What now? Maggie replied, her voice as steady as a stone.
What do you mean what now? What am I to do?
First, get out of the car and have a look. See if its still breathing.
I swallowed hard. The courtyard lay empty, the night air hung heavy with a metallic tangan odour that felt like fear itself. I eased the door open and, without even stepping out, leaned forward to peer beneath the chassis. There, in the dim light, I saw it: a small grey bundle, trembling, its eyes wide open.
Its alive, Maggie. Its alive what now?
What now? Take it to the veterinary practice. You were heading that way anyway. Come on, hurry!
I lifted the cat gentlyit didnt fight, it merely lay there, breathing shallowly. I set it on the back seat, in a shoebox that had been sitting on the floor, and pulled away.
The clinic was only a halfhours drive, or so it usually was. Not that day. That day stretched as if thirty minutes were an eternity, a day that would linger in my memory forever.
In the boot a dog lay already, a gaunt old mix, the victim of a railway accident. My neighbours, who owned the holiday cottage down the lane, had begged me to bring it inlet them put it out of its misery, dont let it suffer any longer, theyd said. It was a stray, nobody claimed it, but we felt sorry for the creature. I slipped it in, almost on autopilot.
And now this cat as well.
I raced down the lane like a man possessed, the thought echoing in my head:
What kind of day is this? What kind of life?
When I burst through the doors of the practice, there was no waiting room crowd. I hurled the box forward as if I were delivering my wife to the maternity ward. The vet took it straight away and wheeled it into the examination room.
Whats wrong with it? How is it? I jabbered at the door.
Well do an Xray straight away the assistant answered, nodding. It looks nothing serious, but well be sure.
Fifteen minutes. An eternity. The clock seemed to mock me, its hands refusing to move. I paced the corridor, staring at the ceiling, the windows, the posters of British Shorthair and Persian cats that lined the walls
Inside me something churned. Not merely worryit was shame, guilt. I hadnt noticed. I should not have driven so recklessly. So many things could have been different. The tiny, helpless creature had stepped onto the road a heartbeat later, while I was mulling over which turnoff led to the clinic. And that was all. One fleeting moment. One click of fatemy throat tightening, pleading silently, Please, just let it live. Let me fix this.
At last the vet emerged.
It will need an operation
Then I rememberedthe dog was still in the boot!
I turned back. The boot was silent. No whimper, no movement. I pressed the release; the lid creaked open slowly.
Two frightened eyes stared up from the gloom. It was alive.
Hey I whispered. Dont be angry well see what we can do.
I raced back to the clinic, catching up with the surgeona stern, nononsense woman.
Theres another dog in the boot. Hit by a train, its hind legs
Weve already been called to put it down they said it had no chance.
I faltered, unable to finish the sentence. Her expression stayed unmoved. She simply lifted her coat, slipped it over her shoulders, and followed me.
We opened the boot together. She glanced at the dog, then at me, her eyes cutting through me like an Xray.
Youve gone mad? Who told you it must be put to sleep? Yes, its legs wont heal. But it can live. Weve taken in similar cases before. Bring it in.
I nodded again. I did not argue. The vet said, It will live. That was enough.
That night I trudged home, breathless. Maggie turned from the stove, surprise etched on her face.
Whats wrong with you, Tom?
Wordlessly I entered the bedroom, pulled out the old ledger in which I had once hidden a few pounds. A dream. A motorbike. It no longer mattered.
Tom?! Whats happening? Maggie asked.
Theyll both live! I shouted. Both of them!
Who? Have you lost your mind? she replied.
Ill explain later!
We kept them. The cat we named Molly. The dog we called Rex. Together we weathered everything: drip infusions, sleepless nights, physiotherapy.
Maggie finally said,
If theyre with us, well find a way.
And we did. We fed Molly with love, bandaged Rexs wounds. We wept when Molly first shuffled across the garden, we laughed when Rex, now in a wheelchair, sped around the yard.
Five years have slipped by. Theyre no longer just pets. Theyre family.
Now, when I come home, the scent of fresh biscuits greets me. Maggie pulls me into a tight hug from behind, trembling.
Whats happening? I ask.
Well prosper she whispers, hand resting on my belly.
At first I didnt understand, then I did.
Im forty, shes thirtyseven. We tried for years, almost gave up. Then a kindly woman once said,
Youll have three children. Two gifts of nature, one from Goda heart of kindness, patience. The road will be hard, but the light will be bright.
Molly, curled up beside a plush rabbit on the windowsill, slept soundly. Rex, now elderly, shuffled over, nuzzled my leg, and let out a long sigh.
I didnt believe it then. NowI believe.
Because once we said yes to life, and life answered back with a resounding yes.
