‘Not a good idea, Sonya.’

Lara coughs, a code for her man. ‘We need to get going for your medical appointment.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s right, yes.’

Poor, pathetic man.

‘A friend from golf, did you say? D’you mean Gerry and Olive? I’ll pop in on them on my way home. Not too far out of the way.’

Lara clatters dishes loudly.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ my father blurts. ‘It’s not them, anyway.’

‘That dog has landed in a great big house,’ Lara says as she spritzes and scrubs. ‘Ken Dunne, the solicitor. You should be grateful to your father and not hound him like that.’

My father stares at her as she mutters under her breath, ‘Don’t draw me into this.’ She used to love taking that stance, particularly after she’d stirred a dollop of hostility and a sprinkling of venom into whatever row was brewing, and then would sit back to watch me lose it with one of my tantrums.

‘Look, Sonya. It’s not wise that you go barrelling in there, ok? Trust me. I’ll handle this my way.’

‘Two days, Dad. Forty-eight hours. That should be plenty of time to get him back. Now, I’d better leave you two to get to your appointment. Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘Just a routine check-up.’

‘Right so. Thanks for looking after Tommy so well, that day.’ I put emphasis on the last two words, so as to give shape to the absence of all the other times.

My father kisses me hastily on my cheek, as if he’s guilty of being disloyal.

I step down on the accelerator, the act as much a celebration as a desire to get back to Marmie, whose cries have been filling my ears. Having Herbie back will make all this so much easier. He’ll tend to the kitten as well as he did to Tommy. There were occasions, just a few, where I left the two them of alone, when I had to run to the local shop for supplies and couldn’t face the fact of leads and buggies.

Marmie is trapped, this time under the settee. I drag the couch away from the wall and as soon as I lift her she relaxes in my hands. I research ‘separation anxiety’ in puppies and kittens and it nearly kills me the pain they go through when separated from their pack. Need to get the little thing used to the idea of me coming and going, so I try the trick of going out for five minutes, then twenty, then two, then forty. Confuse and reassure. Arrange favourite treats, pieces of cheese, tuna, stuffed inside socks and plastic containers, turn soothing classical music on. I can now leave the room without being greeted by a shivering wreck on my return. Call David, arrange a walk in the park. This time I’ll demonstrate how ‘normal’ I can be by leaving the kitten at home.

32

My overzealous application of perfume, a sweet flowery concoction – perhaps it’s gone off? – swirls about me in the wind, gathering in intensity. My lank hair is whipping across my eyes, making them water, my cheeks more red than usual. I have noticed more broken veins on my delicate skin recently, and the application of old, caked foundation does little to tamp down my high colour. I see him, pacing along the edge of the pond, hands deep in his pockets, and have to fight a desire to bolt. My voice, when it makes itself heard, is a bubbling cauldron of unmediated bullshit: ‘Hi there, great to see you, windy day, nippy too, kitten home alone, getting Herbie back, cleaned the house in preparation, beyond excited, will he take to the kitten? – hopefully they’ll be pals…’