Make it count.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finally, some progress.
Kieran leaned back and admired his laptop screen. TheClosetAuraprototype was still rough round the edges but beginning to shine. The code worked, the interface almost looked professional, and for once he could see a potential glimmer of success.
‘Cooking with gas, Prom,’ he declared. ‘This app’s going to be a game-changer. All I need now are backers, beta testers, a sprinkle of magic and’ – he grinned at his own joke – ‘a few unicorn tears.’
He waited for a sarcasticmiaow. Silence.
‘Prom?’ He looked around. No sign of the cat. Not on the sofa, not under the table, not even pretending to be dead in his food bowl.
‘You’re kidding me.’ The front door, of course, was ajar. ‘For God’s sake.’
Kieran shoved his feet into his trainers, wincing at the blister still healing from his last ill-fated run. ‘Why does that bloody cat think he’s got diplomatic immunity?’
He sprinted – jogged – the short distance to The Jekyll and Hyde. He’d find Prom, threaten him with castration, and bring him home.
When Kieran stepped into the beer garden, it was empty. Not a soul in sight, and eerily still for a sunny afternoon. But music thudded from inside. Not pub music.Partymusic.
He pushed open the door and blinked.
No. Way.
Jinnie’s gran, Wilma, was spinning across the floor, her floral skirt fanning out like a maypole in motion. A bearded folk band sawed away at a fiddle, plucked a mandolin, played something with strings that defied classification. The place washeaving– a whirl of colour, movement, and absolute lunacy.
‘Come on, join us!’ Jinnie shouted, baby Dahlia balanced on her hip, both beaming.
‘We are family!’ Jo bellowed into a microphone that had definitely not existed five seconds ago.
Before Kieran could retreat, a familiar voice cut through the chaos.
‘Your cat’s got all the rhythm!’ Ed yelled over the din. ‘Busting the moves and acing the grooves!’
Kieran stared. There, in the middle of the pub, was Prom.Dancing.
Not the random skittering of a startled animal. Oh no. This was full-blown, paws-in-the-air, spin-on-his-back, tail-in-time choreography.
The crowd whooped and clapped.
‘Aww, he’s adorable!’ Angela appeared beside Kieran, shimmying in sequins he could have sworn she hadn’t been wearing earlier. ‘Fancy a foxtrot?’
Before he could protest, she’d seized his hand. Suddenly, Kieran was twirling across the floor like a contestant onStrictly Come Dancing: The Full-On Madness Edition.
‘I don’t dance!’ he gasped, his legs apparently possessed.
‘You do now!’ Angela grinned, dipping him with surprising strength. ‘And look. People are eating!’
She was right. Every table was full – diners tucking into plates piled high, glasses clinking, laughter ringing off the walls. Rose led a conga line past the bar, trailed by Jo, Harvey, and Gus, all grinning like children at a school disco.
And just beyond the madness stood Beth.
She was in the doorway, hands covering her mouth, shoulders shaking. Was she laughing? Crying? Both?
‘This can’t be real,’ Kieran muttered. ‘This is a hallucination. Some kind of mushroom-induced fever dream.’
He disentangled himself from Angela and forced his way through towards Beth, but she’d vanished like smoke. Prom, meanwhile, had finished his breakdancing routine and sat licking his paw, tail flicking smugly.
