Free Bodies and Sole by Hilary MacLeod Page A

forward.
    Olive kept backing away.
    â€œNo, no.” She couldn’t back away any farther, so she had to speak. “I’m not here for that.” She pointed at the paper as if it were something disgusting.
    Marlene dropped her arm down in disappointment.
    â€œI’m here to clean up.” It was Olive’s turn to look disappointed. The place was perfectly tidy.
    The two women left the hall together, each hugging her own defeat. Olive at least had the satisfaction of locking the door. That needed to be done, and was, with a flourish of importance.
    It was pouring. Marlene hadn’t brought a jacket.
    Dejected, she dragged herself “home” to Moira’s unwelcoming abode.

Chapter Thirteen
    Hy pushed the door open and flew into the house. It was lucky the mudroom was small, so that she was able to fling her arms forward and stop the fall on the opposite wall. She steadied herself, pushed upright and searched for what had tripped her. Hy was so naturally clumsy, there didn’t always have to be a reason.
    But this time there was.
    â€œCould you use a cat?” Gus called out from the kitchen.
    Hy scrunched up her face. “A wha…?”
    There, at her feet, was a small bit of fluff. A black cat. Don’t let a black cat cross your path. She saw the meaning of that now. Not a superstition at all.
    A black cat. Sniffing at her shoes as if it were a dog. Hy reached down and patted it. It rolled over.
    A white cat. Everything under was white, belly and all. Everything on top was black. Even the legs divided black and white. Black down the outside; white inside. Hy tickled the cat’s stomach and it began playing with her hand, softly, claws pulled in, kneading her hands.
    â€œIt likes you.” Gus came into the room carrying a tray with cookies and cheese, cups and saucers. The Pyrex pot was boiling three tea bags a thick dark brown on the stove.
    Hy kept tickling, the cat rolled around in delight, and sunk its claws right into her hand.
    â€œOuch!” Hy pulled her hand away.
    The cat skittered off.
    â€œIt does like you. Better take it home.”
    â€œGus – a cat. You? You don’t like cats.”
    â€œIt’s not my cat.” Gus sat down, worked a few more stitches onto the sock she was knitting, but the cat was tugging at the ball of wool on the floor. It went chasing after it, batting it around, turning the room into a giant cat’s cradle. There was a reason Gus didn’t like cats.
    Nursing her hand, Hy slumped into the reclining chair by the window. She could see through into the pantry, where there were two little dishes set down beside the big white plastic garbage and recycling bin.
    Cat dishes.
    â€œIf you’re feeding it, it’s yours.”
    Gus looked, guilty, at the bin.
    â€œMore Abel’s.”
    Abel’s. Hy snorted. That was even more preposterous.
    The cat jumped onto Hy’s knee, its tiny sharp claws digging in. She winced and tried to pull it off, but when a cat doesn’t want to move, it doesn’t.
    â€œI reckon she’ll be company for Abel when I’m not here.”
    Hy opened her mouth to say something and then shut it. Shook her head.
    The little feline kneaded Hy’s lap, circled a few times, gathered itself into a comma and fell asleep, its purring as loud as a whipper snipper.
    â€œWhere did it come from?”
    Gus shrugged. “Reckon it came from somewhere handy. Not a thing wrong with her. Not starvin’. Not wild. Mebbe a barn cat from Frasers’, looking for a better life.”
    The Frasers had more barn cats than anyone in The Shores. The irony was that mean-spirited Gladys Fraser, president of the Women’s Institute, fed them and fed them well. She wouldn’t have one in the house, but didn’t care how many there were in the barn. Fed them on the good stuff, top-of-the-line cat crunchies, was the word in the village.
    Hy stroked the purring cat softly and it