An Expensive Pleasure
Clara, again? Seriously? I feel like Im working just to pay for your cat!
The cat Clara was wrestling into the carrier finally managed to wriggle free, thumped onto the floor, and scurried away to sulk in the corner of the hallway, howling in a voice that sounded both tragic and mournful. From the determined set of his whiskers, it was clear Balzacthe flowery name Clara had once, long ago, bestowed upon himwasnt about to give up his supposedly worthless (at least according to Jamie) life so easily.
Long ago, because Baz, as Clara affectionately called her old friend, had been living with her for a decade now. Nobody knew how old the cat actually was. Clara had rescued him from the streetnot as a kitten, but as a fully grown, if still young, tom. Thats what they told her mother when theyd first rushed him to the vet all those years ago.
Her mother, Margaret, had arrived at the clinic in a state, clutching the shivering bundle wrapped in an old baby blanket.
Please save him!
“Where on earth did you find this creature?” the young vet at the desk had winced, pulling a face. Hes clearly just a stray.
What does that matter? Hes MY cat! Cant you see hes in a terrible state? Or do the coins in my purse not count for as much as the purebred owners who usually come in here?
Margaret was so formidable that day the vet decided not to argue further.
Margaret Rogers was a stubborn womanlife had made her so. Try raising a child alone, taking care of two elderly relatives, and doing it all on a nursery nurses salary. Youd become strong-willed too.
She was no pushoverto neighbours in the street, nursery parents, or random strangers whom she could easily outargue. Yet she had a way of doing it that left everyone baffled: never shouting, never cursing, always finding that key argument that shifted the direction of a conflict entirely. More often than shouting matches, people found themselves confessing their problems to her and, by the end, leaving with apologies or even gratitude.
Margaret never quite understood how she did it, why she was so good at hearing what people really meant, rather than what they said. She suspected it came down to her listeningproperly listening, rather than just waiting to be heard over the noise.
Still, if Margaret was blessed with the gift of dealing with the world, she found her own family more complicated.
Her husband had left just a week after their wedding. You lasted longer than I would have, her mum liked to joke.
It hurt, but Margaret had to agree. You cant build a household with someone as hopeless as me, shed decided, remembering his parting words, Youll never make a proper wife, Margaret. Youre about as domestic as a kangaroo.
Shed been upset, of course. Yet, within a couple of months, Margaret found out she was expecting, and just like that, she calmed. Ballerinas dont get pregnant, she told herself. No matter what he says.
The anticipation of her daughters birth outshone even Christmas. Life hadnt offered her many big celebrations, but this one changed everything. Her mother, Olive, didnt support her decision.
Why are you doing this, Margaret? Its a burden! Youre still young, attractive enough, and theres hope for you yet. But have the childand what? Youll live off economy noodles and own-brand tea! Youll doom your kid to the same. Children are an expensive pleasure, Margaret. You dont understand yet, but you will.
Mum, isnt that exactly how we lived?
Exactly! And whats good about that?
Margaret was troubled, yet something inside her rebelled against this conclusion. The thought of not having her child was suffocating. It wasnt just about the unborn baby, but the force she felt within herself: not just a woman, but a mother. Someone out there wanted to take that from her.
It was her grandmother who settled it, suddenly appearing in the city, fussing with her most treasured scarf (the one she saved for high days and holidays).
Have the baby, Margie. Ill help you.
Nan! What about Grandad? Hell be lost in the village by himself!
Hes tough. Hell manage. If not, well bring him to us.
She handed over a tidy bundle wrapped in the family tea towel Margaret had once embroidered herself.
Remember this? Go onopen it.
Margaret had never seen so much money all in one place. Grandad sold the old family hometheyre building a bypass through the village. Plots are worth a fortune now. All our savings too. It will buy a flat. After that, youre on your own.
I cant Margaret stammered.
You can, love. Dont argue with me. If not for you, then for your child. Who else will look out for them?
That little bundle kicked off a proper row between Margaret and her mother.
Oh, NOW you show up with a handout? Olive snapped. When I needed help, you told me to get lost. So whats changed?
Her gran shooed her from the room to have it out with Olive.
Olive refused to see sense: why should her daughter, with all her odd decisions, suddenly get so muchhelp, support, even her own flat? Its like winning the lottery! Olive grumbled. But whatever was at the root of her resentment, Margaret never quite understood. She hadnt done anything wrong.
And as Granny rightly said, You cant pull a cart alone. If youre yoked up with someone, you both need to pull. And hes a man, tooought to do his share.
Margaret could never thank her grandmother enough for the miracle of the flat. It was four rooms, yes, in a tired old block and in need of work, but perfect. Granny haggled so well the estate agent caved in and knocked the price down, and Margaret moved into her freshly decorated room and promptly burst into tears for joy.
Dont cry, silly! Rejoice! Now come help me christen the new kitchen, Granny bossed her, wiping away her tears.
Clara arrived slightly early. Margaret had been worried, but all was well. Her little girl was healthy, robust, and touchingly gentle. Margaret, after the peppery life lessons from her own mother, was determined never to pass on that stinging treatment.
So Grannys your favourite now! Olive would grumble. Of course! She bought you your place and helps with the baby. Im not even allowed to help with my own granddaughter!
Mumwhats stopping you? Youre welcome, just please dont make a scene. Clara gets frightened.
Frightened? Of me? Shes a baby, her worlds upside down! Me speaking a bit loudly, thats all?
No, Mumyou shout.
Thats it, then! Olive would snap, but Margaret had learnt not to argue.
All Margaret could think was, I will never be that kind of mother.
Easier said than done.
Margaret was hardly sure she was doing everything right. Clara wasnt badly behaved, but even as a tiny child, she knew her mind and had a way to make it knownone way or another.
Mummy, may I have a sweet?
After lunch, Clara.
Not even just one?
No.
Alright, mummy! But after lunch, can I have two? Ill eat all my lunch, I promise!
Margaret would laugh, and reward Clara with the two sweets once the plate was clean.
It was just the small stuff, but it built up Claras sense of herself and taught her not to manipulate or throw fits. Even Granny would fall under Claras charm sometimes.
Granny, dont scold! Thats not nice. Youre beautifulyou shouldnt have frown lines. Come here!
Why? Olive would actually pause, brow smoothing, as Clara perched on her lap and stroked away any imaginary wrinkles with her little fingers.
Soon enough, things calmed down in the family. Margaret worked, Granny and Grandad (who eventually moved in from the countryside) looked after Clara, and together, they managed.
But then Granny fell ill. The doctors were grave, refusing to offer hope. Margaret didnt need the wordsshe understood.
Gran, perhaps we should try London?
No, love. No need. Ive lived my life. Im not frightened about leaving. I just worry about you all, and about Grandad. Dont leave him alone.
Margaret hugged her tight. But
No, shush now, darling girl.
It was just then that Clara found a street cat and brought him home.
The very day Baz came into their lives, Margaret very nearly lost her daughter. Clara vanished on the short walk home from school. Grandad, just minutes behind, missed her. Everyone was out searching, even Granny.
Clara came home herself, tear-streaked and carrying the battered bundle in her arms.
Are you alright, love? Are you hurt? Margaret asked.
No, mummy, but he is! Look at him!
Margaret bundled up the limp cat and ran for the vet, realising mid-flight that this animal now belonged to themClara was never going to hand him over.
Thankfully, apart from being battered and biting, the cat was mostly intact. After a quick stitch-up, the vet handed him back (with a warning to get him vaccinated), and Margaret winced at the bill.
For that money, I could have bought two pedigrees! she muttered, but she paid up all the same.
Back home, emptying out her change purse, Margaret did the sums. It was going to be tight. There were medicines needed for Baz and for Granny, and Claras birthday was coming up. Margaret, whod rarely received presents herself as a child, always did her best for Clara.
Mummy, can I ask something? Clara had crept into the kitchen, already meant to be asleep.
What is it, love?
I dont need any presents, please. Can I just keep him? He can be my birthday present.
Margaret looked down at Baz, curled up beside hershed tried putting him in a box, but hed simply climb out, settling only at her feet and purring so loudly even the ancient fridge rattled in sympathy. And of course, Margaret agreed.
Strangely enough, that battered old cat, whod grown up in the gutters, quickly adjusted to family lifemaking himself endlessly at home, never a bother, especially loving to the old folks. He was Grannys shadow.
Its surprising, but Baz began to change everyones lives.
After paying the hefty vet bill, Margaret had had enough. She was tired of scraping by on a nursery salary and two pensions, but had never managed to take the plunge before. Now she quit, scared out of her wits, but quickly landed a post as a nanny for a lovely family (thanks to a friends recommendation), and never looked back. As each family grew up, she moved to the next, gaining in reputation, and a better salary each time.
Every evening shed come home, scratch Bazs now-healed ear, and whisper, Thanks, old friend. If it werent for you…
Baz would purr, bat her hand with a paw, and look over at Clarahe loved Margaret, but he was fiercely loyal to Clara, always by her side unless Granny called him away.
He sat with her while she did her schoolwork (helpfully keeping her notebook in place with a paw), comforted her through every farewelling tear for departed Granny and, months later, for Grandad too.
He was there when, at last, Margaret found happinessmeeting a truly good man. After all her hard-won lessons, she finally remarried, finding herself properly cherished. Her new husband, in turn, made sure to charm her mother (helped by the rare but useful habit of lending his carand driver!for her gardening jaunts).
Olive would parade out of her block with her seed tray balanced on her hip, declaring to the neighbours: My son-in-laws come to take me to the allotment!
By this time Clara was already in college, quite independent, and, though she got on with her stepfather, chose to stay in the old flat. It was there she took her boyfriend.
Wow, Clara, its like a palace here!
Hardly!
So spacious! Wait, whats that?
A snarling, spitting ball of grey streaked out of Claras room, and made a beeline for Jamie. He leapt back, yelping, as Baz zipped after him, determined to scare him off.
Get him away from me!
Clara eventually calmed Baz down, but the two never became friends.
Jamie and Baz were sworn enemies. Jamie would boot the cat at any opportunity, always timing it to avoid Claras notice.
A year on, Clara and Jamie married, but something in their relationship soured. Jamies complaints echoed the very words Margaret herself had once heard.
What kind of woman are you, Clara? This stew youve made? More like red dishwater! Cant believe you dont know how to cooka wife should know these things.
Clara had been taught to cook by Granny, and had boiled her first stew at the age of tenit was ridiculous to claim otherwise. Jamie, in fairness, had little to complain aboutuntil Baz gave him an excuse.
Whats supposedly wrong with this cat? Jamie bellowed at the sight of another vet bill. Clara, have you gone mad? I dont spend this much on my own health! Hes just a bundle of fur!
Jamie, Baz isnt a bundle of furhes family.
Whose? Not mine! I never asked for him!
What are you saying?
Just this: if you take him to the vet again, Ill throw him out myself.
Clara, whod just that morning found out she was expecting, didnt answer. She planned to talk it out later.
But Baz was old and kept missing his litter. Come the next morning, Clara was once again trying to coax him into his carrier when Jamie returned from his run.
He looked after his health with near-religious zealprotein porridge, morning jogs, forever urging Clara to see the logic: Theres nothing more important than health!
When told Baz needed more treatment, Jamie threw his trainer at the wall, fuming.
Thats it! Im not spending a penny more on that useless creature! OutOUT of my home!
Only if I go, too, Clara blazed back (for once too angry or hormonal to stay calm).
Fine! Out, both of you! Ive had enough!
In that instant, something snapped. Clara, who had always hoped for a happy, complete family for her unborn child, suddenly realised this wasnt what she wanted after all.
She didnt bother reminding Jamie that she owned the flatand it would be odd, to say the least, for him to throw her out.
Wordlessly, she fished his keys from his jacket pocket, held them tight, unlocked the door, and turned to face him.
Im having a baby. I cant afford to argue or stress. The cat gets it. You dont. Please leave, now. When youre calm, we can talk. But as for living togethersorry, Jamie, I wont anymore. If you can so easily throw out a sick old cat whos spent years with me, what will you do with me when youre bored? You dont care how I feel. I think I understand now. We had something good, you and I. But now, too much is bad. Thats more than enough for you and for me. Now go. Collect your things later. Right now, I need to take Baz to the vet. Hes suffering and hes my responsibility. Thats final.
Jamie didnt argue. He shoved his gym bag over his shoulder, grabbed his things, and slammed the door behind him.
Clara knew her news of the baby hadnt registered. Jamie was only thinking about the cat.
The flat quiet, Clara set Bazs carrier on the floor, waited asthis timehe graciously climbed inside, and asked: Ready? Come on, old friend. Time for a fresh startbeginning with your health!
Baz recovered. Age would always be a factor now, but Clara would never mind carrying him in his box to the vet, and soon enough, a small hand would reach for that fluffy taila liberty Baz never allowed anyone, but for Claras daughter, he made every exception.
And as a nanny, Baz would prove the best in the world: able to settle the baby with just a paw on the pillow, snuggled beside the grinning little mirror-image of Margaret. Clara briefly considered naming her daughter after her mother, but Margaret advised against it.
Talk it over with Jamie. Shes your child together. You wont be a couple anymore, but shell always connect you both. Youve worked hard to remain civil for her sakethats not enough. Youll have to do more. It wont be easy, but shes worth it.
Clara took that advice, surprising her now-ex-husband.
Well, I never thought you had it in you.
Maybe Im learning,” Clara replied. “What do you think?
I think thank you, Clara.
For what?
For not putting pride before whats best for our child.
Jamie kept his word.
Little Alice had two homes. She never questioned which was realboth had a bed, both held favourite rabbits, one at Mums, one at Dads. She adored both her Granny Margaret and Jamies mother, Maureen. But most importantly, there was love enough to go around. Bathing in it, Alice grew up convinced that if the grown-ups loved her this much, they must care for each other too. In time, Alice quietly reminded every adult around her of the essential, surprising links between themjust as her mother once had.
And only the old cat knew the whole truth about Alice. But he never told. Not because he couldnt, but because there was no need. Everyone knowsif the mother is gentle, her kittens grow up gentle, too.
And little Alice was as gentle-hearted as they come. One day, shell cradle her own child, stroke their soft cheek just as her mother and grandmother did, and whisper,
Hello, little one. Ive been waiting for you all my lifeWelcome home.
Baz, with his whiskers silver now and paws resting content against the rising and falling of Alices breath, would blink a slow, contented blink. The same blink he had given Clara, decades ago, when shed held him, trembling and wide-eyed, after losing her way and then finding her path.
In the hush of early mornings, Margaretolder, softer round the edgeswould visit, slipping through Claras door to press a kiss against her granddaughters sleeping crown. On the table, Alices scribbled drawings tumbled beside photos of all those whod loved her world into shape: mothers, grandmothers, and even one rather serious-looking, extraordinary cat.
Baz was always there: shadow and comfort, guardian and confidant, the thread that tied every generation to the last, quietly sewing together all the expensive pleasuresloss and triumph, fear and courage, loneliness and lovethat life ever offered.
And so as time flowed forward, with every patchwork lesson stitched inside her, Alice grew up sure of one thing above all: that family was not just blood or marriage, nor measured in coins and costs, but in the small, stubborn acts of devotion no one else sawlike watching over a sickly old cat when the world told you he wasnt worth the trouble.
In the end, it was never about the money spent, or the sacrifices made, but about who you kept safeand who, in turn, kept you.
Long after Baz had curled up for his final nap, his memory lived on: in soft hands and softer voices, in quiet kindness and ferocious loyalty. In mothers, daughters, and children yet to come, there would always be room for one more battered, beloved creatureand space for those expensive pleasures that, in the end, made every hardship worthwhile.
The story went on, in laughter and paw prints, in lullabies and gentle hearts, gift-wrapped in the audacious hope that love, above all, always comes home.
