The First of Nine Page 11

  Theodore stared back at her.

  ‘What do you think you’re looking at?’ she said, not expecting a response.

  Theodore met her stare. His eyes bore into hers.

  ‘It was just a wind up,’ Diane said. ‘Just a bit of fun.’

  Theodore continued to stare at her.

  ‘Who do you think you are to judge me? If you must know, my husband ran off with his secretary. Ten years younger than me… I was left with nothing… Only Arthur. And I had to fight to keep him… Now he’s gone too. I’ve got nothing.

  ‘Nothing… I might as well move back to Lancashire,’ she said with an air of finality.

  You might as well, thought back Theodore.

  Diane wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. Then she bent down and grabbed a handful of soil and threw it at Theodore.

  ‘Sod off!’ she cried.

  But Theodore was already on the other side of the wall.

  ‘That’s right... You run home!’ she shouted after him.

  The sound of water from the bathroom had stopped.

  Diane wiped her hands on her skirt.

  ‘Goodbye Arthur,’ she said sniffing.

  Then she opened the gate and, entering the alley, slammed it shut behind her.

  Turkey Drumsticks, Chinese Chips and Thrush

  ‘What’s in the pie?’ Jonathan asked, chewing on a piece of chewy meat.

  It was Sunday evening. Emily had warmed the pie that Wendy had given her. She examined the reddish brown piece of meat at the end of her fork. ‘It’s certainly not chicken,’ she said.

  ‘I know that,’ Jonathan said, still chewing on the same piece of meat. ‘It’s a bit tough…’

  ‘Wendy gave it to us… Theodore found her rolling pin. She wanted to thank us. So she gave us this pie. I forgot to ask what was in it.’

  ‘It’s a bit tough,’ Jonathan repeated.

  ‘It’s different,’ Emily said, poking pieces of food around her plate.

  They both ate in silence for a couple of minutes.

  Then Emily put down her knife and fork and stood up. ‘Where is Theo?’ she said. ‘I’m surprised he’s not sniffing about when there’s food about.’

  She took the remote control for the tracker from the side and turned it on. She went into each room carrying the tracker in front of her. Returning to the dining room, she said, ‘I’m not sure this tracker thing is working.’

  ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve seen him since this morning.’

  She hurried out of the back door and made a quick inspection of the yard.

  ‘He’s not out here,’ she shouted back at the house.

  Jonathan joined her in the backyard as she struggled with the bolt to the gate.

  Once in the back alley, she consulted the tracker’s remote control again, pointing it up and down the alley.

  ‘I’ve got something,’ she said. Two, three, four LEDs lit up. ‘He’s this way.’

  ‘There he is,’ Jonathan said, pointing. ‘He’s up on top of Wendy’s wall.’

  ‘Come here, Theodore,’ Emily called. ‘Come to Mummy!’

  The pendant sitting on the crown of Theodore’s chest was blinking frantically and the little device was emitting a series of beeps. His cover was blown… Theodore turned his back to the pair.

  ‘He’ll come home when he’s ready,’ Jonathan said. ‘At least we know the tracker works… Let’s get back to our dinner.’

  ‘All right,’ Emily said. ‘But I don’t like that pie. I might put a pizza in the oven.’

  ‘Pepperoni?’

  ‘Yes. I think I’ve got one in the freezer,’ Emily said.

  ◆◆◆

  Theodore watched as they walked away. Then he turned his attention back to Wendy’s kitchen window.

  Wendy and Irene were sitting at the kitchen table. Wendy held a turkey drumstick in her hand and was working her way round it. Irene was forking chips into her mouth.

  ‘One pound forty nine pence,’ Wendy said.

  ‘That’s not bad,’ Irene said. She trimmed some meat from the bone with her knife and fork, her head bent over her meal. ‘Not bad at all. They’ve got a lot of meat on them.’

  Wendy took a gulp of tea. ‘The chips are all right too, aren’t they?’ she said. ‘Quite tasty.’

  ‘Yes. Not bad at all. You can’t beat Mr White for chips.’

  ‘These chips aren’t from Frank’s,’ Wendy said with a curt smile.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I bought them from the Chinese, the Lucky Twin... Thought I’d give it a go. They were five pence cheaper…’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Irene said, poking at the greasy yellow chips.

  ‘Go and look in the bin if you don’t believe me.’

  Irene went over to the bin in the corner. She pressed down the pedal with her foot. The top flipped open to expose a brown polystyrene tray.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve gone and bought your chips from the Chinese. You know as well as me that Frank White is struggling.’

  ‘You’re just annoyed that you couldn’t tell the difference.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘You are. You are annoyed because you didn’t notice the difference,’ Wendy went on.

  ‘That’s nonsense. I knew there was something wrong with those chips. I was just too polite to say.’

  Wendy laughed. ‘You couldn’t tell the difference between White and Wong,’ she said and slapped her thigh.

  Irene glared over at Wendy. ‘I need to go and walk Rocky,’ she said.

  ‘Do you want to take these turkey bones with you? I can wrap them up.’

  ‘Rocky doesn’t eat poultry bones,’ Irene said. ‘They give him the runs.’

  Irene got up from the table.

  ‘Well, see yourself out,’ Wendy called after her, popping a chip in her mouth.

  ◆◆◆

  Theodore wandered back up the hill, past his own house and noticed Belle, sitting on the back wall of Zeynep and Ahmet’s house. The two cats sat together while the Turkish couple watched television. Zeynep was sitting with her hands on top of her belly, fingers interlocked. In the corner of the room Theodore noted a leather holdall.

  The holdall had been packed and repacked several times in the last days. It contained Zeynep’s overnight essentials for when she was taken to hospital. The due date was looming, and the women in her family were not ones for being late.

  ‘I cannot believe that you were having sex with that woman,’ Zeynep said. ‘When I am expecting your baby…’

  Ahmet held his hands out before him. ‘OK, OK,’ he said. ‘I was with her. Is it so hard to understand? We haven’t had sex for months.’

  ‘It was uncomfortable for me,’ Zeynep said. ‘It’s not my fault.’

  ‘Yes, I understand. But I have needs.’

  ‘You have needs! You are not supposed to go sleeping around when your wife is pregnant with your baby. You disgust me. I wish you would just leave. I would be better off without you.’

  ‘But I pay the rent. I pay the bills. You need me. The baby needs me.’

  ‘You should have thought about that before you slept with that woman.’

  ‘She means nothing to me. It was just a mistake,’ Ahmet said. ‘It is over. Can you forgive me?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I can. Or want to.’

  ‘I will make up for it... I will. I will be the perfect father.’

  ‘Do you realize how unhappy I have been,’ Zeynep said, beginning to cry. ‘Ever since Bal went missing, everything has been just terrible.’

  ‘I promise I will change,’ Ahmet said. ‘I can make things better.’

  Zeynep glared at him.

  ‘I hate you,’ she told Ahmet. ‘I wish I had never married you.’

  ‘Zeynep. Please.’

  A tear slid down her cheek. ‘Bal is dead and I might as well be.’

  ‘She might return yet,’ Ahmet said. ‘Do not g
ive up hope.’

  ‘No,’ Zeynep said. ‘She is dead; I know it.’

  Yellow Fat Disease

  Theodore spent the next day catching up on some sleep. He did not wake till he heard Craig unlocking his front door. Time for some tuna, he thought, getting to his feet and stretching.

  The tuna dinners had become part of his daily routine. After he had wolfed down his saucer of tuna, he entered the house.

  Satisfied that Craig was in the toilet, he hurried upstairs. He had completed his search of Craig’s house but had failed to find any incriminating evidence. In the attic he noted that the telescope was still pointing at Diane’s bedroom window. The blue curtains were pulled shut even though it was still daylight.

  From downstairs, he heard three sharp raps on the front door. He flattened back his ears. In all the weeks of visiting Craig’s house, Theodore had never known him have a visitor.

  He heard the toilet flush. He jumped down from the back of the chair and raced down the stairs. As he reached the final flight, he saw Craig enter the hallway and approach the front door. Theodore stopped in his tracks halfway down the final flight. If Craig turned round now, he would see Theodore.

  Craig inched the front door open.

  Emily was on the other side, the remote control for the tracking device pointing at his chest. ‘Where is he?’ she demanded.

  Theodore’s tracker was beeping and flashing.

  Craig was speechless.

  ‘I know he’s in here.’

  ‘Nobody is here except me,’ Craig said, staring at the little black box his neighbour was holding. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘My cat,’ Emily said. ‘You’ve got him in here.’

  ‘I haven’t,’ Craig began.

  ‘I can see him,’ Emily cried. ‘He’s right behind you.’

  Craig turned round to see Theodore on the stairs, his front paws on a lower step to his rear ones.

  ‘I didn’t know he was in here,’ Craig stuttered. ‘I was in the bathroom. I must have left the backdoor open and he wandered in... I just gave him a little bit of tuna.’

  ‘Tuna!’ Emily screamed. ‘He doesn’t eat tuna… ‘It gives cats Yellow Fat Disease!’

  Emily pushed past Craig and grabbed Theodore up from the stairs. On her way out, she said, ‘If you want a cat, go buy your own… Just keep away from mine.’

  ◆◆◆

  Once back home, she petted Theodore while Jonathan made two mugs of tea. Her heart was still pounding.

  ‘I’m not going to let him out again,’ Emily said. ‘He’s going to be kept inside from now on.’

  Theodore dug his claws into Emily’s thighs in protest.

  ‘You can’t do that to Theodore,’ Jonathan said. ‘He loves it outside. He’s always in that back alley.’

  Emily inspected the tracking device that was fastened to his collar, glad that it had done its job.

  ‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘It would be mean to keep him locked inside all day. I just hope that that guy next door has learned that it’s not all right to feed someone else’s cat and let it in your house.’

  Theodore jumped down from Emily’s lap and padded through to the kitchen, before she could change her mind.

  Before jumping up onto the back wall, he sharpened his claws on the trunk of the clematis. He worked the bark for some minutes, the shreds joining the growing pile at the foot of the plant.

  Mikey’s Special Sausage

  The smoke from a dozen barbeques fused in the warm evening air. From the backyards came the smell of chicken wings, steaks, burgers, kebabs and sausages cooking over charcoal. The men stood by the makeshift grills, closely monitoring the cooking operation. Cans or little bottles of cold lager within easy reach.

  Michael and Philip also had a barbecue in their backyard that evening, and Theodore knew that their sausages were of a superior quality. Michael had bought a selection from a speciality butcher’s he had come across at the food fair in Parliament Street that afternoon. He’d opted for ostrich, venison with goose fat, wild boar, and rabbit with jalapeno.

  He was wearing a spotless blue and white striped apron over his clothes. He’d had his hair cut that day. Prematurely balding, he now had his hair clipped to within a millimetre of his head at least once a week. He had taken the precaution of smearing sun cream over his stubbly head before lighting the barbeque, but he could still feel his skin turning pink from the sun and heat from the charcoal.

  In his hand he held a pair of stainless steel tongs. He turned the spitting sausages and took a sip from his bottle of Belgian beer, a wedge of lime lodged in the neck.

  ‘I think this picture is going to be my breakthrough piece,’ he told Philip.

  ‘It’s just a drawing of the back alley,’ Philip said, taking a swig of beer. He had already downed two bottles while Michael was still on his first.

  ‘Well, you don’t look closely enough,’ Michael told him, turning a little pinker. ‘It’s all in the detail.’

  ‘I think your problem is that you can’t draw people… People don’t want empty streets and alleys. They need to be populated. They need to have human interest.’

  ‘I can draw people!’ Michael almost shouted.

  ‘I sat for you that time,’ Philip said, ‘and it looked nothing like me.’

  ‘You kept fidgeting,’ Michael said, his cheeks burning. ‘You wouldn’t keep still… How am I expected to draw someone when they’re moving about all the time?’

  Deciding to change the subject, Philip said, ‘How do you know which sausage is which?’

  ‘I put them in alphabetical order,’ Michael said. ‘The ostrich on the left. The wild boar on the right…’

  ‘Oh,’ Philip said.

  Theodore was sitting in the overgrown ivy on top of Michael’s wall. He had formed a nest within the plant, so that he was hidden from view. Below him was the barbeque. He eyed the four sausages, neatly lined up.

  ‘I’m going to have the ostrich and the wild boar,’ Michael told Philip.

  ‘Looks like I’m having the rabbit and the venison,’ Philip said.

  ‘Are you complaining?’

  ‘Of course not… I was just saying.’

  ‘Well, can you keep an eye on them while I go in and butter some baps? They’ll be done in a couple of minutes… Just make sure you don’t burn them.’

  ‘No problem,’ Philip said, taking Michael’s place in front of the barbeque.

  As soon as Michael was in the kitchen, Philip took from the pocket of his jeans a packet of cigarettes and lit one. He fiddled with the spitting sausages and then went to the corner of the yard, so that he could not be seen from the kitchen window. He was wearing a pair of bright yellow trainers and on his wrist he wore a gold watch which glistened in the sun.

  Theodore watched as Philip puffed on his cigarette and swigged from his bottle of beer, gazing up at the cloudless sky. Now was the time to strike.

  He got to his paws, jumped silently down into the yard and a second later was standing in front of the barbeque. He singled out the wild boar.

  He looked back across the yard. Philip was still smoking, his back to him.

  Theodore raised himself up onto his hind legs and, ignoring the fierce heat from the charcoal, dabbed at the end sausage so that it dropped onto the ground. It was still spitting fat as he bit into it. The sausage between his jaws, Theodore jumped back up onto the wall and down the other side. He dropped the sausage to the ground.

  It was too hot to eat, so he pawed it across the yard. The old couple who lived in the house next to Michael’s were nowhere to be seen, so Theodore decided to let it cool before transporting it to the safety of his own yard. From the other side of the wall, he heard Michael say, ‘What’s happened to my wild boar?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Philip said. ‘I really don’t know. I was standing over there, and when I looked round there were only three.’

  ‘You’ve eaten it, haven’t you?’

/>   ‘I haven’t. It’s just disappeared.’

  ‘Just disappeared? Do you think I’m stupid? Sausages don’t just disappear. I told you that I was going to have the wild boar. It was mine.’

  ‘But I didn’t touch your sausage,’ Philip protested. ‘Look Mikey... Someone must have sneaked in and taken it when I wasn’t looking.’

  ‘And don’t call me Mikey,’ Michael said. ‘You know I don’t like it.’

  ‘Sorry, I forgot,’ Philip said. ‘But I really didn’t take it, Michael. Somebody must have sneaked in and stolen it.’

  Theodore heard footsteps approach the back gate, and then the scraping of wood on concrete as the gate was pulled open.

  ‘There’s no one out here,’ Philip said, scraping the gate closed.

  ‘What a surprise,’ Theodore heard Michael mutter.

  While the two men were arguing over the missing sausage, Theodore took a bite from the end and began to chew. He had never eaten wild boar before. He wondered momentarily over the ethics of eating animals much larger than himself. Well, he hadn’t killed it, he thought, swallowing a piece of sausage.

  Next door he heard Michael say loudly: ‘It comes down to trust.’

  ‘I really didn’t take your sausage, Mikey.’

  ‘Don’t call me that!’

  ◆◆◆

  Ten minutes later Theodore carried what remained of the sausage through the cat flap. Jonathan was sitting at the dining room table, a newspaper laid out in front of him.

  Theodore jumped up and dropped the remaining piece of sausage onto the newspaper.

  ‘A present? For me?’ Jonathan said smiling. ‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said, patting Theodore on the head.

  Theodore pawed the sausage, so that it rolled towards Jonathan. He had decided that wild boar wasn’t for him. He should have gone for the ostrich…

  ‘But it looks like you’ve singed your fur,’ Jonathan said. ‘And you’ve got a pink nose.’