We clutched each other, suddenly really scared. Then I heard a triumphant mew. I snapped on the kitchen light – and there was our old cat Sally, now as bouncy as a kitten, chasing a tiny mouse here and there about the kitchen floor.
‘A mouse, a mouse, a mouse!’ Elsie squealed.
‘Yes, a mouse, stupid, not a burglar. Well, a cat burglar,’ I said, laughing. I grabbed one of Izzie’s empty Kilner jars, pushed poor Sally out of the way, and neatly captured the mouse inside the jar.
‘Ugh! Oh Katy, you’re so brave!’ said Cecy, who seemed almost as scared of the mouse as silly Elsie.
‘It’s only a little field mouse. It’s so sweet! And luckily it doesn’t look hurt at all,’ I said, showing Cecy the glass jar filled with the tiny rodent, but she shrank away from me.
‘OK, OK. I’ll take it out into the garden,’ I said, and did so. ‘There you are, little Mousy. Run fast! Keep away from our Sally!’
Sally was mewing crossly, deprived of her fun, so I let the littlies feed her a cat treat each.
‘Can we have a treat too?’ Dorry asked.
‘No, we’re all going back to bed. Come on, who can get into bed first?’ I said.
We all tore up the stairs, pushing and yelling, making a mad dive for the bed. Elsie got in too, huddling up close.
‘There! Everybody’s in now,’ I said. ‘All safe.’
‘Everybody except Philly,’ said Jonnie.
‘Mum will bring him back all better,’ said Cecy.
‘But he will hurt,’ said Jonnie.
‘Let’s play bears,’ I said quickly, because I couldn’t stand the thought of dear little Phil hurting either. ‘I’m Father Bear and Cecy can be Mother Bear and you’re all our little bear cubs and we’re safe in our cave. Pull the covers right up over our heads to make the cave.’
There was an ominous ripping sound. Oh no … Izzie’s vintage peach counterpane. I didn’t dare get up and switch the light on and see what we’d done. Perhaps it was just a little rip. Maybe I could turn the counterpane round so that Izzie wouldn’t notice. I decided to play bears and distract everyone for ten minutes or so, and then I’d put them all back in their own beds and deal with the counterpane. Clover and I were rubbish at sewing, but maybe Cecy could manage a neat repair if necessary.
‘We’re bears, we’re bears! Big fat growly bears. Grrrr! Grrrr!’ I said. ‘I’m big Father Bear and I’ve climbed a tree and found honey for all my baby bears. Snuggle up and have some honey, yum yum yum!’ I said, trying to distract myself as well as all the others.
‘Honey!’ said Dorry. ‘Where? Bags I have first lick!’
‘It’s pretend honey, Dorry!’ I said.
‘I want real honey!’ said Dorry.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ I said. ‘All right, all right. I’ll go and get you some.’
I climbed out of bed and started down the stairs, desperate to keep them all happy. Tyler came with me and I couldn’t help tripping over him in the dark.
‘Sorry, sorry, Tyler! Are you all right?’ I asked anxiously.
Tyler leaped up and licked my face reassuringly. But then he suddenly started to bark loudly.
‘No, shh, Tyler, stop that row! Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to bark at,’ I hissed.
Tyler took no notice. And then I heard something myself. A car door slamming outside. Then scurrying footsteps. I ran to the living room, peeped round the curtain and saw Izzie hastening towards the front door!
I gasped and then flew up the stairs as if I had a real family of bears chasing me.
‘Quick, quick! Get back to your own beds!’ I shrieked. ‘Izzie’s back already! Move!’
I started yanking every child out of bed and giving them a shove. They scattered wildly, stumbling in the dark.
‘Ouch! You landed right on top of me, you great lump, Dorry!’ Elsie moaned. ‘Put the light on, someone!’
‘No, no! Izzie will see. Just feel your way in the dark – and hurry!’ I said.
I pushed Elsie in the direction of her little room and yanked at Dorry and Jonnie, trying to herd them towards their own shared bedroom.
‘Quick!’ I commanded, now grabbing Clover and Cecy.
The three of us ran along the landing like the wind and then jumped into bed, Cecy in with me and Clover burrowing down into her own bed.
I heard Izzie’s key in the lock.
‘Shh, now! Everyone pretend to be fast asleep!’ I said.
‘But she’ll wonder where my mum is, and little Phil,’ Cecy whispered.
‘Oh goodness, yes! Well, act all sleepy and innocent when she wakes us up,’ I said.
I started pretend snoring as I heard Izzie down in the hall. Clover tried too, sounding like a little piglet. Cecy giggled nervously and I couldn’t help giggling too. Our bed shook we were laughing so much. I pulled the covers over our heads to try to drown the noise.
We heard Izzie run into Elsie’s room first and start talking to her urgently. Oh no, Elsie would be bound to tell on all of us. And sure enough, after a minute’s muttering, we heard Izzie rush into her own bedroom and snap on the light.
Suddenly I stopped laughing. I thought of the spilt make-up, the discarded jewellery, the clothes and broken shoe shoved hastily back into the wardrobe. I thought of the torn peach counterpane.
‘Oh Lord,’ I whispered.
We heard Izzie going into Dorry and Jonnie’s room and the sound of her raised voice. Dorry and Jonnie tried to stay silent, but soon we heard them mumbling. Izzie seemed terribly cross. It sounded as if both Dorry and Jonnie were crying now.
Then Izzie swept into our room and switched on the light. I don’t know about Clover or Cecy, but I kept my eyes tight shut and tried to breathe regularly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, girls! I know you’re wide awake,’ said Izzie.
I sat up reluctantly, thinking fast. Divert her!
‘Izzie, you mustn’t worry. It’s only a little cut, but Philly’s at the hospital with Mrs Hall,’ I gabbled, hoping this would immediately make her charge off to the hospital and forget about rowing us.
No such luck.
‘I know Phil’s in A & E having his finger stitched, you silly girl. That’s why I’m back early. I listened to Eleanor’s message. She explained that she’d left you in charge!’ said Izzie. She might have gone on more about this decision, but she couldn’t very well call Mrs Hall an idiot in front of her daughter.
‘I can’t believe you could all have been so naughty! My bedroom is a wreck!’ said Izzie. Her voice sounded strange, as if she were about to burst into tears. ‘You’ve been wearing my clothes, using my make-up – even tearing my silk counterpane!’
‘We didn’t mean … I just wanted …’ I faltered.
‘It wasn’t all Katy’s fault. It was all of us,’ said Clover.
‘That’s right,’ said Cecy bravely.
‘I know that,’ said Izzie. ‘I’m thoroughly ashamed and disappointed in all of you, but especially you, Katy, as you’re the oldest and the others look up to you so. I’m sure it was your idea to go into my bedroom.’
‘Yes, all right, it was my idea,’ I said. ‘I only wanted to comfort everyone.’
‘Well, you’ve succeeded in getting all your siblings and your friend into serious trouble,’ said Izzie. ‘Goodness knows what your father will say.’
‘Will you have to tell him? Oh please, dear Izzie, I know we’ve been bad, but could you possibly not tell Dad? It will upset him so,’ said Clover, sitting up and looking adorable in her pink budgie-patterned pyjamas.
Most people can’t resist Clover when she begs so prettily. But Izzie resisted easily.
‘Of course I’m going to tell your father,’ Izzie said coldly. ‘He’s gone straight to the hospital to check on Phil and relieve Mrs Hall. You’re to stay here tonight, Cecy. Now, I suggest you all settle down and go to sleep. I dare say your father will have words with you in the morning.’
Izzie stalked off. We heard her back in her bed
room, trying to set things to rights. We heard her wardrobe door opening – and then a sharp exclamation.
‘Oh Lordy, she’s found her broken shoe!’ I whispered.
‘Don’t worry, Katy. I’ll tell Dad you didn’t mean to do it,’ Clover whispered back.
‘Oh dear, doesn’t she get cross!’ Cecy whispered.
‘Just be very, very glad she’s not your stepmother,’ I said. ‘And she’d have been far, far meaner if you weren’t here. We all hate her.’
I knew this wasn’t really true at all. Elsie loved her mum passionately. So did Dorry and Jonnie and Phil, though I think they loved Dad a little bit more. Clover usually got on OK with Izzie, especially if I wasn’t around. I was the only one who couldn’t stand her. I don’t suppose I actually hated her. I just hated her being part of our family instead of Mum.
I didn’t really care too much if Izzie was mad at me. That was nothing new, after all. But I was dreading Dad being angry with me too.
I couldn’t go to sleep. I stayed awake long after Cecy and Clover were genuinely snoring. I couldn’t divert myself by making up stories. I just lay miserably, waiting. At last I heard the front door open and Izzie rushing downstairs. I heard Dad with Mrs Hall, and then a little chirrup from Phil, sleepily boasting about his big bandage.
I knew he’d like one. Oh, it was such a relief to have Philly back and to hear he was all right. Izzie stayed downstairs talking to Mrs Hall. I heard her putting the kettle on to make tea. Dad came up the stairs, talking gently to Phil, obviously carrying him. I heard him going into the littlies’ room to put him to bed.
I couldn’t wait any more. I slipped out of my own bed and tiptoed to the door, doing my best not to wake Cecy or Clover.
‘Dad?’ I whispered, on the dark landing.
‘Katy? Shh, now. I’m just tucking Philly up. Be with you in a minute,’ Dad whispered.
I sat waiting for him at the top of the stairs. It was a warm night but I was shivering.
‘Dad!’ I said, when he crept out of the littlies’ room. I clutched at his leg.
‘Hey, careful! You’ll tip me down the stairs, sweetheart,’ said Dad. He eased himself down beside me. I flung my arms round his neck and started crying.
‘Hey, hey! Were you frightened about Phil? He’s fine. He just needed a couple of stitches, and by all accounts he was very brave. He asked for a very big bandage though. I gather you put the idea in his head. Good girl, Katy!’ said Dad.
‘No, I’m not good. I’m bad, bad, bad – but I didn’t mean to be. Oh Dad! Izzie’s absolutely furious with me,’ I wept.
‘Oh dear,’ said Dad wearily.
‘You see, everyone wanted to get into my bed and there wasn’t room, and I just wanted to be a help, act like a mum, so I suggested we all went into your bed, yours and Izzie’s –’ I wailed.
‘Oh dear. I can see where this is going,’ said Dad. ‘Izzie likes to keep her bedroom as her inner sanctum, you know that.’
‘Yes, but it’s your bedroom too, and I knew you wouldn’t really mind. Only – only we all got a bit carried away,’ I said.
‘Well I never,’ said Dad, with heavy irony.
‘Yes, and somehow some of Izzie’s things got a bit messed up,’ I said.
‘Oh Katy!’ said Dad. He sounded pretty sad.
‘I didn’t mean it to happen,’ I said tearfully.
‘I know, I know. You never mean anything – but it still happens anyway. What am I going to do with you, hmm? And when are you and Izzie ever going to learn to get on together, eh?’
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, because the honest reply would be never. At least Dad wasn’t really furious with me … though he did get quite cross in the morning, after Izzie had had her say.
Phil was delighted we’d left him his cake. Dad and Mrs Hall didn’t fancy theirs and left them in the kitchen. Dorry found them and secretly polished them off. So at least my two brothers ended up happy.
8
Cecy and I were best friends forever of course. We’d been best friends ever since we were babies. When we started nursery we played in the Wendy house together and finger-painted at adjacent easels. We sat next to each other the first day at school and still did now we were in Year Six. But that didn’t mean Cecy was my only friend.
I had had heaps of special friends over the years. When I was very little I didn’t understand that you usually had friends in your own age range. I declared that Mr Harrington in the sweetshop was my special friend because he sang a funny song – K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy – every time he saw me. Mandy, the nurse at Dad’s practice, was my special friend because she gave me Smarties from a glass jar and let me draw with her biro. Miss Ranger the assistant at nursery was my special friend because she let me wear silver cardboard armour and rush around waving a plastic toy sword.
Then when I got to proper school age I started to claim animals as my special friends. I loved Sally our cat with a passion. I convinced myself she loved me back just as much, though she generally seemed reluctant to sit on my lap, and only headbutted me and purred when I fed her. We didn’t have Tyler when I was younger. We didn’t have any dog because Izzie lived with us by then and always whined that she had so much to do looking after all the babies that she couldn’t possibly take on a dog as well. So I had to make friends with all the neighbourhood dogs: Monty, the wonderful, wolf-like German shepherd; Sparky, the beautiful white husky; and Ted, the cuddly little schnauzer. I begged their owners to let me take them for walks in the park. I don’t know why, but they didn’t quite trust me, though they sometimes let me come on walks with them because I was very good at hurling balls and playing tag and running races. All these special dog friends greeted me with loving licks and waggy tails.
It wasn’t quite the same as having my own pet. I kept on at Dad until he gave in and let me buy a hamster with my pocket money at Pets at Home. Izzie screamed when she saw it. That was actually very satisfying, especially when she and Dad had a major row. It made me feel little Hammy was even more of a special friend.
I loved him so much and spent hours in our bedroom letting him run up inside my sleeve, across my chest under my T-shirt and out the other sleeve. I was sure he had the potential to perform all sorts of tricks, and I started constructing hamster palaces for him out of cardboard boxes. He loved playing in them, but unfortunately he gnawed his way out when I went down to supper one day.
We hunted high and low for him (Izzie screamed her head off again!) but we never found him. I cried for days. I eventually consoled myself by writing a long story (well, ten pages, but this was a while ago) called The Exciting Escape of Hammy the Hamster. I had Hammy find his way into the garden, set up home in a flowerpot and make friends with field mice, shrews and a robin. I imagined it so vividly I couldn’t help looking hopefully for him every time I played outdoors.
Now I had lovely little Tyler and of course he was my special friend too. He wasn’t just mine – Dad had got him for all of us, overriding Izzie at long last – but I was the one Tyler ran to first, the one who got the most licks and loving.
It was because of Tyler that I made friends with Imogen. Clover and I always took Tyler for a walk before supper, just down the road to the park, once round and back again. If we were lucky we saw Monty or Sparky or Ted, and Tyler had a brilliant time chasing and wrestling and larking about. But this time none of our special dog friends were there. Clover and I took turns throwing the ball for Tyler and he ambled about happily enough, but he kept looking around, clearly hoping for company.
Then he suddenly stopped dead, nose pointing, ears pricked – and dashed madly to the other end of the park.
‘Tyler! Tyler, come back here!’ I yelled.
‘Here, boy! Tyler!’ Clover called.
Tyler took no notice whatsoever. He was rushing towards a tiny ball of cream fluff which cowered as he advanced.
‘No, Tyler! Gently! That’s just a little puppy!’ I yelled.
Tyler wasn’t much more th
an a puppy himself, but he was a rough and ready, feisty little terrier. The cream fluff was about the size of a guinea pig and squeaking like one too. Its owner snatched him up and cradled him in her arms. Tyler wasn’t deterred in the slightest. He jumped up at her, scratching her legs and barking excitedly.
‘Tyler! Get down! Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t be frightened, he’s just trying to be friendly,’ I said.
The fluff’s owner was a girl about my age. She was a posh St Winifred’s girl, wearing their distinctive pale green dress and darker green blazer with gold ribbon edging. She wore her weirdly old-fashioned straw boater hat at a jaunty angle as if to stress her superiority.
I had longed to go to St Winifred’s myself. The girls there looked like children from an old Enid Blyton book. I imagined them playing lacrosse and learning Latin and having a French teacher called Mam’selle. I liked their church too. I’d once crept inside and loved the strange rich perfumey smell and admired the statue of the Virgin Mary, her face so pale and pure, her bare feet standing on little angel heads and a crescent moon.
We didn’t go to any kind of church and I rather wanted to. It would be good to breathe in this holy smell and confess my sins once a week. I realized I’d have rather a lot to confess, so there would be a whole queue of impatient people behind me waiting their turn – but think how wonderful I would feel afterwards, so good and pure and cleansed.
‘Why can’t we go to church, Dad?’ I’d asked.
‘I’m not religious, Katy. You can go by yourself when you’re older, if you really want to,’ he said.
‘Could I go to St Winifred’s? Oh Dad, could I go to St Winifred’s Convent? Then I could go with the school. I’d love to wear that retro uniform too,’ I said.
‘St Winifred’s is a very good school,’ said Izzie. ‘Their girls always look so smart and well behaved.’
I was surprised she was backing me up. Maybe she wanted Elsie to go there because it was posh.
‘If they’re smart and well behaved I doubt our Katy would fit in,’ said Dad, laughing. He put his arm round me. ‘Sorry, chickie – I couldn’t send you there even if I wanted to. It’s a private school and costs a fortune. I couldn’t afford to send you there, let alone Clover and Elsie and Jonnie.’
Katy Page 8
