Chapter 14
Ben lay awake, unable to sleep. Exhausted from worry, his thoughts ranged from what he’d do if he was made redundant to global warming, always circling back to his dad, wondering if they’d ever manage to reclaim the feeling of ease they’d once shared.
Finally giving up trying to sleep, he threw back the duvet cover and got out of bed. Tugging on an old Metallica T-shirt that clashed with his checked pyjama bottoms, and pushing his hair off his face, he turned on the hall light and headed for the kitchen.
Having become used to the constant noise generated by a family with a young child while staying at his sister’s house, his flat felt eerily quiet in comparison. Even a distant siren and the rumble of a car idling outside didn’t make him feel less alone in the world.
Why did this always happen to me?
Catching himself catastrophising, as his therapist had taught him to recognise, he took a depth breath. He’d been doing really well – one sleepless night didn’t mean the dreaded insomnia had returned. He just needed to sit quietly in the kitchen for a bit, calm down, and then go back to bed.
Following his own advice, he made himself a Boy Scout hot chocolate, as his dad used to call it when he and Penny were small: cocoa and sugar stirred together instead of drinking chocolate. He put the radio on, just to have some noise in the room with him.
Ben put the mug in the microwave and waited for the ping to signal it was hot enough, before moving to sit at the breakfast counter. His hand reached for his phone before acknowledging that doomscrolling probably wouldn’t help.
Under a stack of junk mail, takeaway menus and random till receipts, he pulled out the fire service quarterly magazine he’d brought home from work – articles on new regulations and threats to pensions should send him to sleep if nothing else did.
He was halfway through an opinion piece about the best new smoke alarms when the hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle.
He was being watched.
He shook his head to get rid of the sensation, fighting the urge to look around the room. Of course, there was no one there. He was just being paranoid.
He tried to plough on with the piece he was reading, sipping again at his cocoa, but the feeling wouldn’t go away.
Rolling his eyes at his own stupidity, he looked up and glanced around the kitchen to reassure himself that he was alone.
There, see, just being silly, there’s no one looking at—
His caught his breath as he saw a face at the window.
Bright green eyes were staring at him, sharp teeth on display as the creature opened its mouth, it’s fluffy ears flattened against—
Wait, fluffy ears? Gradually, logic took over and Ben realised that the terrifying monster at the window was not, in fact, his worst nightmare made real, but instead a cat. The same small cat that had visited him previously.
Laughing at himself and feeling somewhat embarrassed – though his heart was still pounding – Ben approached the window.
‘Hello, little fellow. You gave me the fright of my life! What are you doing here?’
There was a muffled yowl through the glass.
‘Hold on. I’ll open the window.’
Although he knew it was a cat, Ben wanted to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. In the morning, he’d laugh about this with his mates, but right now he felt the need to be certain. And, truthfully, he would welcome the company.
Ben gingerly lifted the latch and pushed the window open a fraction, half expecting the cat to disappear. Instead, defying all laws of physics, it somehow oozed through the narrow gap and into the kitchen.
The cat began purr, nudging at Ben’s still outstretched arm. Shrugging to himself, he closed the window to shut out the cool night air and gave in, stroking the cat’s mackerel-striped fur.
‘Well, you’re very friendly, aren’t you? What are you doing outside at this time of night?’
The cat – obviously – didn’t answer. Instead, it dropped onto its side with its paws lifted so Ben could rub its tummy.
Ben felt strangely honoured. He was sure he’d read something about how cats would only reveal their tummies if they were comfortable with you, and he felt flattered that he’d gained this little cat’s trust so quickly.
He gently went to stroke the exposed fur, but as soon as his hand made contact, it wrapped it’s front paws around his forearm and began thumping its back legs against its ‘prey’.
‘Ouch!’ Ben extracted his arm, examining his hand for scratches. ‘That was a trap!’
The cat, seemingly satisfied that Ben understood the pecking order, jumped off the draining board, strolled over to the breakfast bar, jumped up on Ben’s stool and looked expectantly at him.
The cheek of it, Ben thought. The cat had not only broken in, lulled him into a false sense of security and then attacked him, it had now nicked his seat and seemed to be expecting a slap-up meal.
‘Come here.’ Ben tapped the other stool.
The cat just stared at him.
Not yet feeling brave enough to put his hands on the cat again – not without one of those special leather gauntlet things used to train birds of prey – he sat down in the spare – less comfy if he was honest – seat, picked up his hot chocolate and carried on reading.
The cat hunched down on the chair next to him, paws tucked neatly beneath its body.
It seemed happy enough, so Ben continued flipping through the magazine while he finished his drink.
Calmer now, he was beginning to feel tired again.
He’d just get to the end of this article then he’d go back to bed.
As if sensing time was up, the cat suddenly jumped down from the stool, leapt back up to the sink and waited by the window. It turned back to Ben and gave a small meow.
‘Okay, little chap, hold on and I’ll let you out.’
The cat paused to give Ben’s hand a quick nudge then squeezed back through the window. Ben heard a slight flump as it dropped from the windowsill and its paws hit the ground. Then silence.
Smiling to himself Ben closed the window, turned out the light and headed back to bed.
Strangely, he was no longer feeling quite so alone.