Rachel Wells
Alfie & George
Copyright
Published by Avon an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street,
London, SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2016
Copyright © Rachel Wells 2016
Cover photographs © Shutterstock
Cover design © Head Design 2016
Rachel Wells asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008181642
Ebook Edition © November 2016 ISBN: 9780008181659
Version: 2016-10-27
Dedication
To Jo with love
Chapter One
‘What on earth is THAT?’ I looked at Snowball, my cat girlfriend, then at the creature. We were standing by the wooden fence that surrounded the garden of our holiday home, staring at the strange creature roaming around on the other side. It was quite plump, had a very sharp beak, spiky fur, which looked feathery, and small, mean eyes. It made a funny, high-pitched noise as it eyeballed us, pecking in our direction. I backed away nervously.
‘Oh, Alfie, it’s just a hen! You must have seen one before?’ Snowball laughed.
I took offence, though in actual fact I hadn’t seen a real-life chicken before. But I was supposed to be the man in the relationship so I tried to square up.
‘Hiss,’ I said. There, that’d show him who was boss. But then the hen rushed towards me, wobbling its tiny head and flapping its wings. I jumped back.
Snowball laughed again and tickled me with her tail. ‘It’s harmless, Alfie, honestly.’ I certainly wasn’t convinced. ‘Well, you don’t get many hens in London,’ I huffed, stalking away.
We were somewhere called ‘the country’, and very nice it was too. We were staying in a house in the middle of nowhere, with nothing around for miles except fields. My family — Jonathan, Claire and Summer — and Snowball’s family, the Snells — Karen, Tim, Daisy and Christopher — had rented a house for a week, and they had brought both me and Snowball with them. Cats don’t normally go on holiday so we felt very lucky. When I told my friends, the neighbourhood cats, they were shocked, but we were having a lovely time so far and I thought that perhaps us cats should holiday more often. A change is as good as a rest, my first owner, Margaret, used to say, and she was right — it was just what the vet ordered.
The house itself was large, with five bedrooms, and there was a lovely open fire in the living room, which Snowball and I curled up in front of in the evenings. It was very romantic — although we had to be careful as sparks jumped out every now and then, once nearly singeing Snowball’s beautiful white tail.
We had been told that, if we went out, we mustn’t leave the garden. Our humans were worried about us getting lost — as if that would happen — but so far we had obediently stuck to exploring said garden and doing as we were told. It was a good size; pretty, with lots of interesting bushes and flowerbeds. There was enough to keep us occupied, as it was much bigger than the small back garden I had to put up with in London. However, beyond the garden, where the chickens lived, was the lure of some very lush fields. It was a big temptation for an inquisitive cat like me.
Snowball was less impressed. She’d been a rich cat before she moved to Edgar Road (my street in London), and her family had had an enormous garden in their old house in the country. She didn’t boast about it anymore, but when we first met (a time when she had done her best to be rude to me) she did a bit. But anyway, I had won her over and captured her heart and we’d been together for two years now. The best two years of my cat life.
People always seemed surprised by our relationship at first, but then cats can fall in love just as easily as humans, if not more so. I should know, as I’ve had an awful lot of experience of humans.
Being a doorstep cat, I have a wide variety of humans I call family. I visit more than one home and have many ‘owners’. As well and Claire and Jonathan, I regularly spend time with Polly and Matt and their two children, Henry and Martha, and my Polish family, Franceska, big Tomasz and their children, Aleksy and little Tomasz. I am one busy cat.
I’ve managed to bring my families together so they are all the closest of friends. In my time with them, on Edgar Road and beyond, I’ve seen so much change. Humans seem to change a lot, or at least their lives do, and us cats are often the bystanders that have to sort out the inevitable debris. I take care of my humans, it’s what I do, and I’ve seen the ups and downs, the good and bad, and even the downright ugly, but I have always taken my role of looking after my families very seriously.
‘We ought to go in, I’m getting hungry,’ I said to Snowball, licking my lips. I could have almost eaten the hen, had it not been so formidable. But then I’m not much of a hunter, and neither is Snowball; she’s far too beautiful to kill anything. I still remember how mesmerised I felt when I first laid eyes on her. Even now, after two years, I am one smitten kitten — or smitten cat, more accurately.
‘Race you back,’ she said, giving herself a head start. I bounded after her and we arrived at the open back door at the same time, both slightly breathless from the run.
‘Ah, there you two are,’ said Claire, smiling at me as we padded into the kitchen. Summer, who was two and a half years old, was balanced on her hip. Claire put a bowl down on the highchair and wrestled Summer expertly into the seat as she wriggled in protest. Summer, my human sister, was what Claire called a ‘madam’ and what Jonathan called ‘spirited’. Although she could sometimes be a pain, and tried to pull my tail a bit too often for my liking, I loved her very much. And she compensated with some lovely cuddles.
Summer smiled, picked up her spoon and threw it on the floor. She never tired of this game, although in my opinion she was old enough to know better.
‘Toast,’ she said, in her lispy voice.
‘Eat your porridge, then you can have toast,’ Claire replied sternly.
‘NO!’ Summer screamed, throwing her bowl of porridge on the floor. As usual, I had been standing too close to her highchair, and I carefully licked some of the stray porridge from my fur. When would I ever learn?
Summer was my charge, I felt. I had to look after her, even when she was being a madam. It amused Jonathan, our dad, who said he liked a woman with a strong will. I did too, which is why I liked Snowball and my best cat friend, Tiger. However, Claire found it a bit annoying, I think, although since having Summer she was so happy that I didn’t worry about her too much anymore. Not like I did before anyway.