For in the box, no bigger than a teacup, was a ginger kitten.
‘Are you kidding?’ I said, looking up at him.
He shook his head, still grinning. ‘No! Unless you don’t want him?’
I reached into the box, picked him up and fell instantly in love. It reminded me of meeting Marmalade. Opening a box to find something so tiny peering up at you must be the closest you can come to having a gunky baby slapped on your chest after childbirth. Raising my hands to my face, I looked at him and he blinked back, quite still in my palms. ‘Hi, pal,’ I whispered, before kissing the top of his very small head. He replied with a very small mewl.
‘Where did you get him?’
‘From a cat lady in Neasden whose house smelt even worse than this one. He’s been microchipped, by the way. I’ve got some paperwork in my bag.’
I held him to my chest, unable to put him down. There was a new felt bed in the box along with assorted toys: a mouse, a pink ball and a kitten with plastic eyes which was larger than the real one in my hand.
‘I thought he might need a friend,’ Zach explained.
‘This is amazing. He is amazing. Thank you.’
‘Do you want me to make the coffee?’
‘Would you?’ The mention of coffee reminded me that I was very ill, possibly close to death. I pulled out a chair and sat down.
Zach slung his rucksack on the floor and filled up the kettle. ‘What you going to call him?’
‘Coffee in the fridge, mugs in the cupboard next to the fridge, plunger on the side,’ I said, as he opened various doors. ‘And don’t know. What d’you reckon?’
‘Nothing too obvious.’
‘Like Tigger, or Simba.’
‘Or Garfield. Hmm. Harry?’
I frowned at him, unsure who he meant.
‘Prince Harry, he’s a ginger.’
‘Harry,’ I repeated. ‘Can you have a cat called Harry? What do we think about animals with human names?’
‘I like it. I think it’s funny.’
‘Rory’s mother’s cats are called after artists.’
Zach rolled his eyes. ‘Course they are. Posh sorts always give their animals pretentious names. I heard someone shouting “Tybalt” at their spaniel in the park once.’
‘Coming from the man with a Greek god on his arm?’
‘I could take Harry back to Neasden?’
‘Uh-uh, he’s mine.’ I looked down at him and felt a pang of guilt about Rory, remembering that I’d ignored his calls last night. But there wasn’t much I could do. Presumably my phone was buried in that bag, covered in sick.
Zach put a mug down in front of me and coffee slopped over the rim. ‘Sorry. Got any kitchen roll?’
‘By the sink.’
‘Plates?’
‘In the cupboard next to the sink.’
He mopped the coffee puddle and found the plates, then reached into his rucksack and produced a paper bag. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d feel like,’ he said, tearing it open, ‘so there’s croissants, one pain au chocolat, a cinnamon roll and one with raisins in it.’
I lowered the kitten to my lap – Harry? Did Harry work? – and took a croissant.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘Not just for this though,’ I said, waving the croissant at him. ‘For everything. For last night, and coming over now, and for him,’ I said, looking down at the kitten, who’d wedged himself between my thighs.
‘Hey, it was your birthday. And you didn’t hate it, right?’
I shook my head. Thankfully the Nurofen was kicking in. ‘I had a good time.’
‘Any word from you-know-who?’
I grimaced as I ripped my croissant in half. ‘Probably, but my phone is indisposed.’
He frowned at me.
‘I was sick on it.’
‘You weren’t?’
I nodded slowly. ‘In the cab on the way back. I didn’t know where else to throw up so I used my bag.’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘Florence Fairfax, usually so prim, I’m proud of you.’
‘I’m not prim!’
Zach swallowed the last of his croissant.
‘I’m not!’ I protested. ‘Am I?’
‘Do you remember my first day?’
‘When I thought you were a burglar?’
‘Exactly, when you thought I was a burglar and you wanted to stab me with the Stanley knife for spilling my coffee?’
‘OK, I was a bit prim. But I didn’t know you!’
‘And you do now?’
His frankness made me awkward, so I looked down at my lap and stroked the sleeping kitten. ‘I know you can’t be trusted with a coffee cup.’
‘You always do that.’
‘What?’ I asked, raising my eyes to his.
‘Make a joke when you’re uncomfortable. It’s called deflection.’
I didn’t have time to make a joke about this because the door buzzer went again,