Bridesmaids. Zara Stoneley

doubt set in. ‘A small flat and a man doesn’t really work, believe me, darling. I do know. They take up too much space. Just look at your father, if he hadn’t had a shed we’d have been divorced before you’d left primary school.’

      I’d bundled her out of the place, muttering the phrases the estate agent had about prices and bargain and aspect and foot on the ladder.

      Small it is though. And we’ve crammed it with two people’s furniture. My flatmate and I both arrived with baggage – of the emotional and physical variety. Both can get in the way of life.

      At the moment, though, I have more pressing problems that are getting in the way of life. I am currently jammed head first under a chair with my feet under a table and I’m going to have to perform a snake-like manoeuvre to get out.

      ‘Ouch.’ Snakes don’t have ankles, I do. A sore one. ‘Bugger.’

      ‘You okay?’

      ‘Think so, I’m out! It could be worse, I could have still been stuck under there when Freddie got back.’

      Rachel giggles. ‘He might have taken advantage!’

      ‘Ha-ha. Bugger, it’s heading up the blinds now.’ The little ginger ninja is moving like Spider-man on a mission, mewling and rocking from side to side, and two more intrepid explorers have decided to join in. ‘There are three kittens scaling the blinds!’

      I snap a quick shot with my mobile phone – I can’t not – and WhatsApp it to Rachel. Kitten number 1 is traversing chimpanzee-style (which is no mean feat when you haven’t got thumbs), while the other two are leaping about intent on grabbing its spiky, Christmas-tree tail.

      ‘Oh, God, you are so funny.’ She’s laughing, and I think from the sniffles, crying a bit. She also seems to be having difficulty breathing. ‘Oh, this so needs to be on YouTube.’

      ‘What? Oh, bugger! Don’t you dare!’ I suddenly realise I’ve accidentally gone into vid mode, and this is something I don’t even want to share with my bestest of best friends.

      ‘Hang on, I’m going to put you down, I need both hands.’ I throw my mobile onto the couch, then spin round suddenly scared I’ve squashed one of the fluffballs as there’s an alarmed squeak. I haven’t. Kitten number two has now made a leap from the blinds and is mid-air and dropping like a stone, with four rigid legs stuck out in all directions flying-squirrel-style. I stick my hands out, and its more luck than judgement that the soft furry lump lands splat in the middle of my palms. ‘Phew.’

      ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’ Rachel is squawking from the couch.

      ‘I caught it!’ It stares up at me, all wide-eyed innocence. And those baby-blues catch at something in my throat as I pull it closer to my body and stroke it reassuringly. Though, I suspect the cuddling bit is more for my own benefit than the kitten’s. It doesn’t seem bothered, but it does start up a raspy uneven purr that rumbles straight to the centre of my heart. And finds a squishy bit I’d almost forgotten I have.

      I swallow hard to dislodge the lump as it snuggles its way deeper into my hands, then sigh. I can feel the beat of its heart through my T-shirt, feel the warmth of its tiny body. Maybe I do need a cat. Or something. I’ve been acting like I’ve been allergic to bodily contact of any kind since Andy did the dirty. And I have in a way. I’ve been air-hugging as well as air-kissing, and it’s probably not good for my mental health. Humans need contact, warmth, touch … not just wine, Krispy Kreme doughnuts and Pringles. Although those do help, don’t diss the simple solutions until you try them.

      I glance up, and commando kitten number 1, the ginger ratbag, is slowly sliding down the blinds. It makes a leap onto my leg and clambers up me. I’m a human kitten tower.

      I slump onto the couch, suddenly exhausted, scooping up the third kitten which is determinedly clambering up me and settle all three in my lap, then pick Rachel up.

      ‘You still there, Rach?’

      ‘I am.’

      I take another quick photo and forward it.

      ‘Aww, aren’t they the cutest! Which one is yours?’

      ‘None of them!’

      ‘You’ve got to keep at least one.’

      ‘No, I have not!’ But I might. ‘They are props. I’m supposed to be taking photos for Queen Coral.’

      ‘Aren’t you always!’ She laughs, but it’s a little bit strained. My job is definitely a vocation. Nothing nine-to-five about it at all. ‘She never struck me as a kitten type of person, though.’

      ‘She’s not. She wants me to take a picture of her flaming lipstick and an apple, the kittens were my idea, a kind of peace gesture.’ I shrug. ‘She can take it or leave it.’ I flop back further into the cushions. ‘Do you ever wish you hadn’t started something?’ One of the kittens stretches out in its sleep, tiny toes splayed, and I can’t help it. I stroke its cute pink pads, and its paw curls round my fingertip in a baby hug. I want to kiss those tiny toes, that little nose. I think this is the closest I’ve ever felt to maternal. ‘I think I need to ditch the felines and concentrate on the apple. Still-life is a bloody sight easier.’

      ‘And since when did you do easy?’ I can hear the smile in Rachel’s voice.

      ‘True. Look, soz, Rachel, but I suppose I better get on with this and at least take the shot she’s after before I lose the light. I’m expecting her to call soon with a new set of demands.’

      ‘Yeah, sure! I just wanted to catch you before you jetted off, check you were okay and tell you,’ there’s a slight hesitation in her voice, ‘I’ve got some news. Big news.’

      ‘Big?’

      ‘Mega!’

      ‘Tell!’

      ‘I can’t! But something exciting has happened, crumbs I hope you’re as excited as me! I think you will be, well, I hope …’

      ‘Rach! You can’t do this to me! Of course, I’ll be excited. Tell!’ Even if the actual thing doesn’t excite me, the fact that Rachel loves it so much will mean I will, too – for her.

      ‘I’ve got to. You’ll never guess! But you mustn’t, no, no don’t even try, I’m not telling you! I can’t tell you on the phone, I need to see you in person. Face to face, so I can check what you think.’ I smile to myself. I love it when Rachel is excited, she makes the whole world seem a brighter place. It’s infectious. ‘I just,’ she hesitates, ‘need to know you’re okay with it. You might be …’

      The silence lengthens.

      ‘Be what?’

      ‘Upset?’

      ‘Why would I be upset? Rach, you’re worrying me!’

      ‘Soz. I don’t mean to, I mean it is good, honest, just a bit, well, I need to see you when I tell you. When are you back, Jane?’

      ‘You’re honestly not going to tell me? You’re going all weird on me, and not telling me?’

      ‘Nope. I want to tell you in person.’

      ‘FaceTime?’

      ‘In real person! How long are you here for when you get back? You’re not going to tell me you’re zooming off straight away again?’ Rachel runs out of steam and sounds breathless. Giddy with excitement, as my mum would say.

      ‘No, I won’t be zooming anywhere!’ I laugh a bit self-consciously. I might, or might not, have mentioned to my mate (well, all my mates, and most of my family, and everybody I know on Facebook) that I am about to jet off on an important business trip to New York. I couldn’t help myself, it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.

      ‘Promise? We can meet up as soon as you’re home?’

      ‘Promise.’