Page 35 of Joker in the Pack

Night-times were worst, when I had a cold double bed to myself. Would I ever meet another man? One who could love me even with those photos of my Taurus escapade plastered all over the internet? I was still getting messages every day about that, including one this morning from a Middle Eastern prince who wanted to marry me if I’d only help him to launder six million dollars through my bank account.

I was still moping alone on Friday evening when I heard a quiet scratching coming from the back door. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I grabbed the poker from its spot beside the fireplace and tiptoed through to the kitchen.

“Who’s there?”

More scratching, followed by a plaintive miaow.

A cat?

I opened the door and a skinny tabby slunk between my legs, heading for a spot by the fridge and sniffing around. I recalled the tins of cat food I’d found in one of the kitchen cupboards. Could he be Aunt Ellie’s?

“Do you live here, little one?”

He wove in and out of my legs, and I could feel his ribs against my ankles.

“Are you hungry? Let me find you something to eat.”

He wolfed down a bowlful of Whiskas and a saucer of milk then stared up at me, eyes big.

“Do you want more?”

I opened another tin, and he ate that too.

“You’re kind of cute. Do you have a name?”

I reached down to scritch his head, and he purred softly. He’d been surviving on mice all this time, no doubt. There were plenty of them running around in the garden, which was something else that gave me the creeps, and I could hear their little paws pitter-pattering around inside the roof too. The sounds had given me several sleepless nights before I’d worked out what the noise must be.

I’d never had a pet before, but there was a first time for everything, and a mouse-hunter certainly had appeal.

“Let’s call you Twiglet, shall we?”

He mewed in response.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Apart from the mice, I’d had to get used to the ominous creaks and groans as the house settled for the night. In London, I’d tuned out the slamming of car doors, the shouts of drunken revellers, and my upstairs neighbour clomping around, and now the relative silence kept me awake. Apart from the occasional hoot of an owl or the terrifying screams as a fox caught its prey, nights in Upper Foxford were as quiet as the grave.

Twiglet did his best, but by the time another weekend drew to a close, I was craving human company. I couldn’t keep running to Maddie every time I felt lonely. She had enough on her plate at the hospital.

So, on Monday morning, I pulled on my brave pants and ventured into Daisy’s café on the high street, gingerly scanning the menu on the table nearest to the door. Oh, thank goodness—no celery porridge in sight. In fact, the light lunches looked delicious, and they served afternoon tea as well. I’d always loved afternoon tea with Edward, usually at the Four Seasons or the Savoy, but those places were well out of my price range now. Daisy’s served a selection of crustless sandwiches with a scone and mini cakes for six pounds fifty.

And Daisy herself turned out to be only a year older than me, living out my dream of running a bakery with a few tables for patrons to enjoy her delights. She loved to stop for a natter too, which allowed me to find out more about the local area as well as getting out for lunch each day.

“I grew up in Lower Foxford,” she told me a week later over quiche. “It’s the next village but one, the other side of Middleton Foxford. You’ve got to give medieval people ten out of ten for originality with those names, huh?”

“Are the villages that old?”

“Lower Foxford appeared in the Doomsday book. If you take a walk around, there are some beautiful old Tudor cottages.”

“I’ll do that one day, but for the moment, I’m using every spare second to sort out the mess in Aunt Ellie’s house.”

“I heard she was addicted to online shopping. Is that true?”

I gave a hollow laugh. “Is it ever. She seemed to buy six of everything, whether she had a use for them or not.”

“The postman used to complain she was giving him a hernia. It was him who found her—did you know that?”

“What do you mean, found her?”

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