**Diary Entry October 12th**
Its bad. Bad and bitter, bitter and painful, painful and unfair.
No tears left to cry.
Why? Why would he do this to me?
Seven yearsseven happy years.
We held hands, never said a cruel word, and then just like that, he left. No, not lefthe ran away, like a coward.
My phone keeps ringing. Who on earth?
Mum.
«Hello, love love, what are you doing?»
«Nothing, Mum.» I force my voice steady.
«Well, good. Youre not crying over that good-for-nothing, are you? Not worth the tears.»
«A fools a fool, even in England,» Mum chuckles, pleased with herself. «Listen, love, I wanted to invite you to the cottage this Friday. Aunt Margots coming, and shes bringing her nephewSimon. Lovely lad, just had a rough go of it. His wife was utterly useless, thank goodness hes rid of her.»
«Strangled her, did he?»
«What? Who strangled who?»
«His wife. You said hes rid of her.»
«Ugh, what a ghastly joke! But at least youre jokingthats good, love. When that wretch Charlie left me, remember? We met at music schoolI played cello, he played trumpet. Sweet boy, tousled blond hair I adored him. And then he ran off with that clarinetist, Natalie. Oh, I wept for weeks! Even skipped class to wander along the Thames, pretending Id drown myself»
«Mum Im not really up for this.»
«Oh? Alright, love. SoFriday, then? Promise?»
«I dont know, Mum.»
«Thats not an answer, Lily. Promise me.»
«Fine. Ill come for a bit.»
«Good. Mummys here, alright? Daddy tooMichael, tell her youre here! Lily? Daddy loves you, and so do I»
I curl under the quilt, lights off. No tears, just hollow hurt.
One question. Just one.
*Why?*
The phone again.
My sister. If I ignore her, shell rally the entire family.
«Hello.»
«Sis, whats wrong? Crying?»
«No. Why would I cry? My husband left me, thats all. The man I planned to have children with, the man who stood by me through everything.»
«Good riddance! Why waste tears on a bloke like that? When that prat Jeremy dumped me, I thought Id die. Remember him? Gorgeous, six months together, head over heelslook at me now! Anyway, were camping this weekend, pairs only. This bloke, Danielhis wife left him. Thought you two might hit it off. Never liked your ex anyway So? Coming?»
«Ill think about it, Tanya.»
«Think hard, Lil»
Cold. Cold and aching. My eyes sting, swollen.
Another call.
Grandma. For pitys sake.
«Hello»
«Lily, darling. Come over. Ill bake your favourite scones, make hot cocoawell even have a little sherry, eh? Send Grandad to the shed. I understand, love. When that rogue Henry left me, oh, how I suffered! Started smoking, briefly. Then I met your grandad, and he swept me right off my feet»
«Alright, Grandma. Ill think about it.»
All day, calls pour ineveryone sharing their own heartbreak.
By evening, as I finally drift off, the doorbell rings.
Ignore it.
But its relentless.
I shuffle to the door.
No one there. Thena cross little voice: «Well? Move aside! Trying to help here!»
I look down.
Good Lord.
A procession files in
«Who who are you?»
«Cant you tell? Were cats.»
«What sort of cats?»
«All sorts. Were here to help. Close the doordont catch a chill.»
«Were family. The Whisker family.»
«Mum, check her head! Son, take her pulse. Daughter, put the kettle on. Sit, sit.»
Dazed, I obey. The cats bustle about like medics.
«Granny Whisker, she needs a story.»
«Purr, my dear let the bad fade, the good come Papa Whisker, tuck her in. Fluff her pillow, Aunt Whisker. Kitten, behaveput down that phone!»
I watch, dreamlike, as tiny Whisker snaps a selfie on my mobile.
«Grandad, massage her hands. Uncle, her feet.»
They do. I sink into sleep, lulled by the padding of paws.
Morning brings strange relief.
No Whiskers in sight. A dream?
Outside, autumn sun glows. Laughabletaking leave to weep. Friday I promised Mum.
At the doorstep, a tiny mewl.
A lone kittenlittle Whisker.
«Wheres your family?» I scoop him up. No answer, just pitiful squeaks.
I tuck him under my coat. To the cottagecant leave him.
Unseen, the Whiskers peek from the alley, triumphant. Off to their next rescue.
At the station, a lost young manMarcus. We chat. He carries my bag. By «Brightwood,» were friends.
«Lily, whats under your coat?»
«My son.»
«Son?»
«Meet Whisker Whisker!»
Marcus grins. «Whisker, eh? Fine name. Marcus Alexander Whisker.»
As Aunt Margot and my parents emerge, were laughing, wiping tears. The kitten watches, baffled.
*Later*
A grey tomcat glowers from the sill.
«Disgrace! Their childs two months old, and they drag him about!»
Once, he was small too.
Lily still wonders how Whisker took that photo. She thinks it a dream.
But *he* remembers.
That man camechampagne, chocolates, grovelling. Lily wasnt home.
Whisker answered.
«You. Out.» A tiny paw pointed. «Run. And stay away from our Lily.»
Thencouldnt resista spiteful tinkle in his shoe.
Well, kittens will be kittens.
Good morning, dears.
Quick, a storybefore the Whiskers arrive.
Sending love and light,
Always yours.
