Chapter Sixteen

I’m trying to forgive Bolan for the plant thing, but he’s making it pretty difficult when he’s standing on my head at half past six in the morning. I didn’t leave the shop until almost two o’clock last night (or this morning, technically) so I am not happy about the early wake-up call. I’ve pushed him off my face several times but he isn’t giving up and his paw is currently sliding from my forehead towards my eye. I’ve seen what he can do with those claws so, with a heavy sigh, I throw back the covers and stamp my way into the kitchen. I’ve tried locking the damn cat out of the bedroom, but he mews constantly until I surrender and open the door so he can curl up on the bed. Russell and Jed have spoiled him and turned him into a brat.

I try not to gag as I spoon gourmet salmon and whole shrimp cat food into Bolan’s dish. The smell is revolting during normal waking hours of the day, but it’s even more horrendous as it plops into the dish first thing in the morning. Bolan has no qualms about the stench, happily wolfing it down as though he hasn’t been fed for weeks, and I leave him to it, staggering back to bed. But I can’t drop off back to sleep and I end up giving up and dragging myself to the shower.

I make myself some scrambled eggs and strong black coffee to ward off the zombified mood due to the lack of sleep. I’m getting pretty good at scrambled eggs – I was afraid I wouldn’t cook the eggs properly and poison myself at first, but I’ve survived so far. The telly’s on in the background, some breakfast-news-type programme, but it feels weird once my breakfast has been dispatched with and I have nothing to do with my hands. I’m used to crocheting granny squares, but the project is over and I left my stuff at Gran’s yesterday. I have a scroll through Instagram, but it’s still early and my feed is pretty dead. Paul posted a meme earlier, and I tap the like button even though it isn’t that funny, before having another fruitless search for Sienna. I really wish I knew what her married name is, but I never made it to the wedding as it was so far away and I was afraid Grandad would have another stroke – or worse – while I was away, and it never occurred to me to ask her new surname. I guess we’d started to drift away from one another, even back then.

With nothing else to do (other than shoot daggers at Bolan, who’s curled up in his four-poster bed for a snooze) I head out of the flat and wander down to the promenade. The only shops open are the cafes and coffee shops, so I treat myself to an espresso and the fresh air and the caffeine is enough to jolt me fully awake. I don’t feel like going back to the flat, so I grab another coffee (just to make sure I’m fully alert) and make my way to Mum and Dad’s. They’re at work, so the house is empty and it feels odd being back even though I’ve only been away for just over a week. I pick up a few things – a couple more sets of clothes, my lime-green Converse, a packet of chocolate digestives that I vow to replace – before locking up again. I still don’t feel like going back to the flat (my feelings towards Bolan still aren’t favourable) so I take a detour to the upcycling shop Gran mentioned. If I can buy a replacement mug planter, I won’t have to admit to Gran that her gift ended up smashed on the kitchen floor.

The shop’s just opening up when I get there, and although there are no more Starbucks planters, I buy a different replacement for the poor plant currently residing in an empty Pot Noodle container. The new planter is made from a cute penguin mug, and I end up buying a lavender-filled teapot planter for Gran. I pop over on my way back to the flat, hoping she’s back from her morning lollipop lady duties, and find her pottering about in the front garden with a pair of secateurs. She’s stooping over some kind of flowering shrub, but she straightens as I open the gate.

‘Look at this beautiful lawn. James dragged the mower out of the shed yesterday and had a tinker until he got it working again. He’s a marvel, that boy. He really is.’ She returns her attention to the shrub, nipping at it with the secateurs. ‘My borders were letting the garden down, so I thought I’d have a tidy-up.’

I hope she doesn’t ask me to help. Dad’s the gardener in our family, and he definitely didn’t pass on the gene. I hate gardening – it’s a grubby, bug-filled, back-breaking chore that I’ll avoid at all costs. I’ve already formed an excuse to get the hell out of here should Gran suggest I don a pair of floral-patterned gloves and muck in.

‘I’m glad you’re here.’ Gran nips at the shrub again and takes a tiny step back to judge her handiwork. ‘You can help me with my new project.’

‘Actually, Gran, I can’t stay. I only came to drop this off.’ I hold up the paper bag hand-printed with the upcycling shop’s logo. ‘It’s a little gift.’

‘For me?’ Gran’s eyebrows rise as she looks up from the shrub.

‘The cat broke the planter you bought me, so I went to the shop to buy a replacement. They didn’t have the same planter, so I had to get another one. It’s cute. See?’ I pull the penguin mug-turned-planter out of the bag. ‘I hope you don’t mind about the original one. I wasn’t even there when it happened. I found it on the kitchen floor.’

‘Accidents happen.’ Gran pats me on the arm. She’s removed the gloves, and I realise we’re making our way down the side passage towards the kitchen. I’m supposed to be making my excuses and legging it, not sticking around.

‘Anyway, like I was saying.’ I stop halfway along the passage. I won’t go any further. Once I’m in that kitchen, I’ll be in it for the long haul. The kettle will be on. Floral gardening gloves will be donned and I’ll be prodding at the ground and praying there are no worms or spiders about. ‘I can’t stay. I just came to drop this off.’ I reach into the bag and find the handle of the teapot. I manoeuvre it out of the bag, careful not to break off the lavender sprouting from its middle. ‘I thought you might like it?’

‘Oh, Cleo, it’s lovely.’ Gran had continued down the passage, but she heads back to my safe-ish spot halfway along. ‘You sweet, sweet girl. Thank you so much. Let’s go and pop it on the kitchen windowsill and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

‘The thing is, I need to get back to the shop. There’s a delivery due. Spuds. Lots and lots of them, and Elliot can’t manage on his own. He’s only a kid, really, and Bridget will be busy getting the shop ready for opening.’

But Gran isn’t listening. She’s marched along the passage and has disappeared through the gate and into the back garden, which is most definitely the Danger Zone. Once you’re in the back garden, you’re practically in the kitchen and being roped into helping out.

‘Gran?’ I edge my way to the gate, poking my head around but not actually stepping foot into the garden. ‘I need to head off now. Okay?’ I wait a moment. Nothing. ‘Gran?’

I could just go. Run off before I find myself elbow-deep in compost. But I can’t. My mind wants to flee but my body is refusing to leg it. Instead, I’m shuffling into the garden. The steps leading up to the kitchen are right there . Danger! Danger!

‘Kettle’s on.’ Gran’s back at the door, beaming at me briefly before she disappears again.

‘I can’t stay. I have to be at the shop for a delivery.’

I’m in the kitchen. The most perilous place to be. I need to get out of here, and fast.

‘Doesn’t it look lovely?’ Gran’s gazing at the windowsill, where she’s placed the teapot planter. It does look pretty, with the light beaming in through the large window. ‘Are you having a cup of tea or one of James’ coffees?’

It’s tempting. Very tempting. But I know that one minute I’ll be enjoying a vanilla latte, the next I’ll be in the garden with damp patches on my knees and my skin itching at the possibility of a bug invasion.

‘I think you’ll enjoy this new crochet project more than the granny squares.’ Gran turns to wink at me as she turns the tap on at the sink to wash her hands. ‘And you’ll have a head start on James this time.’

Crochet project? Not gardening?

I’m across the kitchen and flinging open the coffee pod cupboard at lightning speed. ‘What are we making this time?’