Sitting Pretty Read online

  ‘I know, everyone wants to know why she’s called Tin Lizzy and not Thin Lizzy,’ he grinned, obviously mistaking the reason for my confusion. ‘You see, she’s not named after the band, she’s named after the cartoon robot that the band are supposed to be named after!’ He paused like a comedian waiting for applause but he wasn’t going to get any. I couldn’t have cared less what the damn thing had been named after. It, or she, or whatever, wasn’t a nice, big, safe-looking ferry with lifeboats and burly sailors on board who knew what they were doing. In fact, the more I looked at it, the smaller and older-looking it got. And we were supposed to get in it, cast it off – or whatever they called it – from dry land and go out to sea in it? My fingers curled wistfully round the Puffin Cruises leaflet in my pocket.

  The revolving underwear show in the Wintertown laundrette was starting to look a lot more attractive. I wondered if there was a bus from here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  ‘See, that wasn’t so bad now, was it?’ Marvin helped me onto the jetty or whatever it was called which was absolutely no help at all as the damn thing was moving about just as much as the blasted boat had been. As soon as one wave of nausea subsided, another, even stronger one started to build up. It felt like my feet and knees had been stolen and replaced with big blobs of jelly and if I didn’t stop wobbling about on them soon, we were going to be seeing my toast and marmalade and coffee again very soon. Oh God, I needed to stop making food analogies. They really weren’t helping. ‘Just sit on that bollard for a moment and you’ll be as right as rain,’ my torturer advised. If I’d been in any fit state, I’d have liked to rip the bollard out and bash him over the head with it and see how long it took him to feel ‘right as rain’. That seemed like a fitting level of justice for the eighteen minutes of hell this man had just put me through.

  Ten minutes, he’d told me. Ten minutes at fifteen knots – the liar. Smooth as silk the Solent was, he’d told me. We’d glide along like a knife through butter he’d told me, too – liar, liar, pants on fire. It had been more like surfing on an Eccles Cake at speed through lumpy rice pudding. How I hadn’t ended up tossed into the sea, I didn’t know. If he thought he was getting me back on that contraption for the return part of the trip he was very much mistaken. No, there was only one thing I could do. I’d just have to stay on the island and live here for ever. There was sure to be a pub, café, or restaurant who could use a cheap and cheerful pair of hands in the run up to Christmas. I could make myself indispensable during opening hours and then stay behind to help clear up and … well … it wouldn’t be the stupidest thing I’d ever done. I seemed to be saying that to myself a lot lately.

  ‘Now, I’ve just got to go and see someone,’ Marvin told me in a voice most people saved for small children or those who were a bit slow. ‘I won’t be long. You stay here a few minutes and get your land legs back and then we’ll go and have some lunch, eh? What do you fancy? I know a place that does the best crab sandwiches on the island. It’s not far.’ And with that he marched off and left me, wondering if this was his way of punishing me for borrowing his brother’s house. Crab sandwiches indeed. The thought brought on another wave of nausea – as if I was about to put anything sea related anywhere near my mouth. If it was, then I thought it cruel and unusual and quite honestly, at that moment I’d rather have ended up explaining my behaviour to the boys in blue. At least there’d be no threat of crustaceans down at the station. And a prison cell wouldn’t keep moving around.

  ‘Blimey, mate, she looks a bit green around the gills,’ said a voice that wasn’t Marvin’s but sounded vaguely familiar from somewhere. I realised Marvin had come back with a friend, and tried to smile politely. After all, he was probably of the opinion – even though he couldn’t have been more wrong – that he’d brought me on a nice day out. ‘Oh, it’s you!’ the voice said again. ‘One of the Doberman girls, from the park!’

  I groaned inside as I simultaneously recognised both the smell and the ruddy face of the man who’d been sitting by the lake when I took Wendell for a walk in Natalia’s place. The man with the stinky cigarettes who thought I didn’t know how to handle a dog. This was all I needed. If he started patronising me again I’d have to shove him into the water, even if the movement did finally bring my breakfast back up.

  ‘Do you two know each other?’ Marvin looked from one to the other of us, making me feel dizzy again. I let his friend tell him about our one brief meeting, even though his version didn’t tally with the one in my head. I was too busy swallowing air and saving my energy in case that shove became necessary.

  The restaurant with the amazing crab sandwiches was decked out in blue, green, and silver – whoever had done it had probably had some kind of Christmas at sea idea in mind. It just looked cold to me. And it wasn’t tinsel, although something not far off it and a bit more expensive-looking. Their tree looked very jolly though, although I’d never seen a mermaid on top of a Christmas tree before. To take my mind off the unfortunately seafood-orientated menu that had been placed in front of me, I wondered if there was an angels’ union and if there was, what they would make of a mermaid taking one of their jobs.

  All I really wanted was a cup of tea and some dry crackers or a piece of plain bread. I did manage a few of the chips from Marvin’s plate, with just a bit of salt on them – no vinegar – so he ordered me a soft bread roll – no butter – and I had an impromptu chip butty, which did actually help me feel a bit better.

  ‘So, now you’ve got some colour back in your cheeks, Beth, what shall we do next?’ Marvin asked me. I wondered if it would seem rude if I asked if we could find somewhere to book me a ferry ticket so I didn’t have to go back on that torture device with him. ‘How about Yarmouth Castle? That’s not far.’

  ‘Closed at the beginning of the month for winter,’ Mr Ruddy Face, who’s name I’d forgotten Natalia had said was Stinky Steve until then, reminded him.

  ‘Actually, I’d be happy to just go for a walk and have a look around here,’ I told them, mentally drilling myself not to call him Stinky Steve. Or Gnome Man, as Daisy had christened him yesterday morning. Don’t call him Stinky Steve – don’t call him Gnome Man – don’t call him Stinky Steve – don’t call him Gnome Man, I chanted inside my head. I was on the boundary of being in enough trouble without insulting Marvin’s friend. Even if both nicknames were true.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  It turned out we weren’t taking Tin Lizzy back to Lymington anyway. Marvin and Steve, for reasons best known to themselves, had swapped boats and we were sailing back on Steve’s slightly bigger, although not any better-looking yacht – he did tell me what sort it was but, as with any other boat related information, it went in one ear and passed straight out the other without troubling a single brain cell on the way.

  ‘There you go, Beth,’ Marvin seemed to think this slightly smoother ride should make up for the hideous outward journey. ‘What did I say, eh? Like a knife through butter.’

  ‘Mm … hmm.’ I gave him a tight-lipped smile, keeping my eyes on the horizon just in case the chip butty decided to make a return appearance.

  My jelly legs weren’t as bad getting off in Lymington. It was a relief, but not a big enough one to ever make me want to do that again.

  ‘Why don’t you go and have a cup of tea in that little café up there?’ Marvin gestured towards the cobbled lane. ‘I’ve got a few bits and pieces to do and then I’ll come and join you.’

  That was something I didn’t need to be told twice. It was almost miraculous just how quickly my legs got their act together. They carried me off like a thoroughbred racehorse’s legs would have, past my old friend of this morning, the Puffin Cruises ticket booth, and on towards the cobbles and a hot cup of tea. In my head I sounded decidedly middle-aged for a twenty-eight-year-old, but I didn’t care. This twenty-eight-year-old had had a very up and down day – particularly in the stomach department and was in dire need of the cup that cheers.

 
; I was feeling more like myself again as we drove back through the New Forest towards Netley Mallow to give Bella and then Anthony and Cleopatra their second visits of the day. Had I thought about it in the morning, I should have driven my car as far as here and left it in the Steadmans’ driveway, then Marvin could have driven home and left me to make my own way.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’m going to shoot off and catch up with someone then I’ll come back for you a bit later,’ Marvin broke into my thoughts before I had a chance to voice them as he pulled up outside the Steadmans’ bungalow. ‘How long do were you planning on staying here? About an hour or two?’

  One hour would have been perfect – half an hour for each house, unless Bella was being stroppy, in which case, twenty minutes per cat. Two was a lot longer than I’d planned but I didn’t want to be awkward – my seasickness had probably taken enough of the shine off his day already – so I just said, ‘An hour would be great. If you think you’re going to be longer than that I could always walk back. It’s a lovely afternoon – that earlier drizzle didn’t come to anything, so I don’t think it’s going to rain now.’

  ‘Well, I might be closer to two hours than one, so if you’re sure?’ He looked a little more relieved than was gentlemanly, I thought, but ignored it. After all, he didn’t owe me anything – more the other way round.

  I was sure that I didn’t want to be hanging around for two hours – cats weren’t known for their long attention spans and I’d already seen enough of my clients’ sofas to last me a lifetime. ‘Yes, of course,’ I told him. ‘I’ll see you later.’ Then I watched Marvin drive off, thankful that Daisy had offered to walk Bubbles for me, and that this was the only thing I had left to do today.

  ‘Tony,’ I called, ‘Cleo, I’m back.’ Anthony was sprawled across the middle seat of the sofa, lying on his back with his front paws stretched over his head as if he was seeing how long he could make himself. His limbs twitched ever so slightly at the sound of my voice – unless he was having a chasing dream and trying to hurry up and catch that mouse – before settling back into exactly the same position. His eyes didn’t even flicker – he was fast asleep like a teenager on a Monday morning and nothing short of a biscuit bag shook right in his furry little face was going to get him off that couch.

  I wandered through the open bedroom door to where I knew Cleopatra would be, staking her usual claim on the Steadmans’ double bed. She was lying on her front, with her paws tucked tidily under her chin, eyes closed in a smiley, happy way. She opened one eye and looked at me as if to say, ‘Oh good, you’re back. Would you mind giving my head a little rub, just behind the ear, if it’s not too much trouble?’ Then she closed it again. So I rubbed her head, behind one ear and then behind the other so it didn’t feel left out, before she blinked another sleepy smile to say thank you.

  With neither cat in the mood to be entertained, I went to the kitchen and topped up their shared biscuit bowl, which hardly needed much adding as I’d already done it that morning. Then I emptied, washed, and refilled their water bowls. There was no point in opening their tins of Fancy Feast until at least one of them was awake, so I went back into the lounge and looked out of the window.

  A light wind had blown up out of nowhere, as half-hearted as the spatter of drizzle had been earlier, and was ruffling the surface of the duck pond. The ducks were nowhere to be seen. It seemed like it might be best to walk down the lane and drop in on Bella now, then come here after, as I’d have to go past to walk to Netley Parva anyway.

  ‘I’m just going down the road to see Bella,’ I called to the sleeping cats, as if they could understand me, knew or were bothered who Bella was, or cared what I did, even if they had been awake and listening. Of course, if they had, they’d probably have been annoyed that I was, yet again, taking my attention elsewhere. ‘I won’t be long,’ I said, as I pulled my jacket back on and let myself out again. It had gotten colder even in those few minutes I’d been in the bungalow and I walked quickly down the lane.

  In contrast to the other two, Bella was still in almost exactly the same spot she’d been in when I’d left her that morning. She looked as if she’d been waiting for me to come back, tapping her paw against the parquet flooring like a mother who’d given her daughter permission to stay out until eleven and it was now past one in the morning. I could see the ‘Where the hell have you been?’ and the ‘What time do you call this, young lady?’ look in her eyes the moment I opened the front door.

  ‘Hello, Bella,’ I cooed, ‘How are you, lovely girl?’ I was hoping the tone of my voice might soften her up a bit.

  ‘Don’t think you can soft soap me with that “Hello, Bella, here, kitty, kitty, aren’t you a lovely little pussy cat” nonsense,’ her hard emerald eyes replied. ‘I’ve got your number, missy, and I’ll be passing it on, don’t you think I won’t,’ they added for good measure.

  ‘How about we get you something nice to eat?’ I tried again, making for the utility room, where an array of every top end brand of cat food filled a whole shelf. ‘What do you fancy for your supper today, Bella? Gourmet Perle rabbit and game? A little Fisherman’s Delight? How about some Dreamies while you make up your mind?’ That should do the trick. I hadn’t met a single cat who didn’t roll over and purr its head off for a few Dreamies. I didn’t know what they put in them, but most cats would tickle your tummy for a little handful of them.

  But apparently not this one. She still hadn’t moved. I couldn’t see her eyes any more but the disdain with which she held her head as she continued to stare in the direction of the front door left me in no doubt as to how she felt. This cat had made up her mind about me. This cat had decided that I was no good. And this cat was not for turning.

  There is only so much silent treatment anyone can put up with and I didn’t even make it to twenty minutes with Bella. She was still glaring at the front door when I walked through it to leave. Her ‘Good riddance! Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, you complete waste of space!’ was almost palpable in the air.

  Of, course, among the many cats I’d worked with at Sitting Pretty, the majority had been an absolute pleasure to look after and had made my workday seem not like work but more like a series of visits to very cuddly, small friends. They made my days fly by and my not particularly wonderful wages feel worth it. I had also made the acquaintance of quite a few less pleasant cats, with a variety of unfortunate attitudes between them but Bella, with her determination to be displeased with absolutely everything, was a first.

  ‘I’m back!’ I trilled as I opened the Steadmans’ door for the third time that day. The wind had become a bit more brisk and I’d walked quickly from Princess Grumpy’s house. The same silence greeted me. Anthony didn’t appear to have moved a muscle since I last looked at him. Cleopatra had rolled on to her side, but both paws were still tucked under her chin and her smiley eyes were still resolutely closed. ‘OK,’ I said, ‘I can’t hang around here like a spare part all evening waiting for you sleepyheads to decide to wake up. I’m going to put your supper out now and you can eat it when you feel like it.’

  Back in the kitchen I opened two tins of Fancy Feast, one savoury salmon and the other tuna and chicken, and mashed one into Tony’s dish and one into Cleo’s. At least they had a choice of two flavours.

  ‘Bye-bye, then,’ I called out, as I left them for the last time that day. ‘Don’t worry your little furry heads about giving me a complex, will you? I’m absolutely fine about all of you wanting to ignore me today. It was worth getting out of a comfortable car to come and watch you sleep and now I’m perfectly happy to go and walk through the cold, dark forest to get back. It’s all fine. It’s all good.’

  Silence. Apparently irony was lost on cats. Which I thought rather ironic in itself, as they themselves were unwittingly so damned good at it.

  I did my jacket up to my chin as I walked down the driveway. It was definitely getting colder and I was starting to regret telling Marvin that I would w
alk back. Would that thought occur to him and make him decide to come back for me? His car would be a welcome sight right now. The duck pond was starting to look quite bleak, and I could imagine its usual inhabitants huddled together in the church porch, grumbling about today’s nip in the air, the worse cold to come, reminiscing about last spring and looking forward to the next one – they were English ducks, after all.

  At the end of the village, the trees started to close in over the road, making a sort of tunnel, even with their lessening November foliage. I crossed the road so that I was walking on the right and facing any on-coming traffic, stuffed my hands into my pockets for warmth, and kept on walking. I’d only been going for about five minutes when the heavens opened and the trees proved just how little protection they could afford against the downpour.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘Bloody hell, Beth! Look at you – talk about drowned rats!’ Marvin started to laugh and then stopped just as quickly as soon as he realised I wasn’t joining in. ‘Sorry. I’ve only just got back myself. I should have thought and come back for you. I just assumed you’d stay put until it stopped. Stay there and don’t drip on the Axminster. I’ll bring you a towel.’

  It was nice to know that his brother’s carpets took priority over my discomfort. He, Bella, Anthony and Cleopatra should start up a club, although I knew Tony and Cleo would only be temporary members – they loved me, really. In the way cats love anyone who feeds and lavishes attention on them. Dusty, Sooty, and Smuts, on the other hand – the Hammer House of Horror cats – would want to be on the committee. They’d be the ones proposing and seconding all sorts of horrible ideas about what to do to their least favourite pet sitter.