In the afternoon Kate made me go to the pet shop and get a kitten starter pack. You don’t need much, really, only kitten food, a litter tray, and cat litter, which weighs, like, a ton and took me ten minutes to carry fifty yards to the shop.

We all piled into Kate’s car, and I got the giggles, because if you’d told me I’d ever end up in a bashed-up Mazda with Kate, Emma, and Pat on a Saturday night, taking a kitten to an old guy’s home in Putney so that he can have a reason to live, I would have told you you were totally crazy.

Emma was holding the kitten (one of the nondesigner ones, obviously, and possibly the one that had bonded with Bill that one time), and I was holding its accessories.

Before we got out of the car, Pat checked her face in the mirror and put some more apricot-colored lipstick on. I didn’t know at the time that it was her war paint, and so I may have rolled my eyes.

When we got to the front door, Kate rang the doorbell.

Then she rang it again.

And again.

And again.

Kate (knocking like a crazy person): Fer goodness’ sake, open yer bloody door, ye stubborn old man.

Emma (eyes wide, looking at me):…

Me (whispering): So Scottish.

Kate: Excuse me, are you making fun of me? Because I’m not in the mood. Bill. I’m gonna kick yer door in.

Emma, Pat, and I:…

Kate: Of course I’m not going to kick a door in, don’t be ridiculous.

Pat (knocking): Bill, we’re all here. It’s rude to ignore people who are calling to check on you.

Emma: Maybe he’s out.

Pat: He’s not out. He’s ignoring us. Melanie would be so disappointed. Well, there’s nothing for it …

And then she started rummaging around her handbag, got out her wallet, opened the change compartment, pulled out a tiny screwdriver, and shoved it into the lock.

Emma: How do you know how to—

Pat: You think because I’m old I’m incapable?

Emma: No, it’s just … Never mind.

Pat was rattling the door like mad, poking at the lock, and suddenly there was a click, and the door opened. At the exact same moment, Bill appeared just behind it.