Chapter 28
Ben laughed when he read the note.
It had been nearly a week since he’d got Fred to deliver the letter to his real owner and, after feeling silly and wishing he hadn’t sent it, he’d resigned himself to not hearing back, dismissing it from his mind.
So it was a surprise when, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, he’d discovered a reply attached to Fred’s collar.
Ben had opened his back door to find the cat lying in a flowerbed soaking up the warmth. He hadn’t seen him at first, Fred’s dark striped fur blending in with the soil of the recently dug border. But when the cat noticed Ben, he stretched and rolled over, his white belly clearly on show.
‘Hello, little fellow,’ Ben said, crouching down to give his tummy a tickle. Fred twisted back around and stood up, shaking his paws daintily to get rid of the bits of dirt stuck to him, then stalked towards the back door.
As the cat led the way, Ben noticed a flash of bright pink against his neck and realised there was a note attached to his collar.
Carefully removing it between swipes of paw as Fred washed his face, Ben sat down gingerly on the rotting garden chair that a previous occupant had left behind and unfurled the fluorescent Post-it.
He felt apprehensive as he unfolded the small square of paper.
Dear 66,
Thank you for letting me know my cat is safe. He’s been disappearing quite a lot lately. I’ve also noticed he’s getting a bit podgy, he’s very greedy,* so please don’t feed him. Thank you!
Best wishes,
38
P.S. He can be very persuasive. Stay strong and do not look directly into his eyes. He has ways of making you obey…
It was the last line that had made Ben laugh as, just at that minute, and true to form, Fred jumped off the roof of his new house and began rubbing against Ben’s leg, looking at him with an expression that suggested if he didn’t get fed soon he’d pass out.
As if to prove the point, the cat dropped onto one side, meowing weakly.
Ben laughed again, pushing himself out of his chair. ‘Oh no you don’t, Fred. I know all about your cunning tricks now, so don’t even try it.’
Fred stood and threaded between Ben’s legs, perhaps trying to knock him off balance, and then led the way back indoors to sit staring pointedly at the snack cupboard.
With a sigh – he really shouldn’t, but he wasn’t made of stone – Ben retrieved some cat biscuits and shook a few into the bowl.
‘That’s your lot, mate. I’ll get into trouble with your real owner if I give you more.’
Speculating on who the mysterious No. 38 might be, Ben’s thoughts returned to the note.
In a world of WhatsApps and emails, there was something old-fashioned about seeing someone’s handwriting that made you feel, in a weird way, more connected to them; like you could guess what they might be like by how hard they pressed on the paper or how rounded their letters were.
38 has very distinctive loops, he thought. And they obviously liked bright stationery. The handwriting was rounded and neat and, although he didn’t want to stereotype, he thought it had been written by a woman.
He wanted to write back immediately, but didn’t quite know what to say. Besides, he’d just remembered that he needed to do something about the outfit he’d bought for Evie. Now, where had he put that woman’s business card?
Rifling through the drawer where he kept old batteries, takeaway menus and the screws that were always mysteriously leftover after putting together a flatpack piece of furniture, he finally found it.
There was an illustrated cat jumping from one letter to the next on the front, while, on the back, as she’d mentioned, were her social media tags.
He opened the Instagram app on his phone (he’d signed up so he could follow Penny but never posted anything himself), and tapped out a quick DM.
Her profile pic was the same logo as the one on her business card, and he was scrolling through her grid of colourful clothes when a reply came back.
Sure, no problem. Happy to swap for a bigger size although only have these colours left. Which set would you like instead?
Accompanying the text were three pictures showing different colour combinations.
Ben considered the pictures then replied:
The orange and yellow look good. How best to return my set – shall I post?
He was going to say he was happy to go to her house to swap the sets, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want to seem creepy. So he was relieved when a DM came back suggesting that, if it was okay for him, how about they meet at Scrambled, a café near the Green.
Confirming that tomorrow afternoon at three worked for him, he was pleased to get a thumbs up emoji response.
Ben glanced at his watch. He didn’t have long before he had to report for the night shift, so he’d better have something to eat before he headed out.
Pulling pasta out of the cupboard, he whistled to himself as he gathered ingredients for a basic tomato sauce.
Reaching to turn on the radio to fill the kitchen with music, he realised he had that same feeling of nervous anticipation he’d experienced earlier.
He realised he was looking forward to tomorrow, to seeing the woman with the long curly hair again.
Calm down, he told himself, but he couldn’t stop turning up the volume as one of his favourite songs started playing, and, singing along, he started chopping an onion in time to the beat.
Fred watched unimpressed, ears flattened against his head in protest.