by Debbie Young
I slapped him lightly on his bare chest. “That joke is in terrible taste.”
He grinned. “Sorry, you’re right. But I must say, I did sleep much better than I expected. Eventually.” He patted the firm feather mattress with his free hand.
I looked at him archly. “I’m saying nothing,” I said, before realising that made no sense whatsoever.
When Kitty opened the front door to me, the first thing that struck me was the smell of frying bacon.
A chunky tabby cat slipped past her bare feet and padded silently out to throw itself down on the flagstone path behind me.
“Tell them whatever they’re selling, you don’t want any,” shouted a familiar voice from the kitchen. Billy. I was glad they were reconciled.
Kitty turned round to call to him over her shoulder. “It’s only some girl. I’ll be with you in a minute.” She stood with one hand firmly on the doorknob and the other on the doorjamb, like a bouncer trying to bar my entry to a seedy nightclub. “Hello. What do you want?”
Could Kitty have forgotten who I was already, or was she just plain rude?
I spoke loudly enough so that Billy might realise it was me and come to lend moral support. “Hector and I are going to visit your mother in hospital this morning, and we wondered whether you’d like to come with us.”
“Not now, we’re just having breakfast – a big proper fry-up.” That was the first time I’d seen her even come close to smiling. I grinned at the evidence of her sneaky return to carnivorous living in her mother’s absence. I didn’t want to spoil her simple pleasure.
“We can wait till you’ve finished your breakfast, if you like. We can go any time this morning.”
“No. Let the hospital look after her for a change. I’m having a holiday while I can.”
That sounded encouraging. “Oh, that’s nice. Where are you going?” Perhaps her supposed agoraphobia was on the wane after all.
“Nowhere. I don’t need to go anywhere. I’m just staying here and having a rest. And Billy’s staying to keep me company till Mother comes home. Goodbye.”
Abruptly she closed the door, leaving me staring at the peeling paint on the knocker.
“That’s me told,” I said to the cat, bending down to stroke its glistening fur. It looked in much better condition than Kitty as it followed me to the end of the front path, then left me to return alone to Hector.
12 The Prevention of Cats
On arrival at the hospital, we found a middle-aged lady with helmet hair camped out at Bunny’s bedside. An array of goods covered the cellular blanket tucked in around the old lady’s tiny frame, as if a pedlar was showing her his wares. A vast supermarket bouquet lay at the foot of the bed, alongside a wicker basket of fruit. Tucked beside a pineapple was a leaflet promoting a cat charity, and peeking out from under a bunch of grapes was a brochure about remembering the charity in a will.
This display of plenty made the bunch of grape hyacinths that I’d brought along from my back garden in a jam jar look mean.
Bunny was fast asleep, but the visitor looked up as Hector and I approached. I was wondering whether she was one of Bunny’s other children, until I saw the slogan on her sweatshirt, “Cats’ Prevention”, and made the connection with the leaflets and gifts. Here was a woman on a mission.
“Cats Prevention?” I said aloud. “That’s an odd name for a charity.”
The lady gave a supercilious smile. “Our full title is Cats’ Controlled Reproduction Association for the Prevention of Strays, but one had to shorten it to fit on one’s chest.”
“Why didn’t you just use the initials?” I asked without thinking it through.
Hector went to fetch a spare bedside chair from the other side of the ward. “I can see why not,” he said quietly as he passed me, the corners of his mouth twitching.
He placed the chair on the opposite side of Bunny’s bed from the Cats Prevention lady and beckoned me to sit down. He remained standing at the foot of the bed, by Bunny’s medical charts. With a white coat, he’d have passed for a very dashing doctor on his rounds.
The woman’s smile vanished. “I take it you’re not a cat lover, sir? You’re not Kitty’s son, are you?”
That sobered him up.
“Good lord, no. Besides, Kitty doesn’t have any children that I know of.”
“Just as well, if she treats them like poor Mrs Carter’s cats. Knocking them about, kicking them out of the door. Honestly, if I didn’t care so much for Mrs Carter, I should have reported her daughter to the authorities long ago and got a lifetime ban on pet ownership slapped on her.”
She stared at me as if looking for a family resemblance.
“And are you a relative of the Carters?”
“No, are you?” I smiled sweetly, pleased to turn the tables on her. If she had been a relative, she’d have known Kitty didn’t have children.
“No,” she replied quickly. “I’m just a close friend with Mrs Carter’s best interests at heart.”
It was an odd sort of close friendship if they weren’t even on first name terms.
“I’m Mrs Petunia Lot, director of Cats Prevention. And you are—?” She narrowed her eyes at me. In a cat, that would have been a sign of friendship, but not in this case.
“Her next-door neighbour but one,” I said.
“Her close neighbour,” said Hector, straight faced.
“My name is Sophie Sayers,” I continued. “And I work at Hector’s House, just up the road from Bunny.”
“Ah, so you’re a cleaning lady?” She flashed a patronising smile, as if she’d put me in my place, firmly beneath her. “Do let me have your number, in case my current treasure ever decides to leave my service. A good cleaner is so hard to find these days.”
“No, I sell books. Hector’s House is the bookshop in Wendlebury Barrow High Street. Surely you must have seen it when you’ve been visiting Bunny?”
I used her first name to hint that I was on closer terms with the patient than she was, even though I wasn’t.
“Bunny?”
Puzzled, she glanced at the board over the bed that bore what must have been Bunny’s legal name, Christabel. I thought it very pretty.
“Mrs Carter is known to her friends and family as Bunny,” said Hector.
The Cats Prevention lady ignored her gaffe as if it had never happened. “The village bookshop? Oh no, dear, I never go in there. I buy all my books online. So much cheaper, and they’re delivered to your door.”
At Hector’s sharp intake of breath, she returned her attention to him.
“And you are?”
“I am Hector.” He spoke slowly, controlling himself.
“Oh.” She paused, then for no apparent reason gave a yelp of laughter that turned the heads of patients in beds further down the ward. How Bunny slept through that was a miracle. She was shrill enough to wake the dead. “Oh well, never mind.”
Finally, she focused on the object of her visit, turning in her chair to gaze with fake adoration at Bunny. “But what a shock this has been. Still, perhaps good will come of it yet. It’s a wake-up call to the unsuitability of Mrs Carter’s conditions at home. I trust the authorities will now take action to rehome her somewhere with proper care.”
“But the Manor House is her home,” I protested. “She’s lived there for decades. And her daughter lives with her as her full-time carer.”
Mrs Lot cast me a knowing look. “Quite. And her daughter can’t even look after cats properly, never mind her mother.”
Kitty might not have been the model cat-owner, but I couldn’t imagine her tipping her mother off a kitchen chair.
Mrs Lot pressed on. “She’d be much better in a proper care home, with her own little room, than rattling around in that big house with that addled daughter of hers. Then Kitty would be free to go and get the professional help she needs for herself.”
I looked to Hector to back me up, but he’d folded his arms and pursed his lips, refusing to rise to this wretched woman’
s endless prattle.
“Of course, I’d miss being able to depend upon her to place so many of my precious foundlings.”
“You mean your cats?”
“Yes. But I’m sure Mrs Carter will continue her support in other ways.”
As she spoke, she glanced at the wills leaflet tucked in beside the grapes, possibly without realising.
I followed Hector’s suit and refused to engage. How Bunny left her estate was no business of Mrs Lot’s, any more than it was ours, and she certainly should not be discussing it with strangers over the poor lady’s sick bed.
Mrs Lot glanced at her watch.
“Are you a cat person?” she asked Hector with a saccharine smile.
“No, I’m a Mister Man,” said Hector, sullenly.
After that, she ignored Hector completely.
“I like cats, if that’s what you mean,” I said cautiously. “My mum and dad have always had cats.”
“You may care to visit the Cats Prevention headquarters in Slate Green to see our fine work for yourself.” From beneath a bunch of bananas in the fruit basket, she pulled out a card showing its location map and, with a knowing smile, leaned over Bunny’s legs to press it into my hand. “I defy you to leave without taking one of our lovely strays home with you!”
“Over my dead body,” murmured Hector. “Or possibly yours.”
If she heard him, she was unperturbed.
“Now, I must get on. I’ve two more elderly friends to see here this morning before getting back for our open afternoon at the refuge. See you again, no doubt, Chloe Mayer.”
With a smug smile, as if she thought she’d just made a new conquest, she scooped up her handbag from the floor, and bent over the bed to air-kiss Bunny somewhere near her left cheekbone. Then she patted the hand without the cannula for the drip before bustling off towards the exit without a backward glance, probably already planning her attack on the next patient on her hit list.
13 Sleeping Beauty
A new voice broke the welcome silence that followed Mrs Lot’s departure.
“Good riddance.” Bunny’s eyes snapped open as soon as the double swing doors at the end of the ward closed behind her. “Wretched woman, I thought she’d never leave. Littering my bed with her bribes.” From beneath the thin hospital blanket, Bunny kicked the supermarket shopping strewn at the foot of her bed.
“I’ll give the sweets to the nurses, but you can take the rest of it back for Kitty. That’ll make sure she eats something healthy in my absence. And give the flowers to Carol to sell in her shop. Honestly, that wretched cat woman comes to my house every week without invitation and seems to think she’s doing me a favour. I hoped I’d have a break from her in here. She’s only after my money, you know. Even thinks she’s in with a chance of inheriting my house. Still, at least having her about the place keeps Kitty on her toes. As do all the cats.”
She laughed, and Hector let out a sigh of relief.
“Hello, Bunny, I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. We thought you were out for the count when we got here.”
“Just playing dead for Mrs Peculiar Lot’s benefit. Ha! Lot’s wife. I wish someone would turn her into a pillar of salt.”
She savoured that thought before turning her silver-grey eyes on me. With a starburst of wrinkles at the outer corners, her eyes were bright and lively above her distinctive aquiline nose and wide, thin-lipped mouth.
“So you’re Sophie Sayers. Hello, my dear.”
Age may have softened the angles familiar from Kitty’s face, but Bunny retained the poise and confidence of someone used to having her exquisite high cheekbones admired. I liked her already.
“Yes, that’s right, Mrs Carter. I’m Sophie Sayers, and I live two doors up from you. I’m sorry I’ve never got round to visiting you before now. At home, I mean.”
“And I’m sorry I’ve never thought to invite you, so now we’re quits. But please call me Bunny. All my friends do. Hector, next time you bring my books, you must bring Sophie too. She looks interesting.”
Hector glanced from her to me and back again. “If you like,” he said with a reluctance that surprised me. Perhaps he enjoyed his time alone with her. It seemed ridiculous to feel jealous of such an elderly lady, but I envied her easy charm. I hastened to change the subject.
“Anyway, how are you feeling now after your ordeal?”
With fingers swan-necked from arthritis, she pulled back the drooping sleeves of her hospital gown to reveal arms so covered in dark bruises that there was hardly a patch of flesh-coloured flesh to be seen.
“Black and blue,” she said tersely. “And in pain.” She pointed to the cannula in the back of her hand. “They’ve put me on fluids and painkillers to help me bear it, but they’re not keen to give me any more drugs than they have to. One of the nurses said they didn’t want to overtax my liver. I can think of better ways to overtax my liver.” She glanced disparagingly at the bottle of lemon barley water on her bedside cabinet then gazed imploringly at Hector. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any of your lovely hooch on you, dearie?”
He patted his jacket pockets, pretending to check. “No, sorry. I’ll sneak you some later when you’re back at home, if you like.” I guessed he meant to sneak it past Kitty. “But tell me, do you feel as if you’re on the mend? Despite the bruises, you seem on good form.”
She was certainly chirpier than one might expect, considering what she’d been through.
“Oh, I’ll pass muster. I’ll be here for a few days, till they unhitch me from this wretched thing.” She tugged at the tube hard enough to make the drip stand rattle. “I dare say they’ll send me home as soon as they can get away with it, to clear the bed for some needier soul.”
“You’re not worried about going home?” I was fearful on her behalf. Who was to say her attacker wouldn’t strike again?
“Worried? Why should I be worried?”
Hector flashed me a restraining look, so I let him reply. He paused to gather the right words.
“Bunny, do you remember your accident?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Tumbling down a rabbit hole like Alice? Mercy, yes! Well, I remember waking up in it, if not falling down.”
“Do you have any recollection how you got there?”
She threw up her hands in surrender. “No idea. Perhaps I was sleepwalking. Those sleeping pills are very good, you know. I’m just glad I slept through the whole thing until Dr Perkins woke me up. Best sleep I’ve had in ages, though the bruises are a high price to pay.”
She gazed down at her purple wrists.
“The thing is, no-one seems to know how you got there.”
She pursed her lips. “No matter. If anyone tries any funny business, Kitty will stop them.”
“Kitty didn’t stop them this time,” he said gently. “Your wheelchair was found abandoned in the churchyard. Do you remember anyone visiting you yesterday and taking you out in your wheelchair? Kitty doesn’t.”
“Kitty wouldn’t remember her own name if I didn’t call her by it.” She leaned back against her pillows, wincing slightly at the effort. “Now, let me see. Billy came to do the gardening – no, that was the previous day. Was it Dr Perkins? I distinctly remember seeing Dr Perkins.”
“No, that was later,” I said. “I called him to attend to you in the churchyard after your fall.”
“And I certainly don’t remember going out in my wheelchair. I haven’t touched it for months. Whoever it was might have carted me down there in a wheelbarrow, for all I know.”
Stiffly Bunny turned her head to one side to make herself more comfortable, showing off her remarkable profile to best advantage. Waves of hair spread out on the pillow behind her like spun silver. For the first time she noticed my little jam jar of grape hyacinths that I’d set on her bedside locker when we arrived. She reached out to touch them.
“Beautiful,” she said, half-closing her eyes like a cat in bliss. Hector, still at the foot of her bed, glanced down at Petuni
a Lot’s lavish bouquet, then back to my flowers.
“Do you know who you remind me of right now, Bunny? No, don’t move. Dame Ellen Terry, in the Watts portrait, Choosing, though in reverse.”
“Ah!” said Bunny, raising a hand and cupping it around the hyacinths.
Hector turned to me. “Do you know it, Sophie? A famous Victorian painting showing a beautiful woman choosing between the humble but exquisitely perfumed violets in her hand, and showy unscented hothouse camellias at her shoulder.”
Then he reached into his inside jacket pocket.
“Which reminds me, Bunny, I’ve brought you a small volume of poetry to divert you. It’s hard to concentrate on a novel in the hubbub of a hospital, especially if you’re feeling below par, but I thought these poems might offer some respite.”
He presented her with a small vintage hardback with a dark green binding. It must have come from his private collection of second-hand books rather than from the shop. She took it with both hands and tilted the spine towards her at arm’s length to focus on the title.
“Ah, John Clare.” She smiled, set it down and patted its cover. “Bless you, Hector.” When she reached out to press Hector’s hand, her smile was reflected by his.
Then she dropped his hand abruptly, picked up the book, opened it at the first page and began to read. After turning to the next page, she glanced up as if surprised to see us still there.
“Thank you for coming,” she said, which was possibly the politest way she could think of to tell us to go.
14 Priti in Pink
Leaving Bunny engrossed in the book, and taking with us most of the gifts that Mrs Lot had brought, we headed for the nurses’ station. A lady in a pink dress with Priti on her name badge looked up from her paperwork to greet us.
“How can I help you?”
Hector flashed her his best smile, the one I wished he kept reserved for me.
“Thank you so much, nurse. We’d be most grateful for an update on my great aunt, Christabel Carter. I promised to get an update for her daughter, who lives with her. Can you offer me any insights about her current condition and her prognosis so that we may prepare appropriately for her return? That would be most kind of you.”