Christmas at Carrington’s. Alexandra Brown
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careful. Don’t want to squash this little dude.’ He winks.
‘Little dude?’ I crease my forehead.
‘That’s right. Mr Cheeks.’ Tom gives me one of his ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’ looks.
‘Mr Cheeks?’ I repeat, my eyes flicking towards Tom’s jacket. And, oh my God. He pulls the zip down and a tiny black fluffy head pops out.
‘Georgie, meet Mr Cheeks, named on account of him being very cheeky.’
‘A kitten! You have a kitten.’ Wow. How cute is that? Not only is he an incredibly sexy man with a fantastic sense of humour, but he loves animals too … he’s practically perfect. ‘How come you never said?’ I ask, giving Mr Cheeks a stroke. ‘And why have you brought him with you?’
‘Err, well, he’s not actually my kitten.’ Tom gives me a sheepish look.
‘Who does he belong to, then?’
‘You?’ His mouth twitches into a smile as he lifts one eyebrow.
‘Don’t be silly. You can’t buy me a kitten,’ I say, incredulously. I’ve never had a pet of my own before.
‘Of course I can. I can do whatever I like,’ he jokes, treating me to a huge grin. ‘Isn’t he sweet?’ And he lifts Mr Cheeks out of his jacket and snuggles him in the crook of his elbow.
‘Aw, poor thing, he’s trembling all over.’
‘And is it any wonder?’ Sighing, Tom shakes his head. He looks really concerned.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and I’ll tell you all about it.’
It turns out that Mr Cheeks is a stray. He arrived at Tom’s back door in the middle of the night, meowing and whimpering, trembling all over and covered in mud. Tom took him in and hand-fed him cooked chopped chicken before bathing him and letting him sleep on his bed.
‘So, you’ll let Mr Cheeks stay then?’ We’re sitting side-by-side on my sofa with the kitten still snuggled in the crook of Tom’s elbow. Mr Cheeks is really timid and seems to have latched on to Tom like a security blanket. Tom turns to me and tenderly pushes a stray chunk of hair out of my eyes, making my face tingle.
‘Weell … he is too cute for words.’ I hesitate momentarily. ‘But I can’t, really I can’t. He’ll be here on his own all day while I’m at work.’
‘I’m sure he’ll get used to it … I bet he’ll be out swaggering around the neighbourhood, or whatever it is cats do all day, in no time. Or I’d be happy to pay for a cat-sitter if he starts to pine through loneliness,’ Tom suggests, entwining his fingers around mine.
‘Don’t be daft. Why don’t you keep him yourself? He seems to have really taken to you … ’
‘I’d love to, but my house just isn’t practical, not with my canvases and paint everywhere, and he’s already clawed through the Venice waterway.’
‘Ooops,’ I say, remembering the exquisite picture. Tom had just started painting it the first time I went to his house, and it’s truly magnificent. He has a real gift, even if he does nonchalantly dismiss it as ‘Just something I do to relax.’
‘And you know how often I’m away from home, travelling to meet suppliers and up to board meetings in London. It really wouldn’t be fair. Anyway, I think he’d much sooner snuggle up to you of an evening – just like me.’ Tom grins as he puts an arm around my shoulders and gently pulls me in close before kissing the bridge of my nose.
‘Stop it,’ I tease, pressing my palm against his firm chest. ‘I know what you’re doing.’
‘Whaaaat?’ Tom replies, trying to sound and look all innocent. ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it Mr Cheeks?’ And he takes the kitten’s little paws and places them on my arm. ‘Aw, look at his little face. Those soulful green eyes. And he has nobody. He’s just an orphan. And, ahh, looooook … ’ Tom pauses as the kitten leans his tiny chin on my arm. ‘See, he absolutely adores you already,’ Tom beams, after giving Mr Cheeks a quick proud-dad glance for his perfect timing.
‘No he doesn’t,’ I smile. ‘He adores you.’
‘Hmm, I’m not so sure. Hang on a minute.’ Tom lifts the kitten up to his ear and pretends to listen to him talking. ‘What’s that, little fella?’ he asks Mr Cheeks before turning back to face me. ‘He says I should kiss you and that will make you take him in.’
‘Oh did he?’ I try not to laugh.
‘Yep.’ Tom places Mr Cheeks down on the rug before lifting my chin and pushing me back on the sofa. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he lifts my hands up over my head, secures them under a cushion and then tickles me all over until I can bear it no longer.
‘Stooooop. Please,’ I gasp, now desperate to feel his lips on mine. Having his face in such close proximity is divine, but such a massive tease, especially when I can’t move to touch him.
Eventually, I manage to wriggle my arms out from under the cushion and slip them around Tom’s back instead.
‘So you’ll let him live with you then?’ Tom props himself up on one elbow so he’s lying next to me now, and does puppy-dog eyes. ‘I’ll cover all his expenses. Vet bills, vaccines, food, etc.,’ he pleads, and I can’t help thinking how incredible he is. Kind, funny, and he seems to really care about this stray kitten – which, let’s face it, he could have just ignored, as I’m sure lots of men would have done after being woken up in the middle of the night. But not Tom, he was giving the scrawny, bedraggled cat a bath at 4 a.m.! That’s proper tenderness right there …
‘OK, on one condition.’ I shake my head in surrender.
‘Anything. I couldn’t bear to leave him at an animal shelter. Not now. Not after everything he’s been through, and he’s already used to a certain living standard too. It would be too cruel for words. We could share him. And then at least I’d know he was safe when I’m away on business.’ Tom tickles me again.
‘OK. Don’t milk it,’ I say, trying to catch my breath as I push his hand away.
‘Ha! Nice pun. I like it.’ I give him a blank look. ‘Cat. Milk lovers.’ He winks. ‘Oh never mind,’ he adds, smiling cheekily. ‘So, what’s the condition?’
‘That you do everything Mr Cheeks tells you to,’ I say, trying to keep a serious face.
‘Hmmm, OK,’ Tom replies slowly and suggestively, circling his index finger over the back of my hand. I lean towards Mr Cheeks, pretending to listen to him speak.
‘He says the first thing you must do is kiss me.’ And Tom does. My tummy flips over and over as I roll onto my side and melt into his arms, and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever felt this happy. Not ever. And now we have a kitten in common. A bona fide joint responsibility, and everyone knows what that means … I wonder if it’s too soon to say the L word?
Eight shopping weeks until Christmas
It’s Monday evening in Mulberry-On-Sea and, by the size of Sam’s smile, it’s obvious she has some exciting news to share. I close the front door to my flat behind her and she practically skips on into the shoebox-sized lounge, closely followed by a gust of crisp, wintery-cold air. Taking her swingy faux-fur cape, I bundle it onto a radiator to keep warm.
‘It’s blooming perishing out there.’ Sam whips off her gloves and rubs her hands together before pulling an exaggerated freezing face. ‘And with only fifty-four days until Christmas Day – well, I bet it snows. Just imagine, a proper, gloriously glistening white Christmas, now wouldn’t