Kitten Cupid

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Er, are you all right, Bertie?’

  I looked up sharply. Great. Dad had sent Bex out to check on me. I glared at her. She was holding a very pleased-with-herself Jaffa in her arms.

  ‘Only,’ Bex went on tentatively, ‘you seem a bit – cross?’ She waited, but I didn’t say anything. ‘D’you want me to go?’

  ‘Nooooo!’ Jaffa whined. ‘Jaffsie not want the lovely Bexy lady to goooo!’

  Well, Bertie does! I thought. But I couldn’t say that, could I? Dad would be livid.

  I settled for a shrug instead.

  Bex looked intensely uncomfortable. ‘Your dad and I . . .’ She stalled. ‘We’re not, erm, seeing each other or anything, you know. What I mean is, we’re just friends, that’s all.’

  I chewed the inside of my mouth and went back to glaring at her.

  Jaffa had started wriggling in Bex’s arms, I noticed gratifyingly. Bex set her down gently on the grass and ploughed on: ‘I mean, I really like your dad. As in, really, really like him. But I want you to know there’s no way I’d ever come between you and him.’

  ‘Bertieeee,’ Jaffa complained, rubbing against my ankles, ‘me is staaaarvin’.’

  But I wasn’t listening to Jaffa. Despite the churning in my heart, something about what Bex was saying had shifted the dark feelings deep inside me, and I found myself softening slightly. I felt bad all of a sudden; it wasn’t Bex’s fault that I was in such a mood.

  ‘I hope you don’t me saying,’ Bex said, taking a step towards me, ‘but your dad said you’re anxious about starting at senior school.’

  ‘What is “school”?’ Jaffa pestered.

  I scooped her up and hissed, ‘Be quiet.’ Then I looked at Bex and nodded.

  Bex smiled and pulled back a chair. She sat down and looked up at me while I shuffled my feet and stared at the paving stones. ‘It’s always tough starting something new,’ she said quietly. ‘I was scared stiff when I started in Year Seven – not that it was called that back in the Dark Ages!’ She laughed. ‘And I was terrified on my first day of college – and on the first day of my first job . . .’ She paused.

  I looked up at her. ‘Really?’ I said hoarsely.

  ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘There aren’t many people who don’t get flustered by change.’

  ‘Jazz doesn’t,’ I mumbled, hiding my face in Jaffa’s fur.

  Bex put her head on one side. ‘Is that what’s bothering you?’ she asked.

  I shrugged again.

  ‘Are you worried that Jazz is excited about school and you’re not?’

  I pulled a face. ‘Dunno. Maybe.’

  Jaffa had started wriggling again, so I put her down and fiddled with the knives and forks on the table.

  ‘What is you doin’, Bertie?’ Jaffa mewed. ‘Me wants teeeeeeea!’ I bent down and whispered into her tiny triangle of an ear, ‘OK! OK!’ Then I turned to Bex. ‘I just have to feed her.’

  I went to the utility room, leaving Bex outside, and roughly dished up Jaffa’s food. ‘Listen,’ I said to her,’we’re eating too in a minute. Are you going to be good and sit quietly with us?’

  ‘Uh-huh,’ Jaffa mewed. She set to gobbling up her meal as if I hadn’t fed her in weeks.

  I went back out to the garden to find Bex standing, arms folded, looking at me thoughtfully and saying nothing. I tried to avoid her gaze and wished I could think of something to say to break the awkward atmosphere.

  Thankfully Jaffa provided a distraction by appearing in the doorway and mewling, ‘Me done now – can me have a special Bertie cuddle?’

  I picked her up gently and she licked my cheek with her pink sandpaper tongue.

  Suddenly Bex commented, ‘I suppose it’s always tough going back after the summer anyway. And you’ve had a pretty special summer, what with getting gorgeous little Jaffsie – and then being on television as well! No wonder you don’t want to go to school . . . Hey! What’s the matter?’

  I couldn’t help it. Those rough little kitten kisses, together with the reminder that I was going to have to leave Jaffa all day, just set me off, and tears were trickling down my hot cheeks. Jaffa started licking at the tears, miaowing pitifully.

  Bex pushed her chair back. The metal legs made a harsh scraping noise on the flagstones. I had my head buried in Jaffa’s fur now and my shoulders were shaking. I felt Bex put an arm round me and heard her mutter soothing words. She gently pushed me down into a chair and drew one up beside me.

  ‘Come on, Bertie. Tell me what’s going on,’ she whispered. She took Jaffa from me and stroked her so that she stopped mewing and fell into one of her instant snoozes. Boy, I wished I could do that sometimes.

  I gulped and sniffed and tried to swallow my sobs and gradually managed to calm myself down enough to explain how worried I was about leaving Jaffa after what had happened with Fiona Meerley earlier in the summer.

  Bex listened patiently. Meanwhile Dad came out into the garden with the pizzas and a bottle of wine for him and Bex and lemonade for me. He exchanged a questioning glance with Bex and sat down quietly opposite me.

  At last I stopped talking.

  ‘Well,’ said Bex, sitting back in her chair and taking a sip from her glass, ‘I can see why you’ve been getting so upset.’

  Dad busied himself with slicing the pizzas and handing them round.

  ‘You know, I think I might have an idea of how I could help though,’ Bex said carefully.

  I looked at her from under my untidy fringe. ‘Yeah?’ I caught Dad giving Bex the tiniest nod and wondered what they were up to. A soft evening breeze washed over me, cooling my warm cheeks.

  ‘I was just thinking,’ Bex said airily, ‘I mean, it’s only an idea, but say your dad has to go out while you’re at school . . . well, my shop’s not a million miles away, so how would it be if I dropped in on Jaffa throughout the day – just to check she was all right?’

  I couldn’t believe it. Why would she want to do that? ‘But you couldn’t,’ I protested. ‘You’d have to shut the shop.’

  Bex stuck out her bottom lip and shook her head. ‘No – I’ve got someone who comes in to help out every so often: Ruth. She’s a good friend. She’d be more than happy to stand in for me while I nip out. I’d only be away briefly anyway – just to give Jaffsie a quick cuddle and make sure she’s OK. It’s not like I’d be away from the shop for hours at a time.’

  Dad was beaming at me. He took a huge bite of his pizza and nodded encouragingly.

  It did sound like a good plan, I had to admit. There was still a niggling doubt in me about Bex and what her motives were where Dad was concerned, but I couldn’t exactly complain if she was willing to give up her own time to help me out with Jaffa.

  ‘What about Sparky?’ I asked.

  ‘He’ll be all right in the shop – Ruth can look after him,’ Bex said.

  I took a long slug of the cold lemonade. Dad looked at me, waiting for me to say something. I put the glass down on the table and said, ‘Well, thanks, Bex. If you’re sure. It would make it easier for me to leave Jaffsie, I guess.’

  ‘That’s that, then!’ said Dad, in a satisfied tone. ‘More pizza, anyone?’

  3

  Famous Already

  Jaffa had been asleep the whole time Bex was outlining her offer, so it fell to me to explain to my kitten what would happen while I was at school all day. I was worried about telling her about the plan, and only finally plucked up enough courage to talk to her the night before school started. As it turned out, she didn’t seem bothered at all.

  ‘Hey, Jaffsie. You sleeping?’ I whispered.

  ‘Nah,’ Jaffa said, opening one eye. ‘Me is just havin’ a little snoozette. Not the same as a sleep, cos me can still hear Bertie talkin’,’ she said. The tone of self-importance in her tiny kitten-voice made me giggle as always.

  At the sound of me laughing she opened her other eye and shot me an offended look, so I bit down on my lip and made myself continue: ‘Remember you were asking me what Jazz an
d I were talking about the other day?’ I said.

  Jaffa stood up and arched her back, and then sat down on her haunches, stretching out luxuriously after her ‘snoozette’. ‘Mmmm,’ she purred in answer.

  I gave her a scratch behind the ears, which she leaned into, her pretty mouth turned up into a smile. ‘We-ell,’ I said hesitantly, screwing up my courage, ‘tomorrow after breakfast I am going to school with Jazz, and I won’t be back until teatime. School is where children have to go to learn things,’ I added.

  She interrupted me: ‘But Jaffsie will not be alone. Bertie’s dad is here.’

  ‘Ye-es,’ I ploughed on, smiling lopsidedly. ‘But not all the time. He has a meeting tomorrow in town, so he’ll be out during the day too. But you remember Dad’s, er, friend who came over the other night – Bex?’ I added swiftly, noting the wide-eyed look of alarm that was spreading over my kitten’s fluffy features.

  ‘Mmm,’ Jaffa mewed anxiously.

  ‘Well, how would you like it if she looked after you?’ I said in a rush.

  ‘What is you sayin’?’ Jaffa asked. ‘Bertie is not giving Jaffsie to the Bexy lady to go and live in another house, is she?’

  ‘No!’ I half laughed, to cover the lurching feeling in my stomach. ‘No, of course not. Bex would just pop in and check on you while Dad’s out, and then I’ll be back for tea, and you and I can spend loads of time together in the evening.’

  ‘Oh, OK!’ she said. ‘So . . . Bertie is going to a place called “school” all day to learn things which is borin’, and Jaffsie is going to stay at home with the lovely Bexy lady until Bertie comes back,’ Jaffa mewed happily.

  ‘Er, yes. That’s more or less it,’ I said grumpily.

  ‘So what is the problem?’ Jaffa asked, leaping on to my desk, where I had been setting out my new stationery before packing it in my new bag. ‘Why does Bertie sound so sad?’

  ‘I thought you’d be sad, what with me leaving you all day,’ I muttered.

  ‘Oh no, Jaffsie won’t be sad. Jaffsie not alone. Me has got Bertie’s dad and the lovely Bexy lady,’ she chattered, walking over my notebooks and batting my pencils about with her small paws.

  I whisked her into the air with one hand and held her close to my face. ‘Well, just so you are clear about this,’ I said softly, ‘Bertie is sad about leaving Jaffsie. So you’d better not get any ideas into your head about going off to live anywhere else. It was bad enough the first time,’ I said meaningfully.

  If a cat could blush, I would have said that’s what Jaffa did in response. She flicked her ears back and turned her head away from me, squeaking indignantly. ‘Me was a tiny very young kitten then. Me didn’t know Bertie was my owner. Me has learned my lessons now me is all growed up,’ she said in a hurt tone.

  ‘Pleased to hear it,’ I whispered, stroking her head with my free hand. ‘Cos you know what? I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  Jazz had already texted me before I’d opened my eyes the next morning. I could see the red light flashing on my phone when I staggered over to where it had been plugged in to charge overnight.

  I flicked open the screen and scrolled through to the messages while I stepped out of my pyjamas and fished a clean pair of pants out of my top drawer.

  Hey! r u up yet? e u at bus x

  Just reading that little text had sent a wave of relief gushing through me. Thank goodness for Jazz. How could I feel nervous when I had my best mate to look out for me?

  Then I noticed the time in the top right-hand corner of the small screen – seven thirty! Why hadn’t Dad knocked on my door? I was going to miss the bus altogether! Then what would I do? Jazz would get there before me and would have memorized the names of everyone in our class; she would have sussed out (in her words) ‘who was hot and who was not’, and I would arrive late, sweaty and flustered . . .

  I scrambled into my new uniform, trying to get my feet into the gross tights we had to wear without laddering them. At my old school we’d been allowed to wear trousers, but this one made the lower-school girls wear skirts. I was going to look so sad and so . . . new. My heart plummeted into my squeaky shiny new shoes.

  I was sure Jazz would already have found a way to make the uniform look cool, but personally I couldn’t imagine how she would do it. But then I’ve never had much imagination when it comes to clothes. Just a jeans and T-shirt girl, that’s me.

  ‘Dad,’ I yelled, bowling into the kitchen at top speed, still raking a brush through my hair, ‘why didn’t you wake me? It’s my first day!’

  Dad looked up from his newspaper and frowned over the top of his glasses. ‘I did wake you – about twenty minutes ago!’ he said sternly. ‘I thought you were in the shower. Blimey, Bertie. Your hair looks like a half-built birds’ nest. You can’t start your new school looking like that! And the bus leaves in—’

  ‘I know, I KNOW, all right?’ I cried, pulling even harder on my hairbrush. My hair was always a nightmare. It was supposed to be curly, but more often than not it was just a mess: it was the kind of hair that reacted to outside influences beyond my control, like the weather or how hot the central heating was. It was my own personal barometer. Lucky me. ‘I haven’t got time for a lecture!’ I shrieked as I tugged too hard and pulled a clump of hair out by the roots.

  Dad immediately looked as though he regretted laying into me and got up to give me a hug. ‘Come and have a piece of toast at least,’ he said. ‘You need something for breakfast.’

  I took a deep breath and sat down at the table. I rummaged through my new school bag, checking for the millionth time to see that I had packed enough pencils, rubbers, notebooks, rulers . . .

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Dad said completely unconvincingly. He sounded even more anxious than I felt, if that was possible.

  He eyed me cautiously, handing me a plate with a slice of toast and jam on it. Then, pouring me a cup of tea and stirring in some sugar, he said, ‘I remember feeling nervous on my first day at senior school, you know.’ He grinned and stared into the middle distance. ‘Course, we didn’t have girls at our school. That would have made life a whole lot more complicated.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I said sarcastically through a mouthful of toast. I took a huge gulp of tea and then pushed back my chair, wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my new jumper.

  ‘Bertie!’ Dad admonished.

  ‘Sorry, gotta go!’ I cried, grabbing my bag and making for the door. ‘Bus leaves in two minutes and I said I’d meet Jazz.’

  ‘Teeth!’ Dad yelled.

  ‘Done them already!’ I yelled back, slamming the door behind me. I hadn’t, of course, but which was more important: the faint chance that one missed brushing session might cause instant tooth decay, or the much bigger chance that one missed bus would cause instant humiliation and a detention on my first day?

  I could see Jazz waiting on the corner, jumping up and down and waving at me manically. Luckily the bus wasn’t there yet, but there was a small huddle of kids from the neighbourhood, wearing the same rank grey skirt/trousers/green jumper combo as I was. Jazz, even from a distance, looked a little different from all the others.

  I broke into a run, my new shoes pinching my toes, my new shirt rubbing uncomfortably against my skin . . . and my new skirt riding up my legs, I noted with embarrassment. I tugged it back down only to have it ride back up again. It was clinging to those gross nylon tights. My bag banged against my back and the strap cut into my shoulders.

  It wasn’t until I was within earshot of Jazz that I realized I hadn’t said goodbye to Jaffa. In fact, I hadn’t seen her at all that morning. Maybe she had freaked out during the night about me leaving her. Maybe she’d run away after all. Maybe—

  ‘Hey, whassup?’ Jazz was shrieking, flinging her arms around me as if the last time she’d seen me had been years, rather than hours, ago. The beads in her hair whipped against my cheeks. ‘You look kinda – stressy!’ She laughed. It was the word she always used to describe me. At least some things never change,
I thought, relaxing enough to smile back at my overexcited friend. ‘Did you get my text? You didn’t reply!’

  She let me go and I straightened myself up a bit. ‘Yeah, well, you know. Nervous,’ I said, shrugging. ‘Oh, and I overslept.’

  ‘Just chillax!’ Jazz said brightly. ‘I told you, it’ll be fine! It’s not like you wanted to go back to that old dump of a junior school, is it? Imagine, Mr Grebe will be doing his usual ‘And if I have to say that one more time, young lady,’ routine, only it’ll be someone else getting it in the neck this term, NOT ME!’ she shouted, punching the air triumphantly. It was then that I noticed the first thing that made her stand out from all the other newbies. She was wearing a ton of purple bangles on one wrist. I took a good long look at her then, as the bus came into view. The bangles were not the only addition to her outfit. My funky friend had already customized her school bag with stickers and key rings, she had a new set of beads in her hair – purple, of course, but also black, blue and white – and she’d had her ears pierced!

  ‘Like the earrings,’ I said, as I followed her on to the bus.

  ‘Thanks.’ Jazz beamed. ‘Mum finally relented yesterday afternoon when I pointed out that she and Leesh have their ears done, so would she care to elaborate on what exactly the huge deal was about me having them done?’

  I raised my eyebrows. I couldn’t quite imagine Jazz putting it like that and getting away with it. Mrs Brown, Jazz’s mum, was just as much a force to be reckoned with as her feisty younger daughter. It was more likely that Jazz had nagged and nagged so long and hard that in the end her mum had given in out of sheer exhaustion.

  We showed the driver our stiff, shiny new passes and filed down the central aisle, looking for a couple of empty seats so that we could sit together. The bus was already heaving with kids.