Page 54 of The Unhinged Christmas of a Cat Lady
I catch up and ruffle the top of her hat. “Let’s get inside before your nose falls off.”
I’m halfway to unlocking the front entrance when the door to the annexe bangs open behind us.
SJ appears, hair wild, socks mismatched, face very serious.
“Mr Corbin!” he calls, urgent and breathless.
I close my eyes.
“Jasper,” I say, automatically. “Just Jasper.”
He ignores that entirely. “You need to come and help my mum. It’s an emergency.”
I turn.
He’s bouncing on the spot now, full eight-year-old adrenaline, waving one hand like he’s directing traffic. “One of the pipes in the kitchen burst and there’s water going everywhere and she’s saying things I’m not allowed to repeat and she doesn’t know where the water button is.”
“…Water button?”
“You know. The tap switchy thing.”
“The mains?”
“Yes! The main tap switchy thing! Please, come fast or she might drown in tea towels.”
Lucy lets out a gasp. “Is it a FLOOD?”
SJ spins dramatically. “It’sspreading. There are puddles everywhere.”
I scoop Lucy up before she can launch herself into the rescue effort like a very small, heavily accessorised fire marshal. She squeals with delight, clinging to my coat as I follow SJ at pace across the gravel path.
“It’s arealemergency,” Lucy whispers in my ear, eyes wide. “Like inFrozen.”
By the time we reach the flat, SJ’s already flung the door open and darted inside like a man on a mission. I step in behind him, Lucy still in my arms, and immediately take in the chaos.
Miranda’s on the floor, half inside the cupboard under the sink, wedged awkwardly with one arm clamped around something beneath the pipes. She’s drenched. Not mildly damp—sopping. Her ponytail is stuck to her neck, her jumper looks like it’s been through a car wash, and there’s a tea towel doing precisely nothing besides clinging to her forearm like it’s lost the will to live.
“Don’t panic,” she mutters without looking up. “Everything’s under control.”
Something gurgles ominously beneath her.
SJ gestures grandly. “See? Flood.”
Miranda glances up, noticing me and Lucy in the doorway. “Oh. Good. You brought an audience.”
“You alright down there?” I ask, trying to assess whether she’s stopped the leak or simply drowned it in sarcasm.
“I’ve created a temporary solution involving a hair bobble, a spatula, and blind faith. Don’t question it.”
Lucy stares, wide-eyed. “You look like a plumber princess.”
Miranda blinks. “That’s... unexpectedly flattering.”
“It’s the sparkles,” Lucy explains, pointing at the water beading on her sleeves. “You’re shiny and fixing things. That’s princess work.”
Before Miranda can reply, Lucy suddenly gasps again, dramatically enough that I instinctively tighten my grip on her.
“Look at the kittens!”
