Page 66 of The Winter of Second Chances
‘Almost,’ Annie agreed.
John closed the book but held it in both his hands as though weighing it. Outside the window the October sun danced across the teal water, making it sparkle and wink as though it were trying to convey a message via Morse code. John looked down at the book, then out over the ocean and back again.
‘Right,’ he said, as though responding to an unseen voice. His dark eyebrows knitted together, his expression pensive, and then he said ‘Right’ again but made no move to expand on his internal monologue.
Mrs Tiggy-Winkle meowed mournfully – this was pure attention-seeking on her part – as she padded into the sitting room and broke whatever cycle of thought John had been locked in. He looked at Tiggs and she looked back.
‘I sought permission first,’ said Annie hastily before John saw fit to reprimand her for yet another abuse of his aunt’s abode.
‘Yes,’ he replied absently, still holding the book. ‘Of course.’
He crouched down, resting the book on one knee, and made a kissing sound to Mrs Tiggy-Winkle whilst holding his hand out to the yawning cat.
‘She won’t come to you,’ said Annie. ‘She’s not good with people. Hates my husband.’
John looked up at Annie, one eyebrow raised. His eyes, she noticed, were blue-grey like the sea when the sky was thick with cloud.
‘Is your husband here too?’
‘No. I left him behind. I prefer the cat.’ She added, ‘We’re separated,’ though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need to clarify this.
John’s mouth twitched at the corners in what Annie thought looked like a suppressed smile.
‘What’s her name?’ John asked, nodding his head towards the fat ginger cat.
‘Mrs Tiggy-Winkle. Tiggs for short. She answers to both.’
‘Because she’s prickly, like her owner?’ John enquired.
‘I am not prickly!’Just rise above him, she thought to herself.You are better than this. ‘If you must know, it’s because she likes laundry,’ Annie continued.
John raised an incredulous eyebrow.
‘She likes to sleep on clean washing. When I first got her I kept finding her in the airing cupboard or in the linen basket. So, you know...Mrs Tiggy-Winkle; the hedgehog who was a washer woman.’
John nodded sagely.
‘Delighted to meet you, Mrs Tiggy-Winkle,’ said John.
To Annie’s annoyance, Tiggs padded over to John, sniffed his outstretched hand and began to rub her head against his knees as he made a fuss of her.
Traitor, Annie thought.
‘She seems to like me,’ said John, looking up with a smug expression.
‘Perhaps you smell like fish,’ Annie retorted, narrowing her eyes.
John laughed softly and the sound was warm and friendly, like a deep purr. Annie pursed her lips.
‘Or perhaps it’s my animal magnetism,’ he grinned.
His Scottish burr added a curling lilt to all his words which Annie found annoyingly pleasant.Oh my God, Annie thought,is he flirting with me?
‘Or maybe you carry catnip around in your pockets to ingratiate yourself with lady cat owners,’ Annie said, smiling sweetly.
‘Have it your way,’ John said. ‘I’m guessing you usually do.’
Annie took a sharp intake of breath but when she looked at John he was still smiling amiably and she decided to let that one pass. She had, after all, just made a rather large hole in his aunt’s ceiling and he had been surprisingly gracious about it. As though reading her mind, John stood up, leaving Tiggs rubbing herself around his legs.Tart, Annie thought at her cat.
