Chapter Eleven

There’s a lot of stuff in Jed and Russell’s living room, but it’s all neatly in its place. There’s floor-to-ceiling shelves in the alcoves either side of the fireplace, one crammed with DVDs (retro, but maybe Jed and Russell are like Dad, who refuses to stream and still uses a DVD player) and the other filled with books, CDs (more retro-ness. Haven’t they heard of Spotify?) and Jed’s curling trophies. There are photos everywhere – canvases on the walls, framed photos on the mantelpiece, windowsill and sideboard, and even the throw cushions on the sofa depict their owners, with Bolan (the cat) in the middle and his humans either side. The cat is currently curled up in a hammock-type bed hung from the radiator, and he has another bed, an actual four-poster in miniature with a teal satin duvet and matching pillow, underneath the window.

‘He’s actually pretty low-maintenance.’ Jed has spotted me looking at the mini bed with dismay. I mean, that’s pretty weird, isn’t it? Having a four-poster bed for your cat ? It wouldn’t look out of place in a boutique. If it was bigger and intended for human use. ‘He eats twice a day – his pouches are in the fridge – and he’s fully house-trained. His litter tray is in the hall.’

We’ve just passed through the hall, and I didn’t spot a litter tray. I head back out there, just to be sure. Nope, no litter tray.

‘It’s really easy to manage.’ Russell stoops down and flips the lid up off the brown leather ottoman in the corner. ‘You can take the tray out and empty it really easily. I’ll show you where the bag of litter is.’

There’s a hole cut out of the side of the ottoman, so the cat can pop inside and do its business in privacy, but I don’t have time to marvel over the luxurious kitty litter tray because Jed and Russell have already left the hall. I scuttle after them, passing back through the living room and into the kitchen. It’s a tiny room, but it still manages to look showroom-like, with its geometric tiles, white glossy cupboard doors and gleaming chrome fittings.

‘The kitty litter’s in here.’ Russell opens one of the cupboards. There are only three cupboards in the kitchen, but this one is dedicated to the cat’s needs, with bags of kitty litter, a stack of little bowls, a grooming kit consisting of brush, comb and a toothbrush and toothpaste , and a tin of treats, which Russell takes out now. ‘He has a treat once a day .’ Russell eyes Jed as he says this, an eyebrow cocking as his head tilts to one side.

‘What? Sometimes I forget he’s already had something.’ Jed looks down at the floor as he says this. He doesn’t forget at all.

This cat means the absolute world to them, I realise as I follow them back through to the hall so they can show me the bathroom and bedroom. It’s a little nerve-wracking, to be honest. I’ve never had to look after anyone before, unless you count Grandad after his stroke, but at least then I only had to follow Mum and Gran’s lead. Now I have sole responsibility for a living thing. I need to add ‘keep the cat alive’ to my grown-up to-do list.

‘I think that’s it.’ Russell claps his hands together. ‘The new rota’s on the fridge as well as downstairs in the shop. One of the temps is starting tomorrow, but Bridget will show them the ropes, and she’s going to deal with the early-morning deliveries. She’s up at the crack of dawn anyway, apparently. You’ll have to deal with the other temp on Tuesday, but you’ll be fine. You’ve got this.’ He clamps his hand down on my shoulder. ‘You have got this, right?’

I bob my head up and down, trying to convince myself as well as Russell. ‘I’ve got this. You go off and look after Pauline. I’ll be fine. The shop will be fine. Bolan will be fine. I promise.’

Russell hesitates for a moment before he takes a deep breath, gives a curt nod of his head and picks up the holdall at the foot of the bed. Hitching it onto his shoulder, he grabs one of the suitcases and extends its handle before dragging it across the bedroom carpet and out into the hall. Jed grabs the other suitcase and a rucksack from the bed and follows while I ponder exactly why they have so much luggage for a week with Russell’s mum. I have a few changes of clothes, my washbag and hairdryer (in case I’m inclined to use it. I’m usually not), a couple of pairs of pyjamas and my bullet journal stuffed into a carrier bag.

‘You have our mobile numbers and the landline at my mum’s.’

I’ve followed the guys down to the car, which Jed is busy packing their luggage into while Russell flaps a bit more. ‘There’s a bunch of emergency numbers on the fridge. The vet’s is on there in case Bolan takes ill.’ He performs the sign of the cross, even though he isn’t religious and hasn’t stepped foot in a church since his sister’s wedding twenty-odd years ago. ‘And there’s the names and numbers of the plumber and electrician we’ve used in the past. Fingers crossed you won’t need them, but they’re there, just in case.’

‘Better safe than sorrowful.’ Jed closes the boot and joins me and Russell on the pavement. The pair look at the fish and chip shop, Russell with his lips pressed into a thin line, Jed swallowing hard as they gaze at the signage.

‘You’re not leaving the place forever.’ I roll my eyes as I nudge them towards the car. I won’t hesitate to slap them if they start to blubber. ‘You’ll be gone for a week. Two, max.’ I catch Russell’s eye, to make sure this is still the deal and they’re not trying to pull a fast one.

‘You’re right.’ Russell kisses me on the cheek. ‘Take care of our babies, won’t you?’

‘I will.’ I give them another nudge before standing back. They climb into the car, giving a cheery wave before they set off, T. Rex’s ‘I Love to Boogie’ blasting from the stereo. I wave until they disappear around the corner and then head back up to the flat. My new home for the next week or two.

Bolan is still nestled in his radiator hammock, none the wiser that his owners have left him. I wrestle my bullet journal from the carrier bag I dumped on the sofa earlier and flip to my grown-up to-do list. I add the point about keeping the cat alive and cross out ‘Move out of Mum and Dad’s ASAP’ before settling down with the remote. It may be cheating, since I haven’t technically moved out , but it gives me a little boost anyway.

What’s your favourite film?

I send the message to Paul while I’m browsing Jed and Russell’s vast selection of DVDs. They have at least a hundred lined up on the shelves in the alcove but none of them are catching my interest. I’m the same with Netflix and Amazon Prime; I spend longer browsing than I do watching whatever it is I finally decide on. There are loads of films I know of on the shelf but have never watched ( The Breakfast Club , Vertigo , all the Indiana Jones films) and some I’ve never even heard of ( East of Eden , Midnight Cowboy , St. Elmo’s Fire ). There are films I’ve seen – some I’ve even enjoyed – but my eyes flick past them. A few hours into flat-sitting and I’m already bored and restless. Claire’s downstairs, but she’s working and she’ll be picking Arlo up from school and doing ‘mum’ things once she’s finished her shift, like feeding the boy, homework, bath and bedtime, all while trying to squeeze in her studies. Gran will be off doing her volunteer work and Mum and Dad will be at work.

My world, I realise, is very small. But Paul is going to change that. He’s going to open up my world again, expand it beyond Clifton-on-Sea and The Fish & Chip Shop Around The Corner.

My phone buzzes with a message from him. His favourite film is The Dark Knight , which I’m pretty sure is a Batman film. It isn’t my kind of thing, but I scour the DVDs anyway in search of it. Watching Paul’s favourite film will make me feel closer to him. Russell and Jed have a copy of A Knight’s Tale , but no Batman films. I slide A Knight’s Tale off the shelf anyway – it’s a close enough match, I suppose, especially as they both star Heath Ledger.

I manage approximately five minutes before I pick up my phone and message Paul again, and I have no idea what’s going on in the film by the time the exchanges dry up. I stop the DVD and pop it back on the shelf before having a wander around the flat in search of something to do to stave off the boredom. I almost wish I’d brought my crochet project with me, just so I’d have something to keep me occupied.

I need to get out of this flat for some fresh air. Craziness has clearly started to kick in.

I walk around the corner to the seafront, my hands stuffed into my pockets to ward off the chill in the air. The seafront is pretty much deserted, with only a couple of dog walkers down on the beach and the odd person wandering past the shops, most of which are shuttered. It’s low season now, but in a few weeks all the shops will be open and the seafront will be packed with tourists. The town will be bustling and we’ll have to take on seasonal workers in the chippy to keep up with demand. High season is my favourite time in the shop. We’re rushed off our feet and I always fall into bed in an exhausted heap, but the atmosphere changes in those few months. The tourists arrive to enjoy their holidays and days out, jubilant at the small window of freedom and relaxation. People are happy and their good mood spreads throughout the whole town, bringing the place to life again.

Across the road, a figure dressed in a navy suit catches my eye. It’s the hair I recognise, the brown curls swept back into a short ponytail. James is striding past the shuttered rock shop, a takeaway cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other as he strides along the pavement. My hand is halfway out of my pocket so I can raise it in greeting before I come to my senses and stop myself, shoving it deeper into the pocket and out of harm’s way. I was about to wave at James, the would-be granny seducer. The craziness has most definitely set up camp.

Head down, I scurry back to the flat and give A Knight’s Tale another go.