The Moon Spun Round Read Free

prefer?’
    I’m going to regret this, thought Sally, unable to offend by refusing.
    ‘Oh, er, red, I think.’ The label was unreadable. Probably ‘Produce of Outer Mongolia’.
    ‘Now, you don’t want one of those frozen birds,’ Sally had been rummaging in the freezer chest, ‘all water and chemicals, they are. I’ll get Jack to find you a nice fresh one. Jack…’ The woman bustled away before Sally could protest, but was back a moment later. ‘He’s just sorting you out a nice plump bird. That’s Jack’s side of the business—he’s got a free-range barn out the back. We sell no end of eggs through the shop, and he always has a few of the hens all cleaned and oven-ready for our weekend customers. Now you’ll need some fresh vegetables to go with that. What about carrots and some peas? Couldn’t get any fresher if you jumped the hedge and picked them yourself.’ Plans for dinner, it seemed, had been taken out of Sally’s hands. ‘My name’s Ruth, by the way, since you’ll be coming in here again.’ She began sorting through the piles of vegetables and loading them into brown paper bags. ‘Yes, funny thing about that cat. Her favourite it was, practically worshipped each other. Then it just disappeared. Perhaps it knew she’d passed on. Cats are like that, aren’t they? Sometimes know things we don’t. Still, I don’t suppose you’ve got any animals yourself, living in the city and all.’

    The saucer licked clean, the cat returns to its place on the rug and begins its after-dinner wash. This is a creature who maintains standards even in hardtimes. The dull, grey fur and crumpled ear disguise traces of a more aristocratic ancestry. The paws are dainty, the bones long and delicate.
    ‘Well, cat, what the hell do I do now? Try to find this Trevor, I suppose. Can’t call Jonathan—he’s still in his blessed meeting. Might be easier to go back to Newmarket and find a hotel. I could ring Jonathan from there, then he can pick me up in the morning and we can sort out Trevor and his damn cottage then. What do you think?’
    The cat tidies a few stray hairs in its tail, then looks straight at her. Only now does Sally become aware of the creature’s eyes. Two orbs, clear as iced moonlight, search out her own, piercing her with their gaze and pinning her to the chair. The purring begins again, slow and soothing. Then somehow the cat is on her lap, and her hand, obedient to some primitive instinct, is moving down the length of its back. Long strokes, soothing, caressing, in rhythm with the pulsating song. Sally begins to drift down a long, dreamtime tunnel. From somewhere, a long way away, she hears the voice of a woman singing an old nursery rhyme.
    Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?
I’ve been to London to look at the King
.
    Her body jerks her awake. The cat is sitting alert, ears pricked forward. The late afternoon sunshine has completed its journey across the floor and the room is in semi-darkness.
    ‘Oh, God, what the hell time is it? Come on, I’ve got to get out of here. Where are my car keys?’
    The cat leaps to the floor, bounds across the kitchen and lands on top of the Aga. At a flourish of the cat’s tail, the boiler emits a low-throated
boom
. At the same time, flashes of blue lightning strike Sally’s still-sleepy eyes and neon strips flood the kitchen with light. The gas fire kicks into life.
    ‘Oh, thank God. That’s one hell of a party trick, Puss. What do you do for an encore?’ Then her smile withers. It is just coincidence. Must be. Or perhaps cats feel power surges in the wire or something? What the hell, just be thankful. A reassuring red light signifies the approach of tea. At the same time a car pulls up outside.

Two
    S TRANGE ABOUT THE POWER CUT , though.’ Abbie frowns. ‘You can practically guarantee that it will go off in a storm or high winds. Nothing unusual. But there’s no reason it should have gone off today. Ours certainly didn’t.’
    ‘Well,