What? Ethel answered, her voice flat as a stone.
How can you say what? What am I supposed to do?
At least get out of the car, look see if its still breathing.
I swallowed hard. The yard was empty, the night air hung heavy with a metallic scent the smell of fear itself. I eased the door open, and without even stepping out I leaned forward, peering beneath the chassis. And there it was: a small grey bundle, shivering, eyes wide open.
Its alive, Ethel. Its alive What now?
What now? Take it to the vet. Youre heading that way anyway. Move, quick!
I lifted the cat carefully it didnt resist, just lay there, breathing shallowly. I slipped it onto the back seat, into a shoebox that had been sitting on the floor. Then I was off.
The clinic was only a halfhour away normally. Not that day. That day stretched, each minute a lifetime, the thirtyminute drive feeling like an eternity.
In the boot, a dog lay already. An old mutt, hit by a train. My neighbours had begged me to take it in put it out of its misery, dont let it suffer any longer, theyd said. A stray no one wanted, but we felt sorry for it. I went in, almost on autopilot.
And now this cat, too.
I tore down the road like a man possessed, the thought looping in my head:
What a day what a life
At the veterinary practice, to my surprise, there was no queue. I burst through the doors, box in hand, as if I were delivering my wife in labour. The surgeon snatched it up and whisked it into the exam room.
Whats wrong with it? Hows it doing? I panted at the doorway.
Well do an Xray straight away the assistant said, nodding. Doesnt look serious, but well be sure.
Fifteen minutes. An eternity. The clock seemed to mock me, its hands frozen. I paced the waiting room, eyes glued to the ceiling, the windows, the posters of British Shorthairs and Scottish Folds
Inside me something twisted. Not just worry shame, guilt. I hadnt seen it in time. Id driven too fast. Everything could have been different. That tiny, helpless thing had stepped onto the road a second too late, and Id been thinking about the turnoff to the clinic instead. One moment. One click of fateand I was there, throat clenched, begging myself: Please, keep it alive. Let me fix this.
The vet finally emerged.
It needs surgery
Then it hit me the dog was still in the car!
I raced back. The boot was silent. No whimper, no movement. I pressed the latch; the hatch creaked open.
Two terrified eyes stared at me from the darkness. It was alive.
Hey I whispered. Im sorry well sort this out, I promise.
Back to the clinic I sprinted, catching up with the surgeona stern, nononsense woman in a white coat.
Theres another dog in the boot. Hit by a train, its hind legs
Theyve already called us to put it down they said theres no chance.
I stammered, the words catching in my throat. Her face stayed stonecold. She lifted her coat, and without a word she followed me.
We pried the boot open. She glanced at the dog, then at me, eyes narrowing like an Xray beam.
Youre out of your mind? Who told you it had to be put to sleep? Yes, its legs wont heal. But it can live. Weve had cases like this before. Bring it in.
I nodded, my mouth dry. The surgeons final words Itll live were enough.
That night I burst through the front door. Ethel turned from the stove, eyes wide.
Whats wrong with you, Hester?
I slipped into the bedroom, pulled out an old ledger where Id hidden cash between the pages. A dream. A motorbike. It no longer mattered.
Hester?! Whats happening?
Theyll live! I shouted. Both of them!
Who? Youve gone mad!
Ill explain later.
We kept them. The cat we named Molly. The dog Raja. Together we endured IV drips, sleepless nights, rehab sessions.
Ethel finally said,
If theyre here, well find a way.
And we did. She fed Molly, bandaged Raja. We wept when Molly first walked again, laughed as Raja zoomed around the garden in a wheelchair.
Five years slipped by. They werent just pets. They were family.
When I walked home today, the scent of fresh scones greeted me. Ethel wrapped me in a fierce hug from behind, shaking.
Whats happening? I asked.
Well be rich she whispered, hand over her stomach.
At first I didnt get it. Then I understood.
Im forty now; shes thirtyseven. We tried for years, almost gave up. Then a peculiar woman told us,
Youll have three children. Two gifts from nature. One from God. Kindness, patience. The road will be hard, but the light will be clear.
Molly dozed, curled beside a plush rabbit on the windowsill. Raja, his coat greying, shuffled over, rested his head on my leg, and sighed deeply.
I didnt believe it then. Now I do.
Because once we said yes to life, and life answered back with a resounding yes.
