Its bad. Really bad. A bitter, aching kind of bad, the sort that twists inside you.
No tears left to cry.
Why? Why would he do this to me?
Seven years. Seven happy years.
We held hands, never a cross word between usand then, just like that, he was gone. No, not gone. He slunk away like a coward.
The phone keeps ringing. Who on earth?
Mum.
“Hello, love… love, what are you doing?”
“Nothing, Mum.” Keep the voice steady. Keep it light.
“Thats good. Youre not crying over that fool, are you? Not worth your tears.”
“A fools a fool, no matter where,” Mum chuckles at her own joke. “Listen, love, I wanted to askcome to the cottage with us this Friday. Auntie Marthas bringing her nephew, Simon. Lovely lad. Had a rough go of it, poor thing.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“His wifegood riddance to her, honestly. Useless woman.”
“Strangled her, did he?”
“What? Who strangled who?”
“You said he got rid of her.”
“Oh, for heavens sake, what a thing to joke about! But its good youre joking, love. Helps, you know? Reminds me of when Kostya Muravyov left meoh, Ive told you that story, havent I? We were at music school together. He played the French horn, such a sweet boy, tousled blond hair… I adored him. And then? The rotter ran off with that clarinetist, Natasha. Oh, the tears I shed! Skipped class, wandered along the riverbank, even thought about”
“Mum… Im not really up for talking right now.”
“Right, right. So, Friday then? Promise me youll come.”
“I… Ill try.”
“Thats not an answer, Lottie. Promise.”
“Fine. Ill come. For a bit.”
“Good. Love you, darling. Dad sends his love tooyes, Michael, I told her! Lottie, darling, Dad loves you, we both do”
Curled under a blanket in the dark. No tears, no strength left.
Just one question.
Why?
The phone again.
Sister. If I dont answer, shell rally the troops.
“Hello.”
“Lottie, are you crying?”
“No. Why would I cry? Just got dumped by the man I was going to have children with, thats all. No big deal.”
“Good riddance! Snivelling over some tosser. When Gary left me, I thought Id die. Remember Gary? Proper fit, we dated six monthsloved him madly. And look at me now!”
“Yeah, yeah…”
“Anyway, were going campingcouples only. But Wills wife just left him, so we thought… hes a decent bloke. Might work out for you two. And that ex of yours? Never liked him.”
“Tess… Ill think about it.”
“Think hard, Lottie…”
Cold. Aching cold. Eyes swollen shut.
Another call.
Gran.
God.
“Hello…”
“Lottie, sweetheart… Come round. Ill make your favourite scones, hot chocolatewell even have a little sherry, eh? Send Grandad to the shed, just us girls. I know how you feel. When Colin Sparrow left me, oh, the agony! Started smoking, I diddidnt last long. Then I met your grandad, and”
“Thanks, Gran. Ill think about it.”
All day, the same. Calls from everyone, each with their own sob story.
By evening, when Lottie finally dozed offsomeone knocked.
Again. And again.
She dragged herself to the door.
No one there.
Just as she turned to shut ita grumpy voice.
“Oi! Blocking the doorway, are we? Let a chap through!”
Lottie looked down.
Good Lord.
A procession of… cats?
“Uh… who are you?”
“Who dyou think? Cats, obviously.”
“What sort of cats?”
“All sorts. Were here to help. Now shut the door before you catch your death.”
“Were family. The Whiskers family.”
“Mum, check her headshes not right.”
“Son, check her pulse. Daughter, put the kettle on.”
Lottie sat, watching in disbelief as the cats scurried about like tiny maids.
“Granny Whiskers, she needs a story.”
“Purrr, my dear… let the bad float away, the good stay… Dad Whiskers, tuck her in. Aunt Whiskers, fluff her pillow.”
“Baby Whiskers, behave! Put that downLottie, take your phone back.”
Dazed, Lottie watched as little Whiskers took a selfie on her phone.
“Grandad Whiskers, rub her hands. Uncle Whiskers, her feet.”
And just like that, they tucked her in, kneading her limbs until she slept, the soft pad of paws fading as she drifted off.
Morning came lighter.
No Whiskers in sight. A dream, then.
But outsidea tiny mew.
By the doorstep, aloneBaby Whiskers.
“Wheres your lot?” Lottie whispered.
Silence. Just a pitiful squeak.
She bundled him under her coat. To the cottage, then.
Unseen, the Whiskers clan watched from the bushes, high-fiving with their paws before scampering off to their next rescue mission.
At the station, a lost young man.
“Need directions?”
“Uh, yesBrightwater. First time here.”
“Me too. Come on.”
They talked the whole way. Max, his name was. Carried her bag.
By Brightwater, they were laughing.
“Lottie, whatve you got there?” Max eyed her coat.
“My… son.”
“Son?”
“Meet Whiskers Whiskers!”
“Whiskers Whiskers?”
“Got a problem with his surname?”
“None at all. Fine name.” Max grinned. “Maximilian… Whiskers.”
When Aunt Martha and Lotties parents appeared, the pair were in stitcheslittle Whiskers tilting his head between them.
***
A big grey tomcat scowled from the windowsill.
“Where are they? Two months old, and theyre dragging him about like a toy!”
Once, hed been small too.
Lottie still wonderedhow *had* Whiskers taken that selfie?
Max had theories. Lottie swore it was a dream.
Then *he* showed up.
Champagne in hand, chocolates in tow.
Lottie wasnt homenot married yet, but close.
Whiskers answered.
“You.” A bass growl. “What dyou want?”
The man froze.
Whiskers raised a paw.
“Run.”
Thencouldnt resist. Still a kitten at heart.
A little squirt in his shoe.
Served him right.
Good morning, my dears!
Quick, listen closethe Whiskers clan might be near…
Sending love,
Light and cheer.
Always yours.
