Chapter Fifteen
C HLOE LOOKED UP at the stars in the sky, only a few clouds drifting by. It indeed looked like it was going to be a dry night. She picked up a frozen meal from the supermarket, hesitated, then bought one for Gwen as well. It seemed mean to ignore her.
When she entered her home, the scent of cinnamon hit her. ‘Gwen?’ she called, hearing music. Her stomach dropped. If her sister had destroyed the kitchen again . . .
‘In here,’ Gwen called. Chloe stepped into the kitchen.
It was clean, only a glass mixing bowl and spoon in the sink. ‘I made cinnamon rolls,’ said Gwen, pulling off some oven mitts. ‘I didn’t know what time you’d be back, but I think I timed it quite well.’
‘Ah. Did they . . . uh, turn out okay?’ Chloe pulled off her jacket and draped it over the chair at the dining room table. A tray sat on it, covered with a clean tea towel.
‘I think they did.’ Gwen was wearing a simple dress, her blonde hair straightened. It glimmered in the kitchen light.
‘I bought dinner.’ Chloe held up her shopping bag. ‘Though maybe you’ve eaten already?’
Gwen hadn’t, so they ate together. Though they were being polite to each other, there was still a strained silence between them.
Chloe tried to think of something to say.
With people like Hannah, topics came up with ease and you could chat for hours.
But with Gwen, who daintily ate her steaming food while staring at the wall, Chloe struggled to find anything to talk about.
She supposed years of bitterness couldn’t be cured with cinnamon rolls and frozen lasagne.
‘This is so much better than the Brown Slop of Doom I made yesterday,’ Gwen remarked, holding up a forkful of instant lasagne.
Chloe smirked. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything.’
It was almost annoying how beautiful the cinnamon rolls had turned out. ‘Where did you learn to bake these?’ Chloe asked around a huge mouthful. The dough was perfectly set, the result light and fluffy with a hint of sweetness. She and Hannah could compare notes.
She supposed her sister would say she’d learnt to bake in France or Austria or something, but Gwen held up her phone. ‘Good old Google.’
They washed up together as well, Chloe washing and Gwen drying, like when they were teenagers.
Some days they would laugh and chatter. But those felt like centuries ago.
The evenings that stood out most in Chloe’s mind right now were the ones when they’d bickered.
Chloe would purposely put soapy dishes on the rack to annoy Gwen.
Gwen would declare that she would wait until they were dry and make herself a cup of tea while Chloe glared at her, elbow deep in soapy water.
Soon the dishes were dried and put away, the remaining cinnamon rolls in a Tupperware box in the fridge. ‘Chloe . . .’ said Gwen, fidgeting. ‘I got you something.’
She ran to her room, soon returning with a box tied with ribbon. Her brow furrowing, Chloe took the box, which felt heavy in her hands, and opened it while Gwen leaned against the kitchen counter, watching. Inside was a book. Chloe took it out, her throat feeling suddenly tight.
‘It’s the one I spilled wine over,’ Gwen said softly as Chloe turned it over in her hands. It was the same edition, except it was new and unblemished, the lettering on the front cover reflecting in gold, its spine unbroken and the cream pages free of wine stains.
She was . . . touched. This wasn’t like Gwen at all. Something warm and uncomfortable spread in Chloe’s chest. ‘Aw, Gwen.’ She was shocked to feel tears well up. ‘This is . . . Thank you.’
‘Another cinnamon roll?’ asked Gwen.
Chloe gave a reluctant grin. ‘Go on then.’
They ended up polishing off the lot, and Chloe was uncomfortably full by the time they collapsed on the sofa in the living room.
‘Those were delicious. You may have found your calling.’
‘Thanks.’
Both of them leaned back on the couch. Chloe turned her head to look at her sister, to really look at her. Unfiltered, natural. Up close, she could see the stress lines in her sister’s make-up-free face, the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
Then something occurred to her. ‘Gwen, how did you pay for this book? And all the baking ingredients? You said you were broke.’
Gwen winced, then gave a sheepish laugh.
‘Ah, yeah. I was hoping it wouldn’t come up this early.
’ She pulled a plastic card from her pocket and handed it to Chloe.
‘I kind of took your debit card out of your wallet while you were asleep. But I’ll pay you back!
’ she shouted when Chloe opened her mouth.
‘I promise. Once I get a job. And I made sure you had cash to pay for stuff before I took it.’
Maybe if it had been a lone occurrence, this wouldn’t have bothered her. But the stress of the day, this house, her sister , made rage build inside her.
Chloe held the plastic between her fingers. ‘You stole this from me?’
‘Borrowed,’ Gwen quickly said. ‘To do something nice for you, you know. I promise to pay you back once I have an income.’
‘Are you kidding me?’
It took Chloe a moment to realise she had shouted. Gwen flinched from her, her blue eyes narrowing. ‘What is the big deal?’
‘You can’t just take people’s stuff, people’s money, and expect them not to be angry about it!’ Chloe sighed, massaging the bridge of her nose. More anger tingled on her skin, threatening to burst out of her. Instead, she rose from the couch. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Please don’t be annoyed.’ Gwen almost sounded pleading. ‘That’s all I bought.’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s disrespectful. You don’t just help yourself to what’s mine.’
Gwen’s face hardened. ‘I see.’
‘Good.’ Chloe slammed the living room door behind her.
The cinnamon rolls churned in her stomach.
Clementine relaxed on the windowsill cushion in the upper archives, one of his favourite spots.
His tail twitched left and right as he watched humans walk around outside.
They all had their little tasks and quirky behaviours he didn’t quite understand.
He knew what a smile meant, knew that salty drops of water came from their eyes when they were sad.
He had found a book left open once, one for children about emotions, and he had studied it intensely to better understand people.
They had better appreciate his efforts. Clementine was a busy cat, with cat responsibilities, and he had put them aside to study this fascinating species.
He stretched, kneading the soft material of the cushion, and watched a woman walk her dog until she disappeared around a corner. Then he leaped from his windowsill to begin his nightly patrol of the library. What this place would do without him, he didn’t know.
His bell jangled as he went down the spiral staircase, his paws silent on the wood. He thought he heard something creak as he went, and he glanced at the silent bookshelves around him. All was well here.
Maybe Mrs Cook had left a treat for him before she’d left. She did that sometimes. Clementine’s paws pattered on the lobby carpet as he headed towards the kitchen.
He stopped in his tracks.
A cat was already there, licking her paw as she glanced up at him. Clementine sat, enraptured. She was a chubby thing, with grey and black tabby stripes. Her eyes, brown and yellow, looked at him as she stood on all four of her paws, her tail straight up.
She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Clementine found himself stiffen, any question of who she was and how she had gotten here somehow fleeing his mind.
Come now, Clementine , he chastised himself. He was not an adolescent kitten laying eyes on a female for the first time. Clementine straightened, showing off his long, orange-furred legs, regarding her with quiet interest.
She trotted past him, past the main doors and towards the west wing. Clementine huffed. She had not even greeted him. In his own house, by God.
He followed the tabby cat, watching her enchanting tail swish left and right. Her feet were all white, matching the snowy fur on her chest. Clementine’s bell jangled as he sped up, surprised at how fast she could go.
He found her standing in the middle of the children’s section, licking her paws. He stopped and leaped on top of the kids’ bookshelf, regarding her with curiosity. This was the first time he had ever seen another cat in here.
She looked at him again and his heart melted. Why, she was enchanting. Truly.
Clementine groomed himself, conscious of the tuft of orange hair that always stuck up on his back. He ran through possible behaviours: he could get the ball from the kitchen, or chase her around, or simply straighten himself and let her take in the beauty of his fiery coat.
He opted for the latter, jumping onto the soft play area before her. The female watched with interest as he stretched, taking up as much space as he could with his legs and tail. Then he ignored her, grooming himself again.
The female stepped towards him with a soft meow. Her eyes were like lamps, reflecting the bookshelves around them and sparkling like a thousand stars. Clementine watched her, his little heart racing. He stuck his behind in the air, tail swishing, inviting her to play.
With a delighted meow, the tabby female raced off. Clementine streaked after her, his bell jangling, pleasure washing through him.
He chased her around the library, across beams and the tops of bookshelves.
When he caught her, they rolled around, their elated meows echoing around the archives.
Then she chased him, following his jangling bell.
Sometimes the female would sit, vacantly staring at the wall as though she had forgotten what they were doing.
But Clementine would sneak up behind her and playfully tap her back.
What an angel, Clementine thought. He couldn’t remember ever being this happy. Not with another cat, anyway. Memories of his time before he came to this library were a blur, but he was certain it wasn’t a good place. Where he was and who he was with now, though, this was happiness.
They played for hours, long after the sun had risen, and Clementine was happily licking her neck, ensuring her lovely tabby fur was clean, when a book fell open in front of him.
Clementine approached it, curious. The female followed him, sitting on her large behind as she watched, probably wondering why he had stopped cleaning her.
The book had cartoonish pictures of a cat, one of her staring at an empty bowl, another with her leg in the air, staring vacantly into the distance. There was no doubt about it; it was the same cat that sat next to him, tilting her head as she watched him with interest.
Clementine should have known such a beautiful female, a queen of the felines, would be from a story. As he watched, the page turned. The scent of something washed over Clementine. Not a scent he knew, but one that doubtlessly belonged to humans.
‘Meow,’ said the female.
Clementine looked at her, reluctant. She couldn’t go back. Hadn’t they had such a wonderful time together tonight? Wasn’t she going to stay?
He butted his head against her white chest, purring against her fur. He would convince her to stay. It was nice having another cat around. He still needed to show her the garden, the upper archives, show her how to walk along the beams upstairs so they could watch the humans together.
The female’s white paws softly touched the book. It was on the last page now, the paper version of the cat staring up at him. Clementine shifted on his paws, his tail thumping the floor. It wasn’t fair. He had not asked for this.
The tabby licked his cheek, her whiskers tickling his nose. Clementine backed away and leaped back up onto the bookshelf. Well, if she was ready to leave him, he wouldn’t stop her. A true gentleman let their woman be happy, even if it meant not getting what he wanted.
He settled onto the shelf, not looking at her, and rested his head on his paws. He wondered if salty water would come from his eyes, too.
A warm sigh ruffled his fur. The book had closed, and it was no longer glowing.
Clementine went back to his cushion on the windowsill, tired as he watched the moon shining through the clouds. He kneaded the squashy cushion, comforted by the thick curtains hiding his presence. He hoped none of the humans would come and disturb him up here. At least not for a while.