The floorboards creak.
“Thanks for the tea!”
I half turn, lay down my duster and tin of polish, and swizzle round on my knees. Glancing up, I see Julia’s smiling face as she grabs her white crochet cardigan from the coat rack in the hall.
“You’re welcome,” I reply. “Oh, how did Lucy’s sitting go?”
“I think it went okay, although every time Gabriel spoke to her she coloured up and giggled.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes.
“Guess she is only sixteen.”
“Yeah, a sixteen-year-old with a crush and an attitude problem,” she whispers.
“Typical teenager, we’ve all been there.”
“She did nothing but moan at me all the way here in the car, telling me in no uncertain terms that she didn’t need a babysitter.”
She stands, bunching her long dark hair and pulling it over her shoulder.
“I could always drop her off and wait outside in the car,” she says with a growing smile. “I really don’t mind, and you’ll be doing me a favour; it’ll save me the earache.”
I pull myself up using the dining table and brush the creases out of my skirt.
“If she was a couple of years older, then that would be fine, but it’s Gabriel’s policy that anyone under the age of eighteen is accompanied by an adult.”
“Okay,” Julia utters, slipping her cardigan over her shoulders. “Lucy, hurry up, will you? I’ve got to pick your brother up from football!”
Heels click on the tiles as Lucy makes her way from the conservatory. There is an age difference of about twenty years between mum and daughter, yet their resemblance is uncanny. They both have large oriental brown eyes, hair that seems to go on forever, and lips in the perfect Cupid’s bow. I’m sure mum had mentioned they moved over from Thailand, but regardless, there’s no mistaking their oriental origin. Julia’s very attractive, but with age on her side Lucy reminds me of the beautiful porcelain doll I kept on my dressing table as a child.
“Everything okay?” I quiz.
Lucy gives a low-pitched grunt under her breath, but never looks over or smiles. I chuckle to myself. Maybe she feels guilty for having a crush on my man.
I wander over to the conservatory and prop myself between the sliding patio doors. I grin down at Larry, who’s lying only inches away from Gabriel’s feet. Man’s best friend comes to mind, and this was the bloke who wasn’t supposed to be a dog person.
“See you the same time Monday,” Julia calls.
Gabriel lifts his hand in acknowledgement without raising his head, tidying away his paint pots and brushes.
“We’ll see ourselves out…” Julia’s words trail away as the front door closes.
Our eyes meet as Gabriel turns his easel 180 degrees.
“So what do you think?” he asks with widening eyes.
I walk over and gaze at the canvas, doing everything in my power to stop my brow from shooting up. I daren’t say what I’m really thinking because I know I’ll hurt his feelings. I squint and take a more in-depth look. All her features are in the right place, her jet-black hair framing her heart-shaped face perfectly. I take a step back. There’s definitely something missing, but I can’t put my finger on it. The wow factor that I saw in everything he used to paint just isn’t there now. I thought the first time he picked up a brush after his cornea transplant I’d have been blown away; to be able to paint as well as he did without being able to see properly was beyond me. But on reflection it seems his Fuchs Dystrophy was never his handicap, getting his sight back is.
“Looks great,” I say, trying to force a smile.
I glance round for something to take my attention. House plants, perfect. I begin clearing away fallen chrysanthemum petals from the window sill and jump as Gabriel’s hand sweeps across my arse and spins me round into his open arms. He leans into me, placing soft kisses on my cheek, then very gently lifts my feet off the floor and sits me down on the sill.
As I gaze up he lifts my chin with his finger and smiles down.
“You’re never still cleaning! You’d think the Queen was coming to visit, not my mother.”
“She hasn’t visited since I moved in with you, so I just want to make a good impression, show her how well I’m looking after her son,” I explain, looking up under my eyes.
He manoeuvres his knee between my legs, wiggling them apart.
“Natasha, there’s no arguments there. You’re taking very good care of me.”
“Piss off, Gabriel.” I lift my hand, slapping his thigh.
“Kinky.” He presses himself against me.
I frown. “Pack it in, I’m being serious.”
“Since when did you get serious?” He smiles.
Cross words or anything mildly confrontational between us has the ability to turn into a full-blown sex session, but who am I to moan? I quite like his hands-on approach. Talking of hands, his are always on me somewhere. When we’re out his hand is in mine, when we sit cuddling in front of the TV his hand wanders over my shoulder and when we’re in bed… I grin to myself. Where isn’t his hand?
Before meeting Gabriel I’d never been overly loving with anyone, but he had a way of changing all that, a way of changing me. So, although he’s pretty full-on, it’s not in an annoying way, more affectionate really. I know he’s glad I’m around and I know he loves me; as for me, I know I love him back.
He blows a warm breath against my face and, leaning back slightly, I’m able to see his serious side take precedence.
“It’s sorted. I’ve texted her, told her not to come until this evening, and I asked if she’ll leave before lunch.”
“You mean lunchtime tomorrow?”
“Yeah; believe me, by then you’ll be glad to see the back of her.”
He squeezes my waist and meanders back towards his easel, ending our conversation. But I take a breath and hold it; I’m not finished.
“In that case,” I blurt out, “is there really any point in her coming at all?”
He secures his brushes into a brown satchel and ties it without acknowledging me; it’s his usual tactic of avoidance.
Shuffling and holding onto my skirt, I jump down from the window sill and cross my arms.
“You should have told her not to bother.”
“I tried, but she just wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’s bought bags of baby clothes, and then there’s the blessed hamper she made up especially for the girls. Every time I phone her she keeps going on about it.” He shakes his head. “Nothing I say is going to put her off.”
I scratch the top of my arm.
“If she’s prepared to drive all this way, why are you trying to get rid of her so quickly?”
God knows why I’m sticking up for the woman; it was obvious the first time we met that she didn’t like me, probably because I’m the reason Gabriel decided to stay in Matlock rather than move back to London. I think she’s only trying to make an effort now because of her grandchildren. A cold shiver runs down my spine. I wonder how Vivian will react when Gabriel sits her down and tells her he isn’t the girls’ biological father.
“I just want Mum back home as soon as.” Gabriel’s words cut into my thoughts and it clicks.
“This is all because of Mr. Pooch, isn’t it?”
“No,” he stutters, “don’t be daft.” He rubs his fingers across his brows. “But if she were to come home…” The expression on his face softens. “It would be nice if Mum was there to take her in. I’d hate to think she was going back to an empty flat.”
As if; she’s not a young cat and has been missing for well over a year, so I think it’s just wishful thinking on his part rather than the likelihood that something is going to happen.
“Natasha, it’s that time,” he says, raising his arm and tapping his wristwatch. “I’ll go grab the glasses and juice, and how about a couple of chocolate cookies?”
“Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.”
I lift Larry up off the coconut matting by the door and hold him against me as I sink down onto the small wicker settee. This is something we do every day without fail; our elevenses, we call it. We sit in the conservatory, usually for around an hour, and let time pass us by. It’s only now that I appreciate how important time really is when it could have so easily been snatched away. Gabriel’s enjoying every moment of his sight, with the clarity of colours and the many different species of birds that visit our garden.
Gazing through the window, my eyes follow a robin as it flies over the fence and settles almost hidden in the leafy green trees. I can’t help but smile at the splashing wings of the sparrows as they dip playfully in and out of the birdbath. What I savour most of all is the changing of the seasons, each bringing its unique personality, its unique disguise.
The cushion dips at my side as Gabriel seats himself and passes me a tall glass. It’s odd really; while we sit here sipping our cold orange juice we very rarely speak, our only connection being our linking of fingers and sometimes his knee rubbing against mine. For us, this is the time of day when we clear our mind of everything and take stock of our lives.
I point towards a couple of bluetits as they flutter into the conifers that adjoin our garden with the neighbours’, but Gabriel seems preoccupied. He’s looking down into Mr. Pooch’s empty water bowl and I know who he’s thinking of. It’s a shame things turned out the way they did; she was such a lovely cat. I stroke my fingers through Larry’s short fur as his small body lies resting on my lap. I nudge the heel of my hand into his side, and he opens one eye, snorts and ambles his way onto Gabriel’s lap. I feel my hand fall free as Gabriel releases my fingers. In the next moment he’s cuddling Larry into his chest and stroking the length of his squat little body.
I don’t want him to feel me staring, so, not wanting to ruin the moment, I glance back out of the window and catch sight of a brightly coloured dragonfly, its long turquoise torso glimmering in the soft beams from the midday sun. It’s so beautiful I can’t seem to pull my eyes away, and mesmerised I follow its flight as it makes its way through the open transom window and then, with slowing wings, lowers itself onto the cerise petals of one of my chrysanthemum plants. I wonder if it will be able to find its way out. Then I think of the heat; a couple of hours from now and it’ll be like a sauna in here. I take a couple of bites into my cookie, swig back the remaining dregs of my juice and then place my empty glass down on the tiled floor.
Pushing myself to my feet I make my way towards the dragonfly that sits almost statue like. I cup my hands, bend over and gently take the insect between my fingers. Then I stride towards the conservatory door and lower the handle with my elbow.
“Ouch!” I cry, shaking open my hands and allowing it to fly away. “I think the bloody thing’s bitten me.”
“Bitten you?” Gabriel shrugs, shaking his head. “Dragonflies don’t bite; well, I don’t think they do.”
“I know what I can feel.” I frown. “Well, that’s gratitude for you,” I snap, watching the insect rise into the air and out of the door.
I turn and make my way back to the settee.
“That’s karma!” He laughs. “One of those bloody bluetits had it.”
I roll my eyes. “So much for saving his life, eh…”
“I think that well and truly ends our elevenses for today.”
I nod. Gabriel follows me into the kitchen, where we load the dishwasher and put a few odds and ends into the washing machine.
“I think someone’s trying to tell you something,” Gabriel utters, glancing down towards the bottom drawer of the larder unit where Larry’s wagging his tail.
“Bless him, the little guy never forgets where we keep his lead.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt getting his walk out of the way with Mum coming later.”
It’s such a nice day that we walk him twice around the block. There’s a constant humming as motorbikes interrupt our conversation; Matlock’s renowned for its bikes and leather-clad riders, and with it being the summer and a weekend there are loads of them about today.
We take a detour over the road and through the park’s wrought-iron gates, where it’s slightly quieter. With our arms linked, we saunter through the long grass and sit for a while on the same bench where Gabriel’s dad used to sit and feed the pigeons. I think this makes Gabriel feel closer to him somehow. He’s even mentioned contacting the council about having a plaque secured to the back of the bench with his father’s name engraved as a memorial.
I swivel round to face Gabriel, and as I do so I feel his fingers brush against my thigh. I glance up, but his eyes aren’t on me. He’s staring towards the swings, where a red-haired man pushes a young girl, her face lit up by her smile as she squeals with delight the higher the swing takes her.
Squeezing my thigh, Gabriel grins at me. “That’ll be us in a few years.”
“Sure will,” I say, grinning back. “I can see them now, dressed in their matching red coats.”
He rolls his eyes. “They are sure going to love you; my mum only tried to dress me and Jase the same once.” He lifts his hand and runs it through his hair. “From what I can remember, it was a couple of Christmas jumpers from our Aunt June; you should have seen them.” He sniggers. “They had huge black and white penguins embroidered on the front. Mum told us we should be grateful, since she’d knitted them especially.”
I laugh out loud. “And were you?”
“What?” he quizzes.
“Were you grateful?”
“Well, I think I was. I wore it, and if you don’t believe me, I’ve got pictures to prove it. But as for Jase, he took one look at his, grabbed it out of its wrapping and ran full pelt out of the living room. Then for an hour, maybe more, he locked himself away in the toilet. Mum banged her fists on the door and Dad stood behind her threatening to take the door off its hinges if he didn’t come out.”
I shrug my shoulders. “It was a common occurrence in our house, Adrianna locking herself in the bathroom.”
“Jase being in the bathroom wasn’t the problem, it was the bill from the plumber. He’d stuffed his jumper down the toilet and tried for the whole hour to flush it down. There was absolutely no way my brother was wearing that fucker.”
“But it’ll be different for our girls; they’re twins so it’s a given they’ll wear matching clothes, at least some of the time.”
I warm inside. It’s so nice having two of a kind, our own little girls. I think back to when I was a kid and how close Adrianna and me were growing up. In the summer months when Dad finished work he’d often bundle us into the back of the family car and drive us down to our local park. I smile as I remember those matching tartan coats Mum used to dress us in; I’m sure I still have them stashed in a plastic bag somewhere at the top of my wardrobe. Mum would scurry into the hall with them draped over her arm and Adrianna would frown, stamp her feet on the bottom stair and refuse to wear hers, shouting that we weren’t twins and she didn’t want to look like me. Whereas I quite liked the idea and was quick to hold out my arms for mum to slip my coat on. I was proud when people saw us and immediately knew we were sisters. Being the youngest, if other kids picked on me or called me names, Adrianna was always there standing up for me. As insignificant as our matching coats were to the outside world, to me they represented our sisterly bond, a unity which nobody else could break, and that’s exactly what I want for my girls. I want them looking out for each other as they play in their matching red coats.
My focus returns to the little girl who slows, releases the metal chains from her hands and jumps off the swing, screaming with laughter as the man whom I assume is her dad makes horns with his fingers, holding them either side of his head. I hear her laughter, her screams, and then watch with a smile as he swiftly chases after her.
Gabriel’s eyes aren’t just lit up by the warm summer sun; I can almost see his excitement, as it’s only a matter of weeks before Adrianna’s C-section. He’s going to be a dad, and although I’m finding it hard to believe, I’m going to be a mum. I snuggle myself back against his chest and rest my head, linking my arm through his. I glance up at the side of his face. He’s more tanned than when we first met, which is probably down to him spending more time in the garden and the fact that he shaved off the majority of that thick whiskery thatch that he used to have on his cheeks and chin. I inhale a deep breath as I look into those unforgettable blue eyes. Every time they meet with mine I feel I could almost lose myself.
He’s moving his face towards me, casting a shadow as his tongue slips out, moistening his lips. His lips part, but the kiss he instigates never happens as my hand edges between us, covering his mouth.
“Gabriel, wait, I’ve been thinking about something for the last few days…”
His eyes widen considerably. “So you’ve finally come to your senses; you’re guna slip out of your clothes and let me paint you naked?”
“No way,” I titter. “That’s one thing that hasn’t crossed my mind, not even once,” I emphasise, giving his left cheek a playful slap.
“We’re going to walk Larry back home, and then for the rest of the day you’re going to do exactly what I tell you.”
“With Mum coming later on this evening, you’d better promise me you won’t punish me too much,” he adds, blinking slowly.
I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
He grins playfully and I slap his leg.
“When we get home, you can get your head out of the bedroom and your ass into the car.”
I can’t really blame him; he’s probably thinking sex will be off the agenda when the kids come along, and he might well be right. I can’t imagine how we are going to fit any us time in between bottle feeds and nappy changes. From the come-to-bed look on his face he seems to be hoping to make hay while the sun shines.
When we get home, and with Larry settled comfortably in the middle of our double bed, I grab the car keys off the coffee table, take Gabriel by the hand and we step outside. I’ve always liked surprises. I just hope Gabriel likes the surprise I have in stall for him, and we don’t leave the place with him totally pissed off and us not speaking.
I open the driver’s side door and slip in behind the wheel. Gabriel sits at my side and fastens his seat belt.
“Why are you taking me to Nottingham?”
How am I supposed to surprise someone who has eyes like a damn hawk? He must have peeked at the satnav on my phone, which I had propped up on the dash. I blow out, staring through the rear-view mirror.
I didn’t fancy the motorway, so decided to take the more scenic route. After ten minutes of listening to a CD by Adèle and seeing nothing but leafy trees and an abundance of fields, I start to relax.
“What say we try to agree on names for the babies?” Gabriel pipes up unexpectedly.
“I suppose we’ve got nothing better to do… But one thing I need to get straight, we will not be naming either of them after your mother.”
He reaches over and squeezes my knee.
“As if.”
“I want something different, an old-fashioned name, at least for one of the girls.” I strum my fingers on the steering wheel. “Emily, Bessie, Martha, Olive, Harper.”
When I glance across, he doesn’t look overly impressed.
“I was thinking more along the lines of something seasonal, after one of the months of the year. May…” He hesitates. “April maybe?”
I mull over both names, but don’t give him an answer.
“Well, how about Summer, or Autumn? If you don’t like seasons, have you considered flowers?”
“It’s really hard choosing two names when there are so many.”
He turns on the local radio station and then sinks back into his seat, making no further attempt to converse for the remainder of our journey.
A couple of miles from Nottingham we take a sharp left down a winding lane, where if a car happened to be coming in the opposite direction we would be well and truly screwed.
“Damn!” I huff as my satnav stops randomly outside a Toby Carvery.
I’ve no idea where we are or which direction to go in, so I pull into the tarmacked car park. I sit fiddling with my phone as I try to re-programme the satnav, but it’s not playing ball and keeps telling me I’ve arrived at my destination. I decide I could always pop into the pub and ask for directions, as I’m sure we’re not far away. I hear the click of a seat belt.
“Now we’re talking.”
I frown, opening my mouth with the intention of telling Gabriel to buckle back up, but then I see that over-exaggerated grin of his and quickly change my mind. Glancing down at my wristwatch it’s around lunchtime, so I suppose it won’t hurt. It’ll be late evening by the time Vivian turns up, and maybe if I fill his belly with food and get a couple of pints down him he’ll be easier to talk round; what bloke wouldn’t be?
There’s a queue of people waiting for tables and I notice there isn’t a lot of room to stand and have a drink, so as more people come into the pub we’re cajoled towards the bar area. There’s one stool going spare, which Gabriel grabs. I jump on and he manoeuvres himself behind me, looping his arms around my shoulders. He offers to pay for our meals, but this afternoon is supposed to be my treat, so I insist that dinner is on me. It works out quite well, because when he disappears to the gents’ toilets I get the directions I need from a dark-haired bartender as he pulls Gabriel’s pint. As I’m the one in the driving seat I decide it’s best I avoid alcohol altogether, but I also want to make sure my head’s clear when I have to play host to his mother later. What a come-down from my ex’s folks. I spent so much time with Angela and Hughie it felt like I’d adopted another set of parents; that beautiful house of theirs felt more like a second home. Yet with Vivian, there don’t appear to be any genuine feelings, and I have to force myself to make conversation, to smile, and worse still when I do open my mouth I have no idea what to talk about. But I’m sure me saying very little is to her liking anyway.
I’m only a quarter of the way down my long glass of sparkling water when a middle-aged waiter walks towards me, telling me there’s a table ready. He turns and points to a table for two, positioned near a window in a secluded area. It’ll be a thumbs-up for Gabriel, as he doesn’t really do crowds. Speaking of Gabriel, where the hell is he?
Another five minutes pass before he finally appears. I’m slightly amused, watching him standing by my empty stool looking for me. I could be mean and hide behind a menu, but I decide it’s probably best to keep him in good spirits, as I need him to be in a good mood when we leave here. So, lying the menu flat on the tabletop, I wave my hand. But it’s the bartender who acknowledges my wave, leans across the bar and taps Gabriel’s shoulder, who comes over to join me.
Gabriel tucked into his carvery, enjoying it so much that he went up three times in all. When he finally sat down with his third plate, I was still finishing off my first.
I can feel the side of his shoe start playing with my open-toed sandals.
“If these are the sorts of surprises you have in store, you’ll have to surprise me more often.” He winks.
“Well actually, this was only half of your surprise,” I say, throwing him a half truth. “But if you keep eating the way you are, the rest of the surprise won’t happen.”
His half-eaten Yorkshire pudding falls onto his plate, splashing gravy across his white t-shirt.
“That’s me done,” he says, pushing his chair away from the table.
As we leave I smile over at the bartender, a sort of thank you smile for giving me directions. Gabriel’s hand makes its way into mine as we amble back towards the car.
“I hope your next surprise is on our way home.” He nudges his arm into mine. “You know, stopping off at a quiet layby.”
I slip my fingers out of his.
“God, you’ve got it on the brain. Is sex all you think about?”
“No, Natasha, I do on the odd occasion think of other things.”
“That’s good; at least you won’t be disappointed then when I don’t pull off the road into a layby.”
I’m driving up a dirt track, and a few minutes later I pull up onto an uneven grass verge.
“Fur-ever-homes...” he says, gazing towards a large wooden building and reading the white lettering on a PVC banner hanging just above the main entrance.
“What is this place?”
I glance across into his eyes and can’t miss his change of expression.
“I hope this isn’t what I think it is, because Larry’s got us. He doesn’t need a friend and we definitely don’t need another dog.”
“Gabriel, I’ve driven us all the way here, the least you can do is come in and have a walk round.”
“If me walking round looking at doe-eyed dogs makes you happy, then okay, I’ll walk round with you, but that’s as far as it’ll go. Whatever’s in that shelter stays in the shelter.”
I don’t reply, but hope when I get him inside and he sees why I’ve brought him here he’ll have a change of heart. There are a couple of young assistants dressed in green tunics standing behind a long desk.
“Would you like to leave a donation?” the younger one asks, holding a plastic container towards us.
Gabriel searches through the back pocket of his jeans and hands over a folded twenty-pound note.
The other assistant walks from behind a small wooden desk and leads us towards a heavy metal door, which she opens and then, turning towards us, she gesticulates for us to walk through.
“If you see anything you want, give us a shout,” she says, closing the door behind her.
My eyes make a detour towards Gabriel who is shaking his head. It’s only a small room, more like a pet shop than an animal shelter. Some 5-kilo bags of dried cat food are stacked up against the far wall, and to my left are several shelves containing ceramic and metal bowls, and an array of multi-coloured collars. There’s nothing of any real interest, so we move on into the next room. There’s a narrow walkway through the middle with glass-panelled enclosures on either side.
“Cats, Natasha? I’m confused. Where are the dogs?” Gabriel quizzes.
“Just be quiet for a minute and come with me.”
I don’t give him chance to reply and grab his hand, dragging him along.
We pause briefly at each enclosure, giving me ample time to read out each cat’s name and coo over the newborn kittens.
Most of the felines are kept in small groups, with three or four in some of the larger enclosures. I’m quite surprised that rather than just the ordinary black moggy that can’t find a new home, beautiful white Persians stare at me with those signature blue eyes of theirs, like the brightest of sapphires, shining out their hellos as I stand for a while and admire.
The last enclosure we stop at is probably the smallest of all, near a small window beneath which is a wall-mounted sink and a metal container full of those awful white paper towels that remind me of school. I peer at a Pyrex stand and read the name Belley. This was the cat I had been told would be a perfect fit for us when I rang last week. I had waited for Gabriel to disappear into the garden, knowing he’d be a good half an hour mowing the lawn. I dialled the shelter’s number, and when they mentioned Belley she sounded just perfect. She wasn’t a young cat; from what I can remember she’s approaching ten, but what really sold her to me was that she had come from a home with a couple of terriers who had also been taken away from their owner for rehoming. Although Belley wasn’t a dead ringer for Mr. Pooch, there were similarities, with that same mischievous look in those amber eyes.
This place is home to so many cats, but could a cat really call a shelter like this home? It’s not quite the same as having their name called and rushing to the settee for a chance of a warm lap and a cuddle, but looking round the staff have certainly done their best. Belley seemed far from unhappy, the walls of her enclosure being a relaxing magnolia rather than clinical white, and warm chocolate carpet tiles covering the floor. There are even soft coloured blocks, ladders to climb and scratch posts to keep their claws in check. I’m so focused on Belley that I’ve quite forgotten Gabriel standing next to me, that is until I get a sudden reminder of his presence when his fingers begin strumming rhythmically on my shoulder, knocking me off balance as he spins me round to face him.
“Surprise!” I squeak, beaming up into his eyes, but my smile soon disappears when I see the deep furrows in his forehead.
I take a step back. I thought when he saw Belley, it would have been a case of ‘when can we take her home?’, yet as he glances down at me, his eyes are cold, almost emotionless.
“You know me so well.”
Thank God, he was only joking. Looks like I’ve got it right this time. I get a warm rush inside, as if butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. I look round for a member of staff. The leopard-print bed with the large cushion had caught my eye on the way in, and as for the collars, a gold diamanté would look great against Belley’s shiny black coat. Larry’s certainly in for a surprise, but in a couple of weeks they’ll probably be lying together on the settee with Gabriel and me squashed up at the other end.
“You’ve surprised me, Natasha.”
I can feel my eyes widen. “Well, that was the idea.”
“No,” he adds, scuffing his trainer against the floor. “You love me?”
My left eyebrow shoots up. Where the hell did that come from?
“Yes, I love you, of course I do.”
“Then I thought you of all people would have understood.”
I can feel my brows knitting together.
“There are some things in life that just can’t be replaced, and Mr. Pooch is one of them. I’m disappointed you thought another cat could take her place.” He gazes at Belley sitting in her enclosure. “Mr. Pooch was unique, one of a kind, but it wasn’t just that,” he says, shaking his head. “She was also part of Dad, and there are so many happy memories all wrapped up together.”
“I know, but I just feel sometimes that you need a cat around the place. And as for Belley,” I say, throwing her a glance, “she’s getting old, and most people who visit here just ignore her, wanting a kitten.”
“That isn’t really our problem.”
“Well I think she deserves a chance, and we could give her a ‘fur-ever-home’. I just thought having her around the place would help you.”
“Nice thought, I guess,” he says, glancing into my eyes; his glance is accompanied by a forced smile. “But if this is where your thoughts have been taking you, you’d be doing me a favour if you restrained from thinking. And anyway,” he adds light-heartedly, “it may only be a matter of time before Mr. Pooch returns home.”
I could have cried. I found it hard leaving the shelter and poor Belley behind. The drive home was spent in silence. Gabriel’s way of not getting embroiled in an argument was simply to say nothing, and to be honest, that was fine by me. When we returned home the tense atmosphere continued. Then just to top things off, I found out that the reason he had spent so much time in the gents was because he was on the phone to Jason, his weird brother, who will be tagging along with his mother. With the mood we’re both in I can see this evening being a disaster.