Newcastle Herald Short Story competition finalist 2020: Undercover by Jessie Ansons

"He doesn't like men," she'd explained as I stepped from the solid wooden wharf onto the swaying deck of the boat. The cat was sitting tall on the esky and I could tell what he was thinking: You're hiding something. Elle dismissed it with a wave of her hand and said, "Don't take it personally, OK?"

In the bathroom, the cat stretches his neck to peer into the make-up bag I've put on the windowsill. He looks back at me with critical eyes: Men don't wear makeup.

I pour remover on a cotton ball and begin to strip off the foundation I applied this morning, to start a fresh base for the evening's coat. At the right of my nose I wipe away the skin tone, revealing the raised purple mark I've had my entire life. It extends across my cheekbone and finishes down at a point on the right side of my chin. Shaped like a heart as if it's something I'm meant to love. The cat looks unimpressed.

I didn't intend to keep the secret from Elle for this long. I wanted to tell her before things got too serious. Hoped to tell her earlier today, in fact. But amongst the exploring, fishing, splashing in the shallows, the right moment just never came. Then we moored in a secluded bay away from anywhere and it all seemed too magical to spoil.

The cat yawns and I see right down his throat. His mouth snaps shut: You're never going to tell her.

Elle has it all. She's caring, funny and a little mysterious. I sometimes wonder why she chose me out of the office full of confident high-flyers. On her very first day she found me in the stationery storeroom, eating my lunch next to a box labelled Korrect-O Correction Fluid: Bulk Pack. Turns out she was also seeking a peaceful space and began joining me whenever she could.

She spoke about the houseboat. And the cat. He's at least twelve and a half years old because that's how long she's lived on the boat. And he came with the boat.

The cat climbs up onto the windowsill and settles his backside down next to my makeup bag, pushing it dangerously close to the edge. He stares me down as if challenging me to a duel. Then he raises his paw and gives it a casual lick.

"Shoo!", I try.

I prod him in the ribs, but he's surprisingly sturdy. I line up for a stronger shove, and at that exact moment the cat decides to leap from the windowsill to the floor. My makeup bag takes the full force of my push, popping the window open and sending the whole bag through.

"Noooo!" There's a gentle splash as my toner, foundation, green concealer, lip liner, touch-up pen and powder puff begin their slow descent to the bottom of the bay.

The cat hops back onto the windowsill and peers through the open window: What an interesting turn of events.

I quickly glance at the mirror, hoping desperately that the mark is still covered. There's a small circle of foundation on my chin and I do my best to spread it up over my cheek. I rub until my face burns.

But it's no good. In fact, it's now looking a lot worse.

Elle has never seen me exposed like this. If I'd prepared I could have dropped a hint. Given her time to get used to the idea before she actually saw it. But this? This is a catastrophe!

The cat nods in agreement.

I could feign a stomach upset. Rush out the door and say I'll give her a call tomorrow. If I move fast with my head down she might not even see my face. Quietly slip out like I did with Margo from accounting after she'd pointed out I'd spilled sauce down my chin.

The cat looks casually back at his tail: Except we're in the middle of the bay.

The cat is right! I can't just run away from this one. Unless I swim? It can't be that far to the shore, right?

My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock.

"Patrick? Are you in there?"

"Ummm, yes."

"It's just... you've been in there a while."

I honestly don't know what to do. The cat looks very pleased with himself. He's wanted me off this boat the minute he saw me walking down the wharf. Elle's going to hate it, but I'll just have to face her and hope to get away with some of my dignity.

First thing Monday morning I'll start looking for a new stationery storeroom.

I unlock the door. The cat hops down and slips into the hall to show me the way out. I step through the door and Elle looks up at me, then down to the cat.

She screams and clamps her hand to her mouth.

I've seen this reaction before. Too many times. Schoolyard taunts, adults who cross to the opposite side of the street to pass, babies that cry when they see my face.

I'm can't look at Elle. Even the cat is pushing against my legs, wanting me to move on. I mumble, "I'll get my things and you can drop me back at the wharf."

"What? Why?" She's pointing at the floor. "Look!"

The cat is weaving between my legs, rubbing his entire body from nose to tail against my calves. He's purring. "He loves you!"

Elle's eyes lock with mine. She lifts her hand and, using her finger, she gently traces around the mark on my face.