Read Love, Nina for Free Online Page B

Lucas.
    Will: Did he die?
    Me: No, he’s going to live somewhere else.
    Will: Are you trying to tell me he died?
    Me: No, he’s alive, but someone else needs a cat more than we do.
    Will: Have you had an offer for him?
    Me: Yes.
    Will came with me to the woman’s house. She took to him (Lucas/Jack) straightaway and said he was handsome. She liked his “mittens.” Will and I felt quite proud of him.
    Woman: ( stroking Lucas/Jack ) What’s his name?
    Me: Jack.
    Will: Lucas.
    Woman: Jack Lucas?
    Me: Yes, Jack Lucas.
    Woman: Hmm, I’ll call him Johnny.
    Pause while the woman strokes Lucas and says, “Hello, Johnny.”
    Woman: ( to Will ) I’ve just lost my best friend.
    Will: Was it a cat?
    Woman: Yes, it was Johnny.
    Will: I’m sorry.
    Woman: ( proud ) He was eighteen.
    Will: What’s that in cat years?
    Woman: Eighteen.
    Will: Oh.
    Woman: If he’d been a dog he’d have been a lot older.
    Will: Oh, sorry.
    Â 
    Later:
    Â 
    AB: So Lucas has gone, then?
    Sam: Lucas Bunt the big fat runt.
    AB: Sam! That’s not very nice.
    Will: Yeah, Sam, don’t speak ill of the departed.
    Sam: Sorry.
    Will: Anyway, he’s called Johnny now.
    Sam: Johnny?
    Me: It does feel strange without him.
    MK: Rubbish.
    Sam: I don’t want him to be in Mornington Crescent being called Johnny—I want us to get him back ( dramatic gesture, head in hands ).
    AB: That’s only natural—knowing someone else wants him changes your feelings toward a thing.
    MK: Doesn’t me.
    Will: Hey, Sam, it’s just like Buckaroo.
    Sam: ( serious ) Oh God! Don’t mention Buckaroo.
    Me: Well, we warned you.
    Sam: They play Buckaroo night and day round there now.
    Me: Perhaps we could borrow it back.
    Sam: Lucas or Buckaroo?
    Love, Nina
    *  *  *
    Dear Vic,
    No. I don’t worry about Sam much. Mainly because MK does the worrying and keeps it to herself. It’s no good two people worrying about the same thing unless they want to go on about it and we don’t (unless there’s a practical angle and there usually isn’t). Have done a few experiments with different foods to see if they make a difference and they don’t. Except porridge which is good in every way.
    I think Will worries when we rush off to Great Ormond Street. Usually what happens is Sam gets a very (very) high temperature and seems extremely ill and we zoom off and when we get there Sam suddenly seems OK enough for the docs not to be worried and they say we can go home again. And we’re there thinking, Bloody hell!
    Last time we went to GOSH Sam had been (very, very) ill at home and then, when we got to GOSH, he seemed quite a bit better. I said to him, “Make sure you’re still ill when the doctor comes.” I know that sounds terrible, but it’s how it is. You want the doctors to see it. He doesn’t put it on and they need to see it. Then later, in the lift on the way up to the ward on a trolley after they’d admitted him, he suddenly sat up and seemed fine and I pushed him back down again, I was so frazzled. He keeps reminding me of that. He says I said, “No fucking way.”
    I do worry about his eyes though (my number one concern). Mr. Mackie (eye doc, Scottish) is brilliant. We go there whenever we’re worried and always come away feeling reassured. Sam doesn’t cheat his eye tape for a while afterward either. He’s a bit mad though (Mr. Mackie) and says funny things. Last time he asked if we knew anyone called Marigold and we said no and he said it seemed such a nice name and wondered if it was still in use as a girl’s name. And he said it a few times (Marigold) until we changed the subject.
    Another time he advised us to always have our photograph taken in front of a flight of steps (or stairs) and focus just above the photographer’s head, slightly to the right. To get the best-looking portrait.
    Overall, with Sam, though, it’s not