‘He’ll be here in a minute.’
‘He?’ said Tiffany. A hope inside her, so frail she had barely noticed it, fell like a tree’s last leaf.
The group sat in awkward silence. Perhaps they had wondered the same as her. Feeling more and more foolish, Tiffany rubbed her wrists across her mouth, the way Rufus did when he fell off the
sofa while napping. How could she have been so silly as to imagine, even for a second, that. . .?
There was a knock. Instantly Ben was on his feet to open the door. In stepped a man in a black leather jacket. Tiffany caught her breath. She had seen him before. But where?
‘Here we are, Geoff,’ said Ben. ‘Our little team. Everyone, this is Geoff White.’
The newcomer stood still, taking in the room, the stacked chairs, the high windows, the Cat Kin sitting in a loose semi-circle. Then he wandered over with a tentative wave.
‘Interesting place.’ He looked round some more. ‘Nice finger-paintings.’
Tiffany saw puzzled faces. Yusuf mouthed a question. She helplessly shook her head.
‘Floor’s uneven.’ The man scratched a scar on his cheek, a pale path through the stubble that was almost a beard. ‘Narrow. Bit grubby. And those pictures. . .’ He
turned to face the group at last. ‘You realise you can’t possibly learn pashki in here.’
‘Ben, who is this man?’ Tiffany demanded.
‘I beg your pardon.’The interloper squatted among them, his feet flat to the floor. ‘Felicity Powell called me Geoffrey, mostly. But Geoff will do.’
‘Mrs Powell?’ Daniel exclaimed.
‘They’re old friends,’ said Ben.
‘Less of the old in my case, please,’ said Geoff. ‘But yeah. Friends, associates, comrades-in-arms. . . and teacher and pupil, both ways round. I could tell you some tales. . .
and I will. Only not tonight. More important is the story Ben has for you.’
‘Wait,’ said Tiffany. Things were running away from her. ‘You can’t just walk in here. We don’t even know you. And I saw you–’ now she remembered,
‘lurking outside my house!’
‘You must be Tiffany. Sorry. You got me bang to rights.’ Geoff held out his wrists, as if for handcuffs.
‘Why were you watching me?’
‘Because they don’t list the Cat Kin in the Yellow Pages.’
She returned his blue gaze, determined not to blink.
‘You’re cautious.’ Geoff blinked first. ‘Good. And you want proof that I am who I claim to be.’ He chuckled. ‘Well. I could tell you lots of facts about
Felicity. She hates dust and clutter. She subscribes to the National Geographic. She has a beat-up old radio that she keeps repairing. Etcetera. I know all that. Does it prove I’m her
friend?’
Foreheads wrinkled as they tried to follow his meaning.
‘Of course not,’ said Geoff. ‘No more than Tiffany can prove that her cat belongs to her. Friendship is hard stuff to get hold of. So it’s no good me just telling you who
I am. That’s for you to decide.’
Tiffany felt a twinge of recognition. She’d known someone else who said things like that. With his scarecrow hair, taxi-driver’s accent and sturdy, powerful build, this man seemed
almost a different species from the sleek Mrs Powell. But it was the difference of pepper and salt – in that she could, so easily, picture them together.
Geoff pulled up a chair and sat on it back to front.
‘This is sudden for me too,’ he said. ‘I will make time for us to get to know each other. Now there are more important things. Ben, go ahead.’
Ben stood up.
‘I, er. . .’ He laughed nervously. ‘I had a bit of an interesting weekend.’
Ben’s tale upset Tiffany in two ways. The first shock was how much it got to her. She saw Susie’s incredulous face, Daniel craning forward. Yes, they looked alarmed, but no more than
if Ben had been telling a ghost story round a camp fire.
‘How long was you tied up?’
‘Ugh, you’ve still got the marks. . .’
‘Didn’t they give you any proper food?
‘You went to fight
‘He?’ said Tiffany. A hope inside her, so frail she had barely noticed it, fell like a tree’s last leaf.
The group sat in awkward silence. Perhaps they had wondered the same as her. Feeling more and more foolish, Tiffany rubbed her wrists across her mouth, the way Rufus did when he fell off the
sofa while napping. How could she have been so silly as to imagine, even for a second, that. . .?
There was a knock. Instantly Ben was on his feet to open the door. In stepped a man in a black leather jacket. Tiffany caught her breath. She had seen him before. But where?
‘Here we are, Geoff,’ said Ben. ‘Our little team. Everyone, this is Geoff White.’
The newcomer stood still, taking in the room, the stacked chairs, the high windows, the Cat Kin sitting in a loose semi-circle. Then he wandered over with a tentative wave.
‘Interesting place.’ He looked round some more. ‘Nice finger-paintings.’
Tiffany saw puzzled faces. Yusuf mouthed a question. She helplessly shook her head.
‘Floor’s uneven.’ The man scratched a scar on his cheek, a pale path through the stubble that was almost a beard. ‘Narrow. Bit grubby. And those pictures. . .’ He
turned to face the group at last. ‘You realise you can’t possibly learn pashki in here.’
‘Ben, who is this man?’ Tiffany demanded.
‘I beg your pardon.’The interloper squatted among them, his feet flat to the floor. ‘Felicity Powell called me Geoffrey, mostly. But Geoff will do.’
‘Mrs Powell?’ Daniel exclaimed.
‘They’re old friends,’ said Ben.
‘Less of the old in my case, please,’ said Geoff. ‘But yeah. Friends, associates, comrades-in-arms. . . and teacher and pupil, both ways round. I could tell you some tales. . .
and I will. Only not tonight. More important is the story Ben has for you.’
‘Wait,’ said Tiffany. Things were running away from her. ‘You can’t just walk in here. We don’t even know you. And I saw you–’ now she remembered,
‘lurking outside my house!’
‘You must be Tiffany. Sorry. You got me bang to rights.’ Geoff held out his wrists, as if for handcuffs.
‘Why were you watching me?’
‘Because they don’t list the Cat Kin in the Yellow Pages.’
She returned his blue gaze, determined not to blink.
‘You’re cautious.’ Geoff blinked first. ‘Good. And you want proof that I am who I claim to be.’ He chuckled. ‘Well. I could tell you lots of facts about
Felicity. She hates dust and clutter. She subscribes to the National Geographic. She has a beat-up old radio that she keeps repairing. Etcetera. I know all that. Does it prove I’m her
friend?’
Foreheads wrinkled as they tried to follow his meaning.
‘Of course not,’ said Geoff. ‘No more than Tiffany can prove that her cat belongs to her. Friendship is hard stuff to get hold of. So it’s no good me just telling you who
I am. That’s for you to decide.’
Tiffany felt a twinge of recognition. She’d known someone else who said things like that. With his scarecrow hair, taxi-driver’s accent and sturdy, powerful build, this man seemed
almost a different species from the sleek Mrs Powell. But it was the difference of pepper and salt – in that she could, so easily, picture them together.
Geoff pulled up a chair and sat on it back to front.
‘This is sudden for me too,’ he said. ‘I will make time for us to get to know each other. Now there are more important things. Ben, go ahead.’
Ben stood up.
‘I, er. . .’ He laughed nervously. ‘I had a bit of an interesting weekend.’
Ben’s tale upset Tiffany in two ways. The first shock was how much it got to her. She saw Susie’s incredulous face, Daniel craning forward. Yes, they looked alarmed, but no more than
if Ben had been telling a ghost story round a camp fire.
‘How long was you tied up?’
‘Ugh, you’ve still got the marks. . .’
‘Didn’t they give you any proper food?
‘You went to fight
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