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Oh, that wasn’t about the Vine campaign. It waswayworse than that.
Chapter 24
Louise
With every mile the train from London puts between us, I feel safer. I shouldneverhave taken the job at Whitefish. Min warned me, but I didn’t listen. She wasn’t worried about what Caz would do; she was concerned about what it’d do tome.And she was right: going head-to-head with Caz has unleashed a darkness in me I thought I’d overcome years ago. I let myself get sucked back into a vendetta with her, retaliating every time she struck a blow, when instead I should’ve risen above it. But it’s not too late. I can’t undo the bad blood between us, but I’m going to call Chris tomorrow and tell her I can’t work at Whitefish anymore. It may mean I have to tighten my belt a bit until I can get some more freelance work, but it’ll be better than this constant state of warfare.
Even I was shocked by Caz’s violent outburst this afternoon. I’ve never seen anyone that angry. I’ve always known what she’s capable of, but it’s the first time I’ve seen her lose control in public like that. And judging from Patrick’s appalled reaction, it was the first time he’d seen that side of her, too.
At least he doesn’t think I’d jeopardise the livelihood of hundreds of people over a stupid quarrel with my ex-husband’s new wife. I’d hate to lose his good opinion, especially now, when I’m going to need a reference.
When I finally get home, it’s after seven. Mum picked up the children from school for me, and then left Bella to babysit. I kick off my heels and go into the sitting room. Tolly is fast asleep on the sofa, the remains of a pizza crust on a plate next to him telling me they have at least eaten. I shake him gently awake, and pull him onto my lap. ‘You should’ve been in bed an hour ago,’ I whisper.
‘You said I could stay up till you got home,’ he mumbles.
I sigh. ‘Yes, I did. OK, you, up we get,’ I add. ‘Did Bella feed Bagpuss?’
He rubs his eyes, too sleepy to answer. I put him down and get the box of kibble from its temporary home in the downstairs loo. I fill the cat’s bowl. I can’t wait till the kitchen is finished and we can stop living like squatters. ‘Have you seen Bagpuss?’ I ask Tolly, when the cat doesn’t appear. Arthritic though he is, he usually materialises out of thin air as soon as he hears the sound of his kibble hitting his dish.
Awake now, Tolly starts crawling around the sitting room, peering under the sofa and behind doors, calling the cat’s name. ‘You’d better check he hasn’t got shut in a bedroom or something,’ I tell him, when Bagpuss still doesn’t appear. ‘He was in the airing cupboard all night the other day—’
I’m interrupted by a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. ‘Muuuum!’
Visions of broken limbs and twisted ankles fill my maternal vision. I race towards the stairs, my heart pounding, just as Bella rushes down them, the cat cradled against her chest.
Fear sharpens my tone. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Bagpuss!’
The poor cat is having trouble breathing. His eyes roll sickeningly back in his head, and he suddenly starts to convulse, his body going rigid in Bella’s arms. I have no idea what’s wrong with him, or how to help him.
‘We need to get him to the vet,’ I say urgently. ‘Into the car, both of you.’
I don’t need to ask them twice. The vet is only a couple of miles away, on the outskirts of Pulborough; they’re open till eight, and if we hurry, we should be there in less than ten minutes. We pile into the car, Bella in the front seat with the cat still in her arms. I only realise I’m still in bare feet when I put my foot down once we’re on the main road.
‘Drive faster, Mum!’ Bella cries, as I tear along the twisty lane as fast as I dare.
‘I’m doing my best,’ I say helplessly. ‘It won’t help Bagpuss if we drive into a tractor coming the other way.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ Tolly asks.
‘I don’t know, darling. He’s pretty old. Maybe he’s having some sort of seizure or a stroke.’
‘It’s not a stroke,’ Bella says, her voice clogged with tears.‘He’s been poisoned. He looks like the rats in the barn after Dad put down that stuff.’
Bagpuss’s breaths are coming in tight little pants, and I realise we don’t have much time. He suddenly starts to vomit, and with surprising calm, Bella grabs an old towel we keep in the back for spills, and mops it up, murmuring soothingly to the cat all the while.
I catch a glimpse of something bright green in the towel as she wipes his mouth, and my heart sinks. He must have eaten deadly nightshade or some other toxic plant or flower. His eyesight isn’t what it was, and if his sense of smell is also fading, then he’s obviously at risk of eating something poisonous by mistake. I should never have let him outside. My poor, darling Bagpuss. It’ll break all our hearts if something happens to him. We’ve had him since Bella was a baby; to lose him now, in such a way, would be devastating.
I screech to a halt outside the vets’ surgery, and Bella rushes straight in with Bagpuss while I unbuckle Tolly and help him out of the car. Tamzin Kennedy has been our vet for years; she’s known Bagpuss since he was a kitten. She looks stricken to see him like this. ‘How long has he been unconscious?’ she asks, gently easing him from Bella’s arms and onto the examination table.
