest and the turnover brisk. Lazarus, thanks to his dubious contacts, had filled the shelves with interesting gadgets, and Hettie could have hugged him for it. The Teasmade was the first item to catch her eye, complete with two mugs and a built-in radio clock alarm; it would be just right for those cold mornings when Tilly had to struggle off her cushion to make their tea. On the shelf below the Teasmade was a bundle of pink electric blankets. Hettie pulled one out to take a closer look, debating in her head whether a hot-water bottle might be more comforting, but as Tilly had several hot-water bottles already, she decided to go for broke and selected the electric blanket that had the least amount of water staining on it. She noticed that there was a shelf of colourful alarm clocks just past the electrical section and settled for a shiny silver one with a vintage motorbike on its face – that would be pe
rfect for Bruiser, as his getting up in the morning was a bit hit-and-miss.

  Satisfied with her choices so far, Hettie moved back down the shop, stopping at the stationery fixture to select a couple of rolls of wrapping paper to add to her trolley. She still needed a gift for the Butters – without them, life would have been unbearable these last few days, and she would be forever grateful to them for the home that she and Tilly shared. She knew that they loved their garden, but the problem was knowing what to buy for it. She stared at the bewildering array of garden tools, lawnmowers, pots and assorted plastic gnomes, then – out of the corner of her eye – she spied exactly the right thing: a do-it-yourself garden bench, still in its box and ready to be wrapped. She pounced on it and hauled it into the trolley, then made her way back down the aisle to the counter.

  ‘Gawd love us!’ squawked Meridian. ‘You ’ave been busy. Let’s ’ave a look – paper’s on discount, ’lectric blanket’s in me sale, Teasmade you can ’ave fer a fiver. What say the lot fer a tenner as it’s Christmas?’

  Hettie beamed as she handed the money over. ‘I don’t suppose I could borrow the trolley to get it all home?’ she asked, pushing her luck.

  Meridian sighed. ‘You don’t want much, do yer? Doin’ a poor old cat over at this time on a Christmas Eve, an’ then askin’ for transport! You’ll be expectin’ me to wrap the stuff next.’ Meridian cackled at the look on Hettie’s face. ‘Go on with yer! I was only ’avin’ a little joke. Bring me trolley back in the New Year. I’m shuttin’ up till then.’

  Hettie boomed out her ‘Merry Christmas’ as she left Hambone’s behind and made her way back up the high street, crossing the road to join the queue outside Elsie Haddock’s. It was a jolly crowd, all waiting in anticipation for the prize of a newspaper parcel of golden battered fish and hot chips, fried to perfection by Elsie’s own large paws. Hettie waited patiently with her trolley as the queue moved into the shop; not wishing to leave it outside, she took it in with her, much to the annoyance of a grossly overweight cat who was trying to get out. For a moment or two, tempers flared as she became wedged between Hettie’s trolley and the door, offering several words that Hettie would only ever say under her breath, but at last the fat cat spilt out into the street and the festive spirit returned.