An Expensive Indulgence

An Expensive Pleasure

– Clara, not again? How many more times? It feels like Im working just to pay for your cat!

The cat, whom Clara was trying to coax into the carrier, slipped deftly from her arms, landed on the wooden hallway floor, and scurried into the corner, unleashing a mournful wail that echoed through the house. From the look on his face, the catwhom Clara had named, in a fit of long-forgotten adolescent romance, Byronwas determined to turn his miserable little life, as I saw it, into a rare commodity.

It had been ages, really, since Byronwhom Clara tenderly called Baz, short for Byronmoved in with her. Ten years, give or take. No one really knew how old Byron actually was. Clara brought him in from the streets, not as a kitten eitherhe was already a young adult, or so the vet had told Claras mum.

Claras mum, Margaret, had hurried with her daughter to the local surgery, clutching the catwrapped in an old baby blanketto her chest.

– Please, save him!

– Where did you pick up this little monster? the young woman at the desk grimaced. Hes straight from the bins, isnt he?

– What does it matter? Hes ours! Hes sick, help him! Or are our pounds somehow worth less than those who come here with their pedigree Persians?

Margaret was so fierce, the vet wisely chose not to argue. She wouldnt have won, anyway.

Margaret Williams was a force of nature. Life had made her soraising a daughter on her own, supporting two elderly parents, all on a nursery teachers salary. One wouldnt survive long if one didnt develop a backbone.

She could stand up for herself against anyonethe neighbours on her cul-de-sac, the parents whose children she taught, or the random folks who sized her up as easy prey. But she did it all with startling calm. She wouldnt yell or scold, instead, shed find that one precise argument, and suddenly the row would dissolve. Within moments, the angriest person would find themselves telling Margaret their troubles, while she nodded, listened, and waited. Nearly always, a grateful apology followed.

No one could say how she did it. Maybe it was a natural gift for hearing people out, for being genuinely present. Who’s to say?

Yet this gift never quite worked at home. With relatives, her touch faltered. Her husband had vanished barely a week after their wedding. Her own mother joked that hed lasted longer than expected.

Of course it hurt, but Margaret conceded that her mother might have had a point. She wasnt exactly the most practical person. And as her husband left, he had sneered:

– You? Be a wife? Not in a million years.

Margaret was sad, but a few months later, when she found out she was pregnant, she was at peace again. After all, men dont give birth.

She looked forward to her daughter’s birth more than anythingmore than any Christmas, more than her own birthday. Her quiet, plain life had contained few reasons for celebration, but now, at last, something grand.

Her mother decidedly did not approve.

– Why do this to yourself, Margaret? Youre young, youre not unattractive, and you have your own life. Why tie yourself down? Youll have no money, you and your child will be scraping by! Children cost a fortune! Youll get it eventually.

– Didnt we live like thatscraping by? Margaret replied.

– Exactly! And what good came of it?

Margaret hesitated. She had always listened to her mother, but this time something inside her resisted the sensible answer.

Whenever she considered not going through with the pregnancy, a suffocating darkness would come over her, making it hard to breathe or think. Not just because of the child she barely knew or felt, but because all the critical words aimed her way felt hollow now. She could be a mother and a woman, and someone wanted to deny her that. She didnt think the choice is mine. It was like she had to defend not just the child, but herself: her wholeness and her future.

Then her grandmother showed upheadscarf neat, dress immaculate, as if for a Sunday service.

– Have the baby, Margaret! Ill help you!

– But what about Granddad? Hes on his own in the village!

– Hell manage, dear. And if he wont, well get him to come here with us.

Her grandmother placed a carefully wrapped bundle on the kitchen table. Margaret recognised the linen towel shed embroidered for her grannys birthday years ago.

– Open it.

Margaret had never seen, and has never seen since, so much money in one place.

– Granddads sold the old house. Theyre building a bypass through the village, so the lands gone up in value. And all weve kept aside is here. Its enough for a little flat. After thatits up to you.

– Grandma, I cant

– You can, Margaret! Dont argue. Not for yourself, but for your child.

That bundle of cash was the point of no return. When Margaret had once asked her mother for help, shed been told Dont even think about it! And now here it all was, practically on a plate.

Her grandmother shooed Margaret and her mother out of the room, talking quietly for a long while. But nothing could convince Margarets mother to understand why, despite everything, her daughter received such support and help. Life had handed Margaret a winning ticket, and her mother couldnt comprehend why.

Margaret herself never quite got it. She hadnt behaved poorly. Shed done what most would consider normal: got married, become pregnant. When it all went south, it wasnt just down to her.

– If a working pair of horses cant pull, theyre both to blameas your gran said. Dont mope, Margaret! Theres plenty more ahead for you.

She never tired of thanking her grandmother. They bought a four-bedroom flatyes, dated and in desperate need of work, but nothing that couldnt be fixed. Her gran, with the drill-sergeant stare shed honed at market stalls, made the estate agents life a misery, and wrangled herself a solid discount.

– What, do you think Ive spent all these years growing veg just for fun? Selling it at a good price is a bigger skill than growing it!

The flat, with its old bones, soon gleamed. A cheerful team of sturdy workmen patched up everything, with grandmas sharp commands ensuring efficiency. When Margaret tiptoed into the finished nursery, tears streamed down her face.

– Why are you crying? You should be happy! Comelets try out the new kitchen!

Clara was born a bit earlyit did rattle Margaret, but it all came good. Clara was a tender and willful child: not wilful in the usual sense, just sure of herself, even young. She could see straight away what she wanted, and would get it, if not by storm, then by calm diplomacy.

– Mum, may I have a sweet?

– After lunch, Clara.

– Not even just a little one?

– No, darling.

– All right, Mum! And after lunch can I have two, if I eat everything up?

Margaret would laugh and, true to her word, hand over two after Clara finished her meal.

Those small moments, repeated, formed Claras good nature. She soon realised throwing tantrums was boring and pointless, charming even her fiery grandmother by smoothing her brow with gentle fingers.

– Gran, dont get cross! Cross faces get wrinkles, and youre so pretty! Come here!

And, astoundingly, the scolding ceased.

Margaret watched with a secret smile as her mother, who had once been so sharp, melted under Claras bright touch.

Things finally settled. Margaret worked to support the household; her now-city-dwelling grandparents helped care for Clara.

The hard times returned when her grandmother fell ill. The doctors couldnt say anything for sure, but Margaret had always known the end was coming.

– Mum, lets get you to London for treatment?

– No need, love. Ive lived, Im not afraid of going. I just wish I didnt have to leave you and your granddad. Hes low, dont let him sit alone.

That was when Clara brought home a cat.

And on the very day Baz made himself at home, disaster struck. Clara hadnt come home from school as usual. She vanished, and her grandfather, rushing to meet her, just missed her.

She was nowhere to be found along the short walk home. The whole neighbourhood went searchingher friends, parents, everyone.

But Clara appeared herself at last, just as Margaret was about to ring the police, her face streaked with tears, devastated.

Margaret grabbed a blanket, wrapped up the trembling cat Clara had saved, and only asked:

– You alright, sweetheart? Any aches?

– No, Mum. But the cats hurt! Hes in pain!

And off to the vet they ran.

The cat had been battered and bitten while being chased by a pack of dogs, but the builders working near the school chased the dogs off before real harm happened. After patching him up, the vet handed Baznow healthy enoughback to Margaret with a list of vaccinations.

Looking at the bill, Margaret groaned, You could buy two purebreds for that, but she paid.

Back home, her purse empty, Margaret realised money looked unlikely to last the monthwith medicine for the cat, for her grandmother, and a birthday for Clara looming.

– Mum, can I ask something? Clara, up past her bedtime, tiptoed into the kitchen, hugging her mum.

– What is it, darling?

– Dont get me any presents, alright? Just let me keep him. Hes my present.

Margaret hugged her close and looked at the scruffy cat curled up at her feet, stubbornly leaving the box shed prepared and stretching out near her instead.

Of course, Baz stayed.

Marvel of marvels: this battered stray, raised under bridges, took easily to home life. He caused no trouble, adored her grandparents, and was especially attached to Margarets mum.

He began to change them all, in small, unexpected ways.

After paying the vet, Margaret decided she’d had enough of scraping by on her nursery salary and two modest pensions. Gathering her couragesomething she might never have done without Bazshe quit and took a job as a nanny in a good home. Word spread: soon Margaret was handed from family to family like a rare treasure, and with every transfer, her pay grew. Each evening, she returned home to stroke Bazs now-healed ear.

– Baz, old chap, if it werent for you

Hed purr, patting her hand, always keeping an eye on Clarahis true favourite.

He sat with her while she did homework, helped hold down her exercise books while she worked, comforted her on the days when she wept at her grandmothers bedside, and when her grandfather followed quietly a few months later.

He was there, too, when Margaret, out of the blue, met a decent, kind man, and after much thought, remarried. Her new husband treasured her, gave her car keysand, with a gallant nod, even won over her mother-in-law.

Margarets mum, now queen of her estate, made a grand parade of her perfumed flower trays, announcing to neighbours,

– My son-in-laws herehes taking me to the allotment.

Clara, by then studying at college, chose to live on in their old flat.

She brought her first boyfriend there.

– Blimey, Clarayouve got a palace here.

– You exaggerate!

– Its huge! Hang onwhats that?

A furious clump of whiskers barrelled from Claras bedroom, spitting and yowling at Ben. Ben leapt back, yelling, as Baz launched himself at the unwelcome visitor.

– Get him away! Take him away!

Clara reined in her unruly pet, but Baz never warmed to her boyfriend.

Baz simply despised him. Whenever Ben thought Clara wasnt looking, hed chase the cat from the room.

Time passed, and Clara and Ben married, but something between them soured. Bens constant cutting remarks shocked Margaretshe, after all, knew well what those words could do.

– What kind of wife are you, Clara? Call that a stew? You cant cook a thing! How are you meant to be a wife?

Clara had learned from the best: shed made her first real stew at ten. Ben had nothing to criticiseuntil it came to the cat.

– Whats the matter with him? Ben stared at the vets bill in disbelief. Are you crazy? I wouldnt spend this much on myself! Hes just a ball of fur!

– Hes not just a ball of fur, Ben! Hes family.

– Family? Not mine! I dont want these relativesespecially hairy ones!

– Ben, what are you on about?

– I’ve had enough! If this happens again, Ill throw him out myself!

Clara, having just learned that morning she was expecting, held her tongue, intending to talk later.

But come morning, the elderly Baz couldnt quite make it to the litter tray, so off to the surgery again. That was when Ben, home from his morning jog, unleashed all his frustrations.

He was obsessed with keeping fitran every day, lectured Clara on healthy living.

When she mentioned Baz needed more treatment, Ben hurled his trainer against the wall.

– Enough! Im not wasting money on that useless fur muff! Out he goes!

– Me too, then. Clara, usually so calm, was suddenly on fire. Maybe hormones, maybe nerves.

– Fine by me! Why should I put up with this?

Something snapped. Clara, who still thought shed try to keep the family together, realised she didnt want that anymore.

She didnt remind Ben whose flat it really waswho had the right to stay. Instead, she walked over, took his keys from his jacket, opened the door with her own, and said quietly:

– I’m having a baby. I cant get stressed. I wont argue. Baz understands that; you dont. Pleasejust go. Lets talk when youre calm. But I cant live with you. If youre so willing to throw out the creature whos been by my side for so longsimply because he annoys youwhat happens to me, when you tire of me? My needs clearly dont matter. Ive had enough. There were good things between us, and I thank you for those. But now theres too much thats wrong. So please, go. Collect your things later. Right now I need to take Baz to the vethes in pain. And thats my responsibility.

Ben didnt fight. He grabbed his things and slammed the door.

Clara knew he hadnt even heard her news. All he could think was about getting rid of the cat.

Setting the carrier on the floor, Clara waited for Baz to step in without protest, and asked:

– Ready, old lad? Lets start, first, with your health.

Baz recovered. At his age, things would only get trickier from now, and Clara would fetch the carrier many more times. But Baz, strangely enough, let Claras little daughter do absolutely anything with himand no one else.

No one could get a toddler to sleep quite like Bazpurring beside her and laying a gentle paw across her tiny hand.

Clara considered naming her baby after Margaret, but her mother dissuaded her.

– Best check with Ben. Its your child together, even if you wont be living together. But you will always be her parents. Youve done your best for her sake. Now, do more. It wont be easy, but itll be worth it for your daughter.

And Clara listened, much to Bens surprise.

– You know, I never thought you had that kind of wisdom he said.

– Well, we grow up, dont we? What do you say?

– I say thanks, Clara.

– For what?

– For not putting your own stubbornness ahead of our daughter. Ill help.

And Ben kept his word.

Little Alice grew up living between two homes, with two cots and two favourite rabbits. One at Mums, one at Dads. She had both grandmothersMargaret and Valeriewho both loved her dearly. That sense of care was Alices birthright, connecting everyone, just as her mother had once done. The past faded; kindness remained.

Only old Baz ever knew Alice through and throughbut he was content to keep the truth to himself. Not because he couldnt speak, but because there was no need.

Everyone knows: when the mother cat is gentle, her kittens will be, too.

Alice had all the love she could ever need. And one day shell cradle her own child, trace a finger over his sleepy cheek as her mother and grandmother had, and whisper,

– Hello, my little one. Ive waited so long for youIn the quiet on the far side of bedtime stories, with Baz no longer stalking the halls but lingering instead in family photos and the softness of cherished memories, Clara sometimes stood by the window long after Alice had drifted to sleep. She would listen to the hush of the city, the gentle tick of the old kitchen clocka sound unchanged since her own childhoodand feel the long thread of love that had woven each generation together.

She knew thenwatching her daughter burrow under a worn quilt, one small hand tangled around a toy rabbitthat what endured was not money, nor the size of the flat, nor even the bittersweet victories and losses along the way. It was the courage to choose kindness, again and again, no matter how expensive, no matter how small or disguised or whiskered it might be.

Sometimes, in dreams, Clara would feel a feather-light weight at her feet, a familiar rumble of purring warmth, and in the morning shed smile, certain that Baz was still near. Hed taught her what family costsand what it gives back in return.

Outside, the world kept spinning in its tender, ordinary way, filled with new tasks, new worries, new pleasures to be paid for and savouredeach cherished because, after all they’d learned, nothing truly worthwhile ever comes cheap. And Clara, loving fiercely and well, understood at last: expensive pleasures, the very best kind, are bought not with coin but with heartand are repaid a thousandfold, in ways that never end.