‘I’ll be OK for a few hours,’ wept Diana. ‘Please, just go and look for her. And don’t shout at her, Max, please. She’s very, very emotionally fragile right now.’
Chapter Thirteen
THE LION IN WINTER
Hours later, Max came back, without TammyLee.
‘No sign of her,’ he said. ‘I checked all the usual places where she goes. Her mobile is turned off. If she’s not back in the morning, we’ll report her missing.’
The anxiety stretched itself into every corner of the house. Max made up the fire and brewed cocoa in silence. He washed up and fed Amber, and put some fresh cat litter in my tray.‘Don’t you go out, Tallulah,’ he said. Amber was allowed out, and came back with her legs dripping wet. Then Max lit candles and stood them in the window in jars. He persuaded Diana to go upstairs to bed. ‘While you can,’ he said. ‘If the power goes off, you won’t have the stair lift.’
‘I can’t possibly sleep,’ said Diana, ‘not while my TammyLee is out there. I don’t want my medication tonight, Max … I need to stay awake.’
Max stayed up with her and we heard their voices talking. Amber and I had had enough of the stress. We needed a long sleep, and we needed each other. I was glad to lie on the hearth rug with her, even though she was snoring and having one of her woofy dreams. The rhythm of her breath, and the purr of the fire, was comforting. The sound of the rain seemed distant, but the night was full of unfamiliar swishing and gurgling sounds.
Later, I was wide awake for a while and I trotted upstairs to TammyLee’s room, to see if she was there, and she wasn’t. I rolled about on the duvet and played with the soft edge of it. Then I jumped onto the shelf of teddy bears and walked along it with my tail up, inspecting them. They hadn’t got auras, only the twinkling eyes gave them a presence, and theirblack noses and stitched-on smiles. Next, I sat on TammyLee’s laptop, to think. I sat on her chair, and on her pillow. Where was she? I wanted her.
What if she never came back? Whose cat would I be then?
‘Worrying won’t help you,’ said my angel. The next three days are what you need to focus on, and you must look after YOURSELF, Tallulah. You are a very important cat, and you are so loved … we need you to survive.’
‘Survive what?’ I asked, but my angel disappeared in a shimmy of light, and I was left alone on TammyLee’s bed. Survive? What, again?
There was silence from Diana’s room, so I ran downstairs to Amber and snuggled up to her. She sighed and put a warm paw over me, as if she wanted to hug me. I purred a little and went to sleep between her big paws, knowing that if I heard TammyLee’s footsteps, I’d be instantly awake, and so would Amber.
The candles flickered until dawn, and the sunrise was silver grey. Drops of rain still covered the windows and there was an unfamiliar light outside, and no sounds of traffic, which was unusual. A loud metallic throbbing sound filled the air, coming and going as if some great machine was patrolling the sky.
Amber seemed tense. She wouldn’t talk to me, but stood in the doorway, listening, her tail down. I was OK, refreshed from my sleep and wanting to go out in the garden. Heading for the cat flap, I ran through the kitchen with my tail up, hoping TammyLee would be on her way back. The kitchen floor was wet, causing me to stop and shake each paw. I butted my head against the cat flap and jumped out. Too late, I saw water shining, directly outside, and there was no avoiding it. The whole garden shone like a lake. Even the path was submerged and water was lapping at the walls of the house. With my paws and tummy horribly wet and cold, I turned and went back through the cat flap. The hearth rug was still warm, and Amber came to me, whining, and tried to lick me dry. She was comforting, but I wanted TammyLee to come and fluff me up with a towel. I needed her there, to cuddle me and explain what was happening. I missed her kindness.
Amber ran to the window and put her paws up on the sill, looking out as if someone was coming. I leaped up there, and stared, transfixed by what was happening outside. Max had stacked sandbags across the gate, and a line of gleaming muddy brown water was spilling over the top of them. Out in the road, the water was flowing along like a river, and, in the distance, voices were shouting. The sky throbbed with circling helicopters.
A duck with a green head lurched over the top of the sandbags and started swimming around our garden as if it owned the place. I sat up very straight and batted the window, trying to tell that duck exactly what I would do to it if I was out there.
Amber was watching, but her tail wasn’t wagging and her eyes looked worried. Then she did something that seriously spooked me. She lifted her head, stretched her throat, and howled, on and on. It chilled me to my bones. It resounded through the house, along the floor and up the walls, into corners and cupboards, even the lampshades quivered with it.