Page 93 of The Good Boy

“Of course it is,” the nurse says. “We will keep you updated, I promise.”

I wind my arm around Miles’s shoulders and steer him outside.

“We are close by,” I tell him, when we’re in the car. “Matilda knows you are here.”

“You must think I’m insane,” Miles mutters.

“Of course not. Matilda’s not just a cat,” I say. “She’s your family.”

Miles looks at me. “Thank you, Genie.”

“Hey, Miles,” I say, an idea coming to me. “You know your backpack? Inside I saw an old Walkman, once. What do you listen to on that?”

Miles reaches for the bag in the back and brings it out. Unzipping it, he brings out the Walkman.

“It’s my mum’s,” he says, setting it down between our seats. “It had one tape in it: a mixtape.Marie’s Fav Tunes.” He holds up the headset. “It will be a bit awkward, but would you like to listen with me?”

“I really would,” I say. Leaning closer, we each press one of the foam earpieces against our heads, Miles holding the narrow band between us. “I Can See Clearly Now” by Jimmy Cliff begins to play. Reaching across my lap, I find Miles’s other hand and take it in mine.

I’m not sure how long we sit side by side, ear to ear, hand inhand in the car park at the vet’s. Time doesn’t seem to matter. There is just the two of us, waiting, and Marie’s resolutely cheerful playlist, full of optimism and love. We watch the white clouds roll over the rooftops, and as we listen I feel like I am starting to get to know the woman that Miles misses so much. Her love for Motown, Northern soul, and the Bee Gees. There’s Kate Bush and AC/DC, A-ha and Bon Jovi. I get the impression that she was irrepressible, eclectic, and curious, that she wasn’t the sort of woman to make judgments, and that she loved like a lioness. I don’t know, but it seems it’s all there, in the static-filled gaps between tracks on the tape, almost as if I can listen to her past whispering to me. I’m starting to see that Nan is right about that too. That the voices of the people that we think are out of our reach forever are still there if we only listen.

The last song finishes and the tape clicks to a stop.

Miles lowers the headset, and then ever so slowly lowers his head to rest on my shoulder. I hold my head against his.

The vet comes out of the door in her blue scrubs, walking purposefully toward us. Sitting up, we look at each other and get out of the car.

“Is she...?” Miles starts to ask the question before the vet can say anything.

“She will be fine,” she tells Miles. “What a little fighter. She did really well. A close call, for sure, but no major organs damaged. Matilda will need to stay with us for a few days while we keep an eye on her, and she’s officially down to eight lives, but she is one tough little cookie.”

“Oh, thank god,” I breathe, feeling a sob of relief rise in my throat.

“Thank you, vet.” Miles hugs the vet unprompted, and she laughs, politely disengaging herself as soon as she can.

“Can I see her?” he asks.

“You can peer through the window and get a glimpse but that’s all,” she tells him. “Then get your girlfriend to take you home and take care of you, okay?”

“Okay,” Miles says. I know it’s probably because he’s tired and emotional that he doesn’t pick up on the innocent mistake, but oh, how nice it would be if that were true.

Claudia is standing in front of my house when we pull up, Rory standing behind her, still dressed as his former self.

She rushes over to greet us as we get out of the car.

“Well, is she going to be okay?” Claudia asks Miles.

“Yes,” Miles says, looking at me as if to check. “Yes, the vet said that her recovery will take some time but that she would be okay.”

“Oh, thank god,” Claudia says, half collapsing in relief. “I am so sorry about all this. About me exploding into your lives like I did... somehow I feel this is all my fault.”

“It is not your fault,” Miles says. “Please don’t think that, Claudia.”

“I’ll go, shall I?” Claudia asks uncertainly. “Call you tomorrow?”

“Actually, Claudia, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind coming in for a minute?”

“’Course not!” Claudia says.

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