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Alfie in the Snow
Rachel Wells
Can Alfie and George save Christmas?The Sunday Times bestseller returns for a fifth book! Alfie and his mischievous kitten George are back for more adventuresWhen a new family moves onto Edgar Road, Alfie and George can’t wait to welcome them – especially when they discover they have a cat too!Alfie imagines they’ll be the perfect neighbours, but when one little misunderstanding gets blown out of proportion, the street is suddenly at war!As the snow starts to fall, Alfie and George have their work cut out for them to bring the street back together. But can one doorstep cat and his mischievous kitten use their festive spirit to reunite everyone in time for Christmas?A heart-warming novel that is perfect to curl up with this festive season. For fans of A Street Cat Named Bob, Cathy Bramley and Holly Hepburn.







Copyright (#ucbee3e5b-6407-5a68-98ed-45f53441eec5)
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Rachel Wells 2018
Cover design © www.headdesign.co.uk (http://www.headdesign.co.uk) 2018
Cover photograph © Shutterstock
Rachel Wells asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008295790
Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008295776
Version: 2018-09-17

Dedication (#ucbee3e5b-6407-5a68-98ed-45f53441eec5)
For Becky, Martin, Helen, Megan, Jak and Rory.
Contents
Cover (#uc000ff31-27e6-5558-bdb6-c08490da989a)
Title Page (#u5cf9bac4-2ea9-5f8b-9411-046add8d96f1)
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
Keep Reading … (#u0f42fb86-b81d-5a5d-a45e-a1f3543af5cf)
About the Author
About the Publisher

Chapter One (#ucbee3e5b-6407-5a68-98ed-45f53441eec5)


I was lying on the sofa, in my favourite spot, the winter sun shining down on me through the window, when my kitten, George, leapt on me. Argh, he wasn’t such a little kitten any more; I was winded and a bit squashed.
‘George,’ I said, trying to squirm out from under his weight. ‘You have to stop doing that, you’re flattening me.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ he replied, with his charming grin and his head tilted to one side. As usual, I melted. My boy was just too adorable, even if he was getting too heavy to jump on me. I couldn’t have been prouder of what a fine young tom he was growing into. ‘But I have news.’ He sat next to me and licked his paws. George did like to draw out any announcements. He was a fairly dramatic kitten. Unlike myself, of course.
‘Go on, George, tell me the news,’ I coaxed, thinking it would be about a funny-shaped cloud he had seen this morning, or a similar Georgeism.
‘There’s a big van parked outside so new people are moving in next door.’ He looked very pleased with himself, as well he might. I pricked up my ears. New people! On Edgar Road! Well, was there anything better for a doorstep cat like myself? Only a van full of pilchards could beat that.
My name is Alfie, and I’m a doorstep cat. Which basically means I have different families and homes I visit. I do live in one main house, here with my kitten George, in Edgar Road. Our humans are Claire and Jonathan and their children, Toby and Summer. But there is another family on this road we spend time with, Polly and Matt and their children Henry and Martha, and yet another family, who live a few streets away, Franceska, Tomasz and their children Aleksy and Tommy. Phew, it’s a lot of families and friends to keep track of. I met them when I moved to Edgar Road after an arduous journey, having been homeless after my old owner, Margaret, died, but that does feel like another lifetime. They say cats have nine lives, well I reckon I’ve used a few of those up to get to where I am today, although I still have plenty left.
I do credit myself with bringing all my families together and now they love each other the way I love them all. We even have a holiday home together, Seabreeze Cottage, which is in Devon, and we spend time there when we can. But London is our main home, on Edgar Road, where we spend most of our days. There’s always something going on here. Never a dull moment. Or if there is, it doesn’t last.
Up until now we were experiencing quite a quiet time. Winter was upon us, the nights were drawing in and the air had started biting. I was becoming a bit of a fair-weather cat, preferring not to spend too much time out in the cold and rain. However, my kitten, George, loved being out in all weathers. That’s youth for you. Just don’t seem to feel the cold. But I did take my constitutional every morning and evening, and I would brave the cold to seek out my friends, the neighbourhood cats and my cat girlfriend Tiger. But now it was cold and darker in the evenings, I preferred to stay in the warm as much as was possible.
But not now. This removal van I had to see. It was still exciting to see new people. Once a doorstep cat, always a doorstep cat, after all. So George and I bounded out to see what we could discover.
We made our way next door. I knew the house well – not too long ago my first girlfriend, the one before Tiger, Snowball, lived there. She was my first love and it wasn’t the easiest of starts but after many attempts to woo her she came round to my way of thinking eventually. Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not exactly a cat lothario, I’ve only been in love twice, once with Snowball and now with Tiger, who is a mum to George. And George is adopted; he’s not my natural kitten but he, Tiger and I are a family.
Because I’ve learnt through the years that family comes in all shapes and sizes and no one is the same. But as long as you have love then you have family.
‘Look, Dad,’ George said, his eyes as wide as saucers. We stopped on the pavement and looked at the large van. The back door to the van was open and men were unloading boxes. I gestured for George to follow me and we snuck into the back garden where I knew we would find big patio doors to look through. My first thought whenever I saw new people was, were they in the market for a part-time cat? My second was that I sincerely hoped they didn’t have a dog.
We peered through the glass door, making sure not to be too visible in case we upset anyone (or dog). I could see activity. In the kitchen a woman, perhaps a similar age to Claire who, I believe, was in her forties but didn’t like to talk about it, was unpacking. Near her was a younger girl; she was tall and slim, perhaps a teenager? She was attached to a device, a phone. Aleksy had one and didn’t tear his eyes away from it for a minute if he could help it. His mum despaired. Tommy, who was younger than Aleksy, had one too but he was more interested in sports, so he was a whole different kettle of fish. Yum.
Suddenly, my excitement increased as I spotted what looked like a cat bed.
‘Oh George, I think a cat lives here,’ I said. Which of course meant the owners probably wouldn’t want another two cats but this cat could maybe be our new friend, which was even better. You could never have too many friends. We craned our necks a bit further and I spotted a tail. Quite an interestingly patterned tail. As the cat turned to face us, we both gasped. This cat’s fur had white, black and light brown markings, a pretty tail, pointed black and brown ears and exotic features. It was fairly small and sleek and I had never seen a cat quite like it, definitely unusual. I guessed she was female as she looked far too pretty to be a male, and she was a good few years younger than me but perhaps a similar age to George.
‘Wow, she looks lovely,’ George said. I raised my whiskers. I didn’t want him getting a crush on her just yet, not until we knew her character. George had developed quite a thing for a cat when we’d spent our first summer in Devon. Chanel was the meanest cat I’d ever met, but George had been smitten and he’d pined for her all summer. His crush had also led to the near drowning of her, him and Jonathan, but thankfully they’d all survived. I wasn’t sure I was ready to cope with that again, just yet.
‘Perhaps we’ll wait until we meet her, eh George,’ I said. ‘You can’t keep falling in love with just looks you know, personality matters.’
‘Oh don’t worry, Dad, I’m not planning on falling in love with her. After Chanel I’m pretty much off girls for good.’
If only I could believe that.
We watched for a while longer, but there wasn’t much to see. Boxes being unpacked. The girl putting her phone down and petting the cat. They seemed serious and perhaps a bit sad too; being quite an intuitive cat I picked that up. We weren’t spotted and, after a while, George got bored and begged me to take him to the park. I reluctantly tore myself away, I was curious and I wanted to know more. They say curiosity killed the cat but not this one, no, curiosity is my middle name. Although not literally.
George went to play with Summer and Toby upstairs after the children had their tea. It was like having three children in the family. Toby and George had a special bond; Toby was adopted, like George in a way, and they both slept in the same bad every night, and had done since Toby came to live with us when George was tiny. Summer was younger, bossier and a ‘madam’, according to Claire, but she could pretty much do no wrong in my eyes. I loved all the children and part of my job was taking care of them.
I padded into the kitchen to see if there was any sign of dinner. Claire was cooking, and Jonathan had just got home from work. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a beer. My food bowl was still empty.
‘Oh Jon, can you feed the cats?’ Claire asked. ‘I think Alfie’s after some food.’
‘Meow.’ I was.
‘Sure, I’ll give them some left-over roast chicken,’ he replied as I licked my lips.
‘You really do spoil them,’ Claire said, almost chastising him but not quite. Thank goodness he did, otherwise we had to settle for food that came out of pouches. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t quite the same. For a cat I did have a pretty sophisticated palate and a love of fine dining.
I started eating, knowing George would be down later, but I was hungry. As I lapped my food, I listened to the easy conversation between Claire and Jonathan.
‘I was talking to Frankie and Polly about Christmas earlier,’ she started.
‘Already?’ Jonathan pretended to be not the biggest fan of Christmas, but deep down he loved it, especially with the children. We all loved it, and I pricked my ears as it sounded like news.
‘Jon, it’s less than two months away and you know how quickly it’ll come round. Anyway, we were saying that perhaps this year we can spend the day together, here.’
‘We were saying?’ Jonathan raised an eyebrow.
‘OK, I was. I was thinking about Devon, but then Matt has to work between Christmas and New Year, so they literally only have two days off and Frankie said it would be very nice to have Christmas in London.’
When Tomasz and Franceska had first arrived from Poland they had very little, but they worked hard, especially Tomasz and now he owns four restaurants. Not on his own – he has partners and Franceska works with him now the children are older. They are doing very well and I am incredibly proud of them. They also introduced me to sardines which remain, to this day, my second favourite fish.
‘I haven’t even spoken to work about time off yet, but I’m happy for Christmas in London.’
‘And Frankie said they would do all the side dishes, I’ll do the turkey and Polly will make the pudding.’
‘You mean she’ll buy it,’ Jonathan replied.
‘Well yes, we know Polly’s not much of a cook, but at least it’ll be from Waitrose.’
I licked my lips. Christmas dinner was one of my favourite meals. I even liked some vegetables, which Claire said was very unusual for a cat. I think cats, in my experience, like a far wider variety of food than anyone gives them credit for.
‘And it’ll be nice to be together,’ Claire said wistfully. Her parents went to Spain every year for Christmas now, where her brother lived, and Jonathan wasn’t close to his family, so our friends were our family. It wasn’t a bad family at all.
‘The excitement levels of Summer and Toby will be cranked up this year.’
‘Oh, Summer is already talking about what she wants. Although I ought to warn you, she wants a baby.’
‘A doll?’
‘No, for us to have another baby.’
Jonathan choked on his beer, his face turning a funny colour. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said that we had a lovely family already and, as Santa knew that, he’d probably not be able to send us a baby, and she then said perhaps a talking doll would do instead.’
‘Thank God for that.’ Jonathan started to return to a normal-ish colour. ‘It’s not just beyond Santa’s remit, it’s way beyond mine,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry darling, our family is perfect and I don’t want to change a thing,’ Claire said, going over to kiss him. Warmth flooded me as I let the feeling of happiness wash over me. Then I went to tell George it was time to wash his paws in time for dinner.
A parent’s work was never done.
Later that night, when George was tucked up with Toby and Summer was fast asleep, I set out to see my girlfriend Tiger. She lives just down the road and we usually met up most evenings, weather permitting – she’s even more of a fair-weather cat than I am – to watch the moon and chat about our day. We would also bring up any worries we had about George. We were parents first, which is what had prompted our friendship to develop into something more.
I sat on her back doorstep and meowed, which normally means she comes out. But she didn’t. I pushed the cat flap with my nose then waited but nothing. I couldn’t go in, her humans weren’t too keen on other cats in their house, although they tolerated George but not me. I guessed she had probably fallen asleep. Tiger wasn’t always the most active of cats.
I was about to give up and head home but I couldn’t resist going for one last look at our neighbours. As before, I found myself peering through the back doors, the house was fairly dark. But sitting at the table in the kitchen was the woman, in front of her was a glass of wine, and on her lap was the cat. The cat had her back to me, so no one noticed as I watched. The woman picked the glass up slowly and took a drink, before carefully placing it back on the table, and pushing her hair out of her eyes. I saw her head fall as she stroked the cat, and I saw what I thought were tears glistening in the darkness. Even from outside it was as if I could feel her sadness, her pain. I went home wondering what her story was, their story, and why she was upset. But I knew that somehow and at some point I would get to the bottom of it.
That was the kind of cat I was.

Chapter Two (#ucbee3e5b-6407-5a68-98ed-45f53441eec5)


‘I fell asleep,’ Tiger said the next morning when George and I called on her. I hadn’t even opened my mouth.
‘I thought so.’
‘It was quite cold and I snuggled up with my human on the sofa, and the warmth from the fire, you know.’
‘Tiger, it’s OK, you don’t need to explain.’ Normally she didn’t offer explanations, but I didn’t say that.
‘Mum, Dad, can we go for a walk to the park?’ George asked. He had boundless energy this morning. I wished I did, but I was feeling the cold. I had an old injury which I had suffered when I first moved to Edgar Road. It was a long story involving saving Claire from a horrible relationship, and eventually bringing all of my families together, but it did leave me with a slightly bad leg which seemed to get worse and stiffen up in the cold or the rain. I mainly got on with things, I was pretty used to it by now. However, at the start of every winter I would be reminded of it.
‘Of course we can, George,’ Tiger said, nuzzling him. ‘It’s not raining, and hopefully it’ll stay dry.’
We set off and, as George hopped in front of us, I told Tiger about the new people.
‘So this cat is very pretty, is she?’ Tiger narrowed her eyes.
‘She’s unusual-looking but nearer George’s age than mine,’ I replied. Tiger did have a jealous streak, so I needed to tread carefully when talking about other cats.
‘What does George think?’ She immediately switched from sounding jealous to maternal.
‘He told me that after Chanel he’s sworn off girls for life.’ I grinned.
‘Good, because no one is good enough for my boy.’ I couldn’t have agreed more.
The park was pleasantly empty. We trailed around after George who bounded from one activity to the next. He stared for ages at his reflection in the small lake – I urged caution because when I was younger I’d done the same and nearly drowned. Then we made piles of leaves which were browning and a little soggy, but still quite fun to play with nonetheless. There were no butterflies to chase at this time of the year but George did manage to climb one of the smaller trees. By the time we headed back for lunch I was hungry, Tiger said she was tired – I swear she was getting lazier by the second – and George was still full of energy. He would only come home when I promised he would be allowed out later to the other end of Edgar Road, on his own.
It had been a hard decision to let George out alone, and I know that human parents had the same dilemma as Franceska had been through it with Aleksy and Tommy. Aleksy was a teenager now and wanted more freedom, a bit like George, but at the same time we, as parents, knew there were dangers out there. Letting go was possibly one of the hardest parenting lessons we had to face.
When George first went out alone, although he promised he wouldn’t go far, I was a bag of nerves until he came home. When he did come home I almost smothered the poor lad but I had never felt relief like it. Well, apart from the time he was catnapped and I found him, or the time he ran off after Chanel and we found him … But this was different, it was the first time he had gone out with permission.
Now he went out alone a fair bit, but never at night and never for too long. I tried to make him tell me where he was going as well, although to be fair he didn’t always seem to know. Sometimes he said he was going to the park, sometimes to see if any of the other cats were around. So far I had resisted the urge to follow him, but only just. Instead I would pace up and down or watch out of an upstairs window for his return. And thankfully he always came home and never stayed out too long. Otherwise the worry would probably have turned my fur even greyer than it already was.
So, this afternoon I thought I would catch up on some of my personal cat business. I enjoyed time alone to have a thorough grooming session – after all, when you’re a parent you always seem to be having to rush your ablutions, and then I would enjoy some thinking time. It’s hard to think when you’ve got youngsters always wanting your attention. So, as much as I worried about George, now he was more independent I was beginning to enjoy some ‘me time’ as well. I settled on Claire and Jonathan’s bed – Jonathan didn’t like me being on there, Claire didn’t mind – because it was incredibly comfortable and one of my favourite places to muse.
The front door opened, and the rush of voices and children interrupted my thinking time. I stretched, yawned and then headed downstairs where to my joy I found my families all together in the kitchen. George was hopping among them.
‘Oh hi, Alfie,’ Tommy said, coming over to pet me. I saw a number of fat pumpkins on the kitchen table. Ah, of course, it was the weird thing that humans celebrated called Halloween.
‘I want to carve my pumpkin all on my own,’ Summer said. Claire looked terrified and I agreed. The idea of Summer with a knife was not good.
‘Sum, let me help you and Martha,’ Tommy suggested kindly. ‘It’ll be better than letting the adults take over.’ She considered his offer and agreed.
‘And Aleksy, maybe you can help Toby and Henry?’ Franceska suggested.
‘Do I have to?’ Aleksy answered, sounding surly which wasn’t like him, although it was lately. ‘I’m too old for all this.’
‘Yes you do,’ Franceska snapped and she, Polly and Claire exchanged glances.
‘We’d be very grateful if you would,’ Polly said, trying to calm the situation.
‘Fine.’ Aleksy made it sound as if it was anything but.
Claire made drinks for the grown-ups as the children sat at the table in the kitchen and began carving their pumpkins.
‘Hey,’ Henry said. ‘Let’s have a competition to see which one is the scariest.’ They all seemed to like this idea, although I knew from experience the only one who would end up liking it was the child who won.
‘What costumes are everyone wearing this year?’ Franceska asked. ‘I miss my boys dressing up.’
‘We’re too old to dress up,’ both Tommy and Aleksy said at the same time.
‘Summer wants to be a witch, and Toby is insisting on being a superhero,’ Claire said.
‘And I’m going to be a superhero too,’ Henry said. Toby and Henry were quite close and often copied each other.
‘I’m going to be a cat,’ Martha announced.
This news surprised me; after all, there were two cats here.
‘Oh, you can be Summer’s cat,’ Franceska said.
‘And George,’ Summer piped up.
‘Sum wants me to dye George black,’ Claire explained.
My whiskers twitched and George looked terrified. Imagine, my lovely kitten being dyed black!
‘Don’t worry George, it won’t happen. But I had to promise to make you a little witch’s hat to compensate.’
‘So, Summer, Martha and George will all share a broomstick,’ Henry explained. I wasn’t sure about George and a broomstick but we’d have to see.
‘Where are we getting a broomstick from?’ Claire asked, worriedly. ‘I’ve only got a kitchen broom.’
‘We need a proper broomstick,’ Summer shouted.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve ordered one from the internet,’ Polly said. Halloween was a lot of work, it seemed.
George was on the kitchen table and I could barely watch as he dodged the knives, seemingly unaware of the danger he faced. I heard him make a funny sound, which worried me.
‘Ahh,’ Toby cried. ‘George spat pumpkin over me.’ We all looked and Toby had a splat of pumpkin on his face. George glanced over to me as if to say, ‘I didn’t know it wouldn’t taste good.’ I raised my whiskers again. My curious son would never learn, it seemed, as he tried to lick Toby’s face.
The rest of the carving passed without incident. As the four children proudly presented their finished pumpkins, it was up to the adults to choose a winner. As Aleksy and Tommy had done most of the work it didn’t seem fair but then the older boys didn’t seem to mind as Aleksy wandered off to do something on his phone and Tommy went to the fridge to find a snack.
‘It’s a draw,’ Polly announced diplomatically.
‘Absolutely,’ Claire agreed, ‘they are all far too good.’
Thankfully the children all seemed to accept this. Summer and Toby’s pumpkins were placed on the front doorstep, with a lit candle in each – I warned George to stay away – so that Jonathan would be able to admire them when he got home.
As everyone said their goodbyes, Henry and Martha proudly clutching their pumpkins to their chests, they arranged to go ‘trick or treating’ the following day after school.
‘I can’t wait to go trick or treating,’ George said to me when we were alone.
‘Well, you know Claire said you had to wear a hat,’ I pointed out.
‘Yeah, I’m not pleased about that but at least they’re not going to dye me black,’ he replied. And I had to agree.
‘Oh, and George, no more eating the pumpkin.’
‘No Dad, it tasted really weird.’

Chapter Three (#ucbee3e5b-6407-5a68-98ed-45f53441eec5)


Even I had to admit to being excited. George had been unbearable today; he was so keen to go trick or treating, that from the morning he was badgering me about the time. It was a very long day until I bundled him off to find Tiger, telling him how much she would love to hear about the pumpkin carving and the evening ahead. It did buy me a little bit of peace and quiet and I would apologise to Tiger later.
What I was most excited about was the fact that when trick or treating we would definitely go to the new next-door neighbour’s house and hopefully meet them. Despite not having a costume or being given a specific role I would join them, as the other parents did.
While the children got ready upstairs, I groomed myself in the living room. I was sad that Aleksy, Tommy and Franceska wouldn’t be joining us, but the boys refused point blank to go on the basis that they were too old. Growing up was hard, but it was definitely difficult for parents, I knew that with George. They became more independent, needed you less, wanted you less even, which could be hurtful. It was something that I was having to learn to accept and Franceska and I were in a similar situation on this one.
The children emerged giddy with excitement. Toby was in a Spiderman costume and Summer was dressed in a black cape with a tall pointed black hat and a false nose. She looked a bit scary in a very cute way. George, being carried by Summer, had a little black hat on and he looked adorable. I was sure he would earn the kids extra sweets this year. Claire picked up the broomstick, and we all headed out to meet Polly, Martha and Henry.
All assembled, they decided to start at the end of the street. I was slightly disappointed by this. Edgar Road is a long road and it meant I would have quite a wait before we reached next door.
We approached the first house. Summer, Martha and George were all at the door, trying to balance on the broomstick, when it tipped and George fell off.
‘Yowl.’ He landed on his tail.
‘Martha, that was your fault!’ Summer stormed.
‘No, it was yours,’ Martha bit back, and Martha never got cross. Polly picked George up and petted him, Claire picked the broomstick up and as the girls glared at each other with their arms crossed, a kindly woman answered the door, and thrust sweets at them. They soon forgot to argue and were happy to get back on the broomstick. However, Toby took George from Polly and offered to carry him, which seemed the safest bet.
We crossed the street to a house opposite which was a real mess. The garden was overgrown, the house had peeling paint, and it looked sad, if it was possible for a house to look so. I saw Polly and Claire exchange a glance.
‘Maybe we should give this one a miss?’ Claire suggested, but the kids were already half way up the path. We all followed, reluctantly. There was a light on in the front room and Toby knocked on the door, George still in his arms. The children all stood expectantly on the front doorstep, discussing what sweets they might expect. A man came to the window. He was old, moving slowly. He looked out at us, then, to our surprise, he raised his fist at us, shouted, ‘Get lost’, and pulled the curtains closed.
‘Why doesn’t he want to see us?’ Martha asked, her eyes full of confusion.
‘Maybe he forgot to buy sweets. Come on, we’ve got lots of houses to visit,’ Claire chivvied them up. As we made our way back down the path I glanced back at the house. I didn’t understand why he didn’t want to see us either.
Finally, with weary legs – me – and full bags of sweets and chocolate – the children – we reached the house next door to us. I could barely contain my excitement as I waited with everyone on the doorstep. The woman who opened the door didn’t look sad, not like the crying woman I’d seen last night. She had short-ish blonde hair which fell over her face, and was tall and slim. She looked composed, smiling, her head tilted to one side questioningly as she stood in front of us.
‘Trick or treat,’ the children chanted.
‘Oh my goodness, Connie, come here,’ the woman shouted and the teenager I’d seen joined her at the front door.
‘Hi, I’m Claire and this is Polly.’ Claire beamed as the children held their bags out hopefully. ‘I live next door, Polly is down the road. We would have come round properly to introduce ourselves, but with it being Halloween …’
‘Hi.’ Polly held out her hand and the woman took it.
‘I’m Sylvie, and this is Connie. Lovely to meet you.’ The woman paused for a moment, then she said, ‘I’m sure I’ve got some chocolate inside, why don’t you come in for a moment?’ The children didn’t need to be asked twice, but Polly swiped George out of Toby’s arms and put him next to me on the doorstep.
‘Oh, who are these two?’ Sylvie asked.
‘Our cats,’ Polly and Claire said in unison. They both laughed. ‘You guys wait here,’ they said as they followed the children inside and the door was closed on us.
‘Oh well, Dad, I guess when they come out we’ll hear all about it.’
‘Yes.’ But I was impatient. I wanted to know about the new family, and the cat. And was there a man? Because we’d only seen Sylvie and the teenager. So many questions.
We waited patiently by the front gate and it wasn’t long before Polly and Claire and the children emerged. They were laughing and Sylvie was smiling.
‘Oh how sweet, your cats waited for you.’
‘They enjoy trick or treating,’ Polly said.
‘It’s funny, so different for us. My Hana is a house cat, she’s never been outside – but that was normal in Japan.’
‘Hana is such a pretty cat,’ Claire said, and I agreed from what I had seen.
‘She’s a Mikeneko, which is Japanese of course. Cat with a coat of three colours. The English name would be a tortoiseshell.’
‘But Hannah is an English name?’ Polly asked.
‘It’s actually H-a-n-a, it’s Japanese for flower.’
‘That’s lovely, a sweet name for a sweet cat,’ Claire said.
Bingo, I already had more information at my paw tips than I thought I would. A house cat, and what was Japan? A coat of three colours. Oh, this was most interesting.
‘Right, well we’ll see you soon. I’ll text and we’ll have that dinner,’ Polly said as she gave a wave. I was delighted, it seemed the women were already the best of friends. But how we were going to befriend a house cat?
Later, when the children were upstairs having managed to sneak a number of their sweets up there, despite being told not to, and Polly and Claire were sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, I learnt more about Sylvie.
They both seemed to like her so far. She was English, but she and her daughter had moved back from Japan which was a place quite far away, by the sound of it. They had lived there with her husband, who had left her for another woman and they were now getting divorced and she was very upset about it. Already things were beginning to make sense. Claire had been divorced when I first moved in with her, before she met Jonathan of course, so they had that in common. Anyway, it was difficult because not only had Sylvie split up with her husband but she’d also had to move away from the country that had been her home for many years. Her daughter, Connie, who turned out to be the same age as Aleksy – fourteen – was also upset about leaving her school, her friends and her dad. I guess that explained the late-night wine drinking in the kitchen and crying. Claire had done that a lot too.
As I listened to them talk about how they would make Sylvie feel really welcome and how they would also introduce Connie to Aleksy who would be at the same school in the same year, I began to feel excited. New friends. Now I just had to figure out how to get their cat, Hana, to come out so we could meet her. Either that or we’d have to find a way to go in. It was just a minor hiccup; after all, I’m a pretty resourceful cat, if I do say so myself.
I heard a clatter of footsteps on the stairs and Toby burst in with Henry at his heels.
‘George has been sick on my bed!’ he cried.
‘He ate lots of our chocolate, by accident,’ Henry explained.
‘Great, right, well I better go up and clear up. And you guys, I already told you no more sweets,’ Claire shouted.
‘I feel a bit sick too, Mummy,’ Toby said. We all did what I call a parenting eye roll, and rushed upstairs to sort it out. I would be having stern words with my kitten later.
‘So, I missed the trick or treating,’ Jonathan said, not exactly sounding disappointed.
‘Yes, funny how you had to work late tonight,’ Claire bit back.
‘I did, honestly. Anyway, the kids had a good time?’
‘Yes, I took photos.’ Claire handed him her phone. ‘But there was one house which was a bit of a nightmare, at the end of the street, overgrown, peeling paint. There was a light on but when we rang the bell, an old man glared at us then drew the curtains. Who would do that to a bunch of kids?’
‘Oh, I know. That’s the guy who Vic and Heather Goodwin were moaning to me about. Apparently they have been trying to talk to him about tidying the place up, even offered to do the garden for him, but he told them to go away. Although I’m not sure he was that polite. They said he’s a bit of an ogre and they think he might be dangerous. All bulging eyes and shifty behaviour, according to them.’
‘Great, so I took our kids to a nutter’s house?’
‘Oh I wouldn’t worry, you know how the Goodwins exaggerate. He’s probably just a grumpy old man who doesn’t like people. I understand, after all I’ll probably be one one day.’
He was right, he definitely would.

Chapter Four (#ucbee3e5b-6407-5a68-98ed-45f53441eec5)



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