beside the bin-bag full of clothes, was a cat-litter tray, which looked new but might have been merely scrubbed clean, and an unopened pack of six small tins of cat food. I shut the door and went back to the sofa. I picked up the sandwich, put it down again.
So what? Jo had had a cat once. Or maybe she still had a cat and it had gone missing because she'd gone missing and wasn't there to feed and stroke it. Perhaps it's dead, I thought, like ... I didn't finish that sentence. Or maybe she had been about to get a cat. I went back to the cupboard and took another look at the six tins. They were for kittens. So it looked as if Jo had been about to get a kitten. Why should that matter, apart from being one more poignant detail? I didn't know.
I pulled on my jacket and woollen hat and ran downstairs and out on to the street. I rang Peter's bell and he opened the door as if he'd been watching for me out of his window. His cat was asleep on the sofa, its tail twitching slightly.
'This is a nice surprise,' he said, and I felt a twinge of guilt. 'Tea? Coffee? Perhaps some sherry. Sherry's warming in this weather.'
'Tea would be lovely.'
'There's some I've just made, in the pot. It's as if I knew you were coming. No sugar, is that right?'
'That's right.'
'You'll have a biscuit this time, won't you? Though you're always in a rush. I see you running out of the house, running back in. You should slow down, you know.'
I took a digestive from the tin he held out. It had gone soft. I dunked it into the tea and ate it in three mouthfuls.
'I was wondering if I could get you anything from the shops,' I said. 'You probably don't want to go out much in this weather.'
'That's the beginning of the end,' he said.
'Sorry?'
'When you stop going out and doing things. I go out three times a day. I go in the mornings to the news agent for my paper. Just before lunch I go for a walk, even if it's raining like today, or icy cold. In the afternoon I go to the shops for my supper.'
'If you ever do need anything
'It's very kind of you to think of me.'
'What's your cat called?' I stroked its stippled back gently and pleasure rippled along its spine. It opened one golden eye.
'Patience. She's nearly fourteen now. That's old for a cat, you know. You're an old lady,' he said to the cat.
'I was wondering, did Jo have a cat too?'
'She wanted one. She said it would be companionship for her. Some people love dogs and some go for cats. She was a cat woman. What are you?'
'I'm not sure. So was she going to get one?'
'She came and asked me where she could find one; she knew I was a cat-lover too, you see. I've always kept them, ever since I was a child.'
'When did she come and see you?'
'Oh, a couple of weeks ago. Just before you arrived, I think. You should know, though.'
'Why should I know?'
'We talked about it together, when I met you on the day you moved all your stuff in.'
'The Wednesday?'
'If you say so. Anyway, don't you remember? She said she was going to get one.'
'When?'
'That afternoon, if she could find one. She seemed very keen on the idea. Said something about needing to set about making changes in her life, starting with the kitty.'
'So what did you say to her, when she asked where she should look?'
'There's all sorts of ways of finding a little kitty. For a start, you can look at the cards in the news agent and the post office. That's what most people do, isn't it? There's always something. I noticed a card today, when I was getting my paper.' The telephone started ringing on the table beside him and he said, 'Sorry, dear, will you excuse me. I think it must be my daughter. She lives in Australia, you know.'
He picked up the phone and I stood and put my cup in the sink. I waved at him as I left but he barely looked up.
I wanted to ring Ben and hear his voice. I had felt safe in his house, wrapped up in his warmth. But he was working and there was nothing I needed to say to him except hello, hello, I keep thinking about you.
It was already getting dark, although it was barely four o'clock. It had been the kind of dull, drizzly day when it never seemed to become properly light. I looked out of the window at the street, which had been covered with snow a few days ago. All colour seemed to have drained away. Everything was sepia and charcoal and grey. People walked past like figures in a black-and-white film, heads bowed.
I rewrote my Lost Days.
Friday n January: showdown at Jay and Joiner's. Storm out.
Saturday 12 January: row with Terry. Storm out. Go to Sadie's for night.
Sunday 13 January: leave Sadie a.m. Go to Sheila and Guy. Meet Robin for shopping spree and spend too much money. Meet Sam for drink p.m. Go back to Sheila and Guy's.
Monday 14 January: see Ken Lofting, Mr. Khan, Ben Brody and Gordon Lockhart. Phone Molte Schmidt. Fill car with petrol. Meet
Ben for drink, then meal. Sex with Ben. Phone Sheila and Guy to say not coming back for night. Stay night with Ben.
Tuesday 15 January: Go to cafe with Ben. Meet Jo. Ben leaves. Talk to Jo and arrange to move into her flat. Go to Sheila and Guy and leave note saying found somewhere to stay. Collect stuff from there. Go to Jo's flat. Book holiday in Venice. Phone Terry and arrange to collect stuff next day. Order Indian take away p.m. Make video?
Wednesday 16 January: collect stuff from Terry's and move it to Jo's. Meet Peter and talk about Jo getting a cat. Phone Todd. Go out and buy bonsai tree. Go to Ben's house p.m. Sex without condom. Go back to Jo's.
Thursday 17 January: Ring Camden police station to say Jo missing. Take first morning-after pill.
I stared at the list. Jo must have gone missing on Wednesday. Searching for a kitten. I wrote 'kitten' in large letters under the list and stared at it hopelessly. The telephone rang. It was Carol from Jay and Joiner's.
'Hi, Abbie,' she said, sounding warm. 'Sorry to disturb you.'
'That's all right.'
'I just got a strange phone call from a man who wanted to pass on a message to you.'
'Yes?' My mouth was dry.
'His name was hang on, I've written it down somewhere. Yes, here we are. Gordon Lockhart.' Relief surged through me. 'He wanted to have your address or your number.'
'You didn't give it to him, did you?'
'No, you told me not to.'
'Thanks. Go on.'
'I said he could write a letter to us and we'd forward it to you. But he said he just wanted to say thank you again.'
'Oh. Right.'
'And he said you should clip the roots every two years to stop it growing. Does that make sense? He went on about it. On and on. In the spring, he said. March or April.'
'Thanks, Carol. It's just about a tree. Keep me posted, will you?'
'Sure. And your old man got in touch all right?'
'My dad?'
'He's probably trying to phone you as we speak.'
'Dad?'
'He said he was trying to track you down. Wants to send you some present, but he's mislaid your new address.'
