Page 18 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
“Hello!” beams Stella. “Lovely to see you again!”
I blink, regrouping. “Stella—hi. You too.”
She turns her bright smile on SJ.
“And you must be SJ. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
SJ perks up immediately. “From Mum?”
“Of course,” she says. “She told me you’re a Mario Kart champion and take your dinosaur collectionveryseriously.”
He gives me a satisfied look, like he’s just been correctly identified as royalty.
Stella steps aside and gestures us in. “Come on in. Everything’s ready for you.”
I hesitate. “Is Jasper not back yet?”
“No—still in Singapore. Something about a supplier meeting running over. He is now coming on a later flight, but he asked me to pass on his welcome and to say that he’s very sorry not to be here.”
Of course he is. I nod, keeping my expression polite.
She leads us into the open plan kitchen/living space. Sleek, neutral, much nicer than anything labelled “annexe” usually deserves to be.
“We made a few upgrades,” Stella says, ushering us into the kitchen area. “Bigger fridge. Jasper thought you might need extra freezer space for fish fingers and emergency ice cream.”
I glance around. “Very astute of him.”
“New dishwasher too. The last one sounded like it was processing its feelings.”
SJ trails behind us, quietly impressed. I can see him checking out the cupboards, the shiny tap, the way the floor doesn’t creak. He disappears down the hall.
“All the rooms were repainted,” she adds. “We went neutral. Think calming, with aspirations of taste.”
I raise a brow. “Very Instagram divorce-core.”
She grins. “Exactly.”
SJ calls from the main bedroom. “I want this one! It’s got a bathroom!”
I join him in the master bedroom where he’s standing dead centre like he’s about to plant a flag.
“That’smyroom,” I say.
“But it’s got the toilet!”
“And I’m the one who’ll actually clean it. Out you go.”
He groans theatrically but trudges back into the hallway, dragging his feet like I’ve just evicted him from a castle. I guide him into the other room.
“This one’s yours.” I usher him into the second bedroom.
He eyes it like he’s assessing the structural integrity. “It’s alright.”
“You’ll make it brilliant,” I say. “As soon as we get your dinosaurs in formation.”
He drops his bag with a thud and gives a resigned nod, clearly filing this injustice away for future therapy.
Then the doorbell rings.
