Out With The Old by Alyson Hilbourne

Recently, someone else had helped Bob fill the hole in his aching heart . . .

BOB heard a key in the door and struggled to get up, but the cat arched its back and dug claws into his lap. It did not wish to move.

“Dad? It’s me, Tess.” He heard his daughter’s voice. “In here, love.”

“Ah, there you are . . . What the –?”

“It’s a cat.”

“I can see it’s a cat. When did you get it? I didn’t know you wanted a cat.”

“Neither did I,” Bob admitted. “It came as something of a surprise. Why don’t you make a cup of tea and I’ll explain.”

Tess dropped her bag on the sofa and went out to the kitchen.

Bob laid his head back against the chair and gently rubbed the cat’s ears. It had only taken a few days for the cat to settle in and now he couldn’t image life without it . . .

Tess had been encouraging him to begin sorting Jeanie’s things. He’d been putting it off for a while. Months, if he was honest.

“I’ll come round and help you at the weekend, Dad. It’ll be good for you. A new start.” Tess had phoned him before she went to work earlier in the week.

“No, no. I’ll do it,” Bob had replied, swallowing hard.

He’d told Tess he’d been too busy, but really Jeanie’s death had left a big ache and he was having trouble dealing with it. He needed to feel she was around and her clutter helped.

He’d glanced out of the window as he put the phone down. The garden had been Jeanie’s haven and he did nothing but mow the lawn.

At the end of the garden the greenhouse was leaning at an angle. One or two panes of glass had come out. It was dangerous.

He’d been thinking about clearing that out, too, but it all seemed like too much, too soon.

As he’d stared, a shadow slipped from the door of the greenhouse and stealthily ran along the front and into the undergrowth behind.

Vermin! Bob clenched a fist. Now he’d have to do something about the greenhouse. He couldn’t have things living in there.

Decluttering, wasn’t that what they called it? If he cleared it out he could dismantle it and get a swing set up there, ready for Tess’s kids when they came to visit.

He’d pulled on his wellies and marched outside. The door of the greenhouse was stiff as he yanked it open and a waft of warm earthy air spilled out.

The place felt unused, as in recent years Jeanie had struggled to get down the garden.

“A big job!” Mr Philips from next door popped his head over the fence.

“Something I’ve been meaning to do,” Bob said.

He pulled the first few bags out into the sunlight. They were full of plastic flower pots and seed trays.

Next came bags of compost and bottles of fertiliser. He sneezed. Each time he shifted something it threw up dust, which danced in the sunlight.

Under the shelves were some large terracotta pots. He was dragging them outside when Mr Philips poked his head over again.

“Cup of tea? The missus has just made it.”

Bob stood upright. “Lovely. Thanks,” he said. “What will you do with all that?”

“Take it to the dump?” Bob shrugged. “I might put in a swing for the grandkids when they come to visit.”

“They’ll like that. Er, if you don’t want that compost, can I have it for my pots?”

“Sure. Help yourself.” He drank his tea and looked around. A woman was on the balcony of the flats across the lane, watering a few plants.

Bob looked at the pots he’d pulled from the greenhouse, then he opened the back gate and strode across the lane.

“Excuse me!” he shouted up at the woman. “Do you want more pots for your balcony? I’m clearing the greenhouse and have some spare.”

“Really? I’d love some!” The woman came straight over.

“Amanda,” she said, shaking Bob’s hand. “Do you really not want these?”

“Take what you want.” Bob gestured at the pots.

Amanda took them away one by one as Bob carried on pulling things out of the greenhouse.

Next to come out was an old wooden wheelbarrow.

“That’s seen better days,” Bob said aloud as he added it to the collection on the grass.

A woman was passing in the lane. She smiled in agreement.

“I guess it’s for the dump.” Bob straightened up and wiped his hot forehead.

“You don’t want it?” the woman asked.

Bob shook his head. “I’m clearing out the greenhouse.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it,” the woman said.

“It’s no good,” Bob warned. “It has a hole in the side and I don’t think the wheel will go round.”

“That’s OK. I just

want it to plant with flowers,” the woman said. “I’ll get my husband to come and get it.”

By the end of the day Bob had emptied half the greenhouse and most of the things he’d unearthed had found new homes.

A man from the allotments had taken all the plastic flower pots and planting trays.

“Someone will use these,” he said. “I’ll take them all and offer them around.”

Another neighbour took the fertilisers and sprays.

“You do understand it has to be done, don’t you, love?” Bob muttered as he looked out of the kitchen window that evening.

Despite the guilt at getting rid of Jeanie’s things he felt lighter. It had been a productive day.

The next morning there was a ring at the door. Amanda from the flats was standing there holding a plate of cakes.

“For you,” she said. “A thank-you for those flower pots.”

“Oh, you didn’t need to.” “They’re just what I wanted,” she said firmly.

“Would you like coffee and a bit of cake?”

Amanda accepted and Bob showed her through the kitchen and out on to the patio where he was sitting.

Mr Philips looked over the fence.

“Another nice day.” “Yes,” Bob agreed. “Would you like a coffee?” Mr Philips smiled. “That would be nice. The missus is out at something or another. I’ll be round.”

He came round the side of the house just as the doorbell rang again. It was the man from the allotments with a bag of runner beans and some sweet peas.

“Just to say thanks for the pots,” he said. “Much appreciated.” “Coffee?” Bob offered. “I don’t mind if I do.” The man joined the others in the garden as Bob brought out mugs, sugar and milk.

As they sat talking, Bob turned his head slightly to see a shape, dark and low to the ground, slip out of the open door of the greenhouse.

“Oh!” He gasped.

“A cat,” the woman from the flats said. “I’ve seen it from my balcony going in and out.”

“We don’t have a cat,” Bob said.

“You do now,” the woman said.

“I’ll have to clear the rest of the stuff out and get rid of it.”

When everyone had left Bob pulled on his wellies and went back to the greenhouse, determined to find out where the cat was living.

He dragged more sacks and bags out and at last found a pile of straw under the shelf.

Nestled in the straw were three kittens.

Bob regarded them for a moment. Then he gave a closed-lipped smile.

“Your mother has been very artful finding this place,” he said. “I suppose she thought she’d be safe here. I wonder who she belongs to?”

He went back outside and called over the fence to Mr Philips.

“Know anyone with a black cat around here? A pregnant one?”

Mr Philips shook his head. “Why not take a photo? You can ask in the vets and the library, or the shop.”

Bob waited for the mother cat to come back. She was wary but not wild. He used his phone to take a picture.

Later, Bob asked in the shop if anyone knew the cat.

“You’ll have to keep it,” the owner said. “Do you want some cat food?”

Bob frowned. Did he want a cat? He hadn’t thought about it.

At home he found an old saucer and squeezed the food out of the sachet. He carried it carefully down the garden and put it just inside the door of the greenhouse. Then he stood back to watch.

The black cat sniffed, then came cautiously forward and tried the food. Keeping an eye on Bob, she wolfed down the meal then sat back, cleaning her face with a paw. Bob bent down. “Here, kitty,” he said, leaning forward and putting out a hand.

The cat sniffed him but didn’t back away. She allowed Bob to rub her ears.

“You must belong to someone,” Bob said. “You’ve lived with people.”

He fed the cat each evening for another week. Then he lined the laundry basket with a towel and scooped the kittens up, taking the little family into the kitchen.

The cat was quite used to him and was happy to go out and leave the kittens. They were little fur balls of fun that rolled around on the linoleum floor and investigated anything they could reach.

He took the whole family to the vet, who checked the cat for a microchip and dewormed them all.

“There’s no chip and no-one has reported a missing cat,” the vet said. “If you don’t want them I suggest the rescue centre, although they’d probably appreciate it if you tried to find homes for the kittens at least.”

So Bob asked around. Amanda from the flats was the first to volunteer to take one.

He asked at the allotments and found a home for another. He had just about decided to keep the third kitten himself when Mr Philips said his daughter would have it.

That just left the mother cat.

“What would you think of a cat, eh, Jeanie?” he asked her picture. “Something we never did. You’d like her. She is good company, though not as good as you.”

Bob stroked the cat’s ears as Tess brought the tea back in.

“I see the greenhouse is empty,” she said.

“Yes. I cleared it and someone from the allotments is going to come to dismantle it. He thinks he can rebuild it for himself.”

“That’s good. Where did the cat come from?”

“She was in the greenhouse. She’d been living there with her kittens.”

“Really? Good job you cleared it out.”

Bob nodded. He realised that clearing the greenhouse had helped him get to know his neighbours better.

Amanda stopped to chat to him most days, updating him on how her kitten was doing. Mr Philips was always out in his garden and ready for tea and a chat.

The people from the allotments also stopped for a natter if he walked up that way, and he was given a good supply of vegetables from them.

Best of all was the cat, who had made herself quite at home and welcomed him each time he came back into the house. It gave him something to look after, which he had missed so much after Jeanie.

It had been easier to start letting go.

“Does she have a name?” Tess asked, nodding at the cat.

“I just call her Cat. I’m still not sure that someone won’t reclaim her at some point.”

“Dad!” Tess shrieked. “That’s Mum’s angora sweater in that basket!”

She pointed at the box on the floor beside the fireplace that Bob had made into a bed for the cat.

Bob shrugged.

“The cat seemed to like it as I was clearing out, so I put it in there.”

“I’m not surprised she liked it.” Tess’s voice was shrill. “That’s a really expensive sweater.”

Bob squirmed under Tess’s glare.

“I’m sure your mum wouldn’t mind. It’s recycling.”

Tess’s shoulders slumped. “It’s your choice, I suppose. But if you’ve given that cat a hugely expensive sweater as a bed, I think you should probably give it a name. It’s obviously going to stay.”

Bob stroked the cat under the chin. Of course he wanted her to stay.

Between the cat and the new people he’d met, the ache was almost gone, and he felt better than he had in months. n