The Hopes and Dreams of Lucy Baker: The most heart-warming book you’ll read this year. Jenni Keer
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number twenty-four on her front steps.
‘Cat,’ he said.
‘Pardon?’ Had her new neighbour really barked a solitary word at her?
‘That damn cat from the other day is hiding in the utility and my eyes are swelling up faster than popcorn in a sodding microwave.’
‘The removal van stray? Oh, I was wondering what happened to it.’ She’d kept an eye out for it the previous night, periodically sticking her head out the back door and calling ‘cat’, but it hadn’t reappeared.
‘It’s backed itself between the washing machine and the tumble dryer and I don’t know how to get it out, short of shooting it and pulling the corpse free with the end of the broom.’
Lucy narrowed her eyes and hoped this was just his dry sense of humour.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I can’t take it on and wouldn’t know what to do with it if I did.’
Never allowed pets as children, Lucy and Emily had made do with a stuffed Scooby-Doo (great at the sit command – rubbish at fetch). Their mother wasn’t one for the mess and inconvenience that invariably came with animals: stray clumps of hair, unhygienic food bowls and muddy paw prints on her immaculate white tiled kitchen floor. But there was something about cats that appealed to Lucy. They were independent yet loving. They didn’t demand much apart from a lap and they didn’t judge you on your silly comments or untidy nature.
‘Fine, but it’s the third time I’ve caught it in my house and I’m losing patience, so I’m going with the shooting option…’ He shrugged his wide shoulders. Was he joking? And could she live with herself if he wasn’t?
‘Okay, I’ll find my shoes and come over,’ she sighed.
‘Right,’ he said.
‘You’re welcome,’ Lucy mumbled under her breath as he walked out through her front gate.
A few minutes later Lucy was at his front door. After some clumping and huffing, it swung open and he stood back for her to enter. When she realised she wasn’t going to get a word out of him, she stepped inside and followed him down the long hallway.
As he strode away, the musky scent of Paco Rabanne lingered long enough to make her head turn like a hungry Bisto kid. Cross with her nose for leading her mind astray, she tried to peek through the open doors as she followed him without being obvious. There was nothing dotted about; no ornaments, no photographs, no personal objects whatsoever. What little furniture there was looked brand new and insubstantial. Goodness knows why it had taken the removers most of the day. Perhaps he hadn’t finished unpacking yet, although there weren’t any boxes lying about.
‘Through here,’ the slightly scary bear of a man said as he gestured to a door at the end of the corridor.
Lucy walked into the utility and looked in the direction he was pointing. She bent down in front of the washing machine. Two of the yellowest, widest eyes blinked back from the dark.
‘Come here, sweetheart.’ Lucy put her hand tentatively between the two machines and made kissy noises.
‘Huh. It will take more than that. I’ve been here half an hour and all I’ve got is an allergic reaction for my trouble.’ To make his point, he blinked his puffy eyes. ‘I’ve had to abandon the contacts and I’ll be damned if I can find my spare pair of glasses.’
No one was more surprised than Lucy when the cat, head low and ears back, came towards her.
‘Well, I’ll be…’ He reversed like a cartoon elephant backing away from a mouse as the cat emerged from the gap. ‘We clearly have a Doctor Dolittle in the neighbourhood.’
Lucy coaxed out the small black streak, but it bypassed her and walked over to the homeowner, rubbing around his legs and purring softly, even as he stepped away. Looking down at the animal though, his expression changed from alarm to compassion. He stopped his retreat and let it have a moment of contentment getting to know his trouser leg. His hand twitched, as if he was considering bending down for a stroke, but then Lucy heard him sniff. Reminded of his allergy, his whole body stiffened. She walked over and scooped up the cat.
‘So, just you in this great big house?’ she asked, hoping for more than a one-word answer.
‘Yes.’
She persevered. ‘My house has been divided into three flats and I rent the ground floor. It gives me a bit of garden and the couple on the top floor are never there because they travel…’
He looked at his watch, bringing it Mr Magoo-style close to his face. A combination of no contact lenses and the allergic reaction, she assumed. ‘Right. Look, I don’t do small talk. Nothing personal. Only child thing. Probably why I choose to be on my own,’ he said pointedly.
‘What a shame. You have no one to chat with about your day. No one pleased to see you when you walk through the door…’
‘Yeah, well, sometimes company isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’ It wasn’t an aggressive response, more a contemplative one.
‘Nonsense. Even one of these darling creatures would make a great companion,’ she said, snuggling up to the cat. ‘Shame I’m not allowed pets at the flat. Even a goldfish can be a good sounding board when life gets stressful.’ She turned her attention to the bag of fur and bones she was holding, scrunching up her nose like a squirrel and wiggling her face in close. ‘I would have given you a home. Yes I would. I would have cuddled and snuggled you, and rubbed your fluffy, little tummy…’
A dismissive snort came from the man, but the deepest, rumbliest purr came from the cat as it rubbed its tiny head on Lucy’s chin.
‘Aww. It’s such a friendly, trusting little thing.’
‘I’m sure it’s the loveliest creature ever to grace this earth, but I’m really struggling here.’ He rubbed his fingers underneath his bloodshot eyes, trying to alleviate the itchiness without adding to the irritation. ‘So perhaps…?’ He waved towards the front door and walked out to the hall, obviously expecting Lucy and the cat to follow. It was clear they’d outstayed their welcome, not that either of them had been particularly welcome in the first place.
‘Of course. Sorry. I’m Lucy Baker, by the way,’ she said, turning back as she reached the front door with her refugee.
‘George Aberdour.’ He nodded briefly and then firmly closed the door on them both.
‘A thank you would have been nice. I mean, it wasn’t even my cat.’
Lucy was filling Brenda in on the details of her visit to George’s house as she handed over a small bag of shopping she’d picked up for her friend after work. Although Brenda would happily trot into the town centre, both the large supermarkets were on the outskirts, and you needed transport to get to them – which Brenda no longer had.
This close friendship, which began in earnest after bumping into each other near the Mills and Boons at the local library and giggling over the bare-chested men on the covers, quickly became important to them both. The yawning age difference meant nothing to two lost women in need of companionship. Lucy’s youthful energy and altruism complemented Brenda’s assertiveness and wisdom, each looking to the other for qualities they wished to possess.
‘But despite his manner, there’s karma at play,’ Lucy continued, ‘because no sooner had I walked up his path than the cat wriggled free and ran to the back of his house. If he so much as opens a window, the cat will be back inside like a dieting woman to an opened bar of Galaxy.’
‘Agreed,’ said Brenda, as she stepped into the hall, allowing Lucy space to enter. Lucy stopping for tea and cake after delivering the shopping was a given, established the previous year as Brenda’s way of saying thank you. ‘That little fellow is on a mission and George is the goal. I think our little stray has found a home there.’
‘I find that highly unlikely. Mr Aberdour is definitely