‘I will try to be brave.’ He met my eyes. ‘Are you available now?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘I have an hour and a half before my next meeting.’
‘Well, don’t waste any more time, then. Off you go. Go and strip down to your underpants and then stand in the corner until I order you to approach the punishment horse.’
After Mr Mashaba had left, lightly spanked and well satisfied, I returned to my phone and to my astonishment, saw Simon’s number on the missed calls list.
Finally, he had phoned me back. My palms went damp and my heart began to pound.
I listened to the message, but it was short and succinct.
‘If it’s all right with you, I’ll come past on Thursday morning at nine. If it’s not all right, let me know. Otherwise I’ll see you then.’
He wasn’t making a booking – thank goodness, because I was in no fit state to offer him any kind of domination service. But I was, at least, going to see him.
That meant we could talk, and I could explain everything to him. Better late than never.
On Thursday morning, while I was feeding my furry quartet, I noticed that Bob the Cat was not eating.
A knot of worry lodged itself in the forefront of my mind and refused to budge.
He was sitting by his bowl, looking up at me expectantly with his owllike gaze as if he trusted I’d be able to fix whatever was wrong.
‘Bob, come on. It’s from a brandnew bag. Fresh and tasty,’ I encouraged him, but he wouldn’t.
After a short stand-off failed to resolve this issue, I ransacked the cupboard and unearthed a can of tuna right at the back. The sound of the tin opening drove the other three cats into a frenzy of excitement. Sparkle twined around my legs; Biscuit and Cat Four both leaped onto the counter to try to get at the source of the enticing smell.
When I dished the tuna out, Bob gave the bowl a cursory inspection before turning away and I felt my worry knot twist tighter.
He’d had trouble with his teeth a while ago and had had to have two molars extracted. Perhaps that was what it was now. More tooth trouble.
I poured some of the brine into a saucer and put it down in front of him but although he sniffed at it, he didn’t touch it. Even when he had been in pain from his teeth, he’d enjoyed tuna brine.
He blinked up at me with his brilliant green eyes. I leant down to stroke his tabby fur, but he didn’t arch his back against my hand like he usually did. Instead he shrank away.
‘Bob,’ I said, now highly concerned. ‘What’s wrong?’
He turned away from the bowl and as he headed across the kitchen, I saw he was limping.
Christ, he was sick or injured. He had an infection … an abscess …something serious was wrong. I needed to take him to the vet. Simon was due at nine. That gave me an hour. More than enough time.
I scooped Bob up in my arms and headed for my car. I opened the passenger door and put him gently inside, closed it as swiftly as I could, and then got in the driver’s side.
Bob realised, too late for escape, that this meant a visit to the vet. He sprang stiffly onto the back of the seat, balanced there for a moment and then, with a yowl of pain, slid back down again.
My whole body felt tense as I pressed the Start button. The Renault choked into life, idling unevenly as I put it into reverse.
But the car refused to budge.
I pressed down harder on the clutch. Eased the gear lever back into place again. Let out the clutch.
The car gave a short, sharp, bunny hop backwards before stalling. Bob gave another unhappy cry and, with some difficulty, put his paws up on the window frame, looking for a way out.
I tried first gear in case it was just reverse that was acting up, but the same thing happened.
Shit, shit, shit. At this critical moment, my wretched car was busy breaking down. The damn gearbox was fucked. There was no polite way to put it. There would be no visit to the vet for Bob this morning; it would have to wait until after Simon had gone, when I would need to call a taxi to take me there and back and then get this useless rattletrap towed off to the dealership to be fixed.
I opened the door and Bob wriggled out and limped away in the direction of the folly.
I followed him, after having unearthed an old copy of the Yellow Pages from the box under the hall table that contained the very last of Mark’s office stuff. I let myself in and put the heater on before sitting down at the desk and hugging myself for warmth. I was wearing my dominatrix’s trench coat, which, although smart, was far too light for winter weather. I needed to invest in a new and thicker garment for the colder months.
I sat down at the desk and flipped the directory to C for Cab Services. At the foot of the desk, Bob looked up at me pleadingly. He was obviously in too much pain to jump, so I lifted him up and placed him in a sunny spot where he started to look more like himself again as he slowly washed his face.
And then, at eight forty-five, I heard the purr of the Jaguar outside and the rattle of the gate as Goodness opened it. Simon was early. Bless you, I thought. Now I can explain to you what happened, straighten things out between us, and then get my cat to the vet.
He parked in his usual spot and I watched him as he walked over to the folly. In a warm and substantial-looking grey ski jacket, he was properly dressed for the weather. The wind was tugging his hair away from his forehead and I could see he looked far more serious than usual.
‘Simon,’ I stood up when he entered, but he didn’t offer any physical contact by way of a greeting and nor did he smile. Looking at him, those broad shoulders and those indigo eyes felt at once familiar and intimidating. In spite of the fact we’d shared the most incredible physical and emotional closeness, I suddenly felt as if I was standing opposite a stranger. How could I begin to explain to this angry and distant man what had really happened? I groped for the words I would need to apologise for the lies I had told; to acknowledge the hurt I had caused him by allowing his trust to be betrayed.
‘I know I’m early,’ he said.
‘No problem,’ I replied.
He looked down at Bob and, for the first time that morning, his face softened. He scratched the cat gently behind his ear and Bob responded by rubbing his head against Simon’s hand before lowering it tiredly onto his paws again.
‘Please, have a seat,’ I told him.
‘No, thanks. I’m not staying long.’
His words caused a coldness to settle in me.
‘I came to say goodbye,’ he said, and the coldness turned to ice.
‘G-goodbye? How do you mean …?’ I felt nauseous and my voice sounded tight and tense.
‘I’m off to Dubai the day after tomorrow.’
Shocked, I looked up at him, hoping for some clarity, but found I couldn’t endure the hardness of his gaze.
‘That’s nice. For how long?’
‘Two or three years.’
I let out an audible breath, feeling as if I’d been punched hard in the midriff.
‘But …’
‘We were notified last week that we’ve won the contract for two other projects in Muscat and Riyadh, and the Dubai project has the go-ahead for its second phase. Someone needs to run a branch office there, and I decided that it should be me. I leave on Saturday.’
‘But what about the Orange Farm development?’ was all I could think to say, and his lips tightened.
‘I’ve put one of the other partners in charge.’
He carried on talking but I didn’t take in a word of what he said. What he’d already told me had filled my mind and made it impossible for more information to penetrate.
He was leaving … not for weeks or months, but for years.
This was the end, then, for us.
The end.
I felt utterly bereft.
Jan’s warning rang in my ears. Don’t get involved. Physical means emotional.
I had disregarded her words and now I was paying the price.
The dis
cussion I’d been planning to have with Simon, my effort to explain the truth, was redundant now. There was no point to it at all.
I realised he’d stopped speaking.
‘How wonderful for you,’ I said, hoping my voice sounded normal and that he couldn’t hear the tremor in it. ‘That is an incredible opportunity. I wish you all the best there … I’ll really miss you.’
‘Likewise,’ he said, but without enthusiasm.
‘I’m sorry for what happened,’ I said. It was all I could get out. He didn’t so much as acknowledge my words.
This was the stuff of nightmares. I wished he’d leave now, so I could start to deal with it all. And then Bob jumped off the desk, landed awkwardly, yowled unhappily and limped off towards the heater.
‘What’s up with Bob? Is he ok?’ Simon asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He didn’t eat this morning and he seems very sore. I would have taken him to the vet earlier but my car’s bloody gearbox has packed up.’
I risked glancing up at him for just a moment and saw he was frowning down at the Yellow Pages, still open at C for Cab Services.
‘Do you want to take him now?’ he asked, more gently.
‘No, no. Of course not. You go on. You must have so much to do. I’ll be fine.’
And I don’t want to spend a moment longer in your company. I’d rather have a stake driven through my heart … it would be less painful.
Simon gave a small nod. He turned away and walked out of the door, and I heard his footsteps retreating and the soft snick of the central locking as he opened the car.
I stared blindly down at the directory on the desk, my shocked brain struggling to put some sort of triage system into place.
Taxi first, or AA?
Both might take a while to arrive in this out-of-town area. Perhaps I should phone the aa and see what the waiting time would be. Then I could make a decision about getting my poor cat to the vet.
I picked up the phone and dialled the AA, rooting through my bag to try to locate my credit card, because I knew I’d have to renew my membership before they would come out. With the phone sandwiched between my ear and shoulder, listening to the ‘please hold’ music playing as I scrabbled inside my wallet, I was suddenly aware of movement at the door.
I looked up sharply, causing the phone to slip from its precarious position and clatter onto the floor.
Simon was standing in the doorway.
‘Come on,’ he said, in a tone of quiet command. ‘Come with me, Emma. I can’t leave you like this and I can’t leave Bob. It’s not right. Quick, let’s get going. Bring him along.’
‘I … ok. Thanks so much. Thank you.’
I picked up the phone and stuffed it into my bag, which I slung over my shoulder. I was quivering like a jelly, although I would have been stumped to say exactly why. I hurried to the bathroom and grabbed a clean towel. When I came out, Simon was already carrying Bob the Cat and heading for the open passenger door of the car.
Despite the fact this was his second encounter with cars in one morning, Bob was lying quietly in Simon’s arms. Perhaps being in the sun had relaxed him. More likely, though, it was the kindness he felt in Simon’s touch, so gentle and yet so sure.
I scooted into the passenger seat, put the towel on my lap, and Simon handed Bob to me and closed the door, trapping myself and my cat in the new-smelling leather interior while I wrapped the towel around him.
Simon climbed in the driver’s side and started the car.
‘The vet is on the other side of the main road. You turn right when you reach it, drive to the next light, and then left,’ I told him.
Thankfully, Bob the Cat was no longer struggling, and when I scratched his cheek he rubbed it against my finger.
‘Thank you very much for doing this,’ I said.
‘No problem,’ Simon said.
I wanted to talk, just to break the tension. I wanted to tell Simon exactly where I’d found Bob the Cat, who’d been taken in by a rescue organisation after being discovered skinny and flea-infested, roaming the streets. I wanted to explain to him how much Mark had loathed Bob, and how they’d had a love–hate relationship for years and how I always suspected that Bob was pleased that, in terms of presence in the household at least, he’d managed to outlive his arch-rival.
Instead we just drove, in a silence that was becoming deafening, on a journey that seemed like the longest trip of my life.
‘Is that the vet clinic up ahead?’
‘Yes, that’s it.’ At last.
I glanced down at Bob the Cat to make sure he was still securely wrapped in the towel and unable to make a bid for freedom when my door was opened. And it was at that moment, looking closely into his beautiful pale green eyes, that I saw it.
In the corner of one of his eyes, actually behind the eye itself, was a bulging pinkish growth.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ I said, and my hopes of this being a simple, routine vet visit were swallowed up in the chaos of my fear.
‘What?’ Simon’s voice came back immediately, sharp with concern.
‘Look at his eye. There’s … there’s something in it. That wasn’t there before.’
Simon bent closer to look and I heard him catch his breath.
‘Let’s get him inside,’ he said.
Ten minutes later, the vet had examined Bob and asked about his history and how old he was and I’d answered as best I could, aware with a sick finality that Bob’s age didn’t really matter, that whether he was twelve or fourteen or older was not going to change the outcome of this train smash of a morning.
And then he had given me the news I’d known ever since I’d seen that awful growth intruding on the perfect green of Bob’s eye.
The growth was a tumour. The lameness and soreness was not limbrelated, but originated in his back. The fact that his back was in so much pain indicated the presence of more tumours. The fact he was not eating was the final nail in the coffin.
‘Put him down,’ I said. ‘I don’t want him to suffer. Please.’
I held poor, worried, sore Bob, looking down at him through a blur of tears while the vet shaved an area above his paw and put the syringe in and then, in just a few seconds, his body relaxed in one swift rush, and he laid his chin down on his paw as if gratefully slipping into the most blissful, pain-free sleep he’d ever had. And then he was lying on the towel, dead, while I cried uncontrollably into his fur and stroked his lovely, long tabby coat, consumed with a grief so intense I thought my lungs were going to burst from the effort of trying to breathe.
And then I was staggering outside holding his towel-wrapped body, with Simon guiding me back to the car and me saying, through sobs, ‘Wait a minute, I still have to pay,’ and him saying, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve sorted that out.’ Before I knew it I was home, not at the gate of the folly but going down the long driveway to the main house. I fumbled in my bag for the remote and buzzed the gate open and then Simon drove in and parked his Jaguar under the tree next to my fucking undriveable Renault.
He walked round and opened the door for me.
‘Are you going to be ok?’ he said, as I clambered out and put my dear, dead cat carefully on the grass in the shade.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I whispered, swiping with the back of my sleeve at the tears and snot that were flooding down my face. ‘Thank you so much. Goodness … Goodness will help me bury him.’
That was it for me. I couldn’t walk. I couldn’t stand. I knelt down and bent over the body of my cat, my most affectionate, oldest and dearest friend in the world, and I sobbed so violently that for several minutes I could not speak.
And the next thing I knew, he was kneeling down beside me, rubbing my back gently, handing me a tissue, talking to me and telling me that it was ok, that I must cry, that Bob had been a great cat, that he could understand why I was so sad.
Eventually I got control of myself. Helped by Simon, I clambered up on boneless legs, brushing dirt from the pa
lms of my hands and my knees.
‘God, I’m sorry. I didn’t …’ I gasped for breath. ‘I didn’t mean …’
‘I think you need a cup of tea,’ he said.
‘I’ll get one. No, wait. You don’t need to come inside.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ he insisted.
He walked me to the front door and I unlocked it and there we were. Inside the cold, lonely and half-finished house. With the detritus of my life, my shame, my lies, all open and exposed for him to see. The gap where the sink should be. The smaller gap where the stove was no longer. The minimalist furnishings. A cd rack with just a few of the unsellable cds left at the bottom and no sound system. The few remaining cheap, sad cat ornaments staring down at me with an all-knowing expression that said, ‘You dug your own grave here, didn’t you?’
I collapsed onto a chair at the plastic dining-room table, staring out of the window at the horses grazing nearby and Cat Four, shiny and healthy, prowling along the wooden fence on some sort of hunting mission.
I did my best to make conversation but for once my voice and my wit had deserted me and I had no idea what I was saying or whether it was making any sense.
By the time he brought me the tea I was hugging myself and shivering as well as sobbing.
Simon took his jacket off and slipped it around my shoulders. It was roomy and comfortable. It smelled of his aftershave and it was still warm from having been on him.
‘Where can I find a coat or something for you to wear?’
I struggled to think where one might be, feeling thrown by this simple question.
‘Um … upstairs in the bedroom,’ I said without thinking and then, in panic, ‘No, don’t …’
Too late. He was already on his way.
I wrapped my fingers around the hot cup and sipped at the tea. Tried to breathe in and out evenly. Tried not to think about what Simon would think when he saw my miserably minimalist bedroom with its crappy futon and the half-empty cupboards with clothes for one.
A few minutes later he came downstairs again carrying the warmer and older of my two jackets. He slid his own off my shoulders and helped me put on the faded blue, padded garment.
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