Chapter Sixty-Five
Sixty-Five
Tortoise
I am so tortoise? Tortoise? What the hell does that mean?
Tortoises are nice and all – Buttercup is lovely – but nobody, at least one would hope… finds them sexy.
Joshua seems to like animals – he likes Ted, for instance – so could this be a very weird compliment? He’s a surfer, so he’s probably into nature and turtles, but I don’t think he knows me quite well enough to drop a very esoteric, reptilian-specific compliment in his first ever text message to me.
I don’t know how to respond so I just go with a Thanks, and hope he’ll realise that he’s confused me. I try to put it out of my mind, and concentrate on my duties, but the tortoise mystery haunts me all day, and certainly every time I catch a glimpse of Buttercup bulldozing her way around the garden.
In the afternoon, when the sun is still blazing and I’m burned from my sunbathing break, my reverie is interrupted by Caleb calling over the fence.
‘Nemo brought another stick insect into my house this morning, and he keeps leaving centipedes on my bed. I swear, I never saw a bug in my room until you two moved in next door.’
‘How do you know Nemo brought them in? The bugs probably just crawled through your open window.’
‘I’ve seen him doing it.’
‘Circumstantial.’
‘You know how pet groomers use a “trouble bubble” on cats?’ he says, and I shake my head. ‘It’s a plastic, transparent sphere that straps onto their heads, so that they can’t sink their fangs into whoever’s trying to groom them.’
I don’t like where this is going.
‘Okay.’
‘Nemo needs one for everyday life.’
‘Cruel. Absolutely not. Cats hunt things – it’s just who they are.’
‘Then KEEP HIM IN YOUR HOUSE.’
‘Keep the windows shut. If he sees a way in, he’ll take it.’
‘I like the breeze. Tell him to stop killing things.’
‘It’s in his nature,’ I say. ‘It’s instinctive. He can’t help it.’
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if he killed them first, but he keeps bringing in things that are very much alive.’
‘He’s bringing you presents. It means he considers you his friend.’
Caleb’s body language softens, and I can see he secretly likes Nemo.
‘But seriously, I can’t have him in the house, okay? It’s sort of imperative to… my business.’
Imperative seems a bit grand. What business does Caleb have going on inside his house that Nemo could possibly threaten with his insect deliveries? Does he have a secret business partner who’s allergic to cats? Or phobic of anything with an exoskeleton?
‘Fine. I’ll keep him inside for a few days. Whatever.’
He clears his throat. ‘By the way, you were making some weird noises while you were asleep in the garden earlier.’
This is why I don’t like to sunbathe in public. I inevitably drift off and wake up with a snort, in a puddle of drool.
‘What do you mean?’ I say, feeling my cheeks flush. ‘Was I snoring?’
Please not sex noises.
‘You sounded angry. Something about smashing up a printer.’
In a flash, my dream comes back to me. Scotty had written ten new chapters of his sci-fi novel, and I hit print so that I could take them home to read. But instead of paper, a long stream of colourful knitting came out. On the printer display screen, a message was blinking.
The world doesn’t need more books; it needs more scarves.
‘Oh,’ I say, with an inexplicable pang of nostalgia for Scotty. ‘My boss used to get angry with me for messing up the photocopying.’
Caleb’s wearing a fleecy, blue bathrobe, tied tightly at the waist, and as he walks past me to his washing line, I notice that there’s something moving on the neckline of his robe, walking from the back collar, towards the nape of his neck.
‘Don’t panic,’ I say, already feeling my own adrenaline kicking in. ‘But there’s something on your dressing gown.’
‘Huh?’ he says, not processing what I’m saying.
‘Take off your robe,’ I say, not able to keep the urgency out of my voice.
‘But you’ll see my Simpsons pyjamas.’
‘I can handle it. You really need to take off the robe.’
He looks over at me, his gaze revealing dawning realisation.
‘Is it a spider?’ he says, squeezing his eyes shut in horror.
‘Take. Off. The. Robe.’
He unbelts the robe and throws it on the lawn, where it lands in a heap… from which a large centipede emerges.
‘I can’t tell you,’ he says, trying not to smile, ‘how much I truly dislike your cat.’