Page 74 of The Good Boy

“Well, Milesington, you were a bit soft for a Hackney boy. Someone had to toughen you up.” I smile at him. “I got home after school and my mum said, Go and make friends with the boy next door. He doesn’t know anyone. And I was like, Oh god, I’ve already done my good deed for the day, but that’s my mum. Made me go and call for the new kid. And there was Miles.”

“So, you’ve both lived next door to each other since you were at school?” Claudia asks, her eyes widening.

“More or less,” I say. “Miles went off to uni for a few years, down south.”

“But you came back to Scarborough?” Claudia asked. “Never tempted to move on? Or live in London again?”

“Nope,” Miles says. “I know a lot of people think it’s important to travel and see the world, and it is, I guess. But this place is home, and home means a lot to me. My people mean a lot to me.”

I am his person, or one of them, at least. My heart swells at thethought. Until quite recently that has been enough. I’m sure if I try hard, it could be again.

“And what about you, Genie?” Claudia asks me. “Did you always want to follow in your Nan’s footsteps? She said it runs in the family.”

“Oh god, no,” I splutter into my wineglass. “No, I wanted to be a fashion designer. I’ve been doing a sort of quest and during that process I’ve realized that I actually really still want that, more than anything.” I glance at Miles. “Almost. But I’m not sure if it’s possible now.”

“Not now,yet,” Claudia says, with an emphatic nod. “If something hasn’t gone the way I want it to I always add a ‘yet’ to it. Like, Oh, I haven’t passed my driving test—yet. Or, I am not getting the grades I want—yet. Or, I haven’t found the job of my dreams—yet. I can cross that one off, though, because I love working at the Rotunda. Then there’s: I haven’t managed to tell the boy I like that I like him—yet.”

“Yet,” I say, looking at Miles.

“Yes, yet,” Claudia says. “If you really want something, then a lot of the time all it takes is doing it, and doing it again until it works out. And if you add a ‘yet’ to everything that isn’t quite where you want to be, well, then it’s still a work in progress. The ending hasn’t been decided—yet.”

“I actually really like that,” I say, surprised.

“Me too,” Miles says, smiling warmly at Claudia.

What none of us notices is that while we are all thinking about how very nice Claudia is, a soft fluffy assassin has taken it upon herself to hop off the armchair in the front room and leap up at the door handle almost a dozen times before she manages to open the door just enough to slink through. No one hears the pad ofher tiny paws on the hall carpet, or notices when the kitchen door quietly swings open a few inches.

It’s not until five seconds later, when the warm, rose-scented air is filled with the sound of Rory’s screams, that any of us realizes that Matilda has jumped into the center of the table, knocking the posy of roses over as she launches a vicious full-frontal assault on Rory’s face.

“Oh, crap!” I say, as the cat attaches herself to his head like an adorable alien.

“Oh, dear,” Miles says.

“Oh no!” Claudia says, leaping up as rose water dribbles off the table edge and onto her skirt.

“I’m being murdered! I’m being... Argh!” Rory screams as he leaps out of his seat, grabbing the cat by the tail and trying to yank her off his face. Unfortunately it seems this only results in her digging her claws in deeper, grabbing at substantial tufts of his blond hair with her teeth, and yowling like a banshee with her mouth full.

I’m not sure whose flailing arms send the wine flying, or what sudden movement causes one of the pretty blue plates to smash on the floor, but suddenly I feel like I have a pretty good insight into what it’s like to be in a war zone. I’m frozen with indecision as Rory careens into one wall and then another, all the while trying to pry his cat attachment off his face, which only makes her screech and hiss with righteous fury.

“Miles!” Claudia screams. “Do something before the cat has his eye out!”

“Not my eyes, I like my eyes!” Rory screams.

“Right, yes.” Miles gets up. “Um. Right, yes, Rory... Rory! Stop thrashing about. You’re scaring her.”

“She’s scaring me!” Rory mutters from behind the muffle of Matilda’s tummy fur. “And my eyes.”

“I know, but if you relax, she will relax,” Miles says, very calmly. “Just stay perfectly still and maybe she will get bored.”

“I do not feel relaxed, Miles,” Rory says. “I feel exactly the opposite of relaxed. I feel unrelaxed.”

“Rory, it’s okay,” I say, reaching for his hand. “Just stay perfectly still and think about Diego. Think about David Attenborough and chocolate biscuits.”

“Do the voice,” Rory says from behind a great big fluffy belly.

“What voice?” I ask.

“David Attenborough,” he says. “Do the voice. Like that time you did when I had to have my anal glands squeezed out.”

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