Cleo

As Nigel warmed to recounting his triumph over childhood trauma, Cleo slithered like a commando along the edge of the skirting board. Invisible to him, she crouched in the shade of the bookshelves and listened to details of a cat nightmare he’d suffered over two decades ago. She was still as a stone with a Cheshire cat grin settled on her lips.

Suddenly, Cleo darted out of her hiding place and ran at Nigel. In a single movement she sprang on to his lap, sending his wineglass flying through the air. Nigel emitted a roar straight from his primeval core. Horrified, I leapt to try and catch the glass, but everything was happening in slow motion. As my hand swiped at the glass it tumbled toward the carpet, drenching us both in a wine fountain.

Nigel stood up and brushed his trousers with agitated strokes. I grabbed paper towels from the kitchen and dabbed the blotches on his knees, while he attended to the more intimate areas.

“I’m so sorry!” I cried.

“Excellent,” he muttered, sinking back into the sofa and crossing his legs. Before there was time to stop her Cleo climbed on his shoulder and wove herself in a knot around his neck.

“She seems to like you,” I said. “Sorry—your allergy. Here, let me take her.”

“No, seriously,” Nigel sputtered, disentangling Cleo and arranging her uncomfortably on his knees. “I’m quite comfortable. She can probably smell Rex on me. He’s my Doberman. A very athletic, straight forward dog.”

“Yes,” I said, wondering if we’d ever progress towards anything that could be classified as conversation. “Dogs are…straightforward.”

“Dogs are more like men in that respect,” said Nigel. “Whereas cats are more like women, don’t you think? You could write a book about that.”

Nigel’s face suddenly turned the color of Australian Shiraz. As Cleo dived on the floor and disappeared down the hall Nigel’s eyes rolled towards the ceiling. For a dreadful moment he appeared to be having one of those allergic reactions that seize people’s throats up.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He raised his hands and his mouth curled down in disgust. “Your cat,” he whispered. “Just. Peed. On. Me.”

Nigel insisted on returning to his apartment to change his suit. While he was gone I searched Cleo’s favorite hiding places under the bed and in the wardrobe to punish her, but she’d successfully dematerialized. Satisfied the evening was drained of potential romance, Cleo had melted into the walls.

Later I spotted the silhouette of a cat on the roof. Its eyes shone down at me like lighthouse beams. Even from that distance, I could see a glow of satisfaction in them.

If nothing else, the one-night stand that wasn’t made a good story to share with Mum when she phoned. She sounded distracted. Her outings with Rata were getting challenging. When they’d walked down a hill to a beach at the weekend, Rata hadn’t been able to get back up the slope. Mum said she’d had to carry Rata up the hill. Rata was no small animal. How Mum had managed to lift her was beyond me. The vet had diagnosed emphysema.

At work on Monday morning Nicole asked if I’d do her a favor. Her flatmate was getting married in a couple of weeks. He and his bride were from the States and didn’t know enough people to make up a decent wedding celebration.

“Please come along?” she begged. “You won’t have to stay more than an hour. Just long enough to make the room look fuller.”

Her confidence that my presence could overflow an empty room was hardly flattering. I wasn’t keen on being a one-woman rent-a-crowd. But we both knew I had nothing else to do on Friday nights, except maybe shovel Lego bricks back in their boxes while the children were at their father’s.

“Pleeeeease?”

The couple had arranged to get married at sunset on the steps of the city museum. As the sun hovered like a commitment-phobe on the horizon I locked the car and climbed the hill to the museum. Glancing up, I saw the bridal party. She looked like Barbie. He looked like Ken. But it was the best man who caught my eye. He was stunningly good-looking. Not just handsome in an ordinary aftershave advertisement way, but glowingly breathtaking in the manner of a Greek god. Or gay man.

Gay, of course, I thought, admiring the sweep of well-groomed hair over the wide, tanned forehead, and the broad shoulders accentuated by a well-cut suit. Or married. If not, most definitely girlfriended.

To say it was love at first sight would be exaggerating. Lust at first sight would be more accurate. As the sunset glinted on his aviator glasses and I saw his flashing blue eyes I was overcome by another sensation that was less carnal and even more powerful—a sense of recognition. If we hadn’t met before in this life, we’d almost certainly known each other in earlier lifetimes. Even though he was a stranger, I felt I knew him at a deep level.