Suddenly nothing was funny anymore. ‘You unfriended him.’
‘I did. But he sent me this lovely message and…’
Thoughts raced around Vicky’s head and a sense of foreboding stomped up her spine. ‘What have you done?’ she asked.
‘Nothing really. Like I said, he sent a lovely message asking how I was, what I was up to, and why I’d unfriended him.’ Blythe winced at the end of the sentence.
‘And what did you tell him?’
‘Nothing. I told him a bit about my job. He asked if I was married. I said I was single…’
‘Ohmyword you’re going on a date with him. This is the worst thing ever. This is worse than accepting his friend request. How could you?’
‘If you’d let me finish.’ Blythe looked a little irritated. ‘It’s definitely not a date. He just wanted to catch up, that’s all. But I’ve said no because I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it.’
Vicky sighed so hard it blew Blythe’s hair about. ‘Thank you. You gave me a fright there.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I thought you should know what’s happened. Not that anything has but I know you’re a bit weird about Owen so…’
‘I’m not weird about him. It’s just…’ There were so many ways she could finish that sentence. One of them being with the truth. Now wasn’t the time. ‘I don’t like him.’
‘I got that message loud and clear,’ said Blythe, linking arms with her friend and almost tripping over a dachshund.
*
That evening Blythe was in Sam’s utility feeding Turpin. Things had progressed slowly and now Blythe was able to stroke the cat while he ate. When the internal door opened and Sam popped his head in, Blythe hopped up to sit on the worktop while Turpin wolfed down his food. ‘Ahh it’s my favourite burglar duo.’
‘Does that make Turpin a cat burglar?’ asked Blythe.
‘Very droll.’ At the sight of the open door Turpin left his food and made a bolt for the gap. Sam wasn’t quick enough. ‘The little sod. Oh well.’ He opened the door fully and stepped into the utility. ‘It’s a bit chilly in here,’ he said, with a shudder.
Blythe put on a cockney urchin voice. ‘You sees, the lord of the manor rations the coal, sir, so us paupers have to huddle together for warmth.’
‘You should do stand-up,’ he said. He took in Blythe sitting there in her coat with her arms wrapped around herself. ‘Is the radiator on?’ he asked, as he bobbed down to check it.
‘It’s stuck on minimum and only the bottom is warm,’ said Blythe, who had tried a number of times to turn the thing up. ‘But it’s still warmer than outside,’ she added, thinking that it was a little better for Turpin than sleeping in the garden. She stopped herself from saying anything else in case she let something slip. As far as she knew Sam hadn’t worked out that the cat flap was back in use.
‘Not much warmer.’ Sam was wrestling with the radiator control.
‘I’d best round up Turpin,’ she said, hopping down from the worktop.
‘Look, I’m not being a grouch about the cat. He’s probably not house-trained.’
‘You don’t have to explain,’ she said, as she went in search of her feline charge.
Turpin’s escape gave her the ideal chance to have a good nose around the cottage. She hadn’t planned to snoop but Turpin wasn’t in any of the downstairs rooms so she headed upstairs. Sam hadn’t made many changes. Some fresh paint and less clutter had brightened it up and yet it still had that warm cottagey feel to it. The stair carpet was still Murray’s swirly one and she followed it across the landing into the only room with an open door. A giant sleigh bed dominated the room and in the middle of the plain white duvet was a lump. Blythe lifted up the duvet and peeked in the bed.
Two huge green eyes stared back at her. She was sure she detected a hint of disappointment that she’d found his hiding place so easily. ‘Come on, Turpin. Back to prison you go.’ She reached for the cat and he took a swipe at her. ‘Hey! I’m the one who feeds you.’ She knelt down and put her head under the duvet. ‘I know it’s cosy in here but Sam does not want to share his bed with a grumpy ginger pussy.’ She heard a snort of a laugh from behind her. ‘Did you know, Turpin, that some people, the worst kind of people, have really dirty minds,’ she added for Sam’s benefit although she was grinning under the duvet. She reached in, more slowly this time, and scratched Turpin’s head. He let out a low menacing hiss. He wasn’t going to be bought so easily. Blythe pulled her head out from under the covers.
Sam was leaning against the door frame with a broad grin on his face. ‘Problem?’ he asked.
‘Kind of. I’ll see if I can coax him out with some food.’
‘Or,’ suggested Sam, stepping forward and hoicking the duvet off the bed to reveal the crouched and now surprised cat. Turpin glared at Sam before jumping off the bed and skulking out of the room.
‘I’ll finish up downstairs and leave you in peace,’ Blythe said, getting to her feet. ‘I like what you’ve done to the cottage by the way. Murray would approve.’
‘Thanks. I mean if I’m honest I’m hoping he’s not stuck around to check it out but…’
