Page 39 of Blindsided
“Not exactly,” I reply and grip the back of my neck.
She looks up at me in confusion.
I shrug. “I donated some money, and you getting to do this was one of my conditions.”
Her jaw drops, and she adjusts the cat in her arms. “How much money?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I scoff and usher her up the front steps. “It’s a great cause, and I love seeing you like this.”
Freya stops in front of the door and turns to face me. “I love you, Maclay Logan. You truly are my best friend.”
Her words hit me hard in the chest, but before I have a chance to respond, she turns and rings the doorbell. Within seconds, a girl with long black braids opens the door and gazes up at us curiously.
“Um, hi?” she says, glancing down at the kitten with a forlorn look on her face.
“Are you Shantay?” Freya asks, her voice garbled and full of emotion that makes a knot form in my throat.
Her parents emerge behind her with knowing smiles. “This is Shantay,” her father says, placing his hands on her shoulders with a big, proud smile.
Freya inhales deeply, hugs the kitten to her chest once more, dropping a soft kiss to its ear, and then says, “Happy Birthday from your parents.”
She passes the kitten into the unsuspecting girl’s hands. Shantay’s expression morphs from confusion to an almost angry look of shock. She turns to her mum and dad, and barks, “Is this for real? Is this a joke?”
“It’s real, honey,” her mum says, squatting down so she’s eye level with her daughter. She pets the kitten, and says, “Dad and I are so proud of how hard you’ve been working at school.”
“You got me a kitty?” she screams, and then her face contorts into full-on crying as she drops to her knees and sobs into the poor kitten’s fur. The cat clearly has no idea what’s happening as she lies limp in the arms of the girl who’s now gasping for breath. “You got me a kitty? Oh my God. Thank you, Mummy. Thank you, Daddy.”
The parents look up at us with grateful smiles, but their expressions fall when their eyes land on Freya. I step forward to see Freya is bawling just as hard as the girl. Maybe harder. I wrap my arm around her and wave to the parents, ushering my blubbering friend away from the seriously emotional scene.
“Are you okay? I thought you’d love this,” I say, squeezing her in tight to my side and rubbing my hand up and down her bare arm.
“I do love this, you idiot!” Freya croaks, sniffing loudly and wiping away her tears. “Crikey, I’m going to remember that little girl’s precious face for as long as I live!”
She clears her throat, and without warning, she launches herself into my arms, locking me in a seriously strong hug. “Thank you, Mac. Thank you so much.”
“Aye, sure,” I reply with a laugh, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. “We still have two more to go. Are you sure you’re up for it?”
“Oh, I’m up for it,” she says, jerking away from me and barrelling back towards Roger, who looks a wee bit terrified again.
I wish I could say the next two deliveries are less emotional, but they aren’t. Freya is a snotty, happy, smiling-through-her-tears mess. And with the last delivery, the wee kitten had a ring box attached to his collar, which meant Freya and I had front row seats to a man proposing to his girlfriend with the gift of a kitten. By the time we finish, even I’m bawling like a wee babe. Who knew delivering pets as birthday presents would be such an emotionally taxing job?
After we’re done, we end up in a dark restaurant tucked away in a cul-de-sac between Kensington High Street and Kensington Church Street called Maggie Jones’s. It has a cosy, rustic ambience that’s dark and romantic with melted taper candles propped in wine bottles and lighting so dim you can’t read the menu.
We split a bottle of red wine with pies and mash, and laugh out loud way too much for such a quiet, romantic setting. But recounting our evening thus far is just too much fun. I’m sure Roger had no idea what he was in for with the two of us going door to door, but I think we managed to make every pet delivery a special one.
Freya’s eyes haven’t stopped twinkling since we sat down, and I can tell this evening is already unforgettable for her. And I have to say, I actually manage to stop thinking about our plans for later because I’m completely enchanted watching Freya gush over the wee kittens.
“How did you get Hercules?” I ask, sipping my wine and admiring her red hair as it glows in the candlelight. “You’ve never told me the story. You didn’t have him in Manchester, did you?”
Freya’s brows lift. “No, he was a stray outside my London flat, actually. The neighbour said she thought he was living on the roof, and she was going to call animal control to come deal with him. I couldn’t bear the thought of that, so I left out a trail of tuna fish leading through my open fire escape window. He came in like he owned the place, and I quickly closed the window and then had a minor panic because I realised that I just locked a very possibly feral cat inside my flat with no real plan for what to do next.”
My body moves with silent laughter. “What did you do next?”
She shrugs. “I did what any normal hard-working girl from Cornwall would do. I gave him a scone, some jam, and clotted cream, and we’ve been best mates ever since.”
This brings a genuine smile to my face. “And why did you name him Hercules?”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “He’s a strong little bugger. I had to wrestle him into a cat carrier to take him to see the vet for the first time, and I nearly broke out in a sweat from all the effort. He’s quite fit, even if he is a good twenty pounds overweight. He’s what I call ‘buff fat’.”
