Page 40 of Kept
“I don’t know. We had, you know, that guy hanging around our apartment. Now this, I just don’t know.”
“Look, officially there isn’t anything I can do. But I’m off duty for the next two nights. How about I swing over tonight, and we put our heads together.”
I blush, instantly getting a mental image of us putting more than our heads together. Right now a night of unbridled, no strings attached passion is exactly what I could do with to take my mind off all this craziness.
“Uh, yeah, that would be great. Do you want to stay for dinner?
“Are you offering to cook for me?”
“Yes. I mean, itiswhat I do.”
“I haven’t eaten a home-cooked meal in a very long time.”
“Well, then.” I’m nervous, I don’t know what to say, I have a few butterflies in my stomach, and I’m not sure why. “Are you allergic to anything?”
“Cast iron gut.”
“Seven then?”
“Seven.”
We hang up and, although I’m worried about Margarita, just talking it through with Blake has already made me feel calmer.
‘I’m probably just imagining things because of James and his stupid fucking vampire talk. I’ll bet she is having a whale of a time and will phone in a few days. Oh my God, what am I going to cook? What am I going to wear?’
My thoughts go from this to‘what if he realises I’m a criminal?’in the blink of an eye.
‘Am I though? Yes, I am, there is no denying it. I had systematically set out to eat and not pay. I had scoured the society pages to see who ate where regularly, phoned restaurants pretending to be secretaries setting up appointments for their bosses, pretended to be dates who had been stood up…I am a liar and a thief. But this is not something I want to be. It is not really me. I will stop. No more eat and run. I cross my heart and hope to die. I will never do it again. Perhaps dating a policeman would rub some of his good onto me.’
Despite the heat from the kitchen, the rush to get all the prep and meals organised by myself, the worry about Margarita, the strange conversation with James, I find myself smiling the rest of the afternoon.
11
I frown as I look at the bowl, still full of kitty biscuits, and turn back slowly to the door.
Admittedly, I had been scared coming out into the alley by myself. Margarita and I had fed the cat together ever since the man had frightened me out here.
But it was only just twilight now, not full dark, and I feel secure enough, having left a shoe in the door so that it is wedged open enough for me to scurry back inside if I need to.
But that is not what is concerning me now – there is no sign of our cat, and it seems she has not eaten for several days.
“Don’t you go missing too, Kitty,” I moan, leaning down to look under the skip bin, and straightening up quickly when it is clear she is not there.
Sighing, I turn back to the door and make my way back to our apartment. As I do, I see a package on the doorstep and frown. The handwriting on the brown paper wrapping is lovely, bold, my name written with a flourish.
As I pick it up, Mrs Swinstone pokes her head out of her room.
“Josephine? Is that you,” she squints in the dim hallway.
“Yes, hello Mrs Swinstone, everything alright?”
“Have you been out in that alley?”
“Yes, but it is still light. I was careful.”
“No point you girls going out there now,” she sniffs.
“Well, I have to feed the cat.”
