One Good Turn

49

Louise could hear classical music playing in the living room. The house lights were off and instead a scented candle was burning in the hearth. He had put Classic FM on the radio. Her heart broke for the way he had tried to deal with everything. She could see the back of Archie’s head above the sofa. Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts, shut not up thy merciful ears to our prayers. She must have made a noise because he turned his head slightly and said, “Mum?” She could hear the tearful tremor in his voice.

“Archie?” She approached the sofa slowly. She bit down hard on her lip to try to stop the howl that was trying to escape from some deep, deep place inside. Archie looked up at her and said quietly, “I’m sorry, Mum.” His eyes were rimmed with red, he looked ghastly. In his arms he was cradling Jellybean as if he were a newborn baby, but he was deflated and shrunk, the life all gone from him. He was wrapped in an old sweater of Louise’s. “I thought he’d like to smell you,” Archie said. Another turn of the corkscrew. Her heart in shreds. “It’s okay to cry, Mum,” he said, and the pain finally forced its way out-a terrible wail of lamen-tation, a high-pitched keening that sounded as if it belonged to someone else.

She hadn’t been present at her cat’s birth, and now she had missed his death. “But you had everything in between,” Archie said. It was disturbing how like an adult he sounded. “Here,” he said, carefully passing his sad, swaddled bundle over to her. “I’ll make a cup of tea.”

She unwrapped the cat and kissed him on the head, the ears, the paws. Even this shall pass.

When Archie came back with the tea it was sweet, he must have heard it somewhere on television, hot, sweet tea in times of crisis. She had never taken sugar in tea in her life, but there was something unexpectedly comforting about it.

“He had a good life,” Archie said. He wasn’t old enough for it to be a cliché to him.

“I know.” Love was the hardest thing. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different.