Read by Lisa Rose (fourth story in podcast, click here to play)
Justin chooses the house; an eighteenth-century cottage with exposed beams and inglenook fireplaces, and an acre of land so thick with trees that it can’t be seen from the road. He wants to be in before Christmas, and though most of the work is done before they move in, they can’t find anyone to fit the wood burners until December. When the workmen finally arrive, they assure Helen it won’t take long, and they’ll tidy up after themselves. She goes to make them tea and when she comes back, she finds the two men crouched on the floor looking at something.
‘Found this up the chimney,’ one says.
Helen leans down to get a better look, then recoils in disgust. ‘Ugh! What is it?’
‘Dead cat,’ the man says.
‘They used to put them up there in the old days, to ward off evil spirits. Haven’t seen one for years.’
They stand looking down at it.
‘I’ll put it back up there, shall I?’ the man says. ‘Best not to disturb stuff like that.’
Helen laughs. ‘Really?’
The man shrugs. ‘It’s been up there hundreds of years, maybe it’s been working all that time. I’d just leave it there if I were you.’
Helen pauses, unsure. ‘I’d better ask my husband.’ She crunches through the snow to the outhouse he uses as his office. She taps on the door and stands shivering outside, waiting for Justin to admit her.
He frowns as she enters. ‘What is it? Only I’ve rather a lot to get through this morning.’
She tells him what the workmen have found, and he sighs. ‘Just tell them to get rid of it.’
‘But shouldn’t we put it back?’
He snorts. ‘Whatever for?’ He stares, waiting for her answer.
‘Just because…you know…it’s been up there for ages doing its thing…’
He turns back to his screen. ‘Tell them to throw it away.’
‘Well, I’m not doing it,’ the workman says. ‘Sorry, but if your husband wants to throw it out, I’ll leave it here for him to do it himself.’
Helen nods, though she knows Justin will be annoyed. She peers at the shrivelled creature while the workmen get on. It’s an ugly little thing, its skin thin as paper, its desiccated lips fixed in a permanent snarl. She puts out a finger to touch it and finds it surprisingly smooth and soft. She runs her hand over it, caressing its ribs and spine. Stroking it is strangely calming.
*
Later, the workmen leave, promising to return next morning. Helen has spent the day doing yoga, baking, and reading, which seems fitting for the kind of woman who lives in such a house. Perhaps she can get used to this way of life. She knows she’s lucky, but they’ve moved so far away from her family and friends, and it’s so quiet. She’ll never see a soul out here.
She goes to look at the new wood burner. On the rug before it lies the mummified cat. She bends down to examine it again. It’s probably her imagination, but its face seems to have changed. She traces the empty eye socket with her finger. It would be good to have a pet in a place like this, she thinks, for company. She finds an old shoebox in one of the cupboards and gently places the cat in it.
‘There you go, Puss,’ she croons. She’ll keep it under the bed.
Justin appears just after six to survey the builders’ work, despite knowing nothing about wood burners. He stands back to check it from all angles, before pronouncing himself satisfied.
‘Did they get rid of the cat?’ he asks.
Helen nods. ‘Would you like to eat now?’
He pouts his lips lasciviously. ‘Or we could go upstairs and make a baby.’
She feels something go loose inside her. ‘That would be lovely, darling.’
After they have made love, and hopefully a foetus, they eat the dinner Helen has lovingly prepared for Justin. He appraises it as he eats, marking her out of ten on each component and awarding an overall score of seven and a half.
‘You’re improving all the time,’ he says, patting her. ‘You’ll get there.’
Helen smiles. She wants to broach the subject of driving but is unsure of the best approach. ‘More wine, darling?’ she asks, and he offers her his glass.
‘It’s lovely here,’ she begins, and Justin pats her again. ‘It’s quite…well, remote, though.’ She pauses to gauge his reaction, then, sensing it’s safe, goes on. ‘When the baby comes, it would be good to be able to get out, to the library or for playdates, that sort of thing.’ She glances at him. ‘I wondered if I might be able to use the car sometimes, only if you’re not using it, I mean …’
Justin frowns. ‘I don’t think there’ll be any need for that. You’ve got everything you could possibly want right here; I spent a lot of time researching to make sure of it. You can walk to the village in twenty minutes.’ He chuckles. ‘That should help you shift the baby weight. There’s a shop and a post office, and the mobile library visits once a fortnight. You can do the grocery shop online and have it delivered, so you won’t need to waste time at the supermarket. I really don’t see the need for you to be driving at all.’
Helen nods. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry.’
He places his hand on her thigh. ‘Your job is to raise our children, you concentrate on that, and I’ll take care of everything else, all right?’
Helen nods again. ‘Thank you, darling.’
They go to bed soon after and as she lies in the dark, her eyes beginning to droop, she feels something land with a soft thud next to her. Too sleepy to respond, she ignores it, but suddenly, she becomes aware that something is on the bed. Small, hard feet press into her body as it slowly inches closer, tiptoeing, creeping towards her face. She sits up and snaps on the lamp, her heart beating hard. There’s nothing there. She looks across at Justin snoring softly, his mouth open. She shakes her head and lies down again.
*
Next morning, she gets up and cleans her teeth, then brings Justin his coffee in bed.
‘God, you look sexy in the morning,’ he says, pulling her towards him. He kisses her, thrusting his foul morning tongue deep into her mouth. She feels a surge of revulsion but pushes it away and gives herself up to the inevitable. It won’t take long, she reasons, he has to be at his desk in an hour. Afterwards, Justin instructs her to lie with her legs in the air and a pillow under her hips to help the sperm on its way while he takes a shower. Helen wonders how long the sperm will take. Not that it matters, it isn’t as if she has anything else to do. From under the bed, there comes a soft scrabbling.
‘Christ! Not mice!’ she thinks. She rolls onto her stomach and looks over the side of the bed, but there’s only the shoebox underneath. She suddenly feels an overwhelming urge to look at the cat again. She slides off the bed and takes out the box. Inside, the cat still lies on its side, but it looks different. It has more fur than she remembers. Little tufts of it grow around the ears and its tail looks thicker, fluffier. She smiles and strokes it tenderly. ‘Dear Puss,’ she purrs, then she replaces the lid and goes to make Justin’s breakfast.
*
After the workmen have gone that day, Helen feels strangely bereft. The house is perfect, complete, there’s nothing more to do to it, no need for anyone ever to come here again. She is dreading Christmas, the quietness of it. Her sister has invited them to hers, but Justin thinks they should spend their first Christmas in their new place alone. When she’d tentatively asked him if they really needed to move so far away, he’d laughed and pointed out that they had five bedrooms. People could come and stay, couldn’t they? But she knows they never will. Who, besides Helen, could endure a week, even a weekend, with Justin?
Next morning, despite the snow, she walks to the village to post a letter addressed to herself. It means the postman will have to come to the house to deliver it, and that’s better than nothing. She stops at the local shop to buy some carrots, then slowly walks back through the thickening flakes, feeling the smallness of her life, wondering how she’s ended up here. She had hoped a baby would help, but now she’s not so sure.
She sets to work on the stew as soon as she gets in. As she stands at the worktop chopping the carrots, she feels something rub against her legs. She looks down, but there’s nothing there. She returns to her chopping and before long, the thing begins rubbing itself against her legs again. This time, she closes her eyes and crouches down.
‘Here Puss,’ she calls softly and after a moment, she feels a small wet nose, a soft face nuzzling against her hand. She smiles. ‘I know what you want.’
She finds a saucer and pours milk into it. She sets it down on the floor beside the fridge and goes back to her chopping. Behind her, she hears the gentle lapping of the cat’s tongue as it drinks the milk. Next day, she opens a can of tuna for it, mushing it up in a little bowl. When she checks later, it’s all gone.
She begins to order extra meat in the online shop. She feeds it some cooked mince one day, then two lamb chops, then a nice thick piece of steak, a whole roast chicken. But the more she feeds it, the more ravenous it seems to become, until by Christmas week, it’s devouring a leg of lamb twice a day.
Justin begins to protest at the cost of the shopping. What the hell is she buying? Helen shrugs and narrows her eyes at him. He still insists that they make love every day, but now when he enters her, she snarls and spits and scratches his back, yowls angrily. At first, he rather likes it, but he soon grows tired and wants his meek little wife back.
Eventually things come to a head.
One night, after he’s awarded her only five and a half out of ten for her boeuf bourguignon, Helen tells him he can make his own fucking dinner from now on. Shocked, Justin calmly reminds her of their respective roles in their relationship.
‘Give me the fucking car keys,’ she growls.
Justin laughs. ‘I don’t think so, dear.’
Helen bares her teeth and hisses at him.
‘I think you’d better get some sleep. I’ll call the doctor first thing in the morning.’ He flicks the TV on, dismissing her.
Helen lets out a long yowl and pads upstairs.
She lies down and stretches out her hand in the dark to stroke the enormous cat, making it purr thunderously. The room shakes as it jumps off the bed. Helen listens to the ancient stairs creaking as it trips down them two at a time.
She waits.
She hears Justin’s scream, then a roar. There’s a thud, the sound of flesh tearing and a wet chewing that continues for twenty, maybe thirty minutes.
She’ll drive over to the organic butcher in town tomorrow and buy the cat a string of sausages, a Christmas turkey, a side of beef. Dear Puss appears in the doorway, licking her lips. She jumps up onto the bed and lies down beside Helen, her head on Justin’s pillow. Helen reaches out her hand to fondle the fur beneath Puss’s ear and smiling, falls asleep to the sound of her gentle rhythmic purring.
(c) Donna Tracy, 2022
Donna Tracy lives in Norwich. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Mslexia, Litro, After Dinner Conversation and Dear Damsels.
Lisa Rose trained at LAMDA and is an actress, writer, audio artist and mother, currently working on a theatre piece about her family’s exodus from Ukraine during the pogroms in the early 1900s (thanks to an Arts Council development grant). Short film credits include A Wizard’s Guide to Architecture & Friday Night Shiduch. The pilot of her series in development has won various festival awards: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC2PQrlUlqECIU7x31uvN9PA
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