Ali crouched down and stroked her. It was an uncharacteristic display of love. Maybe she could sense she was about to be abandoned.
“You going to be a good girl for your Uncle Tobias while I’m away? But not too good. Wake him up with a dead mouse in the bed one morning. Get it over with when I’m not here.”
Ali picked Snowy up and kissed her neck.
Unimpressed, Snowy wriggled out of her arms and went back to her food.
Ali glanced up at her kitchen clock: 7:30am and she still hadn’t packed. She swept up her pile of clean clothes from the kitchen table and took them into her bedroom, where her suitcase was already open. She put the clothes into one side, then pulled open the underwear drawer of her solid teak 1950s dresser she’d picked up in a second-hand shop around the corner. Finneston, Glasgow’s hipster district, was full of such treasures. When she turned back with five pairs of knickers in one hand and socks in the other, Snowy sat in the other side of her case. Ali laughed. What was it with cats and suitcases?
“You’re not coming with me. We already had this conversation, remember?”
Her phone beeped, and she saw a message from Tobias.
It’s tomorrow you’re leaving, right?
Fucking idiot.
Today, and you know that.
That’s right. Today’s the day I get the key to my Christmas Shag Palace. I’ve already had a word with Snowy. She says so long as I bring her a parade of pretty ladies to rub herself against, she’s all for it.
Ali rolled her eyes.
Are you even out of bed yet?
Tobias lived two floors above with two other flatmates. Which made him living here easy, as he didn’t have to worry about forgetting anything.
I’ll be there in 20 mins. Put the kettle on.
Ali threw her phone on the bed, then picked up a distinctly unimpressed Snowy. She’d had the vague hope her clothes wouldn’t be covered in white fur when she went home, but that dream had already sailed. “It’s a good job you’re cute, isn’t it?”
She walked around her bedroom, going through the list of things she needed. Jumpers. Jewellery. Perfume. Foundation to cover up the bags under her eyes. Her new reindeer-print shirt to impress her mum on Christmas Day.
Her phone rang, and she furrowed her brow.
She picked it up without looking at the screen. At this hour, it could only be Tobias again.
“I’m still leaving today. And no, you still can’t have sex in my bed.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I’m not sure who that was directed at. Definitely not your mother.”
Heat warmed Ali’s cheeks. “Shit,” she spluttered.
“Still not very eloquent, I hate to tell you.”
“Sorry, I thought you were Tobias.”
“Tell him your mum says he’s not to have sex in your bed, either.”
Ali laughed. “I will. Why are you calling? I’m going to see you in a few hours.”
“I was just watching that lovely BBC weatherman—he’s gay you know, I can tell—and he was talking about snow in Scotland. I just wanted to check your flight was still okay?”
Ali walked over to her window and moved a space between the blinds with her thumb and index finger. A light snow covering, but it was far from a winter wonderland. “It stopped snowing last night, so it should be fine. If anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“Great,” her mum replied. “Nicole’s coming over later with Harrison. We’re all excited to see you.”
Ali’s stomach plunged. It wasn’t a dig, that wasn’t her mum’s style.
