woman, who was very tall and solid, said it had been the runt of the litter and remained fragile. She had to admit that it also seemed to have something wrong with its eyesight. It bumped into things, she said, and stepped in its food. She picked it up and it sat in her large, calloused hand and mewed piteously.
I took Jo's photo out of my bag and showed it to her. 'Did our friend come round here asking about kittens?' I asked.
'What?' She put the tabby on the floor and peered at it. 'No, not that I know of. I'd remember, I'm sure. Why?'
'Oh, it's too long a story,' I said, and she didn't press me. 'We'll be going, then. I hope you find your kitten a home.'
'I won't,' she said. 'Nobody wants a blind cat, do they? I'll just have to take it to the cat sanctuary. Betty'll take her in.'
'Cat sanctuary?'
'Well, it's not really a sanctuary, that sounds too official. But she's cat-mad. Bonkers. She lives for cats; they're all she cares about. She takes in all the strays. She must have about fifty, and they're breeding all the time. Her house is only small as well. It's a sight, really. It must drive her neighbours mad. Maybe you should go there if you're looking for a kitten.'
'Where does she live?' I asked, taking out my notebook.
'Down Lewin Crescent. I don't know the number but you can't miss it. Poky little place and the upstairs windows are all boarded up. It looks deserted.'
'Thanks.'
We went back to the car.
'Lewin Crescent?' asked Ben.
'We may as well, now we're here.'
We found the place on the A-Z and drove there. It was wonderfully cosy in the car, but outside it was cold and the wind was a knife. Our breath plumed into the air. Ben took my hand and smiled down at me; his fingers were warm and strong.
The house was certainly dilapidated. There were weeds and frosted, rotten sunflowers by the front door, and the dustbin was overflowing. A wide crack ran up the wall and the paint on the window-ledges was coming away in large flakes. I pressed the bell but couldn't hear it ring, so I knocked hard as well.
'Listen,' said Ben. Through the door I could hear mews, hisses, a strange scratching. 'Have I told you I'm allergic to cats? I get asthma and my eyes go red.'
The door opened on a chain and the sound grew louder. A face peered through.
'Hello,' I said. 'Sorry to bother you.'
'Is it the council?'
'No. We've just come because we were told you have lots of cats.'
The door opened a bit more. 'Come in, then but be careful they don't get out. Quick!'
I don't know what hit us first, the wall of heat or the smell of meaty cat food, ammonia and shit. There were cats everywhere, on the sofa and the chairs, curled up near the electric heater, lying in soft brown heaps on the floor. Some were washing themselves, some were purring, a couple were hissing at each other, backs arched and tails twitching. There were bowls of food by the kitchen door, and three or four cat-litter trays next to them. It was like an obscene version of a Walt Disney film. Ben hung back by the door, looking appalled.
'It's Betty, isn't it?' I asked. I was trying not to wince. A cat was winding itself round my legs.
'That's right. You should know.'
Betty was old. Her face had folded. Her neck sagged. Her fingers and her wrists were blue. She was dressed in a thick blue shift with several buttons missing, and she was covered in cat hair. She had shrewd brown eyes, peering out from her wrecked face.
'We were told you take in stray cats and that sometimes you give them to people in search of a pet,' I said.
'I have to be sure it's to a good home,' she said sharply. 'I'm not easily satisfied. I don't just give them to anybody, I keep saying.'
'We think a friend of ours might have been here,' I said, and produced the photo of Jo.
'Of course she did.'
'When?' I took a step forward.
'You do go round and round in circles, don't you? But she wasn't right. She seemed to think you can just let a cat wander in and out as they please. Do you know how many cats get killed by cars each year?'
'No,' I said. 'I don't. So you didn't want her to have one of your cats?'
'She didn't seem too keen anyway,' said Betty. 'As soon as I said I had my doubts about her, she was out of the door.'
'And you can't remember when it was?'
'You tell me.'
'Midweek? Weekend?'
'It was the day the bin-men come. They were clattering around outside when she was here.'
'What day's that?'
'That would be a Wednesday.'
'So, a Wednesday,' said Ben, still standing up against the front door. 'Do you know what time?'
'I don't know why you have to be so pushy.'
'It's not that we're' I began.
'Morning or afternoon?' asked Ben.
'Afternoon,' she said grudgingly. 'They usually come when I'm giving the cats their tea. Don't they, pussies?' she added, addressing the room at large, which seemed to shift and ripple with the movement of cats.
'Thank you,' I said. 'You've been very helpful.'
'That's what you said last time.'
I froze with my hand on the door handle. 'Did I come here before?'
'Of course you did. On your own, though.'
'Betty, can you tell me when I came?'
'No need to speak so loudly, I'm not deaf. Or stupid. The day after, that's when you came. Lost your memory, have you?'
'Home?' said Ben.
'Home,' I agreed, then blushed violently at the word. He noticed and laid a hand on my knee. I turned and we kissed each other very gently, our lips hardly grazing. We kept our eyes open and I could see myself reflected in his pupils.
'Home,' he said again. 'Home to toast and tea.'
Toast and tea, and making love in an unlit room, while outside it grew colder and darker and we held each other for comfort. And for a while we didn't talk about sombre things, but did what all new lovers do, which was to ask about each other's past. At least, I asked him.
'I've already told you,' he said.
'Have you? You mean, before?'
'Yes.'
'Isn't that odd, to think that I'm carrying all these things inside me things that were done to me, things you've said to me, secrets, gifts and I don't know what they are? If I don't know, is it the same as it never having happened, do you think?'
'I don't know,' he said. I traced his mouth with one finger; he was smiling in the darkness.
'You'll have to tell me again. Who was before me?'
'Leah. An interior designer.'
'Was she beautiful?'
'I don't know. In a way. She was half Moroccan, very strikin.'
'Did she live here?' I asked.
'No. Well, not really.'
