‘Fine, starve! See if I care.’
Prom had arrived in Kieran’s life at precisely the point he didn’t need any more complications. Or people or animals to feed. He was a rangy, smoke-grey tom with the swagger of a street fighter and the attitude of a minor aristocrat. His left ear, torn neatly through at the tip, gave him a jagged, battle-scarred edge that never quite lay flat. He didn’t walk so much as saunter, tail high, as though the place belonged to him. He’d strutted in one day, deposited a dead field mouse at Kieran's feet, and never left.
At least Prom now had a garden to roam around in. When he’d first appeared, Kieran had been living in a ground-floor flat on the outskirts of Edinburgh. Nice enough as a bachelor pad, and with an easy commute into the city. But its outside spacewas a tiny courtyard where Kieran had tried (and failed) to grow plants and herbs. There was barely room to swing a cat. Not that he was into animal cruelty – which Prom would no doubt argue about loudly.
‘Home sweet home.’ If he said it often enough, he might believe it.
Kieran had bought the cottage in the village of Cranley after a heads-up from his aunt Janette, who ran the local corner shop/post office. Technically she wasn’t his aunt – more a distant relative of his mum – but during the handful of times they’d met, she’d insisted on the honorary title.
‘It’s a wee gem, lad. A bit of a doer-upper, but if you need to get out of the city, it ticks all the boxes.’
Kieran recalled his brief visit to view the property. It sat next to Brae Cottage which, Janette gleefully informed him, used to be rented by the actor Harley Quinn.
‘He’s a bit of a star these days. Mind you, when he first moved here I thought he was a bad ’un. Turns out I was wrong. Now he’s all loved up with Jo, who runs A Bit of Crumpet.’
Janette had listed a cast of Cranley locals: names of people he hadn’t yet met, some Kieran doubted he ever would. Bit-part players in a world far removed from the one he’d inhabited since his university days.
‘You’re burnt out, son. Step back and take time to smell the roses.’ Ha! The roses doomed to shrivel and die at Kieran’s less than green-fingered touch. Those were the words of his dad, retired early and content to potter, read and take his mum out for drives to country pubs. Married for thirty-five years, he’d made a killing on the stock market and chosen to step away from the cut and thrust of corporate life. Lucky him.
‘Miaow.’ Prom interrupted Kieran’s train of thought, following up with a more strident ‘miaow’ that meant ‘feed me now or I will not be responsible for my actions.’
Kieran had named Prom after the Greek god Prometheus. He wasn’t particularly up to speed with Greek gods, but something had stuck in his brain about eternal punishment. Zeus condemning Prometheus to being pecked in the liver by a zealous eagle daily.
‘And you do that too, don’t you?’ Kieran knew he should change the screensaver on his phone. Stop torturing himself with the photo of gorgeous Lisa, who’d been the centre of his world for three years. Until she went on a wellness retreat and came back not only rejuvenated but wrapped around a yoga instructor called Sven. His photo on the retreat website – Kieran couldn’t help looking – recalled a younger Yoda, with marginally smaller ears and more hair.
‘He completes me,’ Lisa told Kieran on her return. Which suggested she’d been less than whole during her time with Kieran.
To cope with the pain, Kieran had thrown himself into work. With a first-class honours degree in computer science, he’d worked his way up the career ladder. Lisa had cheered him on, always urging him onward to bigger and better things. Until she wasn’t there anymore.
‘Eat this, you greedy wee beggar.’ Kieran spooned some tinned tuna into Prom’s bowl. Lisa hadn’t been a fish fan. More into chickpeas, beetroot and avocados sliced, diced and smashed. Although he’d once caught her tucking into fish fingers and beans when she thought he was working late.
‘Delete.’ Kieran’s finger hovered over the photo. Those crazy, crinkly auburn curls. Emerald-green eyes that sucked you in. That lopsided smile she’d hated, which only added to the overall charm factor. They’d been good together. But that was in the past. Time to move on.
He tapped the screen.
Done.
The relief was instant yet still painful. Like peeling a plaster off skin that was still tender underneath.
Kieran stared at the blank lock screen, waiting for something to change. For the tightness in his chest to ease. For the past three years to rearrange themselves into something neat and survivable.
Nothing obliged.
What followed wasn’t sadness so much as irritation. Sharp and unwelcome, fizzing under his ribs.
He hadn’t beenheld back. That was the thing. Lisa hadn’t clipped his wings or demanded he settle. She’d done the opposite – pushed, encouraged, praised.
You could do more.
You’re wasted here.
Why think small when you could think huge?
He’d believed her. Swallowed the ambition whole. Worked longer hours. Taken bigger risks. Chased the version of himself she seemed so proud of.
And then she’d decided she wanted a quieter life. Less grind, more breathwork.
With Sven.
