TURBINE | KAPOHAU

Like many great love affairs, it began in the rain. 

He showed up one winter on Lila’s back porch seeking shelter from the pelting downpour, his paws sodden and puddle-drowned. Lila sought a piece of leftover chicken from her fridge, tore off shreds, and presented them on a saucer, fanned out like fingers. He gulped them down like a hungry python but stayed skittish to her touch. As soon as the rain thinned, he darted back into the night, disappearing through a thicket of lolling hydrangeas. 

But then he came back the next night. And the next night. And the next night. Prowling closer each time until he found himself in Lila’s lap, staring up at her, asking if he could move in.  

He was ginger and Lila had always had a thing for redheads.  

She told him yes, yes, a thousand times yes, smothering him in frenzied strokes. He meowed. Lila blushed.  

It was love at first purr.  

They’ve been together ever since. 

* 

Arun always stops by payroll on Mondays to say good morning to Lila and ask about her weekend. Today, he tells her about a new restaurant his uncle has opened. 

‘We should go together some time,’ he says, making his way back to his desk. He steals a glance back at Lila, his shoulder knocking into the edge of a filing cabinet. 

Kate, also in payroll, tells Lila that all these shameless displays of flirting and sexual tension are doing her head in and to please, for the love of God, just sleep with him already and put him out of his misery. But Lila isn’t convinced. Arun may have gorgeous eyes and lovely hands, but that’s not enough for her. Lila has high standards. No one could ever live up to her fantasies. That’s why she relies on Ginger –– her one true love.  

As Lila processes the fortnightly pay cycle, she replaces impure thoughts of Arun’s hands with daydreams of her and Ginger gunning it down the coast in a red convertible. Ginger tucked in a travel crate on the passenger seat, Lila at the wheel, headscarf-wrapped, adorned in cat eye sunnies like a 1950s pin-up, the wind in her hair, the wind in his fur… 

*

The first two minutes when Lila arrives home from work are her favourite time of the day. 

‘You’re home!’ says Ginger, uncoiling from his nap. He throws himself at her feet, head thrashing madly against the floor, paws paddling in the air as she rubs his tummy in firm, fast circles, just the way he likes.  

‘I wish you wouldn’t leave!’ he says. ‘I wish you’d stay here with me all day!’ 

*

On a drizzly Wednesday, Arun and Lila are the last to leave an all-staff meeting. He lowers his voice, asks if she can please, um, hang back a minute, please, for a quick chat? She nods, nervously clicking her pen on and off as the two of them wait for the room to empty, for the people on Zoom to exit the meeting. The faces on the screen blink off one by one, until it’s just Lila and Arun alone in the room. 

‘What are you doing Friday?’ he asks, ears reddening, cat-tongue pink. 

* 

‘He’s perfect for you,’ says Kate, forcing Lila to replay the scene for her in the kitchen the next day. She asks Lila to describe the vibe, the body language, where they were standing. Lila acts it out on the bench, her and Arun’s roles played by salt and pepper shakers. But Lila is unsure she wants to go on the date. 

‘You have to! He’s so into you. He’d probably fling himself on a pyre if you don’t. Besides,’ says Kate, a ridge of concern cresting between her eyebrows, voice thinning, ‘you don’t want to end up a crazy cat lady.’ 

Kate doesn’t understand that for Lila, the thought of spending her life with only Ginger by her side is capital R romantic. Lila often fantasises about the two of them growing old together: Ginger’s fur will grey, his tummy will plumpen and droop to the ground. Lila’s skin will wrinkle like dropped fruit, on and on, until eventually the two of them drift into eternal darkness, paw in hand, hand in paw. 

*

On the morning of The Date, Lila feeds Ginger a double serving of food, knowing she won’t be there for dinner. She avoids eye contact as Ginger dives face–first into his kibble. She feels traitorous at this breach of trust –– a wife starting an affair –– and vows to tell Arun the truth at dinner — that she’s not ready to wade into anything romantic, but she thinks he’s a very nice man and can they be friends? She tells Ginger she hopes he has a good day and leaves with a farewell scratch of his head. 

The restaurant is knee-knockingly intimate and bathed in candlelight. Through the ebb and flow of conversation they take turns naming hometowns, siblings, hobbies, favourite movies, favourite books. Lila learns Arun spends his weekends playing cricket or helping his mother with her garden, he wishes he had a pet (!), and his favourite song is Can’t Help Falling In Love. He tells Lila her name is pretty and asks her where it comes from. Lila doesn’t know. Arun pulls out his phone and searches. 

‘It’s Arabic, it means night.’ 

He pauses then adds, ‘Arun means sunrise.’ 

He says it with a wink in his voice, like it means something important to him and he wants Lila to feel its importance too. But Lila misses the wink. She’s too busy thinking about Ginger at home, all alone. When Arun orders dumplings, dunking them into small dishes of soy sauce, Lila notices the dishes are the same size as Ginger’s water bowl. And with that another layer of guilt presses down on her slowly but firmly, like a weighted blanket.  

But when Arun walks Lila to her car, she’s suddenly too nervous, too distracted, to think about Ginger. She can’t think about anything except the heat of Arun’s palm pressed against her lower back. Warmth ripples from his hand, from her cheeks, between her legs. They push up against the passenger door of her car and sink into an overdue kiss, hearts thumping against ribcages, lips sparking like flint. 

Later that night, her phone flashes with a message wearing Arun’s name.  

Can’t stop smiling x

She turns her phone over, in case Ginger tries to read it. 

*

Lila is too embarrassed to have sex in front of Ginger so she closes the bedroom door on the nights Arun stays over, which are quickly becoming most nights. Sometimes Ginger cries, scratches at the wood, and when that happens Lila becomes too distracted to orgasm, despite Arun’s best efforts, pushing through it like a champ. 

‘WHAT’S GOING ON IN THERE?’ Ginger continues to scratch at pace, even when they’re done. ‘WHY IS MY DOOR CLOSED?’

Ginger likes Arun fine. He leaps into his lap and sniffs Arun’s face with his glistening wet nose. But when Arun leaves, Ginger stops sniffing. He makes no attempt to leap into Lila’s lap instead.  

‘What’s the matter, baby?’ Lila pats the empty space beside her on the sofa, reaches to rub the downy fur behind his ears. Ginger ducks, jerks his head back. 

‘DON’T TOUCH ME!’ he says. He jumps down to the floor with a heavy thud and wanders off into the next room slowly and with cruel indifference, ignoring Lila’s increasingly desperate, ‘Psp-psp-psp, psp-psp-psp, psp-psp-psp.’ 

*

Arun stops by payroll to surprise Lila with a weekend getaway. Vineyard tour. B&B. Two nights.  

Lila smiles, but shakes her head. 

‘I wish. But I need to be here to feed Ginger.’ 

‘Can’t you ask a neighbour? Or could we get him an automatic feeder?’  

The words ‘automatic feeder’ are a dagger in Lila’s heart. Arun doesn’t understand that an automatic feeder is the antithesis of love, timed and predetermined and sensibly portioned. He doesn’t understand that the worst thing he could possibly suggest to Lila is that she ignore Ginger and immerse herself in sex and romance and the wines of Waiheke Island. 

‘Next time,’ says Lila, giving Arun’s bicep a consoling squeeze. ‘But you should go on without me. You could use the break.’ 

Arun shuffles to his desk. Lila catches Kate shaking her head on the other side of her monitor. 

At home, Lila falls back on her unmade bed, limbs sprawled like a star jump. She tries not to think about the smell of Arun’s skin in her sheets. Instead, she thinks about Arun having a post-cricket match beer with the boys, or Kate wrangling her husband and three children, and wonders if they’ve ever fallen under the spell of a simple evening spent chopping vegetables alone, listening to a true crime podcast, and a warm, furry body snaking between their ankles. 

There’s a dip in the mattress, and Lila hears the soft buzz of a purr growing closer. She reaches out her hand. She waits to be touched.