Sitting Pretty Read online

  None of them had any kind of cable or lead attached to them – how was that possible? I’d look for their off switches – Yes! They had those! So I ran along the first row, switching them off, one by one as I went. Then the next row, then the next.

  As I started each new row, however, the earlier rows started switching themselves back on. How was this happening? The faster I ran and switched them off, the faster they switched themselves on again. There was just no stopping them.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  On Monday morning, my bag of fresh-smelling, clean clothes – which I’d had to wrestle from my mother to stop her from ironing – and I had to get to Victoria in time for the seven o’clock coach to Southampton. Of course, after a weekend of lovely weather it had started to pee down sometime during the night, and by the time I left Mum’s at six o’clock, the streets were awash with puddles the size of swimming pools and the pavements weren’t much better.

  I wasn’t sure Mum was convinced that I was absolutely fine with Alex going to Dubai “ahead of me” . She asked me, when we said goodnight, if I was happy and I mentally crossed my fingers as I told her of course I was, and said how good it actually was to have a bit more time at Sitting Pretty because I didn’t know what, if any, work would be available to me in Dubai. She must have wanted to ask more but thankfully she left it at that.

  Daisy picked me up from Southampton Coach Station and drove me back to the office to pick up my car. She was playing Christmas music and grinned when I rolled my eyes.

  ‘What? I like to get into the spirit nice and early. Anyway, it’s cheerful on a ghastly day like this! How was London?’ she asked, pulling her little Honda – she’d nicknamed it Hetty – out of the tiny station car park.

  ‘Pretty much the same. The walk from the tube to the coach station at Victoria was the worst bit. The lights at the pedestrian crossing always seem to take for ever to change when it’s raining. How were things here?’

  ‘Well, yesterday Bubbles managed to pull me over in the park. I ended up grass surfing on my bum until he reached one of the bins by the lake and stopped running. I felt such a fool!’ We both laughed.

  ‘Did you have a big audience?’

  ‘Luckily no – it was a grey day so not many people were about – just this creepy old guy with a craggy red face, smoking these really stinky cigarettes …’

  ‘That sounds like the guy who was there when I took Wendell out for Nat the other morning. Did he say anything to you?’

  ‘Yeah, he suggested I get a smaller dog or a skateboard – cheek!’

  My first call of the day had been covered by Natalia, so after a quick coffee at the office, I drove out to the other side of Netley Mallow to meet a new customer, a gorgeous and extremely regal, long-haired tabby called Bella. Her owner was going to the States soon on her first business trip, following a promotion at work, and it was the first time she’d ever called in a pet sitting service. Explaining all our procedures to her, I told her how one of us, probably myself or Daisy, could come in either in the morning, the evening, or both, whichever she preferred, and took notes on her feeding preferences. I informed her that if she was worried about leaving her pet alone on Guy Fawkes’ night, we could always arrange overnight pet sitting on that night, or indeed any other night. Then I told her about some of the other cats we looked after regularly. Anthony and Cleopatra’s owners had always been happy to recommend us to any new customers, and they only lived down the road in the village itself, so I offered to give her their number in case she had any niggling doubts, just seconds before noticing on her information sheet that they’d actually been the people who had recommended us to her. She probably thought I was an idiot and hoped it wouldn’t be me looking after her cat.

  I slowed down as I noticed Hazards’ Estate Agents on my way back through the village. I was pretty sure they did rentals as well as sales, but would there be anything there I could possibly afford to put a deposit on once I’d been paid? Where had that idea come from? The part of my brain which housed the little bit of common sense I had, probably. A voice in my head, probably from the same bit of brain, told me not to be ridiculous, anything they had on their books would be far too expensive, so I drove on. There were other agencies in Wintertown who would be more likely to have somewhere small and grotty enough for me to be able to afford, especially if it was damp, had resident rats, a hole in the ceiling, and no front door. Maybe I’d have to think again.

  In the meantime, a dog walk and a couple of cat feeds and then it was lunch time. I headed back to the office, where Katya was already on the phone ordering pizzas. She put her hand over the receiver and said to me, ‘Am ordering medium bacon and mushroom. You want I make it large?’

  ‘Yes please,’ I nodded.

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘No thanks, I’ll make a coffee.’ It was much too miserable a day for cold drinks. I went to put the kettle on while she went back to her order, nearly tripping over a box of Christmas decorations which Davina had asked Katya to start sorting through so she could put them up as soon as bonfire night was out of the way. Katya kept moving them from one place to another. Natalia, equally sanguine where little puppies and kittens wearing Santa Claus hats were concerned, was sitting in the corner, reading a magazine.

  ‘Hey, Nat. Have you noticed a guy hanging around Wintertown Park when you take Wendell for his walks? Red faced, smokes strong cigarettes?’

  ‘You mean Stinky Steve?’ she looked up. ‘He’s harmless. Why?’

  ‘He was there when I walked Wendell the other morning, and when Daisy walked Bubbles today.’

  ‘So? England is free country.’ She went back to her magazine and I went back to my coffee making. If he’d been young and attractive and not looked as if he’d dressed in a jumble sale I was sure she’d have been a lot more interested.

  After lunch and a sneaky look on Facebook – still no change on Alex’s page – I had a full early afternoon of cats to feed and play with, and late afternoon of dogs to walk and I was glad to get back to the office with my keys at the end of the day. The place I was staying in tonight was a very isolated cottage, about a hundred years old, on the way to Lyndhurst. I’d done a swap with Daisy, who didn’t like going there because it was actually a bit creepy, set in its shadow-inducing, overgrown garden, even in the middle of the afternoon. The owners, however, were away for a whole week, visiting relatives in France, so this suited me down to the ground. And then I could pop up to Mum’s next weekend, so that was me sorted for another week. And then I really would have to give some serious thought to the situation.

  I pulled off the track and looked at my accommodation. Daisy was right. It looked Hammer House of Horror creepy. Parking Harriet behind the old air raid shelter that stood at the corner of the garden, I resisted the urge to turn around and drive straight off again. After all, apart from inviting myself round to Katya’s or Daisy’s, there was nowhere else for me to go.

  At least there were three cats to keep me company. The imaginatively named Dusty, Sooty, and Smuts were each a different shade of dark grey just this side of black, Dusty being the lightest and Sooty the darkest. They’d been friendly when I’d come and fed them before, so hopefully at least one of them would stay close by during the night.

  Somehow though, I couldn’t help thinking a nice fierce Alsatian would have been much better.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The front door creaked open – it hadn’t done that during the day. It was extremely dark in the hallway. Even in the afternoon it had been quite dark, thanks to those shadowy trees and shrubs, but now it was ‘ghost train in a tunnel’ dark and half of me was waiting for something cobwebby to brush past my face and a deep, hollow laugh to sound out from somewhere. I fumbled for the light switch – why hadn’t I thought of looking to see where that was earlier?

  ‘Dusty!’ I called. ‘Sooty! Smuts!’ Silence greeted me.

  Feeling the wall with my hands, I eventually found an ol
d-fashioned Bakelite switch. I didn’t think they existed any more, unless it was a reproduction, and somehow, I doubted it. It seemed totally in keeping with its setting.

  I don’t know why I flinched when flicking the switch, unless part of me expected it to electrocute me. After all, I was an intruder. Anyway, all that happened was a rather lacklustre light coming on in the middle of the hallway. I locked the door behind me and put my overnight bag and carrier bag of food down on the black and white tiled floor. ’Dusty!’ I called again, practically tiptoeing along the hall to the living room. ‘Here, puss! Puss puss puss!’ In the silence, my voice sounded demented and I thought of that ghost train again. And what was that film where there was a house that nobody would go to because it was supposed to be haunted by a screaming woman in a black dress? The Woman in Black? I was starting to wish I hadn’t come here, or at least that I could switch off my imagination.

  The wooden furniture in the lounge hadn’t looked quite so dark during the day, just old-fashioned but solid and well-polished. I switched on the reading lamp resting on what was probably an antique bureau and looked round the room. No cats asleep in here, unless they were hiding behind the stiff-backed sofa waiting to jump out, and I wasn’t planning on finding out. The curtains at the front window had been left closed, although I didn’t know why, as any self-respecting burglar coming to case the joint only had to walk round the garden to the back to see through the dining room window that there was nobody here. Except that now there was. Somebody who wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t it always the people who were somewhere that they weren’t supposed to be who copped it first in those films? And there could be anybody lurking upstairs.

  Telling myself not to be so stupid I switched off the reading light and went back out to the hallway, shutting the door very firmly behind me. Then, picking up my carrier bag and not looking up the darkened stairway, I took it through to the kitchen at the back of the house. The light was brighter in here, but not by much. I didn’t know if the dim lighting was due to low watt light bulbs or very dusty lampshades or both, but this place could definitely be used as a setting for a Hammer House of Horror film, or a Jonathon Creek episode. It was way too creepy for Midsomer Murders. I could feel the skin tingle on the back of my neck and gave myself a stern talking to – I banned myself from even thinking the word “creepy” again tonight, otherwise I’d be having all sorts of nightmares.

  I unpacked my pint of milk, strawberry yoghurt, and Salad Niçoise and put them in the ancient fridge alongside a couple of old mugs, one badly chipped and one with a broken handle that I knew, from visiting my grandparents when I was little, contained dripping – probably one beef and the other pork. I didn’t think anybody used that any more, not now people knew about things like cholesterol.

  The fridge had rounded edges on top and a handle you pulled down to open it, and it looked like it had been here almost as long as the house. It must have been so old it had probably become retro at least once, and the outside of it looked like it had been painted with emulsion. The yellowed cream enamel cooker was just like one my grandma had when I was tiny – gas, with an eye level grill and a plate rack on top. The sink was yellowy-cream enamel too with a huge draining board, and I knew the door next to it was a big larder because that was where I’d had to get the cat food out from earlier. Not many Sitting Pretty customers kept their pet food in the same cupboard as their own food. I wondered if they ever opened a wrong tin and didn’t notice. It wouldn’t be difficult given the lack of light in here.

  A rustle behind me spun me round, my heart in my mouth. One of the cats – I could only tell which was which when I saw them together – had jumped up on the table where I’d left my carrier bag and was having a rummage.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t.’ I pulled him back out, his claws stuck in the plastic, pulling the bag back with him. ‘Hey, those bananas and crisps are mine.’ The wriggling animal didn’t seem to agree. ‘If you’re good there’s some lovely chocolate cake in a box in my other bag. You can have some of the butter cream.’ The cat seemed to know I was lying, and that there was no way I was giving it sugar. It hissed at me, just as the other two padded into the kitchen, probably wondering what the commotion was.

  They both leapt up onto the table like ballet dancers and joined their brother in his battle to maintain control of the carrier bag. What was going on? They’d been so friendly during the day and now they all looked positively menacing, like a gang of little furry muggers. I wondered if a tin of cat food would separate them from my snacks before the bananas got all mushed up. I opened the larder door, grabbed a can of Tiger Meat Favourites in gravy, and got it open as quickly as I could.

  ‘Here, Dusty, here, Sooty, here, Smuts,’ I trilled as I spooned dollops of it out onto their tin dishes and bashed the spoon against the side of the nearest to grab their attention even more.

  The two latecomers practically flew off the table and hurled themselves at their extra meal, leaving the original snack snatcher scrabbling to free his claws from the plastic. I pulled him away, shredding one side of the bag and, as he pelted after his brothers, snatched what was left of the bag, went to grab my overnight bag from the hallway, took both into the dining room, and shut the door on them.

  It was only when I was in there that I remembered my salad and yoghurt in the fridge. And the milk for the coffee I hadn’t made yet. And I was going to need the loo at some point. This was ridiculous – I worked with animals for a living. Most of them loved me. What the hell was wrong with these three?

  One thing was certain: I wasn’t going to be spending another night in this house.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  When I couldn’t cross my legs any longer I grabbed my sponge bag, in case this was the only chance I got, opened the door just enough to poke my head out to check if the coast was clear, and left the sanctuary of the dining room. I closed the door firmly and quietly behind me and tiptoed towards the kitchen. It appeared to be a cat free zone, so I carried on through to the bathroom, which was chilly to say the least. It must have been the only room in the house with no form of heating at all, not even one of those old Ascot water heaters that could give you carbon-monoxide poisoning but would have fitted in perfectly. The Bakelite toilet seat was like ice. I washed my hands and face in stingingly cold water and, cats or no cats, went straight back to the kitchen, where I put the kettle on for a hot coffee to warm up my hands. If the bathroom was that cold in the first week of November, what must it be like in January?

  I snatched my salad and yoghurt and some cutlery while I was there and nipped back to put them in the dining room. When I turned back I nearly jumped out of my skin. There they were, the three of them, one on the bottom stair, one on the telephone table, and one blocking the kitchen doorway, all looking at me, looking ready to pounce.

  We stayed like that for what felt like ages, a kind of tableau – Woman Being Bullied By Cats. We stayed like that until the kettle started to boil. I hadn’t put a lot of water in it, just enough for one cup. It started to whistle and still the cats didn’t move a muscle – they didn’t even twitch their ears. I had to get into the kitchen before the water boiled dry and burnt the kettle. I took a step. The cat on the telephone table jumped down and joined the one in the doorway, not taking its eyes off me the whole time. Great. I’d have a new kettle to pay for at this rate. And how would I explain that to the owners?

  I wondered if the carrier bag would distract them for a second time. It was worth a try, so I quickly opened the door behind me and dashed back through. I left one banana in the bag and slid back out with it to find all three cats in the kitchen doorway, lined up like furry bouncers, just daring me to try and get past them. I rustled the bag until I got their attention and then tossed it down the hallway towards the front door. They dived after it and I leapt into the kitchen, turning the kettle off and pouring what was left of the water into a mug hanging from a hook. It just about half filled it. That would have to do.
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  Keeping an eye on the cats, now rolling and tossing the banana and snowy shreds of white plastic about between them, I took my half mug of water back to the dining room and hoped I could stay there until morning.

  This had to officially be the lowest point I’d reached. I couldn’t live like this any more. I had to tell Mum about Alex leaving me, and I had to tell her tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I barely got any sleep that night. Visions of them getting in and eating me alive kept running through my head. I put the radio on just to hear some human voices and keep myself sane. I played computer games until my eyes were blurry. I tried to work out what I was going to say to Davina. Then as soon as it was light, I got straight out of that house and drove away from those malevolent creatures. It was probably the first time I had ever broken a speed limit. Daisy had been more right about that place than I could ever tell her. Natalia could feed them from now on. They’d have their work cut out for them, scaring her.

  It was still early when I got to the office and there was no one else there. I freshened up as best I could in the little cloakroom, made a hot coffee, and had a handful of biscuits with it while I waited for Davina to come in. I went on the computer – there hadn’t been any internet in the house of evil felines and I wanted to check my emails. And, of course, check up on Alex’s Facebook page.

  Still nothing. It was time I gave up deluding myself.,. It was time to admit defeat, give up my job, and go back to London. All this sofa squatting, hoping I could save up enough for a deposit on a place for myself so I could keep on working here, it was all just pie in the sky. Mum would be great about it, of course, just like she was about everything. I should have gone straight there in the first place. Beth Dixon, you are an idiot.