by Jenny Twist
She knocked on the door and waited but she didn’t really expect an answer. The house felt deserted, the knock had a hollow, empty sound. She bent down to peer through the letter box. Nothing. All the windows must have been shuttered. It was pitch black in there and the space felt tiny, enclosed and musty.
“Can I help you?”
Alison shot up from her crouching position – so quickly that she felt giddy – and swung round to face the owner of the voice.
“I’m so sorry,” she stammered, feeling her face flare red. “I was looking for Miss Blacker.”
The owner of the voice turned out to be an old lady of the twinset and pearls variety – literally - Alison could see the pearls peeping from the open neck of her sensible tweed coat.
“And did you expect to find her in the letter box?” The old lady’s mouth twitched slightly at the corners as if she were suppressing a smile.
Alison, suddenly assailed by a vision of the enormous Miss Blacker crushed inside a letter box, had to smother a giggle. That was why it was so dark inside. It was actually, literally, a box attached to the inside of the door.
“I’m sorry.” She gulped. “I must look as if I’m casing the joint.”
This time the old lady really did smile. “I think a real burglar might be a little more discreet,” she said. Then, proffering her hand, “Mavis Wetherspoon. I’m Miss Blacker’s neighbour. I’ve come to feed the cat.”
As if on cue, a small grey and white tabby shot round the corner of the house. It halted for a moment as it took in the two women standing on the path and then launched itself into Alison’s arms. Alison, caught off guard in the act of shaking Miss Wetherspoon’s hand, let go automatically and opened her arms to catch the little creature.
“Well, goodness me,” said Miss Wetherspoon, as the cat nestled in Alison’s arms and stretched its neck to lick her face. “I’ve never seen her do that with anyone but June. She must like you.”
“I’m Alison Metcalfe,” Alison said, laughing as the cat’s rough tongue tickled her cheek. “I work with Miss Blacker.”
“Ah, you’re a teacher at Graystones. I expect that’s it. You probably smell like June. Chalk dust and so forth, don’t you know.”
At this Alison did burst out into laughter. “Well, I don’t know about that, but it’s very nice to be given such a welcome.” She smiled down at the little cat. “What’s she called?”
“Jessica,” said Miss Wetherspoon, with a slight grunt of disapproval. “Rather fanciful name for a cat if you ask me.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Alison, quick to counter any possible criticism of the absent Miss Blacker. “I think it suits her.”
“A cat by any other name . . .” said Miss Wetherspoon, inconsequentially. “Anyway, she’ll be expecting her supper. Would you like to come in?” She produced a key from her coat pocket and opened the cottage door.
It was cold inside. Miss Wetherspoon shivered. “I’ve got the heating on low, but I don’t think it’s quite enough. I’ll just go and check.”
Alison looked down at the little cat, now licking her neck with every appearance of ecstasy. “Poor little Jessica,” she murmured. “Lonely and cold. This is no life for a cat.”
Hugging the animal to her chest, she wandered around the room. The furniture was old-fashioned, the settees and armchairs over-stuffed and comfortable, the walls lined with books. It was exactly the sort of place she imagined Miss Blacker living in.
Miss Wetherspoon came bustling back into the room. “I don’t think it’s working at all,” she said. I can’t see a pilot light or anything. It’s always the way, isn’t it? The owner goes away and all the life support systems break down.”
She gave Alison a wintry smile.” I really can’t decide what to do. June should have been back on Saturday but she didn’t turn up and hasn’t called and I know for a fact she didn’t take her mobile phone with her.”
She was walking into the kitchen as she said this, closely followed by Alison, still clutching the little cat. “I tried ringing her sister,” she went on, reaching into a cupboard over the sink and bringing down a small tinfoil tray of cat food and a bag of biscuits, “but she didn’t seem to know anything.”
She bent down to retrieve two dishes from the floor and set them on the counter where she began to spoon food from the tray into the smaller of the two. The little cat watched with hungry eyes, following Miss Wetherspoon’s every movement. “As a matter of fact,” the old lady said, pausing with her hand hovering over the cat’s dish, “she was rather abrupt.”
Unable to contain herself any longer, Jessica launched herself at the counter and fell upon the food. “Oh dear,” said Miss Wetherspoon, inserting the last spoonful of cat food into the dish and then gently picking up cat and dish and depositing them both on the floor. “She said she hadn’t had any contact with her sister for several weeks and had no idea where she had gone or why she hadn’t returned.” She pursed her lips in disapproval. “Given that June has practically brought up her daughter for her, I thought that was a rather peculiar attitude.”
Alison remembered Miss Blacker talking about her niece – Poppy? Pammy? – neither name sounded quite right.
Miss Wetherspoon began pouring biscuits into the other dish.
Alison felt disoriented. She had come to rescue Miss Blacker but Miss Blacker wasn’t there – had never returned. She had gone off on holiday and never come back. Leaving her little cat and her beloved niece. She hadn’t phoned or written or got anyone else to contact anyone.
She leaned back against the table and rubbed her hand on her forehead.
“I can’t believe she’d do that,” she said at last. “Just go away and not come back. I can’t believe she wouldn’t contact you.”
Miss Wetherspoon placed the biscuit dish on the floor next to the other dish. Jessica glanced at it then went back to devouring the meat.
“That’s what I think,” she said, grimacing slightly as she straightened up. “Completely out of character”
“So what do you think happened?”
Miss Wetherspoon shook her head.
“Something must have happened to her,” Alison said, her visions of Miss Blacker falling down the stairs replaced with car accidents, drowning, kidnap, rape. “Do you know exactly where she was going? Her flight details or anything?”
Miss Wetherspoon shook her head again. “Only that she was going to Spain and coming back this Saturday. When she didn’t come I checked my calendar in case I’d got the date wrong. I don’t usually get things like that wrong.” She shrugged and Alison thought, I bet she doesn’t. I bet everything she does is neatly organised.
“That was why I rang her sister. I thought she’d be able to confirm.” She glanced over towards the door and Alison saw a board with various papers and cards pinned to it, including one headed ‘IMPORTANT NUMBERS’. Directly below the emergency numbers, the doctor and the vet, was Ruth – 3048952.
“Is this her?” Alison began to rummage in her bag for a pen and paper. She was ready to go round to the sister’s and throttle the information out of her if necessary.
“Yes, dear. But I genuinely don’t think she knows anything.”
Alison stopped rummaging, feeling deflated.
The little cat, having finished the meat, was eyeing the biscuits unenthusiastically. She looked up at Alison and gave a plaintive little cry.
“Can I give her some more?” Alison asked.
Miss Wetherspoon looked dubious. “Well, you can, but there’s not much left.”
Alison went to the cupboard. There was another packet of biscuits, but only two little trays of meat.
“How often does she eat?”
“Just twice a day. I come and give her her breakfast first thing and then I give her her supper about this time.”
“So, if I came back tomorrow with some more supplies, I could give her another one now?”
Miss Wetherspoon smiled, “Of course you can, dear. After all, I’d have
had to have bought some more tomorrow anyway.”
It suddenly occurred to Alison that Miss Wetherspoon might not be very well off. Perhaps she had been worried about having to buy more food for Jessica.
She refilled the cat’s bowl and set it back down on the floor. Jessica gave her hand a lick of gratitude and then turned her attention to the meat.
“What a lovely little cat she is!” Alison exclaimed. “It seems such a shame to leave her all on her own like this.”
“I know,” Miss Wetherspoon said, with a small sigh. “But I have two very aggressive Siamese and I think she’d be even more unhappy at my place.”
“I could take her,” Alison said, rather too quickly, aware she sounded over eager. “Sorry, you don’t know me. I could be anyone.”
Miss Wetherspoon regarded her, head on one side, then smiled. “No, I’m sure you’re who you say you are, but I ought to check, I suppose. Do you know Jean Harris?”
“Of course I do. She’s Head of the English Department.”
“Well, we could go over to my place and have a cup of tea while I ring her and then we’ll come back and you can take Jessica home. You can leave your address and telephone number and I’ll leave a note for June. I must say it’ll be something of a relief. She’s such a sociable little thing. I don’t like leaving her alone for so long.”
Half an hour later Alison set off down the path to her car with Jessica in a cat carrier and holding a carrier bag filled with what remained of the food. In her handbag was a note with Miss Wetherspoon’s telephone number, that of the vet and that of Miss Blacker’s sister, Ruth.
Miss Wetherspoon followed on behind carrying Jessica’s bed and her toys.
“By the way,” she said, sticking her head through the window just before Alison set off. “I’ve just had a thought. Patsy will know.” Alison frowned. Patsy? Yes, of course, the niece.
“Sorry.” She shook her head. “Patsy will know what?”
“She’ll know exactly where June went and when she was due back. She’s like a daughter to her. More so than to her own mother, I’d say.” She gave a loud sniff.
Alison brightened up. “Can you get in touch with her?”
“Easier for you than me, dear. She goes to Graystones,”
Of course she did. Miss Blacker had said so. In the juniors. In fact, she seemed to remember her saying she regularly looked after the child after school.
“I’ll find her. She’ll be in the juniors. You don’t happen to know her surname, do you?”
“Well, I only know her as Patsy. I imagine it’s short for Patricia. And her surname is – just a minute –.” She stood for a moment with her eyes closed. “Owen – like the war poet.”
“Thank you” Alison beamed at the old lady. “I’ll find out what I can and ring you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, my dear.” The old lady’s eyes were very bright. “I’ve been so worried.”
II
The little cat was a great success.
Alison had experienced a few qualms on the way home. It had not occurred to her to ask her mother how she felt about it before agreeing to take care of the little animal. But she need not have worried. Before she could launch into protestations about keeping her in her room and dealing with everything herself, her mother had opened the cat box and snatched up Jessica.
“What a lovely little cat!” she exclaimed, pressing Jessica to her bosom. “Wherever did you get her?”
“How do you know she’s a girl?” Alison laughed, partly with relief.
“She’s far too pretty to be a boy, aren’t you, Sweetie?” Mum nuzzled her face into Jessica’s fur.
“Well, you’re right, as it happens. She’s called Jessica. But don’t get too carried away. I’m just looking after her for a friend.”
Alison put the kettle on and made the tea while she filled her mother in on the events of the day.
Her mother tutted at the unreasonable attitude of the Weasel, drew in her breath sharply at Alison’s rebellious speech, said “Good for you,” when Alison told her how she’d tracked down Miss Blacker’s address and then looked completely baffled at her colleague’s disappearance.
“But why would she stay in Spain?” she asked, putting Jessica down, who was beginning to struggle. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“No,” Alison said, with a sigh, “it doesn’t. It doesn’t make any sense at all. I’m going to try and find out more tomorrow. But I can’t help feeling something has happened to her.”
She spent the rest of the evening catching up with her marking, but she kept being distracted by thoughts of Miss Blacker, and by the little cat, who was putting on a marvellous performance for her parents – jumping up and pirouetting in the air after the length of wool her mother was dangling for her, chasing all over the room after a piece of screwed-up paper. Alison felt a stab of jealousy, but Jessica paused and looked at her with a slightly worried expression, as if to say, “Am I doing all right? Is this what you want me to do?” and Alison laughed aloud and went back to her books.
By the time she finally got through the pile it was way past her bedtime and her parents had gone upstairs over an hour before. She stretched and got up from the table, and packed her books away in her briefcase. She hated leaving anything in a mess.
Then she went into the kitchen and checked the cat’s food bowls. There were some biscuits, but no meat left. And that had been the last tin. Frowning, she went to the cupboard to see if she could find anything suitable and, amazingly, there was the last tin still sitting on the shelf. So what had her mother fed her with earlier? Intrigued, she had a look in the kitchen bin. There, right on top, was an empty tin of best salmon. Aha! So that was how the land lay.
“Well, Jessica,” she said aloud to the little cat, who had followed her into the room. “It looks like you’re in danger of being spoilt. But never mind.” She bent down to pick her up and she nuzzled against her neck. “It’ll make up for being lonely for so long.”
She filled the bowl with the contents of the last tin and put the cat down in front of it. Jessica looked up and beamed at her before getting stuck in.
“I can’t believe how much you eat. You’re so tiny. Where do you put it all?”
Later, when she had cleaned her teeth and was comfortably settled in bed, Jessica came up to join her and nestled beside her on the pillow. Alison was sure this was inappropriate behaviour but, of course, she didn’t know what her normal routine was with Miss Blacker. If she usually slept with her mistress, it would be unkind to throw her out now. And anyway she felt a certain smugness that Jessica had chosen to sleep with her rather than her parents.
****
The next morning Alison found it quite a wrench to leave the little cat behind with her mother. God, it’s like falling in love, she thought. Who would have imagined she could form such an attachment so quickly? It was going to be so hard to give her up when Miss Blacker came back . . . if Miss Blacker came back.
That lunchtime she went on the hunt for Miss Blacker’s favourite niece, the child prodigy, Patsy Owen. The teacher on duty in the juniors’ yard was Jean Harris, the same one Miss Wetherspoon had contacted the day before.
“Oh, hello,” she said, smiling. “Mavis rang me and told me you would be round today looking for Patsy.” She waved to a small, rather podgy child sitting on the wall by herself. “There she is.” Then, raising her voice, “Patsy, I’ve got Miss Metcalfe here to see you.”
The child looked up and gave a huge grin, which suddenly transformed her from a rather ordinary plump little girl into something approaching a beauty, then got up and trotted towards them.
“I’m so pleased to meet you, Miss Metcalfe,” she said, proffering her hand in an oddly formal gesture. “My Auntie June told me all about you.”
Alison accepted the proffered hand and smiled back.
“Actually it’s your Auntie June I wanted to see you about,” she said. “Has she contacted you at all?”
“Well,
” Patsy looked down at her shoes and then up again. “Not for a few days. She sent me a postcard every day for the first week but the last one was postmarked the thirtieth of December. Mind you, that could be the Christmas post, don’t you think?” Her voice held such a pleading note that Alison rushed to reassure her.
“Of course it could. I’m sure that’s it. She didn’t say anything in it about being delayed, did she?”
“No.” Patsy looked really disconsolate. “I thought she was coming back this Saturday.” Then, as an afterthought. “Mummy’s furious.”
“Oh.” Alison chewed her lip. “You don’t happen to know where she was going, do you?”
“She was going to the Alpujarras, wasn’t she?”
Alison, taken aback by the child’s perfect pronunciation of the difficult Spanish word, took a moment to respond. “That’s what I thought, but I don’t know exactly where. I thought I might try to track her and find out whether there’s any obvious reason why she’s delayed.”
“You think something’s happened to her, don’t you?” The child was looking really distressed now, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
Alison squatted down to bring herself level with the child. She didn’t believe in lying to children. It made them lose faith in grown-ups. “I think something may have happened to her,” she said, “but there may be a perfectly reasonable explanation and if I can find out just where she went I might be able to find out and put all our minds at rest.”
Patsy screwed her face up. “I don’t know, she didn’t tell me the exact details. Just a village in the Alpujarras.” Then her face brightened. “But the lady at the travel agents will know, won’t she?”
Alison and Jean exchanged a look.