Page 12 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“His girlfriend,” I say. “Her name’s Amelia.”
“She looks nice.”
“She is.”
“And the lady in the big scarf?”
“No idea.”
She makes a thoughtful hum, rests her chin on my shoulder again, and crunches into her apple like it's the last meal she'll ever get.
By the time we make it back to the others, the last of the fireworks have burned themselves out and the green’s thinning fast. Theo looks up as we approach and holds out his hands.
“Ladybug,” he says, soft but firm. “Time to go home.”
Lucy lets out a theatrical sigh, then leans in for one last squeeze around my neck. She smells like toffee apple and bonfire smoke. It’s gross and perfect.
“Can I come again next year?” she whispers.
“Every year,” I murmur back.
She lets go reluctantly and I hand her over to Theo, who takes her with the ease of a father who, until recently, was single and the sole parent to this adorably little girl. That was until he met Ivy and now they are a family. Not yet in an official form, but Geoff and I are sure that it won’t be long.
Ivy pulls Lucy’s hood up and wipes some apple off her cheek with a napkin pulled from nowhere. Lu giggles and keeps on nibbling her toffee covered fruit whilst Ivy cleans her up.
We head toward the car park together. Geoff’s offered Christa a lift, and she’s clearly grateful not to have to navigate the train home on her own. Theo, Ivy and Lu are in the second car. They are already debating which chip shop is open on the way.
At the row of parked cars, we pause in that awkward pre-departure circle.
Geoff slaps a hand on my shoulder. “You need to come to the café next week. Theo's got that bloody ridiculous hazelnut thing back on the menu. You can come sulk in a corner and complain it’s too sweet.”
“I don’t sulk,” I say mildly.
“Youbrood, then.”
Theo gives me a one-armed hug, Lucy already strapped into the backseat, chatting to herself.
“Come by soon,” he says. “We’ll do dinner.”
“I might hold you to that.”
“You always say that,” Ivy teases.
I shrug. “Still true.”
Geoff leans on the car door. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing that you live out here in the wild and haven’t even got a bloody sourdough starter. Civilisation misses you.”
“You live in a two-bed in Highbury,” I point out.
“And it’s full of soul.”
“Full of damp,” Theo mutters, climbing into the driver’s seat.
They all laugh, and just like that, they’re off—headlights sweeping past me as they pull out, red taillights vanishing down the road.
I shove my hands in my pockets and breathe out into the dark.
It’s quiet now. The kind of quiet you don’t get in London. No taxis, no shouting, no sirens humming under your skin. Just the creak of branches in the wind and the occasional scuffle of something in the hedgerow. Rabbit. Fox. Possibly something hellbent on getting into my bins again.
