A Costly Delight
Clara, not again! When will it end? I feel like Im working just to pay for your cat!
The cat, who Clara was fruitlessly attempting to wrangle into his carrier, twisted away from her hands, thudded onto the wooden floor, and swiftly retreated into the darkest corner of the hall with a pitiful, mournful wail. By the look of him, the catonce romanced with the noble moniker Byron, though Dennis claimed his life wasnt worth tuppencewas determined to sell his crusty old soul dearly.
It had been many years since Byron, or Baz as Clara fondly called him, had joined her little household. Nearly a decade ago, in fact. Clara never quite knew the cats true age; shed rescued him from a London alley, and Byron certainly wasnt a kitten by then. The vet, where Claras mother Margaret had taken them both in a whirl of worry and urgency, assured them he was young enough, just already grown.
Margaret, clutching the shivering, blanket-wrapped cat to her chest, had burst into the veterinary surgery and pleaded, Help him, please!
The young woman behind the desk wrinkled her nose. Where did you find this scruffy thing? Hes just a stray.
What does it matter where hes from? Hes my cat now! Hes in paincant you see that?! What difference do my pounds make to you? Are they worth less than those the folks bring in with their pedigree Persians?
So formidable did Margaret appear in that moment, the young vet decided not to argue. It was a wise choice.
Margaret Elizabeth Hughes was of infamously stubborn stocka necessity, perhaps, given the life shed led; raising a child alone, caring for two elderly parents, and doing it all on the salary of a primary school teacher in Croydon. You grew a hard shell or you went to pieces, shed joke. And Margaret never went to pieces.
Her resolve was iron, but her heart was all warmth. She loved children, cats, and occasionally even the neighbours terrier, despite a childhood fear of dogs. Neighbours, parents, strangers with sharp elbows in the queueshe stood firm, spoke gently yet persuasively, always drawing the wind from an opponents sails until, somehow, the argument softened to a confession. Theyd end up telling Margaret their woes, and leave with a lighter heart, grateful and embarrassed.
This empathy, potent with strangers, never seemed to work with those closest to her. Margarets husband had bolted a week into their marriage. Even her own mother had joked, perhaps not unkindly, that hed lasted longer than expected.
It stung, but Margaret had a way of seeing sense even in hurtful truths. A fine housewife, hed jeered as he left, just as much as Im a ballerina.
She had weptthen picked herself up. Two months later she discovered she was expecting a child. Whatever her ex-husband had said, Margaret knew she was, undeniably, a womanone with a future.
No event in Margarets quiet life had been as anticipated as her daughters birth. Her mother, though, was less supportive.
Why tie yourself down, Margaret? You’re young, youre reasonably attractive, youve prospects! A child will only trap you. Children are a costly pleasureone you can ill afford.
But, Mum, wasnt that how we lived?
Exactly! And what good did it do us?
Margaret paused. Shed always valued her mothers opinion, but something deep inside rebelled at this time-worn advice. Whenever Margaret tried to imagine life without her child, a blackness closed inshe simply couldnt. She wasnt defending just a bump, but herself; her integrity, her future.
It was her grandmother who finally settled the matter. She arrived in town one morning, her lace headscarf arranged for ceremony, and decreed, Have the baby, Margaret. Ill help you.
But what about Granddad? Hes alone in Lancashire.
Hell cope. And if he wont, he can come too. Well manage. With that, she set a meticulously wrapped bundle on the kitchen tableher favourite linen towel, embroidered years ago by Margaretand inside was money, more than Margaret had ever seen.
Granddad sold the house. The bypass is coming and the plot was worth a fortune. Enough for a little flatafter this, youre on your own.
Gran, I cant
Nonsense, girl. Not for you, for the child. Who else is there but a mother?
The bundles arrival caused a great deal of tension between Margaret and her mother.
Oh, so now you just bring a silver tray and all is forgiven? Funny that, when it was me who asked for help and you said there was none. Her mother left the room in a huff, and Grandma had to talk her round for ages. But Margarets mother never did come to understand why, despite her disapproval, Margaret seemed to have stumbled into lucksupport, a home, even comfort.
She hadnt eloped or disgraced herself. Shed simply had a husband leavea not uncommon fate. Theyd both failed, as her grandmother put it: You cant have a cart with just one horse working. And he was supposed to be the stallion! Dont fret, Margaret. Youre still young.
Her grandmother was a marvel. She bullied estate agents into giving them a four-bedroomed flat in an old building, got a builders crew in, and had them working under her eagle eye until the place was fit to live in. Margaret cried the first time she stepped into her own room, the cot already set up.
Oh, darling, why tears? This is a blessing, not a curse! Now, lets learn the new kitchen together.
Clara arrived a little before her due date, but all was well. She was a gentle, but determined child, and Margaret, chastened by the lifelong barbs from her own mother, swore never to treat her daughter the same.
It wasnt always easyMargaret was not sure she was a perfect mother. Clara wasnt difficult, but she was fiercely independent, even at a young age.
Mummy, can I have a sweet?
After lunch, dear.
Not even a little one?
No, darling.
All right. But after lunchtwo, if I eat up?
Margaret always laughed and, when Clara finished her plate, rewarded her with two sweets. Thus was a sense of fairness built, and Clara learned that arguments achieved little. Even her grandmother would capitulate when Clara pleaded with innocent eyes, Dont scold, Gran, it gives you wrinkles. Come, let me smooth them away! Shed hop up, stretch out her little hand, and trace gentle patterns on her grandmothers forehead.
With time, the family found its rhythm. Margaret worked, and Grandmajoined by Granddad who finally sold the farm and moved to townlooked after Clara.
Then, when Grandmas health declined, a shadow fell over the house. Margaret understood there was little hope, but it was Clara who brought a new soul into their midsta battered old tomcat.
On the very day Baz entered their lives, tragedy struck. Clara, coming home from school, vanished. Granddad, only minutes behind, missed her entirely. The whole estate was out searching, but it was Clara who returned home, tear-streaked and clutching the injured cat.
Are you hurt, love? Margaret cried.
Noit’s him. Hes in pain, Mummy!
Margaret wrapped the limp animal in Claras blanket and raced to the vet. The dog-bite wounds, inflicted by dogs the plumbers in the schools undercroft had driven off, were not life-threatening, and after some treatment, the cat was returned to Margarets carealong with a hefty bill.
You could buy two pedigrees for this, she muttered, but paid every penny.
At home, counting coins, Margaret wondered how theyd make ends meet until the end of the month. There was medicine for the cat, for Grandma, a birthday gift for Clara, whose special day was only a week away.
That night Clara crept into the kitchen and hugged her mother close.
Mummy, dont buy me any presents, please. Let me keep him. That will be my birthday gift.
Margaret looked from her daughter to the little grey heap curled at her foot, purring resolutely, and gave in. Baz stayed.
To her astonishment, the scrappy, battered tom grew quickly accustomed to the comforts of home; he was well-behaved, scarcely ever a bother, and particularly attached to the old folks. He barely left Grandmas side.
He also nudged Margarets life in a peculiar new direction. Tallying up the vets bill, Margaret finally realised shed had enough of scraping by. Leaving teaching was terrifying, but she took a post as a nanny in a good family, recommended by a friend, and never looked back. Word spread; as each child grew, she was passed on like a valued heirloom, and her wages steadily increased.
Every evening, she would give Baz a scratch behind his now-healed ear.
Cheers, Baz. If not for you
Hed purr, glancing over at Clarahe absolutely adored her and spent most of his time in her company, except when Grandma called him. He helped with homework, comforted Clara in sorrow, and was steadfast through all the changes that came.
When Grandma passed quietly, and Granddad not long after, Baz was there. He was there when, after years alone, Margaret met a wonderful man, married, and finally shed the sting of inadequacy left by her first husbands words.
Margarets mother, reluctant at first, came roundespecially once her son-in-law let her use his car for the garden centre runs. Now shed step from her block-of-flats with her seedlings, declaring to all, My son-in-laws taking me to my allotment. She never boasted openly, but every neighbour knew.
Clara, now at college, decided to stay in her childhood home. Thats where she brought her chosen one.
My word, Clarathis is a palace!
Oh, itll do. Thats just Baz.
A growling, hissing heap of fur shot from Claras bedroom, launching itself at Dennis. He yelped, hopping about as Baz swung paws and tried to trip him up.
Get him away, Clara! Quick!
There was never cordiality between Baz and Dennis. Dennis, when Clara wasnt looking, made it his business to torment the cat at every turn.
Eventually, a year passed and Clara and Dennis married. But something soured. Dennis started making the same cutting remarks about her as Margaret once endured.
What sort of woman are you? Is this meant to be stew? Looks more like pink water! You cant cookhow will you ever be a proper wife?
Clara could cookthe proof was the borscht she had made before she could reach the stove! But Dennis found fault wherever he could. Then Baz became ill.
Whats this vet bill for? Dennis exploded. Are you off your head? I wouldnt spend that much on myself! Its just a mangy cat!
Hes not a mangy cat, Dennishes family!
My family? Not in the least. I dont need such relations.
If hes not family, then?
One more bill like this, and Ill throw him out myself!
Clara said nothing. Only that very morning had she found she was expectinga secret she held back, planning to share when Dennis calmed down.
But Baz, elderly and now struggling with the litter tray once more, had another crisis, and Clara was again stuffing him, gently as she could, into his carrier when Dennis came home from his runhealth was everything to him, and he never let Clara forget it.
On hearing the cat needed further treatment, Dennis threw his trainer at the wall and shouted, Enough! Time that beast went. I’ll not see another shilling wasted! Get it out of my house!
Only if I go too, replied Clara, unusually fiercewhether with nerves or the changes in her, she wasnt sure.
So be it! Ive had enough. Why should I put up with this?!
Something shifted in the air and, in that moment, Clara saw the future with blinding clarity. She would not raise a family in such a shadow.
She reached into Denniss windcheater, fished out his keys, and tossed them in her hand. Turning to him, she said evenly, Im expecting a baby, Dennis. I cant afford stress. Even Baz understandswhy cant you? I need peace. Please leave. When youre ready to talk, well talk. But there will be no more arguing. This is my home. If you so lightly throw out those loyal to me, what would you do when you tire of me?
We had good times, Dennis. Thank you for those. But now theres too much pain and that has no place in my lifeor yours. You may collect your things later. For now, I have to take Baz to the vet. Hes suffering, and Im responsible.
Dennis didnt argue. He flung his car documents and jacket into his gym bag, slammed the door and was gone.
Clara knew hed missed her wordsshe was expecting, and hed heard none of it. That, in a way, spoke volumes.
So she set down the carrier, waited for Baz to climb in on his own this time, and smiled. Ready, old boy? Lets make some changes. Starting with your health!
Baz recovered. Age would take its toll, and Clara would have more trips to the vet, more moments waiting for Baz to saunter into his carrier, dignified as ever. In time, Claras little daughterEmilywould be the only one with free rein to do as she pleased with the old cat. No one else; only Emily, so reminiscent of her grandmother, Margaret, that Clara considered naming her thus. But her mother persuaded her otherwise.
Ask Dennis. Emily is your child together. You may not live as one, but she is yours, forever. If you managed to keep up the pretense of normality all this time, nows the time for honesty. It wont be easy, but for the girls sake, try.
Clara, surprising her former husband, took her mothers words.
Odd, I never took you for wise, Dennis said.
People grow, Dennis. What do you think?
I think thank you, Clara.
For what?
For putting our daughters needs first. Ill help, you know.
And Dennis kept his promise. Little Emily would have two homes and two favourite bunniesone for each. There would be her loving Granny Margaret, and just as loved Nanna Vera, Denniss mother. The love was enough to smooth any cracks. Emily, seeing the world only through kindness, assumed if all these adults loved her, they must somewhere love one another too. Her insistence would draw together the fractured adults, just as Clara had done with her gentle wisdom all those years ago.
And only old Baz, the battered but placid tomcat, would know all the truths. Not that it matteredafter all, as anyone could see: if the mother cat is gentle, her kittens will be as well.
And as for little Emilyshe had no shortage of that. One day she too would grace the world with new life, gently stroke her childs cheek as her mother once had, and whisper,
Hello, my darling. Ive been waiting for youYou are safe, and you are loved.
Years later, it would become a cherished story: the day Baz first climbed into his carrier unbidden, tail high, defiant to the end. Emily, now with flecks of white in her hair, would tell her own wide-eyed children of how courage sometimes meant standing firm, but more often it meant opening ones armsfirst to an injured stray, then to a frightened child, a grieving daughter, a wayward husband, and even to oneself.
On quiet evenings, she would sit on the old stoop, her children tucked against her sides, watching dusk gather at the edges of the garden. Sometimes, the faintest whisper of a purr seemed to linger in the air, like a thread through the tapestry of their lives, binding each heartache, hope, and hard-won peace together. And she would smile, knowing this lesson: that costly delightsbe they battered tomcats, imperfect families, or the stubborn miracle of lovewere the only ones worth having.
And inside, somewhere curled in sunlight, another stray would always find his way home.
