My brain reels with everything she’s telling me. I try to focus. Of course I’ll help, I say. We’ll get you out.
‘Well, we have to try,’ she says. She sounds so adult and exhausted. It makes it all real. I feel it in my tail, the horror.
Up in the bedroom, Ted groans. His head must be very sore. The bed creaks as he turns over. His feet hit the floor with a thump. I hear him shuffling, bare feet on tile. The shower comes on.
‘Olivia,’ he calls, thick. ‘Kitten.’ The music grows louder.
‘You have to go to him,’ Lauren says. ‘You have to act normal.’ I hear a very small sound that could be a sob. She tries really hard not to let it out.
I pad upstairs and into the bathroom. Steam wreathes, water beats the tile. Some cats don’t like water, I know, but I’ve always loved it here. The interesting scents, the steam that frames the air in delicate wisps, the taste of warm drips from the tap.
Ted stands under the running water, hair flat and shining like a seal. Water strikes him in metal darts. He is in his undershirt and underwear, as always. Wet fabric is gathered in translucent rucks over him like an ill-fitting second skin. His body never sees the light. The scars show through in ridges. Drunkenness comes off him in waves, I can almost see it, mingling with the steam.
I search and search for a sign, some indication of the great change that has taken place between us. But he seems just as usual, like he gets when he goes back into the past and gets stuck.
‘Teddy went to the lake with Mommy and Daddy,’ he says, resting his forehead against the wall. His voice is small and far away. ‘And the Coca-Cola was cold and freezy in the glass. The ice made music on the rim. And Daddy said, “Drink it all up, Teddy, it’s good for you.”’
He turns off the shower, groaning as if it is a painful act. He goes into the bedroom. I follow, watching as closely as if I had never met him before. Maybe I haven’t. He bends his head and his back heaves. I think he’s crying.
Now it’s my job to purr and wind myself around him and nudge him with my head until he laughs. But now the walls seem to hum and buckle. Bad things scuttle through my mind and everywhere. Hatred for him washes over me so strongly that I become a tall arch and my fur stands up in quills. I wish the cord had bound me to anyone except him.
Why are you doing this to Lauren? I ask, wondering if he’ll reply. There isn’t a good answer, and I can’t stand to think about the bad ones.
But I have to be normal. I have to try. I purr and nudge my head into his hand. Each place our flesh meets is cold. He turns the music up loud.
So, this is why the lord asked me to stay here, that day when I almost escaped. I thought it was to help Ted, but it was for Lauren.
Ted
I am kind of crazy today. The green boys were loud in the attic last night. So it’s no surprise that this morning I went away for a little. Stress.
When I came back I knew where I was before I even opened my eyes. I could smell the street and the forest, the asphalt, the rotting scent of trash in the bins. Garbage day. I knew what I would see when I opened them. And there I was, like I knew I would be, in front of the yellow house with the green trim, the blinds down, the emptiness of it seeming to echo out into the street, and all through the world.
Maybe Chihuahua lady is dead. Maybe it’s her ghost that keeps making me go to her house. I am imagining it now. My eyes blank and gone, her grey, transparent hand taking mine, leading me to that spot on the sidewalk in front of her house, making me go there again and again until I realise – what?
The only way to end the stress is to figure stuff out with Lauren. So I have to ask the bug man the question. I’ve been trying to lead up to it carefully, but things are getting out of hand. I have to figure out what Lauren is. What they are, I guess.
In the meantime, I have made a decision: I can’t keep putting my life on hold for my daughter and my cat. I have to do something for myself occasionally, or I’ll be unhappy, and an unhappy parent isn’t a good parent.
So I have a date tomorrow. Something to look forward to!
Olivia
I have to wait a few days before I can speak to her again. Ted always seems to be around, drinking and singing along to sad songs. When I row through the freezer door she doesn’t answer.
Three nights later, he goes out. He’s whistling and his shirt is clean. The door closes behind him and the three locks thunk into place. Where is he going?
I count to one hundred, to give him time to get far away, or to come back for his wallet or whatever. The lady on the record player moans quietly about her home town. I race to the kitchen and scratch on the freezer.
Are you OK? I am rowing in distress. Are you there?
‘I’m here.’ Her voice is faint under the record. ‘Is he really gone?’
Yes, I said. He had a clean shirt on. That usually means he’s on a date.
‘Gone hunting,’ Lauren says. She hates it when he dates. Now I
