5
In spite of my determination to make as few concessions as possible to their presence, it was impossible to ignore Linda and Beau. With three adult humans, half a dozen cats and one dog sharing the flat’s limited space, there simply was not enough room for us all.
The living room bore the brunt of the impact. The opened sofa-bed took up so much of the floor area that to get from one side of the room to the other, Linda either had to edge sideways around the foot of the bed or clamber across the mattress. The alcove next to the sofa functioned as her makeshift wardrobe; she had propped her huge suitcase open in there, alongside Beau’s upended carrier, and piles of clothes, jewellery and cosmetics spilled out of it onto the floor.
But Linda’s clutter was not confined to the room she slept in. Boxes of floral-smelling herbal teas and plastic tubs of vitamin pills appeared on the kitchen worktop, and her extensive collection of creams, oils and lotions jostled for space on the bathroom windowsill. Even the hallway seemed narrower, what with Linda’s jackets and gilets bulging from the coat pegs and her numerous pairs of boots and shoes snaking across the floor. When Linda took Beau for his daily walk, I tried to reclaim some territorial advantage by scent-marking the furniture with my cheeks. But in spite of my efforts, the combined aroma of Linda’s cloying perfume and Beau’s dog-shampoo continued to overpower any other scent in the flat.
To my great relief, the aggressive swagger that Beau had displayed when he first arrived did not last more than a few days. The scratch Purdy had inflicted on the dog’s nose remained visibly raw and weeping, serving as a reminder of Beau’s place at the bottom of the animal hierarchy, and the kittens soon learnt that a vicious hiss and the swipe of a paw, with claws bared, would send Beau scurrying to Linda for protection. His tufted eyebrows still twitched if a cat entered the room, but his growl lacked conviction, and he wore the resigned, resentful look of an animal that knew he was outnumbered. Like a piece of grit trapped between paw-pads, Beau was impossible to ignore, but in the short term at least he was an irritation that we could tolerate.
The highlight of his day was invariably his walk. He would bounce up and down manically, his moist tongue hanging out, while Linda fetched his lead and the plastic pouch of poo-bags. She would tuck the excitable creature under her elbow and head downstairs to tell Debbie that she was ‘taking Beau out to explore Stourton’. It didn’t take me long to work out that when Linda said explore, what she actually meant was shop.
She returned from their first walk with a thick cardboard shopping bag slung over her shoulder. Intrigued, I followed her upstairs and watched from the living-room doorway as she tore open layers of rustling tissue paper to reveal an expensive-looking leather handbag. Her eyes wide with child-like excitement, she transferred the contents of her old handbag to the new one, before leaning over the side of the sofa to tuck the discarded bag beneath a pile of dirty laundry.
‘What a gorgeous bag. Is it new?’ Debbie asked that evening, catching sight of the bag sitting on the floor next to the sofa-bed.
Linda feigned surprise. ‘What, this?’ she said, nudging the bag casually underneath the bed with her foot. ‘I’ve had it for years!’
As the week went on, her shopping habit became increasingly furtive. She and Beau would head out mid-morning, and hours would pass before she returned, laden with purchases from the many chichi boutiques that lined Stourton’s cobbled streets. I would watch from the café windowsill as she clopped along the parade, with Beau bounding along next to her spiky-heeled boots. Only when she was sure Debbie was out of sight would Linda push open the café door – slowly, to minimize the tinkling of the bell – and dart between the tables to the staircase.
Once Linda had got her purchases into the flat, the majority of them seemed mysteriously to disappear. By the time Debbie trudged upstairs after work, there was no evidence either of the shopping bags or of their contents, and Linda never admitted how much time she had spent trawling the Stourton shops. The only purchases she ever admitted to were the gifts she had bought for her hosts. A silk scarf appeared in Debbie’s bedroom one afternoon and, the following day, when Sophie returned from college, Linda was waiting to present her with a pair of pyjamas. ‘They’re cashmere – feel them!’ she urged, her eyes twinkling as she handed the luxurious sleepwear to her stunned niece.
I was intrigued to know where Linda had put the rest of her shopping and so, one morning while she and Beau were out, I crept into the living room to investigate. There was no sign of her new purchases, just the usual messy pile of clothes on the floor next to the open suitcase. It was only when I scaled the suitcase that I discovered her secret: she was using Beau’s pet carrier as storage. Concealed behind its wire door were boxed pairs of brand-new shoes and a stack of clothes, all neatly folded and wrapped in tissue paper.
Linda’s shopping habits notwithstanding, by the end of their first week the overcrowded conditions in the flat were beginning to take their toll. Perhaps sensing that tempers were close to fraying, Linda insisted that she would make dinner for the three of them on Friday night, as ‘my way of saying thank you’. And so, as the clock struck eight that evening, Debbie and Sophie waited at the dining table, while Linda bustled and clattered in the kitchen. Debbie looked worn out, but Sophie’s slumped posture and bored expression conveyed something closer to ill will. She had foregone an evening with her boyfriend in order to be home for dinner and was making no secret of the fact that she resented the sacrifice.
Eventually Linda tottered through from the kitchen, balancing three plates in her hands. ‘Voilà! Superfood salad,’ she announced, lowering the plates onto the table with a flourish.
Debbie smiled wanly at the pile of grains and pulses in front of her. ‘Mmm, wow!’ she murmured, with an unconvincing attempt at enthusiasm. Sophie scowled.
‘Don’t you like it, Soph?’ Linda asked, as her niece began to push the contents of her plate around reluctantly.
I sensed Debbie’s patience was wearing thin as she watched her daughter’s ill-disguised revulsion. ‘Come on, Sophie,’ she chivvied her. ‘Eat up, please. Auntie Linda has gone to a lot of trouble to make this.’ But Sophie merely glared sideways at her mother and picked at the mound of vegetation with her fork.
‘You don’t like quinoa?’ Linda asked, looking concerned.
‘No, I’m not a massive fan of keen-wah,’ Sophie replied, her drawling enunciation carrying an unmistakeable hint of mimicry.
I watched as she picked up a single grain on the prongs of her fork and peered at it dubiously.
‘There’s no need for sarcasm, Soph. Just eat,’ said Debbie, fixing her daughter with a stern stare. Sophie placed the tip of the fork into her mouth and began to chew the single grain, slowly. Debbie turned towards Linda. ‘She’s always been a fussy eater,’ she said apologetically.
There was a sudden crash as Sophie’s fork hit her plate. With a furious look at Debbie, she stood up and thrust her chair back, forcing the rug into messy folds behind her. On the sofa, the commotion made me jump, and I saw Beau’s body spasm as he jerked awake in alarm under the table. ‘I’m going to make a sandwich,’ Sophie mumbled, picking up her plate of uneaten salad and carrying it into the kitchen.
‘Sophie!’ Debbie said tersely, sounding at once cross and embarrassed. ‘Linda has gone to the trouble of making that for you – the least you can do is try it,’ she called after her daughter’s retreating back. In the kitchen, Sophie was noisily scraping the contents of her plate into the rubbish bin.