Page 47 of One Summer

‘So?’ he says, unimpressed.

‘So, they started putting it on coins back in the late 1500s. Some Scottish regiments of the British army still use it today. It means “no one provokes me with impunity”, which my ex thought was perfect for a cat.’

‘Shit,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘That is the nerdiest thing I have ever heard.’

‘It’s not nerdy. My ex is just really into history. It’s his thing.’

Why am I defending Max? And why do I even care what this random man thinks of my ex’s rationale for naming his cat?

Ted chooses this moment to start barking at something he’s seen. He elongates his neck, stretches his back, tilts his head upwards and ends each volley of barks with a little howl, his little pom-pom tail wagging throughout.

‘Relax, Ted,’ the man says, soothingly. ‘You’ve gotta keep that heart rate down.’

‘What’s he even barking at?’ I say, craning my head to see what Ted’s looking at.

A glossy black and white bird struts on the fence, completely unbothered by Ted’s noise.

‘He hates magpies – and everything else in that family,’ he says. ‘Draw the blinds if you spot anything crowish pecking around outside, otherwise Ted will bark himself into a frenzy. He’s fine with other kinds of birds. No idea why.’

‘Perfect. Well, thanks for holding the fort,’ I say.

‘No problem. The owners of this place are nice guys. I was glad to help out.’

‘Okay, I might see you around then.’

‘No doubt,’ he says, before taking the steps slowly and wearily.

After five steps, he stops to cough, and I give him his privacy by leaving him to it.

As I go into the house, the magpie sweeps so low over my head that I feel a whoosh of air from the beat of its wings. Catching a glimpse of it in my peripheral vision, I channel Scotty by grazing leaves with my fingertips and whispering, ‘Touch green, never seen.’ Superstitious nonsense or not, the last thing I need is more bad luck.

Thirty-Eight

Pets

When I go back into the living room, Nemo is still on the bookcase, freshly groomed, limbs folded in like a sticky gingerbread loaf. He hasn’t even ventured down to use his litter tray. He must be bursting at the seams, poor cat.

Ted trots up behind me, gives a baleful look at the bookcase, and a tiny whine, as if he just wants to make friends and is deeply hurt that Nemo won’t give him a chance.

Whereupon Nemo does something so completely unexpected, so entirely stupid, that it catches me off guard. He leaps off the bookcase and lands right in front of Ted’s nose.

All hell breaks loose. A number of items come crashing to the ground, including a ceramic wall-plate featuring a trio of brightly painted lighthouses, a metal mackerel that looks as if it’s had enough of life and is ready to die, and a key-tidy that says in five wildly different fonts, ‘Sandy Toes and Salty Kisses’.

I notice this in a low-level way as Nemo yowls bloody murder and Ted snaps at his tail in a volley of excited barks, which cannot possibly be good for his heart condition. After who-even-knows-how-long, Nemo climbs one of the window blinds and perches precariously on the roller, somehow managing to look smug in the process. Both Ted and Nemo have their mouths open and appear to be waiting for the other to make their next move.

‘This,’ I say, looking at first one and then the other, ‘is not going to work.’

Thirty-Nine

Chaos

I’ve calmed them both down, shut Nemo into the bathroom with food, water, his basket and a litter tray, and Ted is sitting on the window seat, sedately watching the sea gulls wheel in the sky. I sit down next to him and attempt to soothe myself by looking at the view, which is undeniably breathtaking. There’s a dark line on the horizon signifying the rest of Cornwall, signifying my parents and home.

Ted leans his bodyweight against my hip and looks up at me beseechingly, as if butter wouldn’t melt. I find myself stroking him, my fingers reaching into the warm shagginess of his coat.

My eyes drift back to the room, when I notice a large binder on the writing bureau that I hadn’t spotted before, surrounded by a scatter of National Geographic magazines that Nemo dislodged from a tall stack on his panicked travels around the room.

I stare at the binder for a few moments before it occurs to me that it is perhaps meant for me. Frank said he’d leave detailed care instructions for the animals, and I’m sure the word ‘binder’ was used somewhere.

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