A Christmas Cracker: The only festive romance to curl up with this Christmas!. Trisha Ashley

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СКАЧАТЬ his little ways and he’s very vocal,’ I conceded, and then, like music to my ears, a far-away, familiar wailing noise began to slowly work towards what I knew would be an ear-splitting crescendo.

      ‘Pye? He’s – still here?’ I demanded.

      ‘I— yes, but I’m not sure where we stand about …’ she began, but I was already heading for the inner door.

      She moved quickly to block me. ‘I’m afraid that visiting time for future rehomers has finished for the day, but if you could come back tomorrow, when I’ve had a chance to discuss the matter with the manager—’

      I faced her. ‘I’m going to see my cat now,’ I stated, and I expect I was giving off a powerful vibe that I was prepared to knock her down and trample over her to do so, if necessary, because she backed away a little.

      ‘Please,’ I added, attempting an ingratiating smile that was probably scarier than my previous expression. ‘I’ve missed him so much.’

      ‘Oh, well …’ she said, giving in suddenly and ushering me through the swinging door to the cattery. ‘Let’s see if he recognises you.’

      We walked down a short corridor and then along a row of cages, the unusual wailing noise now rising and falling like some kind of demonic lullaby.

      In the very last pen, thin, angry and bristling with displeasure, was a very large black cat. He stopped wailing and stared at me coldly from mismatched eyes, one blue, one green.

      ‘Pye?’ I whispered tremulously.

      He turned his back disdainfully and sat down.

      ‘He doesn’t exactly seem pleased to see you,’ the girl commented.

      ‘He’s just angry with me because he thinks I abandoned him,’ I explained. ‘Pye? I came back as soon as I could.’

      Pye, his back still turned, began to wash one paw, as if he wasn’t listening.

      ‘You are sure this is your cat?’

      ‘Yes, of course it’s my cat! Could you let me inside the pen?’

      ‘Sooner you than me,’ she said, unlocking it so I could step in. ‘And I wouldn’t touch him, because he’s all claws and teeth and …’

      Pye, when I picked him up, made a weird snarl and then went limp and heavy. I held him in my arms and a fat tear dropped onto his sharp, furry face. ‘Oh, Pye, I’m so sorry!’ I told him.

      He gave a galvanic jerk, painfully rabbit-kicking me, before scrambling up and attaching himself like a burr to my neck, where he butted my chin so that my teeth clicked together. There was more angry grumbling.

      I turned, holding him and laughing. ‘That’s my Pye!’

      ‘Well, he wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, but he certainly seems glad to see you, in his way,’ she conceded.

      ‘Come on, Pye, let’s spring you,’ I said, carrying him out into the corridor. ‘This is the day we both get out of prison!’

      ‘But I’m afraid that’s impossible,’ the girl said. ‘Since he was signed over to us for rehoming, he’ll have to stay here while we go through that process – you know, inspect your house and suitability as an owner and—’

      ‘Don’t be daft,’ I said shortly. ‘I lost my home and fiancé when I went to prison and I’ve only just got out.’

      She flinched. ‘But we have to make sure they go to suitable homes.’

      ‘Look, the cat is mine, he’s microchipped in my name and was given away illegally and without my permission. And anyway, if you think you can detach him from me, go ahead and try!’

      She accepted defeat.

      ‘I suppose in the circumstances … though we’ll have to go and do some paperwork and I’ll need an address.’

      ‘I have a job with living accommodation, so he’ll be fine,’ I assured her, though not in the least certain how Mercy Marwood felt about cats, especially cats like Pye.

      But I filled in the form with my new address and had to pay her some money before she would sign him over to me. My cash was fast running out, but I also purchased a cardboard pet carrier into which, with extreme difficulty, I inserted Pye.

      It was now four o’clock and I needed to be at Mote Farm by five, to be tagged, and while it was only about twenty miles away, I suspected it would be a long and convoluted journey by train and bus – and Pye was already working on shredding the box. I counted what was left of my money and then got the receptionist to call me a taxi.

      Due to the miracles of satnav I was dropped off at dusk, at the bottom of a narrow tarmac road which apparently led to Mote Farm, my destination.

      Paying the taxi took every last penny I had and then I trudged wearily off up the road, trundling my laden suitcase and weighed down by the cat carrier. The hills enclosing the narrow valley cast a dark shadow over it, but the lights were lit behind the curtains of the short terrace of workers’ cottages that Mercy told me about.

      The shape of the mill loomed up, closed and silent, and I turned to cross a stone bridge towards the drive that led up to the distant house, the cat seeming to get heavier with every step.

      I had to keep stopping to rest, and Pye was getting crosser and crosser. But at last I trudged over another stone bridge that spanned a narrow moat, mocked by the quacking of ducks beneath. The house stretched out on either side of the porch with the glimmer of light showing the edges of inner wooden shutters.

      I put Pye down again and pulled at a ring in the huge ancient door that pealed a distant bell. It swung open so quickly that Mercy Marwood must have been standing right behind it.

      ‘My dear, there you are!’ she cried, as if she’d been expecting my arrival at that exact moment. ‘Come in, come in. Welcome to Mote Farm.’

      I stepped into a long, paved entrance hall lined with flickering electric candles in old iron brackets and immediately put down the cat box and luggage again. I swear my arms had stretched at least six inches during the walk up the hill.

      The pet carrier began to move about, growling, like a strange, rectangular and very vocal giant jumping bean and Mercy looked down at it with surprise.

      ‘Now, what’s this?’ she said.

      ‘I’m afraid I had to bring my cat,’ I began to explain nervously.

      ‘Of course you did!’ she agreed. ‘Come into the drawing room and we’ll let the poor creature out – he really doesn’t like being in there, does he?’

      ‘To be honest, he doesn’t like most things,’ I warned her.

      ‘He and my brother, Silas, are clearly destined to be soulmates, then,’ she said with a giggle, hoisting the cat carrier with amazing ease. ‘Come on, let’s introduce them!’

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