Cats are not brilliant at counting, so I don’t know how long we lived there like this, peacefully in the caravan. Summer passed, and I was sleek and glossy again, and autumn rolled on into winter. John was growing bigger, and I knew that every two weeks Ellen took him to see his daddy, and both of them came back stressed and upset. But Joenever came to the caravan, and for that I was glad.
One bright winter morning, everything changed.
I was sitting on the caravan steps, washing my paws in the sunshine, when my angel appeared in a flare of white light. Usually I had to struggle to see her, but now she was sharply in focus and fizzing with stars.
‘Be at your best, Solomon. Someone is coming, and he is very important. You must stay close to Ellen, and use all of your senses.’
‘Who is it?’ I asked, but already a gleaming black car was turning into the campsite, and my angel disappeared in a plume of light. I sat up and made myself look important, with stiff whiskers and fluffed-out fur.
The car drove quietly and carefully up to the caravan and stopped. A bailiff, I thought. Not again.
But a beautiful man got out and stood looking at the caravan. He was beautiful because of his aura, which I could see. It was huge and luminous with lots of turquoise and white, and the man reminded me of the sea. He had interesting blue eyes, which lit up when he saw me sitting on guard.
He didn’t say, ‘Hello puss,’ like most did. He padded peacefully towards me and stretched out a chunky hand to stroke me. But first he asked permission, in a deep rumbly voice that I liked.
‘May I stroke you? You are a beautiful friend.’
I did a special sound for him, a cross between a meow and a purr, and stood up on my hind legs to show him I wanted him to touch me. His touch was calm and loving, and he stroked me for several minutes before knocking at the caravan door. When he had knocked, he stepped back respectfully for Ellen to open it.
She stood there looking surprised and a bit anxious, wiping her hands on a flowery tea towel.
‘Excuse me, I was baking,’ she said.
The man didn’t speak immediately and I saw he was looking at Ellen’s long golden hair glinting in the winter sunshine.
‘I’m Isaac Mead,’ he said, and held out his hand. ‘I’m a governor at John’s school.’
Ellen shook hands with him, but she looked uneasy.
‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘Has John been playing up?’
‘No – not at all. It’s because of something that John said though, that’s why I’m here.’
‘You’d better come in.’
She took Isaac into the tiny kitchen, which smelled of warm cakes, and he sat down by the wood burner.
‘Does this gorgeous cat have a name?’ he asked.
‘Solomon. Because he’s so wise,’ said Ellen, and I climbed onto her lap and sat there protectively, studying the deep blue of Isaac’s eyes. He had a beard, and bits of it were grey, and he wore a duffel coat with toggles, which I wanted to play with.
‘So what’s this about?’ Ellen’s eyes were still wary. ‘Is it bad news?’
‘No my dear. No. You see the school is in rather a difficult situation. We’ve got the Christmas concert coming up, and now the pianist has had a heart attack. She won’t be able to play for a long, long time, and when we told the children this in assembly they were really upset. Then your Johnput his hand up and said, “My mum can play the piano and she’s brilliant.”’
‘Wow,’ said Ellen, and her face glowed. ‘Fancy him remembering. He was so young when we – we,’ she hesitated, and Isaac just looked at her kindly and waited. ‘We lost our home you see, and they took all our furniture, including my piano. So I haven’t played for years.’
‘Would you consider playing for the children?’ Isaac asked.
Ellen couldn’t seem to answer. She’d always said no as a child when her mother wanted her to perform.
There was a long silence. My angel had said Ellen missed her music, and that music would feed her soul. I knew Ellen had to say yes, and she wouldn’t. So I decided to answer for her.
I looked at Isaac and gave a loud, firm meow. Then I batted Ellen’s face with my paw, and meowed at her. I kept doing it until she smiled and said, ‘OK, I’ll have a go,’ and I rubbed my head against her and purred.
‘Perhaps you’d better bring Solomon,’ smiled Isaac.
‘I could. He’s a very well behaved cat – and he loves music,’ explained Ellen. ‘Maybe he’d give me confidence. He always used to sit on top of the piano. He really loves Mozart.’
‘The children would love him,’ said Isaac. ‘And John would be so proud of you.’
‘I’d need to practise. There isn’t room for a piano in here, even if I could afford one. I’m a single parent.’
‘I’ve got a piano,’ said Isaac. ‘I’m afraid it hasn’t been played for years, but it’s a beauty – a grand. It’s a bit dusty, like the rest of my place. I live alone you see, since my dear wife died of cancer …’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Ellen said kindly. She put her slim hand on Isaac’s arm, and tiny sparks danced in his aura.