Page 56 of The Art of Loving You

Through my tears I laughed again, and this time it didn’t hurt quite so much.

It was an odd afternoon. Lovely, but odd. The thought that Socks was waiting for me at home made being out seem almost bearable. Sometimes I fixed my smile in place the way I had learned to do, my cheek muscles aching with the effort of curling my lips into a position that was forced and unnatural. On occasions Sid would make one of his jokes, and then my smile was genuine, spreading across my face before I realised it was there. Unsure how to feel about these brief periods when I was momentarily relaxed and unguarded.

I yawned.

‘It’s time you left.’ Sid began to gather his presents, his cards.

‘We don’t have to rush off,’ I said. Although I was worn out with trying to focus on the conversation,of pretending I was okay, I didn’t want Sid to be alone on his birthday.

‘I’ve got a game of bridge to play. You never know, I might make a few quid.’

‘Sid. You shouldn’t be gambling,’ Mum gently chided.

‘It ain’t my fault. Ethel wanted to play strip bridge. Offering her money was the only way I could persuade her to keep her clothes on,’ he whispered loudly.

My last smile of the day was for Sid, and Sid alone.

‘I’m counting my blessings today,’ he said. ‘And you should too, duck. It’ll all be okay, Libby. It usually is. I have a present for you before you go.’

He handed me a squashy silver parcel, wrapped with a big red bow. Intrigued I slipped off the ribbon. Inside the paper was Norma’s quilt.

‘Sid!’ I was overcome. ‘I can’t take this.’

‘You ain’t taking it, I’m giving it to you.’ He hugged me tightly. ‘You’re stronger than you think, Libby. If you want to do up the house, then you can.’

‘One square at a time,’ I whispered against his white shirt that smelled of tobacco and mint and comfort.

‘And you can send me photos as you go on that fancy phone. It does receive photos too?’

‘Yes. It does everything. You can even watch the horse racing on it and place a bet.’

‘Well there’s a thing. You see, Libby, life gets better when we least expect it, always.’

‘Can we stop at the Co-op, Mum?’ I asked on the way home. I needed cat food for Socks.

Mum parked. A figure I recognised strolled out of the shop.

Noah.

I groped for my bag while fumbling with the door handle to get out and call his name. I still owed him the money for the Lucozade and the paracetamol he had bought me at the churchyard that day, but before I could get out of the car he had ambled down the path leading to the house next to the shops, and let himself in with a key. I would repay my debt another time. I couldn’t face the inescapable questions from Mum and Alice if I were to knock on his door.

The carrier bag was heavy, laden with tins of Whiskas, a bag of litter, a feather on a stick and a stuffed mouse laced with catnip sticking out of the top.

‘I’ve got a cat now,’ I said by way of explanation when I climbed back into the car.

‘A cat? From where?’ Mum asked.

Distracted by thoughts of Noah, I answered, ‘Jack sent him.’

Mum and Alice exchanged a look before my sister said, ‘Jack …senthim?’

‘He … I …’ The judgement in the car stiffened my spine. ‘Socks is the cat me and Jack said we’d get.’ I didn’t care how it sounded.

I knew Jack had somehow sent him.

I justknew.

Back at my house, Mum and Alice insisted on coming in ‘to meet the cat’, their voices sceptical, not quite believing he existed.

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