The Making of Minty Malone

by Isabel Wolff

  And so it’s all been rather awkward. The stony silence was becoming a strain. But then at last, this morning, the ice suddenly cracked. ‘I’m sorry, Minty,’ she said, with uncharacteristic but slightly frosty humility as she came downstairs. ‘I think I owe you an apology.’

  ‘I say!’ squawked Pedro. And I was pretty surprised myself.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I said, as I gave Pedro a piece of apple. ‘You couldn’t have known that Joe was a creep.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Joe,’ she said. ‘Anyway, Joe isn’t a creep. As far as I can tell. No, I’m referring to Perdita. She does indeed have a bit of, well, embonpoint.’

  ‘You mean, she’s fat.’

  ‘Don’t get technical with me, Minty.’

  ‘Well, let’s face it, she is.’

  Perdita was sitting outside, on the window ledge, in the sun, wearing an expression of benign inscrutability on her glossy little black face. She jumped down, and came into the kitchen, tail at ninety degrees, purring like a fire engine and miaowing for more food.

  ‘Wider still and wider,’ I said, wonderingly. She seemed, almost, to sway. Then she sat down abruptly, with a slight thump, as though it had all been a bit of an effort.

  ‘Yes, too many pilchards,’ Amber pronounced. ‘That’s the problem. She loves them, but I’ll have to cut down.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s premature middle-age spread?’ I suggested. ‘You did say she’s advanced for her age.’

  ‘But it’s funny that she’s not fat all over, isn’t it?’ Amber said, looking at me. ‘It just seems to be her lower tummy. Oh God …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What if it’s a tumour?’ Amber looked stricken. Tears had sprung to her eyes. ‘What if she’s got cancer, Minty?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. She’s not in pain, is she?’

  In fact, Perdita had never seemed happier. She lay down, rolled over, and the bump seemed to shift slightly to one side. That was funny. And you could see her nipples, quite clearly, like two rows of tiny pink buttons. And she had this sort of guilty and slightly self-conscious expression on her face. Suddenly a light bulb appeared over my head, and the penny dropped, with a sharp, bright, clink.

  ‘She’s up the duff,’ I announced.

  ‘Oh, don’t be so ridiculous!’ said Amber. ‘She’s only a child.’

  ‘No, I think she’s pregnant,’ I repeated. ‘And she isn’t a child – she’s a teenager. From what age do cats get pregnant?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Amber. She disappeared, then came back with the Complete Cat Book and started frantically flicking through the pages. ‘It says here that it’s …six months.’ She lowered the book. ‘Perdita’s seven months old, at least.’

  ‘Well, that’s it. She’s not fat, she’s in the family way. Laurie said we’d have to think about having her spayed, and we didn’t. We forgot.’

  ‘That’s your fault, Minty,’ Amber said crossly.

  ‘Since when has your cat been my responsibility?’

  ‘Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind.’

  ‘And I haven’t, I suppose.’

  ‘You should have reminded me.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘OK, OK – joint responsibility.’

  ‘That’s big of you,’ I replied.

  ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘How long?’

  I consulted the cat book. ‘It says here that the gestation period is sixty-five days.’ I checked the calendar.

  ‘Yes, but, Minty …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We don’t know how long she’s been pregnant, do we?’

  ‘Well, let’s get Laurie round. He’ll know.’

  ‘Yes, let’s. You phone him.’

  ‘No, you phone him. You’re the one he likes.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like him.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said petulantly. ‘I mean, why does anybody not like anybody? Anyway, give him a ring, Minty. And then I think you should ring Joe.’

  ‘Why should I ring Joe? He said vile things to me.’

  ‘But he only said those things because he’s very fond of you.’

  ‘Did he?’ I sighed.

  ‘Yes. Obviously – otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered.’

  ‘Wouldn’t he?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s obvious: he cared enough to mind. And he was right, wasn’t he, Minty?’

  I sat down on a chair by Pedro’s cage. ‘Yes,’ I said quietly. And now the floor had begun to blur. ‘He was right,’ I croaked. I looked at Amber. ‘I was shallow. It’s true. I didn’t like or admire Dominic. In fact, I despised him in many ways. But I gave him break after break after break, because he was so …eligible. But the irony is, he wasn’t really eligible at all.’ This confession left me with the taste of ashes in my mouth. I felt a deep sense of shame.

  ‘Never mind, Minty,’ said Amber, putting her arm round me. ‘We all make bad mistakes. But at least it’s not too late,’ she went on cheerfully. ‘All you have to do is ring Joe up.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, sniffing. ‘I will. But you’ve got to ring Laurie first.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to ring Laurie,’ she said petulantly. ‘He’s so annoying. He drives me mad.’

  ‘Well,’ I said matter-of-factly, ‘I’ll only ring Joe if you ring Laurie. How about that?’

  ‘Oh, well …OK,’ she said carefully. And she went to the phone. But do you know what she did first? Before she rang him? She brushed her hair! I mean, really! She’s so self-deluding, it’s unbelievable. She simply will not acknowledge that she likes Laurie. It’s a complete joke. And I don’t know why she’s always so funny about him. He’s clever, and witty and nice. And he’s as sharp as a knife. I know she does like him, but she just won’t acknowledge it, and it really makes me want to laugh out loud.

  ‘Perdita is great with kitten,’ I heard her announce. ‘Yes …at least we think so. Would you come round? If you’re not escorting some floozie to a function, that is …Why don’t we bring her in to surgery? In her delicate condition? You must be joking! It would be utterly irresponsible – she could have a miscarriage. We’ll pay you, of course,’ she added. ‘No, not in kind. In cash. A call-out fee …Yes, OK. At eight. Do you like red or white?’

  ‘He says he’ll come,’ she announced. ‘He really is so irritating,’ she exclaimed, yet again. ‘Now, what should I cook? We could start with smoked salmon. And then we could have duck, or perhaps my wild mushroom risotto? …I could go out and get some porcini. And I’ve got a fabulous recipe for a tarte au chocolat …and I’ve a good bottle of Pouilly Fuissé.’

  While she got out all her cookbooks and began poring over them, I phoned Joe’s flat. I really wanted to make it up with him, not least because we’d quarrelled over Dominic! It’s the bloody Dominic Effect again, I realised bitterly. And that thought alone made me want to put things right. So I dialled Joe’s number. But it didn’t pick up. It just rang, and rang and rang. So I tried his mobile phone. It rang four or five times, and then, suddenly, I heard Joe’s voice.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Joe, it’s Minty.’

  ‘Hello?’ he said. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s Minty,’ I said, a bit louder.

  ‘Sorry, can’t hear a thing,’ he said. Which was extremely annoying. Because I could hear him quite well. ‘Try again,’ I heard him say.

  ‘JOE!’ I shouted. ‘CAN YOU HEAR ME?’

  ‘Sorry, I’m just not hearing anything.’

  ‘JOE, IT’S MINTY!!’

  ‘Damn thing …’ he said. And then I heard, ‘Bong. Last call for British Airways flight BA196 to Los Angeles. Would all remaining passengers make their way to Gate 27 …’ Oh God. Oh dear.

  ‘JOE, I’M REALLY SORRY ABOUT …’

  ‘Christ!’ I heard him say. And then he said, ‘Sorry, I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got to go.’ Then the line went dead.

  That was it. H
e’d gone. I’d missed him. I put the phone down, with an empty, hollow feeling, as though someone had scooped out my insides with a spoon.

  ‘Did you get him?’ Amber enquired.

  ‘Yes, I did,’ I replied. ‘I mean, no. No, I didn’t,’ I said bleakly.

  Amber looked a bit confused. And then she said, ‘Do you think Laurie likes Jerusalem artichokes?’

  ‘Woof woof!’ went Pedro, so I opened the door, and then gasped. I couldn’t help it. Laurie had a shining black bruise the size of a large matchbox just above his right eye.

  ‘Don’t be alarmed by this,’ he said reassuringly. ‘It feels much worse than it looks. Hello, Amber.’

  ‘My God!’ she exclaimed. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I took part in an experiment,’ he said wryly as he took off his coat.

  ‘How?’

  ‘I was escorting this Lebanese girl to a party and I didn’t realise that she’d hired me for the sole purpose of making her ex-boyfriend jealous. It worked,’ he added. ‘You’ll be pleased to know that the wedding’s in June.’

  ‘Do you want anything for it?’ said Amber. She looked rather distraught.

  ‘Oh no,’ he replied. ‘It’s fine. A hazard of the trade. No worse than being bitten by a dog in the surgery. On which subject …where’s the patient?’

  We went into the kitchen, where Perdita was lying on her side under the table, rigorously cleaning her fur. She looked up, blinked at us amiably, and lifted her front paw as if in greeting. Then she resumed her grooming, her tiny pink tongue rasping rhythmically across her coat.

  ‘Your cat has a bun in the oven,’ Laurie pronounced expertly. ‘Well, more than one, actually.’

  ‘How many will she have?’ I enquired.

  ‘I don’t know – three or four. Maybe five.’ He bent down, and Perdita let him gently palpate her swollen tummy. ‘I’d say she’s about five weeks pregnant.’

  ‘My God!’ said Amber. ‘But she’s only a kitten herself.’

  ‘They start to call from about this age, sometimes younger,’ he said. ‘I don’t like to say “I told you so”, but I did mention spaying three months ago.’

  ‘A gym-slip mother,’ said Amber. ‘That’s what she’s going to be. Mind you, it was probably date-rape. I mean, she’s not that sort of cat.’

  ‘They’re all that sort,’ said Laurie. ‘Cats don’t have much in the way of morals. “Queen” actually comes from the old word “quean”, with an “a”, meaning hussy.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Amber, clearly disappointed. Then she picked Perdita up. ‘Tell me who it was,’ she said to her. ‘Mummy won’t be cross. Just tell me. Oh God, I hope it wasn’t that ginger tom,’ she went on with an appalled expression. ‘We don’t want them to have red hair!’

  ‘I’ve seen quite a handsome tabby hanging about. Perhaps it was him,’ I suggested optimistically. ‘And there’s a very good-looking tortoiseshell at number 31.’

  Whoever it was, Perdita wasn’t saying. She was keeping mum.

  ‘And what do we do, when she’s due?’ Amber enquired. ‘I mean, we’re just not prepared for this.’

  ‘Well, I suggest you book her into the Lindo Wing and ask for Mr Pinker,’ said Laurie.

  ‘Please don’t be facetious,’ said Amber. ‘We don’t know how kittens are born.’

  ‘Right,’ said Laurie. ‘What happens is that you need a girl cat and a boy cat and a boy cat’s got …’

  ‘For God’s sake!’ said Amber. ‘We know about the birds and the bees – just tell us what we have to do.’ We?

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ said Laurie. ‘They just slope off somewhere, and give birth. They like warm, dark places – cupboards, for example, or under the stairs. Or perhaps under your bed. Or even in your bed. I’m afraid they make a horrible mess.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said, thinking of the carpets.

  ‘Gestation is sixty-five days,’ he said, appraising her again, ‘so I reckon she’ll have them in mid May. We can help you find homes for them, if you like,’ he said.

  ‘Did you hear that, Perdita?’ said Amber. ‘You’ll have to give them up for adoption. To avoid disgrace.’

  ‘Anyway, that’s my diagnosis,’ said Laurie.

  ‘Right, well, I’d like to pay you.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you pay me when I’ve qualified.’

  ‘Well, stay for supper then.’ And he did.

  By now Amber was quite thrilled about Perdita’s delicate condition. She was gassing away to Laurie, as she dished up the foie gras, followed by sea-bass with puy lentils and delicately steamed sorrel.

  ‘This is good,’ said Laurie appreciatively.

  ‘Oh, Minty and I eat like this every day, don’t we, Minty?’ said Amber. I felt her toe make forceful contact with my shin.

  ‘Oh. Yes,’ I lied. ‘This is …nothing.’

  Amber was really enjoying herself. She can say what she likes, but you can tell when someone likes someone, can’t you? You can tell because they smile a lot. And their eyes are open quite wide. Amber’s certainly were. And she was laughing like a drain at Laurie’s jokes. Happiness seemed to just bounce off her like sunlight off a lake. She reminded me of how I felt when I was with Joe. I felt like that too: smiling a lot, giggling a lot. Expanding, not shrinking. Dominic made me cry. But Joe made me laugh. Dominic filled me with dismay. But Joe made me feel confident. Dominic wanted me to keep quiet. Joe wanted me to talk. And I thought of him 30,000 feet up in the air, on his way to LA. And I thought of how much I’d liked him, and how admirable he was, and how we’d had this really nice rapport, a rapport I’d never had with Dom.

  ‘Coffee?’ said Amber, reaching for the jar. ‘I’m sorry, it’s only instant, but it says it’s “rich and smooth”.’

  Rich and smooth, I thought. Like Dominic. Leaving bitter dregs. And as Amber gabbled away to Laurie, I sat with Perdita on my lap, and thought of Joe. I’d taken two weeks to call him, and now he was on his way to the States. And now I was very sorry that I’d told him that I didn’t want to see him again because my wish was coming true. Regret seeped into my soul like damp. You’ve blown it, Minty, I said to myself. You’ve really buggered things up. And then my face felt hot, my eyes filled, and there were tears on Perdita’s fur.

  ‘Minty!’ Amber exclaimed. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter!’ I wept. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

  ‘You’re not fine,’ said Laurie. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing’s happened,’ I sobbed. ‘And I’m definitely not crying because Joe’s gone to LA and I made a mistake and now I’m going to pay for it just like I paid for my mistake with Dom, that’s not the reason at all.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Amber. She handed me a Kleenex. ‘You see, Laurie,’ she said, ‘Minty’s liked Joe for ages, but she didn’t realise it because she was still obsessing about Dominic, who’d treated her very badly and then dumped her on her wedding day. So she went on honeymoon with her bridesmaid, Helen, who has since married my ex-boyfriend Charlie, who was, coincidentally, best man, though not the best man for me. Anyway, in Paris, Minty met Joe. And she liked Joe – who’s creative and nice and interesting but not rich and flash like Dom – but Minty didn’t know how much she liked Joe until she understood the awful truth about Dominic, who was despicable in lots of ways that I don’t have time to go into now except to say that Minty had a chance with Joe, which she believes she’s blown, because he told her the ugly truth and she really lost it. So today she phoned him, only to discover he’s on his way to LA, so Minty feels she’s missed the bus with Joe – and she probably has.’

  ‘Thanks very much!’ I wailed. ‘I feel a whole lot better now!’

  ‘Well, just ring him tomorrow,’ said Laurie.

  ‘How?’

  ‘On his mobile.’

  ‘But if he couldn’t hear me from Heathrow, I don’t see how he’ll be able to hear me from Los Angeles!’

  ‘His battery was pr
obably low,’ said Amber. ‘Give him a chance to recharge it and then try him again.’

  ‘Let him recharge his own batteries too,’ said Laurie. ‘It’s a twelve-hour trip.’

  ‘And there’s an eight-hour time difference,’ Amber added, ‘so don’t call him too early in the day.’

  So at about five the following afternoon I rang Joe’s mobile number. And it rang once, and then clicked straight into answering mode. I left a message, asking him to call. But he didn’t call. He didn’t call back that day, or the next, or the one after that. So I phoned the mobile phone company to ask whether or not Joe’s phone would actually work in the States, and they said, yes, it would. So I left a couple more messages for him, but I didn’t want to leave too many because I didn’t want to sound desperate. Only I was feeling pretty desperate, so I called again, and not only did Joe still not answer it, the phone didn’t actually ring at all. It had gone dead. And I really didn’t understand this. And I couldn’t even e-mail him from Amber’s computer because I didn’t have his address. So I phoned his publishing house and asked to speak to Joe’s editor, Francis Jones. But Francis was at a book fair and didn’t return my call for three days. And when eventually he did, he wasn’t much help.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard from Joe yet,’ he said, ‘so I don’t have a contact address. He said he was going to stay in a hotel to begin with and then get himself an apartment.’

  ‘An apartment?’

  ‘Yes. He’s going to be there for a few months.’

  ‘A few months!’

  ‘That’s what he said. He’s got a lot to do.’

  ‘Go round to his flat,’ said Amber, later. ‘Maybe his neighbours are forwarding his mail.’ And so I walked down to Albert Street. Joe’s wisteria was now in full bloom, with pendant purple flowers like bunches of grapes. I inhaled the scent as I descended the basement steps, and knocked on Joe’s door. But there was no reply. And the two other flats seemed deserted as well.

  ‘Where do his parents live?’ said Amber when I got back. ‘You could get their number from Directory Enquiries.’

  ‘They live in Manchester,’ I replied, aware that she was being extremely helpful and, well, rather nice.