Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

a moment, rather like a monkey, before letting go and dropping to the pavement. ‘You get to the vet.’

Richard handed Charles the box as he strapped Daniel into the car seat. Amy found herself standing on the road looking at Rachel, who was still fussing over Smudge.

‘I love him like a baby,’ said Rachel, more to Smudge than to Amy. ‘When we couldn’t . . . he was what we got instead. I love him so much.’ She buried her face in Smudge’s fur. The cat was purring now.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Amy.

‘We’re still trying,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s amazing what they can do these days.’ She looked up. ‘But it’s not been easy.’ Amy bit her lip. Rachel rubbed Smudge’s ear and he began a loud purr like the hum of an engine. ‘Thank you, Amy,’ said Rachel. ‘I know I’ve been a bit up and down with you. Mainly down. But thank you for saving my cat.’

‘He’s tough,’ said Amy. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about Smudge.’

‘He can’t help it, you know,’ said Rachel. ‘He doesn’t mean to hurt things or upset children. But hunting is in his nature.’

‘Of course,’ said Amy. ‘None of us can help who we are.’

Amy sat in her hallway on a messy pile of post. She didn’t like post; it certainly wasn’t treasure. But somehow with all the newspapers and pots and bottles, it seemed to linger in her house too. Her mind went back to the letter from Chantel. It had been hidden by all her possessions. Perhaps, if she hadn’t kept quite so much, she’d have found the one thing that really mattered.

She didn’t want what it said to be true, but Amy realised the letter could have brought her closure. Closure, a long time ago. Even when things went wrong between Amy and Tim, they came back together. He’d understood her better than anyone she’d ever known. At least, she thought he had. She remembered wanting to find Tim so much, at times it had felt like even a body would be relief. Before she’d finally allowed herself to believe she’d been wrong about him, perhaps from the start. She’d been betrayed.

And now all she was left with was a fraction of the story, a confusing ring, a picture of a sun setting over some trees.

And a mouse problem.

It was the bottles’ fault. The bottles and the pots and the newspapers and the birds and the ashtrays. They’d hidden the truth from her.

Maybe Leah was right. Maybe she should have a clear-out.

She pictured the mouse, tiny and vulnerable in Smudge’s jaws. It was a mouse, but could it have been a rat, like Nina suggested? There were children here now. Maybe her house was a public nuisance.

The bottles on the hallway floor first, decided Amy, getting to her feet while she felt the urge. They were empty wine bottles. They were nothing special. They had been drunk from; they had served their purpose. The kind thing to do would be to get rid of them. Put them in the recycling so they could have a chance at a second life.

Broken down and remade. Reborn. Just because they didn’t stay in their current form didn’t mean that they wouldn’t be happy.

Happy. Amy almost laughed at herself. They were bottles. Inanimate objects. She was a sensible person. She worked in financial advice, for god’s sake. So what if they reminded her of him. He didn’t want to be reminded of her. He’d left, abandoned his whole life to be with someone else. Her best friend.

Where to start? Amy grabbed the nearest bottle, then a few more. As many as she could fit in her arms. She staggered to the door and pushed it open, almost flattening Richard who was standing on the other side, next to a delivery man holding a huge bouquet of red roses.

‘I was just coming round to see how the hero was,’ said Richard. ‘But it seems you’re popular.’

Amy looked at the flowers. ‘You must have the wrong address,’ she told the courier, trying not to drop any of the bottles. Richard sprang forwards and took several of them from her.

The courier lifted up the visor on his helmet and frowned at the label. ‘Are you Amy Ashton?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Amy.

‘Sign here,’ he said, thrusting her some kind of tablet. Amy scrawled on it with her finger, finding it oddly difficult to fathom writing without a pen.

‘Those are rather spectacular,’ said Richard. ‘Who are they from?’ The courier gave Richard a sympathetic look then closed his visor again and made his exit.

Amy didn’t answer. Flowers. Could they be . . . ? Red roses weren’t exactly his style, but still . . . She tore open the envelope.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ said Richard, without leaving.

Amy read the writing. ‘Oh,’ she said, feeling disappointment flood her. ‘Just Liam.’

‘Who is Liam?’

‘No one,’ said Amy. She forced herself to smile otherwise she thought she might cry. ‘How’s the mouse?’

‘It will be fine,’ said Richard. ‘And the best bit is that the vet said it was just the right age to tame. So we’re going to keep it.’ He lifted the bottles in his hands. ‘What’s the deal with these?’

‘Can I use your recycling bin?’ she asked. ‘I never used mine, and then I needed the space for the pots so . . . ’

‘Of course,’ said Richard. He looked at Amy, one eyebrow raised. ‘That looks as if it was quite a party. Invite me next time.’

‘It took me years to drink these,’ said Amy, with dignity. ‘I didn’t binge like some kind of teenager.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Richard. ‘I was joking. It’s not funny.’ He glanced at Amy’s open doorway. ‘Those newspapers could be recycled too.’

‘Not the newspapers,’ said Amy. ‘They contain information,’ she explained.

‘From how long ago?’ queried Richard.

The newspapers were all the local papers, and some dated back eleven years. At first, Amy had scanned for information, in case some keen journalist had found out something the