Page 67 of In Italy for Love

She was just thinking about cooking something for lunch when she noticed Attila’s food bowl on the windowsill was still full.

‘He’s probably fine,’ she muttered to herself and tried to swallow the panic in her throat. But she abandoned her own plans for food to look for him. He wasn’t in Alex’s living room, on the tatty sofa with the throw blanket on it, where they’d watched an old thriller and fooled around last night. The only things in the workshop were Alex’s neatly packed tools and the carcass of the poor red accordion. She even checked under the table and behind the curtains.

Alex’s room was similarly empty and although she felt justified in checking in his cupboard, she immediately regretted intruding when she found a framed photo of a smiling woman with dark eyes and olive skin, giving the camera a scrunched-up smile that couldn’t hide how beautiful she was – dainty and good-tempered.

The photo was stacked on top of a moving box, lying carelessly face up, as though he’d stashed it in the cupboard in a hurry – because Jules was now spending time in his room?

Placing the photo of Laura carefully back where she’d found it, she returned to the immediate problem of weather plus missing cat. She’d bet that Attila had found a cosy fireplace somewhere in a luxury hotel to see out the storm, except that she hadn’t seen any luxury hotels anywhere around here and even that diabolical cat couldn’t drive.

When she went to the front door and peered out, keeping a hand on Arco’s back to communicate that he should stay inside with her, the rain was falling in sheets and the occasional crack could be heard in the courtyard. It wasn’t thunder. It sounded like two stones clapping together.

Peering hopefully around the courtyard, Jules called for the cat, not sure if he would come for her anyway. ‘Attila! Here, puss! Micio!’ she called, trying the pet name that Alex called him and making kissy noises.

Another crack sounded and this time Jules saw where it came from. A chunk of ice the size of a chestnut had slammed into the ground in front of her. As she watched, smaller balls landed beside it, until the rain slowly turned to what looked like polystyrene beans, streaming to the ground.

She gritted her teeth, torn with indecision. She’d never find the cat if she wandered the streets, surely. He would have taken refuge somewhere. But what if he hadn’t?

Perhaps the cat did have more sense than she did, because she shrugged into her still-damp jacket, gave Arco a treat before locking him in and then headed out into the storm. The wind whipped at her when she made for the car park and the sodden vegetable gardens at the back. She wasn’t even sure the cat would hear her over the wind and the hail, but she kept up her calling, checking under cars and behind the bins and in Alex’s shed, but Attila was nowhere to be found.

She was about to trudge back to the courtyard and search out on the street, when she heard a distant miaow. Hurrying back in the direction she thought she’d heard it, she couldn’t see him, but the sound came again – from behind the wall. Grabbing a rusty drum, she clambered up and peered over to find a rushing creek that she’d never known was there.

It was a kind of rudimentary storm drain – or a creek bed that was used as one. And over the other side of the rushingwater was a sodden white cat, all bones and enormous, terrified eyes with his fur plastered to him.

The drum wobbled alarmingly and Jules couldn’t reach him from where she was anyway, so she climbed down quickly and rang Alex.

‘A-A-Attila!’ she said as soon as he connected the call. ‘He’s stuck – near the water. I’m going to try to get him.’

‘Jules, where are you? Wait there. I’m nearly home anyway.’

‘He’s in danger, Alex. Near the creek at the back of the house.’

‘Whatever you do, don’t go near the water!’

‘I’ll meet you on the other side. Come quickly!’ she finished urgently as she ran for the courtyard. Pulling up the map on her phone, she located the other side of the creek and set off at a sprint, a smattering of hail bouncing off her shoulders.

There was a car park on the other side, sheltered by trees that weren’t providing cover that day. Twigs were scattered already and a layer of hail blanketed the ground like marbles. Wading through thick bushes, Jules made her way to the place where she’d seen Attila and threw herself at the stone wall, leaning over.

Her heart stopped when she realised he was no longer there. Alex would be devastated, losing his connection to Laura. Even more than the old house that had once been hers, Attila was a living thing that his wife had cared for and Jules was devastated for him just imagining the grouchy old cat never coming home.

‘Attila!’ she called frantically. ‘Micio! Pspsps micio!’ There was no response. Desperation climbing up her throat, she threw her hands up and cried with inarticulate frustration. Swiping at the moisture on her face, she shook her head to clear it and then threw one leg over the wall, shimmying into the weeds on the other side.

Negotiating the stony bank with one hand on the wall, she stepped carefully, following the direction of the water andcombing the banks for any sign of him. There was a flash of something near the bridge where the main road crossed the creek, but she couldn’t see properly.

Letting go of the wall, she clutched at the long grass and skidded down towards the rushing water.

‘Jules!’ came Alex’s deep voice from above her. ‘What are you doing? Come back up here! It’s dangerous!’ She was vaguely aware of his voice growing nearer. ‘Jules!I’m serious. Don’t go near the water!’

Her heart nearly stopped when she came close enough to see the pale smudge she’d noticed from above. Wedged between two bushes with the water swelling around his little body was Attila. She couldn’t tell if he was moving.

‘No!’ she cried, placing one foot in the water. ‘He’s here!’ she called back. ‘He’s stuck! I can get him.’

‘No, Jules. I’m coming to help. Don’t go after him alone, you’ll?—’

With a splash, she slipped to her waist in the water, and then the drenched ball of fur was within reach and she grasped him with both hands, relieved, but also alarmed when he didn’t protest. Tucking his surprisingly frail little body into her arm, she grabbed at the bushes and stumbled back towards Alex, only now realising how strong the current was.

She managed to haul herself back out of the water, but she was grateful for Alex’s strong grip to pull her all the way back up the bank.

‘What were you—? That was— Putane—Fuck, Jules!’

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