Page 42 of I Know How This Ends

I am blaming Polly for this.

She could have just shouted at me for going on a date with her husband, chucked me out of her house and refused to let me

drink all her alcohol on a weekday. But nooooooooo, she had to be amazing about everything and now here I am: totally screwed.

“Uh.” I stand up with difficulty. “Absolutely. Of course.”

As elegantly as possible, I remove the noodle from my chin, quickly consider where to put it, give up and pop it in my mouth.

“Nice.” Henry nods as I chew and swallow.

“Make yourselves at home!” I wave vaguely in the direction of my pot noodle. “Sit down! Make yourselves comfortable! I...

um.” I look desperately at Henry. “I’ve had a bit of a long day already, if you know what I mean.”

Over Winter’s head, I make the universal mime of I’m drunk , followed by a finger pointing in the direction of Polly’s house.

Then I mouth, I’m so sorry.

“You told her?” Henry beams with pride at me. “Well done you! How did it go? Either very well or very poorly, judging by your,

um, merriness.”

Winter wails at the ceiling. “Daaaaaaadddddddyyyyyy, tellllll heerrrrrr.”

“Sorry.” I pat her head and miss slightly. “What’s going on?”

We sit on the sofa together and I suddenly realize that Winter is bundled up in an extraordinary way for relatively mild weather.

Her purple coat is all puffed up, her arms are held tightly across her stomach and—as I stare in horror—I realize something under there is moving, struggling, trying desperately to get out.

Bloody hell, it’s like a scene from Alien .

“Henry!” I look up at him in inebriated alarm. “What is—”

“It’s a baby kitten ,” Winter sobs, opening her coat dramatically. “She’s all on her own and she hasn’t got a mummy and she’s sick and cold and

Daddy says we can’t take her because he is mean and doesn’t love animals like I do.”

At this, the sobs kick up a gear.

“Now, be fair,” Henry says gently, with a faint air of frustration. “That is not what I said, Winnie. What I said was that legally we’re not allowed animals in our flat, our landlord lives upstairs, we’ll

get kicked out immediately, there’s no garden, and what with you being at school and me being at the restaurant, he would get lonely.”

He looks up at me with eyebrows raised.

“It’s a boy,” he adds over her head. “I’ve explained how I know this, with all my advanced medical training, but she’s having

none of it.”

But I’m still staring at the little head now poking out of Winnie’s coat.

It’s tiny and adorable and... orange.

“ Dadddyyyyy ,” Winter wails. “We can’t just put her back there!”

“We were never going to just put him back there,” Henry says patiently. “I’ve explained that multiple times, Winter. I’m not a total monster.”

He looks at me again, clearly desperate.

“He was behind one of the bins for glass at the back of the restaurant. Winter found him while she was with me for a shift,

and the other waiters were like, hell no, thank you . I’m guessing the mummy cat was...” Henry pauses sensitively “...otherwise occupied at that time.”

With his hands, where she can’t see, he makes a series of hand gestures that presumably mean hit by a car , somewhat less sensitively .

“Goodness,” I say in horror, looking at the animal in front of me. It’s staring at me with big, round green eyes—and almost

incomprehensibly huge ears—and my heart suddenly hurts for it. I do not like cats, I do not want a cat, I have never wanted

any kind of pet, but this is the cat from my vision, I am certain of it. This is the cat, it appears, I am getting. Because

it is going to be my cat, I can feel it.

“I’m not asking you to take him permanently,” Henry says quickly, guessing my thoughts. “I was just hoping you could maybe

look after him for a day, maybe two, while I ring the local shelter, find somewhere else for him to go.”

“Margot will take her forever!” Winter looks up at me with a wobbling little chin. “Margot is kind . Margot will be her mummy now, won’t you, Margot?”

I had no idea my chest cavity could feel like this: so broken and so whole, all at once. Henry flushes deeply and flinches,

aware of what his daughter is really saying, even if she doesn’t realize it herself.

“Meg...” he says slowly. “This is a lot to—”

“I’ll take him.” I nod and pick the kitten up. “For now, anyway.”

It’ll be eight years, at least, and there seems no point in fighting it: another part of my future locks irrevocably into

place. This is why they move into mine rather the other way round—they’re not allowed pets. The orange kitten stares at me

gravely, then puts a paw on my cheek and licks my nose experimentally with his little Velcro tongue, presumably as affirmation

that we’re now a lifelong unit.

“Thank you, thank you!” Winter lobs herself at me again, nearly knocking the kitten off the end of the sofa. “She’s only little , she’ll be no trouble at all .”

I look at the orange ball of fluff with my eyebrows raised, feeling rather sober.

This is going to become the largest cat I have ever seen in my life: capable of hanging over both ends of a stair at the same time, legs up the wall, while serenely weathering an extremely vocal teenager who will be trouble.

Maybe we move into a house just to give our giant cat extra room.

“Something tells me he won’t be little for long,” I observe somewhat dryly. “So what shall we call him?”

I already know, but I don’t want to say it, don’t want to put that piece of the puzzle there myself.

“Cheese!” Winter hops up and starts to dance, all sadness vanished in the way that sadness vanishes when you’re six. “She’s

the color of cheese!”

I frown: nope, that’s not it.

“He’s the color of American Cheddar ,” Henry corrects gently, picking him up. “The really crazy neon-orange stuff.”

My new flatmate squeaks in confirmation and I see Henry struggle with an intense wave of reluctant love for him, fully aware

that he’s been thoroughly seduced already.

I nod faintly: Cheddar, which eventually becomes “Cheds.”

There it is.

“Hello, Cheddar,” I say as the kitten struggles to get back to me. “Or Cheddite when you’re naughty, like a French explosive

device.”

Henry laughs, and as the kitten climbs into my lap, squeaking like a rusty door, I feel another wave of love. Would I have

said yes if I hadn’t already seen that Cheddar would belong to me? I think so. He’s too cute, too alone, too fragile to say

no to. This was going to play out exactly the same way even if I hadn’t known it was coming. It’s impossible to know which

bits of my future are caused by the visions—with me fulfilling them knowingly—and which are simply shown. Time is a never-ending

circle that can’t be pulled apart.

“Welcome to the extremely weird household,” I add softly.

Henry gives me a look of such pure gratitude, such softness, such affection, that I don’t quite know what to do with it.

So I smile at him, and he smiles back.

“Do you want us to stay while he settles in?” Henry abruptly glances at his watch.

“Winter’s bedtime was an hour ago—don’t look at me like that, Winnie, it is, you don’t get special dispensation for being a hero this evening—but I’m obviously not just lobbing a baby animal at you and disappearing, Meg. ”

I yawn widely, all my drunkenness switching abruptly to exhaustion.

It’s been quite the day.

Quite the days, with many yet to come.

“I think I need to sleep,” I say as Cheddar climbs up my sweater with considerable effort and courage, like a tiny mountaineer.

“I think we probably both do.”

“ Thank you ,” Henry whispers as Winter sulks toward the front door, rubbing her eyes. Then he leans in to kiss me gently. “You are nowhere

near as scary as you pretend to be.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you,” I whisper back.

And my future—the rest of it—disappears into the night.

I don’t sleep.

Instead, I lie in my bed and stare at the ceiling as a tiny ball of Cheddar-colored fluff climbs all over me, investigating

every inch of my room until he’s satisfied that, yes, this is where he belongs, before promptly passing out in the nook of

my arm.

As I stare at his little sleeping face, I am overwhelmed with emotion.

My life—the one I thought lay in one straight, unknowable line—is shining like a silver river, pulling me forward. There’s

so much I still don’t know. Still so much I have left to find out. After all, my visions would total approximately fifteen

minutes if Sellotaped together, and there are all the days, the weeks, the years in between that remain invisible.

But those moments are there, and when they catch in the light, they flash.

And I don’t understand where my visions have come from, or why I’m getting them. I don’t know if it’s just me and if I’m alone

with this gift, or whether there’s some kind of secret underground Premonitions Anonymous club I can join to discuss its complications and maybe swap badges. I don’t know if I can tell anyone or whether this is a secret I’ll have to carry with me permanently.

I just know that if these visions stopped right now—if I never had another one again—they will have changed my life.

Not just changed but lit up my life like a ray of sunshine.

In such a short time, I have started to become someone I didn’t know I could be: unraveled and unwound, unguarded and unlocked.

I’d thought I loved Aaron—so much, for so many years—but now that love seems... contained, somehow, like a storm inside

a bottle. When inside me was all the weather—all the rains and the fires and the hurricanes and the clouds, the rainbows and

the dews and the tornadoes and the halos—waiting to be unleashed. I just had no idea, until I was shown how much of everything

I could be.

“Thank you,” I whisper to Other Margot, wherever she is now.

Cheddar looks up briefly, makes a small mewing noise— you’re welcome— and goes back to sleep. I curl up on my side, stroking his little head.

And when my phone starts ringing, something tells me it’s another part of my future, falling silently into place.

“Hello?” It’s an unknown number. “Margot Wayward speaking.”

“Hello, Margot. This is Charlotte Taylor, from the BBC.”

I sit up in shock and glance at my bedside clock: 9:49 p.m. Oh God, I cannot sound drunk right now.

“Oh, hello, Charlotte.” Nice. Sober. “How are you this very beautiful evening?”

Slightly less sober.

“I’m sorry to call you at this time,” Charlie says. “But I wanted to say that I received your package. The little confetti

raindrops inside exploded all over my office. It was a bit of a clean-up job.”

I put my hand over my face.

“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I didn’t think that one through.”

“Actually, I liked the enthusiasm. It might be the most important quality for a children’s television presenter.”

There’s a pause and I sit up straighter. “What do you—”

“I loved it,” she confirms. “I loved your ideas, and you have a natural passion that comes across so well on screen. I’ve

taken the scrapbook to my board and they loved it too. We’re keen to get you in for a test shoot as quickly as possible.”

There’s a silence while I continue to stare in inebriated shock at exposed brickwork.

“Any thoughts?” Charlie prompts. “At all?”

“Oh!” I blink. “Yes, please. Thank you. Please. Thanks.”

Stop.

“Good.” I can hear Charlie smiling. “And we’d like to bring Polly on as well, to help build your brand. The woman is annoyingly

efficient. Always was.”

I feel myself light up a little more. Polly.

“Can I tell her?” I grin. “I’d like to tell her.”

“Of course. Then I’ll sort out the details with her. Just a quick question—how do you feel about costumes?”

I frown. “A costume?”

“You know, rainbow boots, raindrop earrings, maybe a lightning clip in your hair—something instantly recognizable and fun

for the kids?”

With a bolt of shock, another piece of my puzzle clicks into place. I’m not dressed as a cheeseburger when I pick Winnie up

from school: I’m dressed as a children’s TV presenter.

“I can do a costume.” I nod, eyes welling up.

“Fabulous. I’ll get Polly on that too. Have a lovely evening and I’ll see you very soon. Bye for now, Margot the Meteorologist.”

“Bye, Charlie.”

I end the call and stare at my phone for a few seconds. My future wasn’t a passive offering at all. It was there because I

went after it like a tornado in the rain.

Hitting a few buttons, I wait a second and say: “Polly?”

“SUP!” She hiccups. “My new bestie! How’s it go-ing , pretty lady?”

I grin: she’s still hammered. “Charlie called. We got a test shoot for the show.”

“What?” Polly hiccups again. “Why? How? Why? Oh God, the room is spinning.”

“I’ll explain when I see you,” I smile. “Sleep off the vodka and I’ll come round in the next couple of days so we can prepare.”

When she’s gone, I make another call and it goes through to voicemail.

“Hi, Grandad. I just wanted to say... I love you. That’s all. I don’t say it much, but I do. I’m sure you know that already.

But I love you, a ridiculous amount. I’ve got a new job opportunity, so I’m going to be snowed under for a few days, but then

I’ll come round and tell you everything. Sleep well.”

I put the phone down and take a few deep breaths.

“Excuse me,” I say politely to Cheds, picking him up and moving him gently onto my pillow so as not to disrupt his well-earned

slumber. “There’s just something I have to do.”

I stand up, brush myself down, stabilize myself.

“YESSSSSSS!” I shriek, punching the air and then kicking it like a ninja. “FUCKING YES! YESSS, MARGOT! YOU BLOODY DID IT,

YOU DID IT, YOU TOTAL BLOODY LEGEND!”

With a quick hop, I cross to my wardrobe mirror. Cheddar looks up and stares at me in bewilderment.

“Get used to it, buddy,” I tell him jubilantly. “There’s a lot more of this kind of nonsense coming, and nobody will see it but you.”

And eventually Henry, once he’s in love with me enough to handle it.

I point at myself in the mirror and realize I am, in fact, still very drunk.

“OTHER MARGOT,” I yell at my reflection. “HERE I COME.”