Begin Again | ongoing - Chapter 31: Chapter 31

The rain rears its ugly head again before they reach Sunny's childhood home, but not so badly that they have to pull over again. In the time it takes to dash from the driveway to the front door, though, they're both soaked to the bone. Sunny's shivering and chattering, her elbows held tight against her ribs and her chin dipped to her chest to keep at least some part of her body dry.
"Good god, you're like a pair of drowned rats," Martha says as she shoos them into the kitchen and shuts out the rain, almost trapping the end of Ursula's tail in the door when she darts in from the cold. "Oh you silly old bat," she says to the cat, "what on earth are you doing out there in this weather?"
Ursula does not reply. She stands angrily in the hallway, shaking each paw individually before sitting down to ferociously lick her tail as though that will dry her off. Kiki, the striking Bengal cat with the swinging belly, struts past to show off her dry and silky coat, stretching out next to Ursula in the middle of the hall.
"Where's Britney?" Sunny asks as she unfolds a tea towel to dry her hair.
"In your room. That's her favourite place at the moment, and the others don't seem to bother her there. It's like they know not to mess with you when it comes to that kitten," Martha says with a small smile. She flips on the kettle on autopilot and takes out three mugs, making coffee three different ways. "She's always in there when it's raining. The poor little mite absolutely hates any kind of inclement weather."
Sunny takes to the stairs, her long legs easily climb them two at a time until she reaches her bedroom and pushes open the door to see a blob of black fluff curled up in the middle of her duvet. At the sound of the door's creaky hinges, Britney lifts her sleepy head and blinks yellow eyes at Sunny. She stretches out her front paws and yawns, flopping onto her side before she slowly rolls over and exposes her ridiculously soft belly.
"Hey there, cutie," Sunny coos, carefully perching on the edge of her bed to stroke Britney's tummy. In this light she looks pure black, but Sunny knows that the moment the sun comes out, her fur will be streaked with silver-grey. She flexes her claws and a low purr rumbles her little body, impressively loud for such a little scrap of a cat. Sunny strokes her silky hair and her bushy tail before scooping Britney into her arms, cradling her like a baby. Britney makes no effort to move – she knows she's safe with Sunny, so she curls up against her chest, her chin resting in the crook of Sunny's elbow.
Viv's eyes light up at the sight of the pair of them when Sunny comes back into the kitchen, nuzzling Britney's head with her nose. She smells so good, like fresh laundry and a hint of Sylvia's perfume and the sweet warmth of a fluffy kitten.
"I hope you realise this is the closest you'll ever get to a grandchild," Sunny says, pulling her chair out with her foot and sitting next to Viv, whose hand goes straight to Britney's back.
"That's quite all right." Martha chuckles and sets the three mugs on the table. "You know I'm not one of those mothers who wants nothing more than to be a granny. If I was, I might've had a few more kids to boost the odds, and I wouldn't have left it until I was nearly forty to start reproducing."
"And you got it so right the first time, there was no need to try again," Sunny says. Laughing to herself, Martha ruffles Sunny's hair and shakes her head.
Viv grins and slings an arm around Sunny's shoulders and says, "Why mess with perfection, eh?" before kissing her cheek.
Sunny blushes, her cheek heating up against Viv's lips. As though in protest at the thought, Britney stands on Sunny's lap, stretching every inch of her body right down to the tip of her tail, and saunters over to Viv's lap. She curls up like she has found her home and her purring intensifies when Viv strokes her.
Martha gives the three of them a soft, doe-eyed look before she glances out of the kitchen window and, seeing that the rain has stopped, she says, "Hey, Sunny, hun, would you mind asking Mum if she wants a drink?"
"Mum's here? She's not at work?"
"Depends what you class as work," Martha says drily. "She was reading in the shed before the rain started; she won't even realise you're here. You know how she is when she's got her nose in a book."
"Even worse than this one," Viv jokes, bumping her shoulder against Sunny's. It still throws Sunny that Viv knows these things, that Viv knows her parents, a whole set of relationships there that she knows so little about.
"I'm not that bad."
"If you think that then you're deluded, bambi."
Sunny scoffs and flounces out of the kitchen, double-checking it's not raining before she heads down the garden to the shed. It isn't most people's idea of a shed – this is not some rickety wooden thing but a warm, insulated little building away from the house, complete with electricity and a space heater that keeps it toasty in winter, and it's the only place where Sylvia is allowed to smoke indoors. She has been saying she'll quit since she married Martha; she insisted she'd quit when she became a parent, but Sylvia has made a lot of sacrifices in this life and this is one thing she can't let go of. Not fully, anyway: forty years ago she smoked ten a day. Now she buys a pack of ten on the first day of each month and savours each one, lighting up as she walks across the old campus that houses the university she works at; as she lounges in a cafe with a coffee in her hand; as she reads in the shed she has made her own.
That's where Sunny finds her mother – comfortably slouched in a deep armchair, long legs tucked under her, with a weathered paperback in one hand and a cigarette dangling between the fingers of the other. She doesn't keep any precious books in here, where the morning sun and the Marlboro smoke turn the pages yellow – the shelves in here are stacked with swollen, waterlogged paperbacks and tatty little books rescued from charity shop bargain bins. As Sunny approaches the shed, she watches her mother read; when Sylvia reaches the end of chapter, she puts the nub of a cigarette between her lips and drags the smoke into her lungs to free her thumb to turn the page.
She's so engrossed in her book – a well-thumbed 1984 edition of The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith, its spine cracked and cover curling – that she doesn't notice her daughter, doesn't notice the shadow she casts, until Sunny opens the door and Sylvia startles, almost dropping both the book and the cigarette.
"Sunny, darling! You scared me!" She laughs and looks for somewhere to stub out her cigarette; finding herself lacking an ashtray, she drops it into the mug beside her with a soft plip where it floats in an inch of hours-old coffee. She folds the corner of her page and leaves the book on the armchair, standing to embrace her daughter. "I didn't realise you were home. What's the occasion?"
"Mum said some of the other cats are ganging up on Britney so Viv and I are taking her home," Sunny days as she hugs her mother, Sylvia's cashmere jumper so soft and warm against her cheek. "We're having coffee in the kitchen. Want a drink?"
Sylvia glances down at the stone-cold coffee, pockets of ash floating on its surface. "I think I could do with a fresh coffee." She switches off the heater with a socked toe and slips her feet into a pair of clogs, gathering her mug and tucking her lighter into her pocket, leaving the book on the chair for the next time she wants to read alone out here.
The rain is about to return. Sunny can feel it in the ominous weight of the air, the threatening black of the clouds that seem to be sinking, their swollen bellies grazing the tips of the trees. In the distance she can see a smear in the sky where the rain is slashing its way out of the cloud.
"I think we've got about twenty seconds before the next flood," she says.
"Then we'd better get a wiggle on." Sylvia dumps out her old coffee and ashes into a flowerbed outside the shed, and they run.
The moment the door slams behind them, a fresh downpour slams the ground they were just rushing across, forcing puddles into the gravel driveway and any soft divot in the earth. Sunny's shivering again. Fuck this stupid English weather, this stupid Engish rain. She's sick of being cold and wet. Passing the warm laundry room on the way to the kitchen, she snags a thick jumper off a hook on the wall and struggles into it, relishing in the instant heat.
Martha has brought out the lemon drizzle cake. She's cutting generous wedges onto side plates, the dense, moist sponge topped with a thick sugary drizzle that cracks under the knife. Sunny's stomach lets out an involuntary rumble at the thought of cake as she wraps both hands around her mug and shoots a jealous look at Viv, who is the picture of happiness with a purring cat on her lap and a coffee in her hand, her smile reaching her eyes with a twinkle as she chats to Martha.
"There you are!" Martha finds a fourth mug and makes coffee the way her wife likes it – painfully strong, nearly two full teaspoons of instant granules, with a pointless splash of milk and a spoonful of sugar. "Shall we move to the conservatory? I've got the heater on in there."
The conservatory is at the other end of the house, with a view over the garden that is stunning in summer and a little dreary at the moment, spring flowers battered by the downpour. Sunny carries two mugs and two plates of cake so Viv can carry Britney, and the two of them sink down onto the same sofa, their damp legs pressed together when the sofa dips in the middle and forces them closer. Sunny doesn't shy away. Viv pulls a blanket over her lap to make a cosy space for Britney, who pummels the soft fabric like she's kneading dough.
"I think she'll be perfectly happy with you two," Martha says, she and Sylvia taking to the other sofa where their bodies twine together like they were designed to fit that way. When Sunny thinks of soulmates, she only has to look to her parents for proof.
"I'll miss having her around, though," Sylvia says. "She's the best lap cat we've ever had."
"I've put together a bit of a starter kit for you," Martha says, more to Viv than to Sunny. "Some of her favourite blankets and toys and a box of the food she likes. She's only a baby so she still needs kitten food for the next six, seven months at least, and you're best off using the litter made out of paper because the gritty stuff gets stuck in her tail, and—"
"We'll be okay, Mum," Sunny says. "We can always call if we've got any questions. And if you miss her, you can come over and visit. It's not like we're going to Mars. Viv's flat is only half an hour from here."
Martha purses her lips. "I've always wanted to see your place, Viv."
"You're welcome any time," Viv says, her eyes on Britney. Sunny didn't realise her girlfriend was such a cat person too, but Viv has hardly torn her gaze from the kitten, stroking her the whole time to keep the purring going.
"We should've brought her to you. That probably would've made more sense. You know, make sure she's settled in and everything." She holds her cup in front of her mouth, her words disturbing to steam that rises and curls and dissipates. Sunny gets the feeling her mother's regretting her decision to let Britney go – or, at least, she's not as ready as she thought she was.
It's inevitable, really, that the four of them end up in Viv's flat.
Once the coffee has been drunk and the cake has been eaten and the rain has moved on and Sunny has snuck a second slice, licking citrusy sugar from her fingers, she ends up in the passenger seat again, this time with a much better coffee in a much sturdier travel flask. Her parents are following in their own car. Britney's in a wicker carrier on her lap, all her stuff in the boot, and the meowing starts the moment Viv pulls away from the house.
"Oh, no," Sunny says quietly. The plaintive cry of a confused and unhappy kitten goes straight through her, clawing at her heart. It's not like she's taking Britney to the vet, but the cat doesn't know that. All she knows is that she's in an unfamiliar place and she's moving and this is all a bit strange, and her meow has turned from a tiny little chirp to an agonised yowl.
Fifteen minutes later, it hasn't stopped.
"I'm gonna cry," Viv says. "That sound is making me sad."
"Can I let her out?"
"Only if you can keep her on your lap. I don't want her getting under the pedals."
The thought makes Sunny grimace as she carefully manoeuvres the carrier on her lap and unlatches the door, pulling out one of the blankets to pool it on her legs. Britney tumbles out as though she was about to throw herself at the wire door, and the meowing stops when she's scooped into Sunny's arms.
"Such a little drama queen." Sunny laughs and nuzzles her face in Britney's scruff, pushing the carrier down into the footwell. Britney doesn't try to explore the car; she's quite happy to be out of the cage, and her purring resumes when Sunny cuddles and kisses her.
"She's even needier than you," Viv says, laughing. That comes as a surprise. Sunny's eyebrows shoot up.
"I'm needy?" It's a genuine question – she doesn't know how she has behaved for the majority of her relationship, but she has never seen herself as a needy person. Though she does have a tendency to cling to people once she has decided she wants to keep them in her life – she did virtually everything with Ravi and Fraser when they were first friends, when she wanted to secure herself a place in their lives.
"Not in a bad way, don't get me wrong." Viv's wearing a nostalgic smile, the one that Sunny has come to recognise as the one that comes out when she's thinking of moments that Sunny has lost to the black hole. "You're very snuggly. You love cuddling. Needy was the wrong word – it's not a negative thing at all. I love how cuddly you are."
"Cuddly," Sunny repeats. She has always thought of cuddly as a word that belongs to cute baby animals and babies and people who are good at giving hugs. Not her awkward, gangly self, her legs too long and her knees too pointy, her elbows too invasive.
"You give the best hugs."
"Really? Better than Delilah?"
Viv laughs and says, "I'm not sure I've hugged Delilah, so I can't really answer that, but I also think the quality of a hug is determined in some substantial way by how much you want that person to be hugging you, and I'd much rather be hugging you than Lilah."
"Hugging is underrated," Sunny says. She can think of nothing more comforting than the right hug from the right person at the right time – it is security and love and affection and everything good, reassurance and affirmation and warmth and relief. She doesn't understand how anyone can prefer sex – messy and awkward and embarrassing and gross – over the tenderness of a hug. Then again, as far as her memory goes, she has never had sex. She doesn't recall what it's like to share her body with Viv; she doesn't know how tender that can be.
Viv left the heating on last night so the flat is warm when they make it back before the rain can show its face again. Britney protests at being returned to the carrier for the trek from the street to the top floor flat, but she soon switches from frustration to fascination when she is let loose in her new home. So many new smells to explore, new crannies and hidey holes to discover, with no other cats fighting for Sunny's and Viv's attention, no other cats fighting her.
Sunny trots down to the car to get the rest of Britney's stuff – a giant bag of cat litter and a fresh tray; a tote bag filled with liners and toys and what is supposedly Britney's favourite bowl. Sunny's not convinced cats have favourite bowls. She is convinced that her mother is a little sentimental.
Sylvia's car pulls into the space behind Viv's, and she and Martha spill out, admiring the impressive terraced crescent and the view of the sea.
"I've always wondered what these places look like on the inside," Martha says. "Are they all flats?"
"Most of them." Sunny hefts the cat kitter under her arm and nods at number 25, Seville Crescent. "Viv's on the top floor." She leads the way and her mothers follow her up two flights to flat 25C, nudging open the door that she left off the latch. Viv has found a secluded spot for the litter tray outside the bathroom; she's on her knees filling it up and Britney is looping her little body around Viv's legs, trying to get in the tray before it's ready.
"Beware, she's a bit of a terror when it comes to the litter tray. She seems to know when I'm going to change it and she'll use it the minute I've made it all nice and fresh," Martha says, looking around at the flat, so much tidier than Sunny's, so much more grown up. "This place is beautiful. You get wonderful light in here."
"I'm very lucky," Viv says as she stands, brushing off her knees. Britney leaps into the tray and digs up the litter immediately, wasting no time with her first wee in her new home. "I can't believe we've never had you over before." Her turn at playing hostess, she scrubs her hands before putting on the kettle and lining up four mugs because she knows the Shelleys well; she knows all three are coffee fiends; she knows they cannot refuse the offer of a beverage so she doesn't bother to ask before filling the kettle.
The flat may be a small one-bedroom place but there's plenty of space for the four of them to sit around the coffee table, the early afternoon sun leaking through the tall Georgian window when the clouds peel apart to gift them with a few rays.
"This is so much nicer than your flat," Sylvia says to Sunny.
"Hey! Rude."
"I'm not being rude! It's the truth. You don't get the light like this and it's far more cramped. Aren't you and Fenfen constantly getting in each other's way?"
Sunny shrugs. "Our paths don't cross all that much."
"Sunny's here most of the time, anyway," Viv says, her hand landing on Sunny's thigh. "We virtually live together. And now we have a cat together, so..."
At that, Britney decides she's done enough exploring for the time being and she leaps onto the sofa, curling up on a folded throw. Time may tell a different story but for now, she has no complaints about her new surroundings, unbothered by the lack of garden access or the fact that she's gone from a six-cat household to being the only one.
Martha's beam widens. "That's how it starts," she says. "You start by getting a kitten together and before you know it, you've been married forty years and you have to get a bigger bed because there are six cats who'd rather sleep with you than in any of the countless cosy spaces you've made for them."
Viv glances at Sunny and says, "If that's the direction my life is going in, then all I can say is ... full speed ahead."