Page 18 of One Summer

‘Nemo, how would you like to be an island cat?’ I ask. The gig is probably looking after a pack of sighthounds or an aviary of birds, which would likely preclude our application.

He doesn’t reply. Not even the merest hint of a miaow. He just stares at me, inscrutably.

I could email for details, just on the off chance. The pets could be giant rabbits. Nemo wouldn’t bother a giant rabbit. Or I might have to take care of the occupants of an expensive fish-tank, which would doubtlessly be entirely cat-proof.

Hamsters, on the other hand, might be a problem; that could definitely end in tears. But what if it was exotic fish or giant rabbits?

‘We could live somewhere with a cat flap,’ I say.

He narrows his eyes and does the slow blinking thing he always does when he’s pleased.

‘You could be master of your own domain.’

Nemo begins to purr.

It’s worth an email, surely.

APRIL

Eighteen

Bound

The sun is out and there’s a very strong pong of fish. I’ve had to do a lot of mental gymnastics to make myself okay with the nature of this job and a huge amount of research in order to look after the animals I’ve been entrusted with for the next six months, but on balance, I think I’ve made the right decision. A fresh start is exactly what I need.

The ferry dock is quieter than I’d imagined. I’d anticipated vast numbers of tourists here, since the Easter holidays are just around the corner and tourist season starts early on Loor. Maybe they’ve all caught an earlier ferry? Which would be odd since the M.S. Kernowek only sails three times a week. Or maybe, it dawns on me, I’ve missed the ferry.

‘But how?’ I murmur to myself. ‘I checked the timetable.’

‘You must’ve been looking at the summer one,’ a wide-shouldered man tells me. He has a scalding sunburn on his bald head, and for some reason I could easily picture him driving a tank. ‘Summer timetable starts tomorrow. Today, we’re still on the winter timetable.’

‘Damn,’ I say, not knowing what to do or where to go, because I left my Fiesta at my parents’ house and took a cab here. Nemo is miaowing miserably at my side. ‘When’s the next ferry?’

‘Not for another two days.’

My heart sinks. I’ve truly messed this up. Fresh start? Fresh disaster, more like.

‘Is there a guest house I could stay at?’ I ask.

He looks down at Nemo. ‘Not with a cat. Now, with a dog, it might be different, but nobody wants a cat slinking around their guest house, do they? All hell would break loose. It would be winding up the dogs, walking mud on all the furniture, eating leftovers on the kitchen worktops. More of a home pet than a travel pet, are cats. Never seen anyone try to take one on holiday to Loor before.’

‘I’m moving to Loor for a job,’ I say, bristling. ‘It’s not a holiday.’

‘Shame you didn’t get here an hour earlier. You could have caught the ferry then.’

After imparting this piece of wisdom, he maintains a dignified silence.

It looks like I’m going to be sleeping rough at the dock, unless I’m willing to get a taxi back to my parents’ house and admit my mistake. On reflection, I think I’d rather sleep at the dock.

‘I suppose, if you’re really stuck, I could run you over to Loor in my boat,’ he says.

I look at him doubtfully.

‘What kind of a boat do you have?’ I say, imagining some sort of rickety rowing boat or children’s dinghy.

‘Fishing boat,’ he answers, proudly. ‘She’s not the prettiest you’ve ever seen, but she’s tough as old boots.’

I don’t know this man. He’s a complete stranger. He seems trustworthy enough at first glance, but what if he binds me with fishing rope, locks me in the cabin and holds me prisoner? He could dump my body out to sea, and nobody would ever know what happened to me.

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