‘Do you think someone should go and check that?’ I ask hopefully as I turn to see Rashid’s amused face. I resist the urge to touch my nose as I yellshotty not!
‘You should,’ he says, breaking out into a reluctant smile. ‘This is a parcelfor you.’
‘How do you know?’ How d’you know it’s not a parcel bomb or something, more like.
‘Because I was advised,’ he answers in a playful, yet mysterious tone, tapping his nose for good measure.Who is this guy?‘By sir.’
‘Kai sent me a gift?’ Rashid nods. ‘Then I’d best go and rescue it from Martha’s boot.’
By the time I get to the front door, Martha has the box on the hall table. The hall table Kai bent me over the other day.Not sure I’ll ever be able to pass it without some kind of blush.Pushing the thought to the corners of my mind, I notice Martha peeling back the lid an inch as she peers inside.
‘Is that for me, Martha?’
She jumps like an electrocuted cat, hands clasped to her chest in an expression of guilt. It’s a fleeting look, before she begins airing her grievances, in a language she knows I don’t understand.
‘Add it to your dossier, darl. He’ll be back soon.’
Sliding past her, I grasp the box, and begin climbing the stairs, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of sharing my surprise. At about the fourth stair, the box unbalances in my arms and I start to wish I’d let her open it, because this box contains something alive.
I dread to think what it is.
The contents meows, and right then, I know I’m going to kill Kai.
A cat. Confirmed, as I lift the lid, when the thing shoots from the box like a demon fleeing hell. It fires under the sofa—cream coloured, I think, and probably not big enough to be labelled a cat. A kitten, maybe? Fluffy. Tiny paws. Scratchy nails. Teeth like sharp needles.
I hate cats. They freak me out. I thought I’d already established this point.
I realise I’ve curled my legs up from the floor, so I lower them again, feeling a bit ridiculous. And still a bit scared.
Think calm rational thoughts. It’s probably much more frightened of you than you are of it.
Then why is my heart beating in my ears?
Dropping to my knees on the thick, shaggy rug, I peer under the sofa.
‘Here, puss... puss?’
The thing is all teeth and hissing noises, but I think I would be, too, if I’d been stuck in a box for an undetermined period. And then dropped.
Sitting back, I contemplate how to get the ick-ball out.
If I were a cat, what would it take for me to come out from under the sofa, potentially exposing myself to scary things?
A vodka martini?
A naked Kai?
I know... food!
I dash downstairs to the kitchen, to find a mostly empty fridge.Feck.Desperate means call for desperate measures, so I return with a yoghurt pot.
‘Here you go, you little fucker—fella—I mean feline.’ Seriously, am I developing Tourette’s or something? ‘Come see what I’ve got for you. Here kitty, kitty.’
Nope, that sounds wrong.
‘Here pussy, pussy.’ Also, more levels of wrongness.
Getting back on my hands and knees proves a waste of energy as the fur-ball-feck has gone. ‘Where the hell are you?’
