Copyright
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Rachel Wells 2018
Cover design © www.headdesign.co.uk 2018
Cover photograph © Shutterstock
Rachel Wells asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008295790
Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008295776
Version: 2018-09-17
Dedication
For Becky, Martin, Helen, Megan, Jak and Rory.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Acknowledgments
Keep Reading …
About the Author
About the Publisher
Chapter One
I was lying on the sofa, in my favourite spot, the winter sun shining down on me through the window, when my kitten, George, leapt on me. Argh, he wasn’t such a little kitten any more; I was winded and a bit squashed.
‘George,’ I said, trying to squirm out from under his weight. ‘You have to stop doing that, you’re flattening me.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ he replied, with his charming grin and his head tilted to one side. As usual, I melted. My boy was just too adorable, even if he was getting too heavy to jump on me. I couldn’t have been prouder of what a fine young tom he was growing into. ‘But I have news.’ He sat next to me and licked his paws. George did like to draw out any announcements. He was a fairly dramatic kitten. Unlike myself, of course.
‘Go on, George, tell me the news,’ I coaxed, thinking it would be about a funny-shaped cloud he had seen this morning, or a similar Georgeism.
‘There’s a big van parked outside so new people are moving in next door.’ He looked very pleased with himself, as well he might. I pricked up my ears. New people! On Edgar Road! Well, was there anything better for a doorstep cat like myself? Only a van full of pilchards could beat that.
My name is Alfie, and I’m a doorstep cat. Which basically means I have different families and homes I visit. I do live in one main house, here with my kitten George, in Edgar Road. Our humans are Claire and Jonathan and their children, Toby and Summer. But there is another family on this road we spend time with, Polly and Matt and their children Henry and Martha, and yet another family, who live a few streets away, Franceska, Tomasz and their children Aleksy and Tommy. Phew, it’s a lot of families and friends to keep track of. I met them when I moved to Edgar Road after an arduous journey, having been homeless after my old owner, Margaret, died, but that does feel like another lifetime. They say cats have nine lives, well I reckon I’ve used a few of those up to get to where I am today, although I still have plenty left.
I do credit myself with bringing all my families together and now they love each other the way I love them all. We even have a holiday home together, Seabreeze Cottage, which is in Devon, and we spend time there when we can. But London is our main home, on Edgar Road, where we spend most of our days. There’s always something going on here. Never a dull moment. Or if there is, it doesn’t last.
Up until now we were experiencing quite a quiet time. Winter was upon us, the nights were drawing in and the air had started biting. I was becoming a bit of a fair-weather cat, preferring not to spend too much time out in the cold and rain. However, my kitten, George, loved being out in all weathers. That’s youth for you. Just don’t seem to feel the cold. But I did take my constitutional every morning and evening, and I would brave the cold to seek out my friends, the neighbourhood cats and my cat girlfriend Tiger. But now it was cold and darker in the evenings, I preferred to stay in the warm as much as was possible.
But not now. This removal van I had to see. It was still exciting to see new people. Once a doorstep cat, always a doorstep cat, after all. So George and I bounded out to see what we could discover.
We made our way next door. I knew the house well – not too long ago my first girlfriend, the one before Tiger, Snowball, lived there. She was my first love and it wasn’t the easiest of starts but after many attempts to woo her she came round to my way of thinking eventually. Don’t get the wrong idea, I’m not exactly a cat lothario, I’ve only been in love twice, once with Snowball and now with Tiger, who is a mum to George. And George is adopted; he’s not my natural kitten but he, Tiger and I are a family.
Because I’ve learnt through the years that family comes in all shapes and sizes and no one is the same. But as long as you have love then you have family.
‘Look, Dad,’ George said, his eyes as wide as saucers. We stopped on the pavement and looked at the large van. The back door to the van was open and men were unloading boxes. I gestured for George to follow me and we snuck into the back garden where I knew we would find big patio doors to look through. My first thought whenever I saw new people was, were they in the market for a part-time cat? My second was that I sincerely hoped they didn’t have a dog.
We peered through the glass door, making sure not to be too visible in case we upset anyone (or dog). I could see activity. In the kitchen a woman, perhaps a similar age to Claire who, I believe, was in her forties but didn’t like to talk about it, was unpacking. Near her was a younger girl; she was tall and slim, perhaps a teenager? She was attached to a device, a phone. Aleksy had one and didn’t tear his eyes away from it for a minute if he could help it. His mum despaired. Tommy, who was younger than Aleksy, had one too but he was more interested in sports, so he was a whole different kettle of fish. Yum.