Seven
Lara switched on the kettle, after clearing up the pieces of her favourite mug, and reached into the cupboard to find a different mug in which to have her coffee.
She had brought six with her so that she had a few to spare and also because she knew she would be providing tea and coffee to the various tradespeople who would be working in the cottage. But none of the other mugs brought a smile to her face. She would need to buy herself a new, favourite mug. And she would have to tell Jenny that the cat had broken hers.
The cat. She couldn’t keep calling it that if they were going to be housemates. She would have to think of a name for it. Raven, perhaps? It was black after all. Yet Raven didn’t suit it somehow.
The name Nicodemus popped into her head. She had no idea where that had come from but she liked it for some reason. She didn’t know if the cat was male or female, but as the kettle clicked off, she decided Nicodemus was the right name, regardless of the cat’s sex. She could call it Nico for short, and that would be fine if the cat turned out to be female.
She made her coffee and then glanced at her watch. She had kept it on last night as she had no bedside table nor chest of drawers, nor dressing table to leave it on when she had gone to bed.
She nearly broke another mug.
‘Seventy-forty-five! How can it be as late as that? Didn’t Ula say she would be here early? Why am I talking to myself?’ Lara shook her head. ‘I’d better get a move on.’ She smiled as she realised she was doing it again.
She did the same at home, but there she often received a response from her smart speakers, so it felt as though she was having a conversation with someone. Here, she was simply talking to herself. Having a conversation with a smart speaker was questionable. Having a conversation with a cat was pushing it. Talking to herself was crossing the line.
She finished her coffee in a few long gulps. She could have more when she made breakfast. Then she dashed upstairs, popping her head into her bedroom, before going to the bathroom for a shower. Lara had been right. The cat – or Nicodemus as it would be called from now on – was curled up in the centre of her bed. Nicodemus had spent a moment or two getting comfortable, as the smattering of black fur in two other spots, proved. Why, oh why, had Lara chosen a white duvet set?
‘Nicodemus.’ Lara whispered the name, and the cat raised its head. ‘Perfect,’ she said as the cat closed its eyes and went back to sleep.
Lara didn’t linger in the shower. It was old and, unlike her shower head at home, this one was fairly useless. Water trickled, rather than sprayed out, but she was pleased that the water was hot. She had, of course, left the immersion heater switched on last night. She had meant to turn it off, but it was lovely to have hot water without the need to wait. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long until she had hot water on demand, once Colin theplumber had replaced the boiler and the central heating and hot water system. He was starting work tomorrow, as was Bob the electrician. Roger the roofer would be there the day after that.
Nicodemus didn’t flinch, or even twitch an ear when Lara returned to her bedroom to get dressed. She had left her clothes folded in her suitcases as she had nowhere to hang them. She should have purchased a clothing rail or something to tide her over until she had finished decorating and had ordered wardrobes, but she hadn’t. Perhaps she could buy one today. She threw on clean jeans, another T-shirt, and a different jumper to the ones she had worn yesterday.
Jenny was frequently telling her that she needed to update her wardrobe, but Lara had never been interested in fashion. Well, not since she was fifteen.
She worked mainly from home and only went into the office occasionally. She went out to socialise just a few times each month, mainly with Jenny, so what was the point in spending a fortune on clothes? Even when she had been in her brief relationships, she had never been that bothered about getting dressed up.
Blimey. Now she thought about it, she sounded like an old woman. Or a hermit. She wasn’t yet thirty. Not for a few more weeks. Her parents had been married for two years and her mum had given birth to her by the time they were both thirty. Lara wasn’t even dating.
She let out a little chuckle. There was always Tom.
At least she could laugh about it. Some people were so desperate to get married they got hitched to the first person who would have them. Invariably such marriages ended in divorce. Marriage had not ranked highly on her list of priorities since … well, since she had lost her parents.
Was the fact that her dad could not walk her down the aisle part of the reason marriage had lost its appeal? If it had ever had any.
Yes it had. A long time ago. If she could find a man she could love as much as her mum had loved her dad, and a man who would love her as much as her dad had loved her mum, she would consider it. They made marriage look like paradise.
Her aunt and uncle, on the other hand, made marriage look like purgatory. Constantly moaning about, and criticising your partner was no way to live.
And yet Aunt Deb and Uncle Jeremy would be celebrating their Ruby wedding anniversary in two months’ time. With a lavish party, or an expensive holiday, no doubt. Or, knowing them, probably both.
Aunt Deb had sent Lara an email just last week, purporting to wish her well for her upcoming thirtieth birthday at the end of October. Lara hadn’t told her aunt about the cottage and she had no intention of doing so, and she knew from experience that the email wasn’t so much sent to wish her well as to ask her for something.
‘Lara,’ the email said. ‘I know it’s been ages since we’ve been in contact, but I know you’ll be thirty this year and I just wanted to wish you well and to ask if you’re doing anything special. It is a big one, after all. But knowing you, you won’t be. I do think it’s time you stopped grieving for my dear sister and her husband, who will, of course, be sadly missed when darling Jeremy and I celebrate our Ruby wedding anniversary in two months. We haven’t decided how to mark this marvellous event, but obviously, we won’t expect to see you. A card, and possibly a gift would be nice. I’m sure that’s what your mother would’ve wanted. We prefer money, as you know. It’s so tedious to have to return unwanted gifts. Our beautiful girls are doing so well. And they’re both expecting. Can you believe I’ll be agrandmother? A glamourous one, naturally. Your mother would be so disappointed to see you are no closer to tying the knot. I assume you’d have told us if there was someone special in your life. But then all you were ever interested in was your drawing, and your work. I must end here because we’re off to London for the weekend. Shopping, cocktails, a lovely meal, and a show. What better way is there to spend a weekend? We would send you a card and a gift for your big day, but we know how much you hate receiving such things, and that you would far rather give than receive.
Aunt Deb and Uncle Jeremy.’
Lara had wanted to spit blood by the time she reached the end. Why had she even bothered to read it? Experience had taught her years ago that they would never change. Lara would drop dead on the spot if either of them, or their daughters, had a pleasant word to say to her.
That email had added to her anxiety about her upcoming birthday though, and about her single status. She would soon be thirty. But what was so worrying about that? Thirty was still young. People were having children in their forties these days. Did she even want children? She knew the answer to that was yes. Probably.
Oh well. At least she now had a cat. Surely that was a step in the right direction.
Her phone pinged with a text. It was from Jenny and it said, ‘A pinch and a punch for the first of the month. Happy October. I hope it’s a good one.’
Lara grinned as she texted back, ‘A slap and a kick for being so quick. Happy October to you too. It’s going to be a great one.’
