Timba Comes Home (13 page)

‘You will be strong enough for everything you need to do, Timba,’ he said reassuringly. ‘Angie will take care of you and Vati. Don’t worry about places . . . wherever you
are on this special Planet, you have lines of communication, and when you go on a journey, you can follow the golden roads.’

‘How can I find a golden road?’ I asked.

‘I’ll teach you how to find one.’ The Lion closed his eyes. ‘Be very still, and close your eyes with me. Then you’ll be able to see so much more. Do this, always,
when you are lost. And don’t tuck your paws up like that. Your pads are very sensitive. Use them,’ he continued as I quickly rearranged myself. ‘When your pads are touching the
earth they will pick up information . . . and when you feel the buzz and see the gold in your mind, then you are on a golden road. Keep your eyes closed . . . for when they are open your finer
senses are weakened.’

I thought about my paws, and the way they felt on the damp earth. My pads began to detect a buzzy sensation, as if I was touching a bumblebee. It was coming from deep under the earth, and it
wasn’t confined to one spot, it was travelling in a limitless flowing stream. It wasn’t water. It wasn’t fire.

‘What is it?’ I asked the Spirit Lion.

‘Pure celestial energy,’ he said, ‘such as you had in the spirit world, Timba. Don’t you remember?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘The memory is there . . . in your mind . . . somewhere,’ said the Spirit Lion, and his voice deepened. ‘Before you were born into this life, you crossed the river of
forgetfulness, and for you that was a powerful block. You were intended to be a brave and loving cat, a leader, a real Earth cat . . . a support cat.’

‘A support cat?’ I queried.

‘A cat who is so important that a human cannot live without you. And I think you know who that human is, Timba.’

‘Leroy.’ I couldn’t hide my disappointment. ‘But I wish it was Angie.’

‘Angie is your earth-angel. She loves you, but she’s not dependent on you. Leroy is. You are the first soul on Earth to offer him unconditional love.’

‘I am?’

The thought was so awesome that we both sank into silence, a nurturing, creative silence that drifted into purring. I felt the Spirit Lion melting away like a cloud of steam vanishing into the
landscape . . . still there, but gone!

I focused on what he had told me, closing my eyes and keeping my pads on the earth to feel the ‘pure celestial energy’. Vati knows about that, I realised, and the instant I thought
about him, my beautiful, poetic brother came gliding through the long grass to find me.

‘You need to lighten up, Timba,’ he said. His eyes sparkled with mischief. He dived into the barrel and went mad in there with sticks and straw, making explosive rustlings. Then he
pounced on me, leapt in the air and challenged me to a wrestling match. We lashed our tails and made faces at each other, then rolled on the floor in a tangle of pedalling paws. The excitement sent
us flying around the garden with me chasing Vati, both of us on fire with joy.

What would I do without my amazing brother?

Christmas passed in a comfortable haze of fairy lights and plates of turkey. Angie made us a playhouse from a big cardboard box, and we were given a new catnip mouse each. We
experienced the frosty garden and came in with our fur ruffed out and diamond drops on our whiskers. Angie laughed a lot and took funny photographs of Vati and me warming our bellies in the glow of
the wood burner. Happy cats.

I loved the winking fairy lights, and I enjoyed watching Leroy tearing the paper off his presents. Inside one parcel was a sleek silver laptop, and that was the first time I ever heard Leroy say
‘thank you’ with a look of pure wonder in his eyes. He seemed overwhelmed and sat on the floor staring at his presents, while Vati and I crunched the torn paper and skidded around. It
was pure happiness.

The Spirit Lion tried to warn me that things could change. ‘Christmas is a strange time for humans,’ he said. ‘It’s too much artificial happiness and it collapses into a
black hole.’

Two days later, I found out what he meant.

Leroy had gone out for the day with his social worker to see his mum. Janine had been found living in a distant town, and she had agreed to see Leroy regularly, with his social worker. The
visits disturbed Leroy, and he would come home moody and sad. As soon as Leroy had left, Graham handed Angie a letter. He looked guilty, like a dog who had dug a hole in the lawn.

‘What’s this?’ Angie sat down on the sofa and unfolded the white paper. Graham stood over her, fidgeting, and I sensed his heart thumping too fast in that huge chest.

A strange light came into Vati’s eyes, lemon bright and suspicious. Sensing trouble, he immediately climbed to the top of the bookshelves, and sat up there, hunched and attentive. I rolled
on the rug and couldn’t be bothered to move.

An icy silence chilled our happy room. I turned to watch Angie. Her aura was sparking, and there was a sense that time had stopped in the air above a chasm. Her thoughts were spinning. She
grasped the arm of the sofa and stuttered out some words. ‘You can’t do this to me, Graham.’

Graham stood there like a teddy bear, his eyes fixed and glassy, his fingers and thumb pulling at his collar.

Angie’s skin flushed crimson.

‘It’s my house, Angie. We’re not married,’ said Graham quietly.

‘You BASTARD!’ Angie leapt to her feet and screamed in a way I would never forget. The scream of an angel is the most harrowing sound on Earth.

Shaken to the edges of my fur, I quickly jumped up to sit in the window, behind the velvet curtain. The glass was cold, and the winter wind whipped across the garden, blowing hard beads of
snow.

‘All the LOVE I’ve put into this place.’ Angie’s words flew at Graham like wasps. ‘The WORK I’ve done. It was bleak when I came here. Graham, you’ve
used me. You’ve betrayed me. And who is this bloody woman?’ Her voice shattered into another scream, her hands clenching at her hair.

‘Please don’t swear,’ said Graham coldly, ‘and her name is Lisa.’ He flicked his mobile phone. ‘There’s a photo of her here, look . . . it’s a
nice one. She’s a sweet girl, you’d like her.’

‘Like her?’ Angie jumped to her feet and tore Graham’s letter into flakes that fell like snow onto the carpet.

The row raged on and on. I only caught fragments of it as I hid behind the curtain looking out at the snow. I glanced at Vati and he’d obviously seen it too. We made a telepathic agreement
to inspect it later.

‘And what about Leroy?’ Angie said. She looked at Graham with fierce, hot eyes. ‘All that stuff I’ve been through with the social workers, fighting for him, fighting to
get full-time foster care . . . and just when he’s settling down . . . you pull the rug out!’

‘Everything I have to say is in that letter,’ Graham said. ‘You’d better piece it together and read it. Or open your laptop. I took the precaution of putting it in an
email too. I’m not going to stand here arguing. I’ve got a rehearsal.’

‘Oh go on . . . walk away!’ Angie screamed. ‘You heartless, devious BASTARD!’

Graham stalked out and shut the door. Moments later we heard his car pulling into the lane. I watched its red lights disappear into the whirling snow.

I ran to Angie who had crumpled onto the sofa. She seemed numb with shock. ‘Oh Timba! Dear darling, lovely cat.’ She cried into my fur, and I felt the gratitude she was sending me
through her pain. I leaned against her heart and spread myself right out, wanting to give her all my warmth, my loudest purr, my long soft paws reaching up to pat her burning face. I almost
couldn’t bear her pain. It was hard for me to stay there, but I knew I had to. A frenzy of snowflakes hit the window. I wanted to play, and just be a cat.

Angie picked up the phone. ‘Can you come round, Laura? . . . please . . . I’ve had a devastating shock.’

Minutes later, Laura was there, shaking the snow from her coat. She took her boots off and came to sit with Angie on the sofa. ‘My God, you look terrible, Angie. What’s
happened?’

There was a brief silence, and then Angie really let go of her feelings, almost shaking me off her lap. I pretended not to notice and went on purring.

‘Graham . . . the love of my life . . . is chucking me out.’

‘WHAT? He can’t do that, Angie!’

‘He’s got some other PIG of a woman.’ Angie wept bitterly. ‘How I hate her. Lisa, she’s called . . . and she’s everything I’m not. A singer, with a face
like a Barbie doll . . . oh he had the cheek to show me a photo of her, would you believe?’

‘How insensitive. That’s so cruel.’ Laura sat with her arms around Angie, her eyes full of caring love.

‘And she’s such a good little home-maker . . . cup cakes and shiny gadgets,’ stormed Angie, ‘and, wouldn’t you know it . . . she’s pregnant as well . . . oh
God, that’s hurt me more than anything, Laura. I SO wanted a baby, and I kept miscarrying, and . . . it broke my heart. Three times. It’s so unfair. What have I done to deserve this?
Tell me that, Laura.’

‘Nothing,’ Laura said fiercely. ‘You’ve been brilliant, Angie. You’re a fantastic friend . . . and look what you’ve done here. This place was a
tip.’

‘I’ve worked so hard. I put everything into the relationship. Graham never notices . . . and when I lost those darling babies, he . . . he just expected me to go on as if nothing had
happened . . . and I tried . . . oh God how I tried. No one knows. Maybe I should have been miserable . . . but that’s not me. I’m a positive person. Why has this happened to me?
WHY?’ Angie was now so distressed that her voice was high-pitched and croaky.

‘Don’t torment yourself with the WHY stuff, Angie. Life is just so cruel sometimes.’

‘It’s not life. It’s HIM.’

‘Is that his letter on the floor in bits?’ asked Laura.

Angie stood up. ‘Can you hold Timba?’ she asked and I was put on Laura’s lap which smelled of horses. ‘He’s sent it by email too.’ She opened her laptop and
the screen flickered into life. ‘I mean . . . read it, Laura.’

‘Haven’t got my glasses,’ Laura said.

‘I’ll read it to you then.’ Angie took a deep breath and began.

‘“Dear Angie” – don’t know why he bothered putting “Dear” – “I know you will be upset, but I feel the time has come for us to part.
It’s not working for me any more, and I have been very lucky to find Lisa, a sweet girl, an opera singer like me. We’ve known each other for two years” – TWO YEARS the
bastard’s been seeing her – “and she is expecting my child. It’s right for her to live with me here. Therefore” – “THEREFORE”! How pedantic is that?
– “I must ask you to find somewhere else to live, Angie, and move out as soon as you reasonably can. I thank you for the happy years we’ve had. Yours, Graham.”’

‘Hang on, Angie . . . no . . . don’t trash your laptop.’ Laura put a restraining hand on Angie.

‘I’d like to smash it over his head,’ Angie growled.

Vati was looking down at me from the top of the bookshelf. He was sending me a telepathic thought. ‘Why are you rolling around purring in the middle of all that human rage?’

I sent a thought right back at him. ‘Because I’m a support cat. It’s my job.’

‘Don’t trash your stuff!’ Laura said.

Angie’s wild eyes alighted on one of Graham’s shirts she had been ironing earlier. She got up and ripped it from the hanger. She tore into it like a cat tearing at a piece of meat,
chucking the strips of it high into the air. I glanced at Vati. Should we play with those tantalising ribbons of frayed shirt? Vati didn’t think so. But I was feeling rebellious. I got down,
aware that my eyes had gone black with excitement. I picked up a long strip of shirt in my teeth and went into the kitchen. I wanted it on a slippery floor where I could twirl with it.

‘He’s taking it out in the snow!’ said Laura, and suddenly the two women were laughing hysterically.

I mean . . . I was only doing my job as a support cat . . . and today it was turning tears into laughter.

When Laura had gone, I crept back onto Angie’s lap, and the crying started again, quietly this time.

‘Thank you, Timba,’ she sobbed. ‘Why is the Universe doing this to us?’

I looked up at Vati who was still on the bookshelf and suggested he came down to help me console Angie. He did come down, still with that strange, lemon-bright look in his eyes, but he
didn’t come to Angie. He sat with his back to us in the window, fascinated by the snow now magically falling in large flakes.

Angie stopped ranting and was ominously quiet. She stared at the floor and didn’t look once at the snow. I trusted Angie. I was sure she would take me with her, wherever she went, and Vati
too.

But Vati made his feelings perfectly clear. He came down from the windowsill, avoided Angie, and jumped into Graham’s favourite chair. Deliberately he curled up on a blue sweater Graham
had left there, and went to sleep.

I was shocked. Vati was making a statement. He was going to stay with Graham.

I loved my brother. I needed him.

Now it was my turn to feel betrayed.

Weeks passed, and Angie did nothing but sit in the window, stare out at the garden, and cry. She did talk to Laura when she came, bringing flowers and hugs. One day Laura
showed her the snowdrops standing stiffly in the winter wind, crowds of them under our apple tree. ‘I can’t bear to look at them,’ Angie said. ‘Graham and I planted them
together when I came here. I can’t look at anything beautiful any more. Only Timba and Vati.’

When Leroy was there, she made an effort to be happy, giving him what was left of her joyful spirit. Leroy was not convinced. ‘Why are you sad, Angie?’ he asked, and brought her
little gifts of cards he had made and pictures of lions he had drawn.

‘That’s brilliant!’ she gasped when he handed her a detailed drawing of a lion, done in white on black paper. ‘You’ve got the curly mane so well, and the paws . . .
but . . . there’s something powerful . . . it’s his eyes! They’re really alive.’

Leroy glowed. ‘It’s my best picture,’ he said, ‘but you can keep it. I’m doing an even better one.’