Page 17 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Alright,” he says. “I just—I had to try.”
I look at him for a long moment. “I know.”
We stand in silence for a beat too long.
Then I turn to go.
Because I’m still not entirely sure what comes next.
But I know it isn’t this.
Chapter five
Have Yourself a Merry Little Flat Let
Miranda
The car door creaks like it’s in physical pain as I push it open.
“Alright, Geraldine,” I mutter under my breath, giving the dashboard an encouraging pat. “You’ve done your best. You may rest.” London to Little Hadlow in a car I bought for the price of a fancy hairdryer. She rattles, wheezes, and the windscreen wipers have one speed: dramatic panic. But she got us here. Just about.
SJ’s already halfway out, unbuckling himself with purpose. His sadness from a few days ago seems to have been replaced by genuine curiosity. Let’s just hope it stays this way.
I sit for a moment, taking in the house.
It’s... well, it’s stunning. Sort of a fancy modern villa disguised as a countryside retreat—white render, huge windows, sleek lines softened by ivy and those tasteful potted olive trees you only ever see in magazines. There’s a gravel drive, and the kind of elegant symmetry that saysI don’t own IKEA furniture.
SJ leans forward, pressing his face to the glass. “It’s huge.”
“That’s because it’s not all ours,” I say, already texting the girls.
Me
We’ve arrived! Beat the movers. Come and welcome me to country life. I need the moral support
The annexe is on the right side of the main house, but with its own sleek black door and a little path lined with lavender. It looks... solid.
I hesitate, thumb hovering over the bell.
I haven’t met Jasper, our new landlord. When I came to see the place, he was apparently off on some business trip in Asia, which sounded either very jet-set or very evasive. His best mate’s girlfriend Stella showed me round and did the whole agreement.
He’s a mystery. And although Ben and Omar assured me that he is a trustworthy guy, I’d rather prefer I could judge for myself.
I take a deep breath and press the bell.
SJ stands beside me, backpack on both shoulders, giving the door a squinty once-over like it might be booby-trapped.
“Do you think he’s nice?” he whispers.
“Ben likes him.” That seems to be enough for SJ. He hero-worships Ben and Coop.
Footsteps.
A pause.
The door opens.
It’s not Jasper.
