Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
True to his word, James the Penguin Man did return the next day.
He was respectfully late, presumably to allow Felicity a well-earned Christmas lie-in, but of course she’d already been up three times in the night checking the cats, and had managed to get zero sleep in between on the tiny camp bed the size of a matchstick. So, by the time James knocked on the door at 11am, she felt like a complete wreck. Her hair was beyond unruly, and her mascara was smeared attractively under each eye. Like a sexy panda , thought Felicity with a grimace, as she caught her reflection in the internal window of the puppy room. Despite this, there was an unmistakeable and unexpected bubble of anticipation in her stomach as she opened the door.
This time, he wasn’t dressed as a soggy penguin but a respectable human being with dry hair and everything. He was wearing a navy shirt and smart jeans, and something about his blue eyes made her think instantly of McDreamy from Grey’s Anatomy . Only blonder, of course. She felt even more of a wreck by comparison in her scruffy ‘Animal Saviours’ T-shirt and old work trousers, but if he thought the same, he didn’t let it show.
If anything, Penguin Man looked rather pleased to see her.
‘Well, good morning,’ he said, a big grin on his face.
She tucked her hair behind her ear as he handed over a familiar-shaped present that was rather shonkily wrapped in cheap foil paper.
‘I thought you hated Christmas?’ she said, feeling slightly betrayed.
‘I do,’ he said, quickly. ‘But you’ll forgive me when you see what it is.’
She ripped the wrapping off to reveal a tin of Quality Street.
‘Bloody fantastic,’ she said, touched that he had remembered. ‘I don’t have anything for you, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that,’ he said, pulling another parcel from the enormous bag for life at his feet.
The cheap paper this time revealed a box of cat food.
‘It’s all I could get from the dodgy newsagents on Bell Street. It’s some sort of bank holiday today, apparently.’
She smiled. ‘No, don’t worry, that’s super thoughtful. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘Do you want to see them?’
James grinned and strode past her towards the nursery. ‘Why else do you think I came?’
They peered down at the two balls of fluff, who were snoozing contentedly in their basket in the middle of the room. Even little Bobby Charlton was asleep, tucked up in his favourite blanket in the corner of the cage, snoring gently.
‘Typical,’ hissed Felicity. ‘They’ve been up mucking about all night and waking me up with their noisiness every five minutes and now when you get here, they’re flipping asleep. But don’t you dare wake them!’ she added quickly, as James went to poke the mother with a finger.
‘It’s so tempting, though,’ he said, hastily retracting his finger. ‘Just look at that.’
They gazed at the sleeping pile of cat in companionable silence. Now that the baby had been thoroughly cleaned by mum, she looked less like a dirty cotton ball and more like a kitten, and there were even tiny glimpses of what looked like ginger fur emerging. The mother, meanwhile, had patches of black and ginger all over her body, except for one white leg and a tiny white bib under her chin that just made you want to reach out and touch.
When Felicity spoke again it was in a whisper, afraid to break the moment.
‘What shall we name the mother then? She’s stunning. Tortoiseshell, I think.’
‘Is that what you call that colour? She’s beautiful. I have no idea about a name though,’ said James, thinking very deeply. After a beat he continued, ‘Wait. It’s coming to me…’
Felicity shrugged. ‘I hope so. I’m out of ideas. I can only think of one woman in the whole of Die Hard .’
James looked triumphant, as if she’d read his mind. ‘Gennaro. That’s it. As in, Holly Gennaro. Or is that a bit geeky? She could be Gennie for short.’
‘I love it,’ she said, a bit too intensely.
They stared at each other for a moment. Felicity pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly feeling awkward.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time for Christmas lunch. M&S style.’
The dingy office managed to look a tiny bit cosy once they’d laid a blanket on the floor and nicked the bedding from the stowaway bed from hell. Felicity – face washed and hair hastily finger-brushed – laid out the M&S banquet, which seemed rather meagre now it was stretched to feed two, but James proudly produced his contribution, consisting of a crate of beer, a family sized box of (genuine) Maltesers and an enormous bag of (imitation) Doritos, and they tucked in happily.
‘Thanks for not mentioning the C word,’ she said after a while, mouth full of crisps.
‘You’re most welcome,’ said James, raising an eyebrow. ‘But I didn’t think you were that kind of girl, to be honest.’
Felicity laughed a little too loudly at that, only just managing to stifle a snort.
‘Not that C word, you numpty,’ she said, throwing a Malteser at his head. ‘The other one.’
‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘To be honest this is the best C word I’ve had for quite a long time. Maybe for years, in fact.’
She stopped munching and looked at him intently.
‘Actually, me too,’ she said. And meant it.
In fact, this is the best day I’ve had for quite a long time, full stop .
‘So, why do you hate it so much?’ he asked, returning her stare as he screwed the cap off his bottle of beer in one smooth move.
She shifted position on the slightly (extremely) uncomfortable pile of cushions she had constructed on the dingy orange carpet tiles.
‘Do we have to do this now?’ she said, tilting her head to one side.
He smiled. ‘No, you’re right, let’s not do that today. Tell me something good instead. A really fat juicy secret. Or something you’re proud of.’
Felicity reached for a veggie sausage roll, and pondered.
‘That’s a good question. I once got my ten-metre swimming badge. Does that count?’
‘It really depends. Do you mean “once” when you were ten years old or “once” as in, you know, last week?’
‘Hey, ten metres is ten metres!’
‘True, true. Okay, fine, that counts.’
‘But I was ten. Well, maybe eleven. Just for the record. Your turn.’
‘Okay. Erm. I rescued a kitten from dying last night.’
‘No, no, no.’ She shook her head. ‘That doesn’t count because I know that about you already. I mean, it’s awesome and everything, don’t get me wrong. But… I want to know something about you I don’t know.’ She realised even as she said it that she knew hardly anything about him at all.
‘Okay, okay. Erm… I can identify every British plane from the Second World War. I used to go to air shows every year with my dad. I just love them. There you are. I nearly went on You Bet with that one.’ He grinned. ‘You’re probably too young to remember You Bet .’
‘Sadly not,’ said Felicity, with a chuckle. ‘You’re a plane geek. I love that.’
‘Your turn again,’ he said, waving a fake Dorito at her.
Felicity’s left leg was slowly going to sleep where it was crossed beneath her, and she began an ambitious attempt to pull it out from underneath her without toppling off her cushion pile.
‘Hmmm, how can I top that one?’ She wobbled, sticking her arms out for balance. ‘Okay, I see your plane geekdom and I raise you one East Midlands chess champion – under fourteens.’
James smiled. ‘This went dark quickly. I wasn’t expecting that at all. I think we need a tournament. It’s not just planes that make me go all geeky, you know.’
‘You’re on,’ said Felicity, ‘but bear in mind I’m seriously sleep-deprived and, also, I’m not fourteen anymore.’
‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said James in a low voice and Felicity felt the blood rush to her ears.
‘Quickly, tell me another.’
‘Fine, well I can’t think of any juicy secrets as such, but I do have a confession, does that count?’
Felicity nodded.
‘I’ll warn you, it’s a biggie.’
‘Go on…? And also, for the record, you’re scaring me.’
‘I think it’s me that should be scared.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Yes. You see, the thing is… I’ve never owned a cat. Or a dog. Or even a hamster. Don’t hate me.’
He put his hands protectively over his head as he spoke, and Felicity laughed again.
‘Whether or not I hate you depends almost entirely on whether you are about to tell me you can’t stand animals or whether it’s simply because you had a deprived childhood?’
James laughed but didn’t remove his hands from his head. ‘I obviously hate all animals, what can I say?’
Felicity threw another Malteser at him. This was promising to descend into a full-on food fight.
‘Just kidding. It’s definitely the second one,’ he said. ‘I deeply regret it. My parents were clearly inhuman freaks.’
‘You could always… rectify the situation,’ she said, waving an arm vaguely around the centre. ‘We have one or two…’
‘Ah, as it happens, I’m holding out for a particular one or two,’ he said, nodding his head towards the cat nursery.
Felicity felt her heart turn to liquid. ‘Aw, Penguin Man,’ she said. ‘You’re smitten!’
He smiled a broad smile. ‘I think I might be.’
They gazed at each other, and this time it wasn’t just Felicity’s ears that went hot. She yanked at the collar of her polo shirt to try and cover the spreading blush on her neck. What was it about this man?
‘I think it’s time for me to thrash you,’ she said, trying her best to keep a straight face.
And that is how they ended up spending a sleepy and rather drunken Christmas afternoon sitting on the office floor, surrounded by carpet picnic detritus, and playing round after round of chess improvised with Andrea’s desk ornaments and empty beer bottles. Every so often they would amble around the centre checking on the animals, who all seemed to be behaving, even Freddy the dachshund who of course had taken an instant liking to James. Typical.
Let the records state, it was very, very bad chess.
And a very, very good Christmas.