Kitten Cupid

by Anna Wilson

  ‘From a recycling bin, more like. That silver belt thing she was wearing – was it s’posed to be a skirt, d’you reckon? And those bits of string and stuff in her hair. Man! She looked like a scarecrow!’

  ‘I know!’ Kezia was obviously enjoying this. ‘And I nearly died when she gave us all that heartfelt “This is totally my dream come true, I’ve always wanted to perform in a talent show” rubbish. Anyone would think she was actually on Who’s Got Talent? instead of auditioning for a school production!’

  ‘Which doesn’t even exist!’ Charlie added with a snort.

  ‘Yeah! And when she pressed “play” on that kiddies’ CD player thing and that totally lame music started up . . . oh man! She was like the worst of those losers in the earliest WGT auditions – you know, like those guys who come on with a parrot that plays the piano with its beak or whatever. No, actually make that, like, two million times worse.’

  ‘And her face when we started laughing and told her it was all a set-up!’ Charlie screeched.

  Kezia was giggling so hard now she was having trouble getting her words out. ‘Yeah!’ she squeaked. ‘Like, sooooo hilarious. I cannot believe she fell for the whole thing.’

  ‘She really thinks she is something, doesn’t she? As if!’ Charlie guffawed. ‘Hey, what’ll we do next?’

  I was frozen to the loo seat! No wonder Jazz had acted weird when I asked her about the auditions. And no wonder she was a nightmare on Saturday . . . Poor, poor Jazz! How could those girls be so mean when my best mate worshipped the ground they walked on? She must have been so freaked; I knew she’d been nervous enough about auditioning as it was. And now Jazz was probably planning this cat show just to impress them. It made me sick how they were manipulating her.

  But what could I do? I felt like an undercover agent – with my knickers round my ankles, admittedly . . . I held my breath and willed every fibre of my body to stay as still as possible until I heard them leave.

  Kezia suddenly erupted into an even louder cackle. ‘Get this: I’ve just had the most immense idea. You know I nicked her phone the other day? Well, I made a note of her number. . .’

  ‘Yeah?’ said Charlie, hanging on every word of her horrible mate’s stinking little plan.

  ‘So let’s text her pretending we are Danni and ask her to call back! I can pretend to be Danni when she calls and say that I’ve spoken to Fergus’s mum about a great idea for a show and I want her to be in it. Imagine how worked up she’ll get about that! She’ll go round the whole school telling everyone, and then when she asks Fergus’s mum about it, she’ll look sooooo stupid!’

  ‘Kez, you are a legend,’ said Charlie. ‘That’ll shut the little squirt up. Even her best mate will drop her once she finds out it’s a load of rubbish. It’ll be, like, yeah, IN YOUR FACE, JASMEENA BROWN!’

  The two girls shrieked with nasty high-pitched laughter and I heard a slapping sound which must have been them high-fiving each other. Then I heard the door bang and their laughter faded as they disappeared.

  Once I was sure the coast was clear, I crept out of the cubicle. I washed my hands and stared at my reflection in the mirror. What on earth could I do in the face of such evil scheming? I was just little old Bertie Fletcher, a new girl in Year 7 with hair like a poodle and a brain full of mush. I was no match for these two. Plus it was bizarre how they knew exactly how to get to Jazz: now that she had come up with her Cat’s Eye idea, she would be sure to fall for Kezia calling her and pretending to be Danni. I’d never be able to convince her it was all another set-up. Not until that fact became all too obvious.

  And by then it would be too late.

  19

  The Plot Thickens

  I spent the rest of that day worrying about Jazz. When I saw her at lunch, gossiping and laughing happily, it made me want to cry. To think that her life was maybe moments away from being made total hell by those horrible older girls. I felt panicky when I tried to work out what to do. Even if I told Fergus, what difference would it make? What if he laughed and said I must have misheard? Or worse, what if he got cross with me and blamed me for spreading false rumours?

  I had almost convinced myself not to do anything by the time I queued up for the bus at the end of the day. I walked past Kezia and Charlie as I looked for a free seat. They didn’t notice me; they were too busy whispering behind their hideous neon-pink-painted fingernails.

  I finally found a seat and watched out of the window as Jazz came running to the bus stop in that all-arms-and-legs way she has, her bag slapping against her back. My heart lurched: my funny friend looked like a multicoloured flamingo. I tapped on the window and waved to her and she looked up and beamed, mouthing something I couldn’t make out through the glass. Then I saw her board the bus and start down the aisle towards me. On the way, someone (pretty obvious who . . .) stuck out a long leg and tripped her up. There was some stifled giggling as Jazz picked herself up and looked crossly round to see who the culprit had been.

  ‘Oh hi, Charlie!’ she said, switching from hot and bothered to playing it cool. ‘Did you see who tripped me?’ she added.

  ‘Tripped you?’ Charlie repeated, making a big show of sounding puzzled. ‘No one tripped you, Jazz. You fell. You should be careful, girl. You might break something.’

  Kez tittered at her friend’s hilarious comment.

  Jazz blushed, said, ‘Yeah. OK. See ya,’ and made her way to me. ‘Did you see someone trip me?’ she asked as she sat down. ‘I could have sworn someone did.’

  I shot a surreptitious glance down the bus and saw that Charlie had turned round in her seat and was staring at me, so I made an effort to smile at Jazz and said, ‘I’m not sure. Hey, don’t worry about it.’

  Jazz spent the rest of the journey prattling on about her Cat’s Eye programme idea while I pretended to listen. In reality I was keeping a very close eye on Kezia and Charlie. I saw them giggling and looking over their shoulders in our direction as they left the bus, but Jazz was too busy chattering to notice them.

  Then, just as the bus pulled up to our stop, it happened.

  Beep!

  I gulped. My throat was dry. Was this the text?

  Jazz fished in her bag and pulled out her phone as we staggered to the front. Her face screwed up in concentration as she fumbled to retrieve the message and then read it.

  ‘Who’s this then?’ she muttered as she saw it was an unknown number. Then ‘Oh!’ she gasped. She almost dropped the phone as if it was burning hot. I could not breathe. Turning to me she whispered, ‘Oh. My. Goodness. This is, like, totally unbelievable.’ She clumsily turned the phone round so that the screen was facing me and I read:

  Hey, babe! Danni here. Gotta idea for kool new show. Call me!

  I read it, then focused all my energy on getting off the bus without falling over. I felt as if all the blood had drained from my head. Pins and needles tingled all over my body.

  We stood on the pavement as the bus pulled away, Jazz staring at me, her eyes popping out of her face. Her usually smooth brown face was blotchy with shock and excitement.

  ‘How did she get my number?’ she breathed finally. Then, before I could think of anything to say, she answered her own question. ‘Fiona!’ she said, a smile slowly lighting up her face. ‘I gave it to Fiona in the summer when we were doing PWT. She must have passed it on to Danni. This is amazing, Bertie!’ she babbled. ‘It’s like Danni’s read my mind or something.’

  ‘Jazz,’ I began hesitantly ‘I agree it’s unbelievable. Like, way too unbelievable, if you think about it. Don’t you reckon it’s a bit of a coincidence that you come up with an idea one morning and that very same day you get a text out of the blue? And, well, I’m not sure Danni would spell “cool” like that.’

  Jazz was pulling a face. ‘What are you saying, Bertie?’ she said irritably. ‘That this is a fake text? Well, why don’t I give her a call right now and we’ll find out, won’t we?’

  ‘NO!’ I shouted, putting a hand out to stop her. />
  ‘What do you mean, no?’ she demanded, her expression darkening. ‘What’s the matter with you? Are you jealous or something?’ Her jaw was set and her eyes flashed angrily. I knew better than to try to answer that question. Once Jazz had flared up, it was best to stay quiet. ‘Yeah, that’s it, isn’t it? You are jealous!’ she went on. ‘You are jealous of me because of so many things. For a start, I’ve got Cupid. So now little Bertie is not the only one with her own gorgeous pussycat. And now my absolute idol wants to do a TV show with me as well – just me. This is too much for you, isn’t it? Well, you know what? That’s not very supportive of you, is it? After everything I did for you when you were on PWT. I thought you were my best mate!’ she spluttered. Then, jamming her phone into her pocket, she stuck her chin in the air and stomped off in the direction of her house.

  I was so hurt by what she had just said that I did something I regretted afterwards. I just stood and watched her go, the tears welling in my eyes.

  When I got home Dad was there, but I hardly stopped to say hello. I rushed to my room, sobs choking me. All I wanted was a cuddle with my kitten and a chance to think straight.

  Luckily Dad was tapping away at his computer, and when I rushed past his door, he called out, ‘Be with you in a minute – just finishing something!’

  I shut my bedroom door behind me and flopped on to my bed head first, burying my face in my pillow. Jaffa had been lying across my desk when I came in, and I heard her jump down lightly and come padding across to nuzzle me gently.

  ‘Why Bertie sleepin’?’ she mewed softly in my ear. ‘Bertie been out aaaall day and Jaffsie missed her. Bertie not sleeeep now,’ she miaowed.

  Her little whiskers tickled my ear, making me twitch. I sat up, rubbing my eyes and gulping back the last of my tears.

  ‘What is the wet stuff that is comin’ out of Bertie’s eyes?’ Jaffa asked, rubbing her head against me and purring loudly. ‘Has Bertie been swimmm’?’

  I let slip a shaky laugh and said, ‘No, Bertie has not been swimming. I’m just upset, that’s all.’

  Jaffa sat back on her haunches and put her head on one side. Then she lifted one dainty paw and washed it carefully, splaying her tiny pink toes and nibbling in between them. When she had finished I took a deep breath and told her what I had heard that day in the loos and what had happened after Jazz had received the text from Kezia.

  Jaffa listened thoughtfully, occasionally giving her fur a quick lick. I smiled, remembering that cats liked to ‘think before they acted, and wash before they thought’, as Kaboodle used to say.

  ‘So what should I do, Jaffsie?’

  Jaffa closed her eyes briefly and reached her head forward to touch my face with her nose in a kitten-kiss. Then she opened her eyes wide, their sparkling blue colour giving me that electric shock of love again. ‘Jaffsie thinks Bertie should definitely talk to the Fergus,’ she said firmly. ‘A bully must be put in its place. Jaffsie knows, cos of that nasty Big Bad Bob Cat. It be much better if only jaffsie had told Bertie about him in the first place,’ she said, putting her head on one side and looking up at me seriously. ‘Me knows that now. And Bertie must tell the prawn lady too,’ she added after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Cos she is a lady who always knows what to do.’

  I smiled again and stroked the top of her tiny head, listening to her purring. She might have been a baby still, but she was one smart cookie.

  I texted Fergus to find out what time he’d be back from band practice, then raced through an early tea with Dad, saying I had a project I needed Fergus’s help with.

  ‘OK, just don’t stay over there too late, will you? It is a school night,’ Dad reminded me unnecessarily. He looked at me over the top of his glasses. (He always does that when he’s trying to be firm with me; he thinks it makes him look more impressive.)

  ‘Sure,’ I said.

  ‘Bertie will come home and tell Jaffsie what the Fergus says?’ my kitten asked, winding in and out of my legs.

  I bent down and picked her up. ‘Of course,’ I whispered, rubbing my nose in her velvety soft fur. Then I slipped on my trainers and let myself out.

  I was in a world of my own as I crossed the road to number 15, wondering what I would say to Fergus, so I jumped out of my skin when the large grey and white cat seemed to appear from nowhere.

  ‘Whaaa!’ I screamed, leaping in surprise as he launched himself at me and miaowed in a gruff voice, ‘Just the person I wanted to see!’

  ‘Bob!’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘As always you have perfect timing – not.’

  He narrowed his huge yellow eyes and growled, ‘The name’s Cupid, as you well know, and you can cut the sarky tone, Frizz-ball, and listen to me. My babe and I have got serious problems and, though it pains me to say this, you are the only one I can think of who’ll be able to help.’

  He jumped up on to the low wall that ran around the Meerleys’ front garden and rubbed his head against my arm. ‘Just so as we’re clear, I’m only doing this so we look normal to any passers-by, gottit?’

  ‘Eh?’

  Cupid gave an impatient hiss. ‘I’m be’avin’ like any normal pussycat, all right? I’m not schmoozing up to you nor nothin’. It’s just so as you don’t look like a total lunatic standin’ out here talking to me. Blimey, you are hard work,’ he ended irritably.

  ‘OK, “Cut the sarky tone,” as you would say,’ I snapped. ‘Tell me what’s going on with Jazz. I’ve been worried sick about her, as it happens. I was just going to talk to Fergus about it.’

  ‘Mm, not sure what help that floppy drip will be,’ Cupid growled. And before I could protest, he added quickly, ‘It’s the Morrises. They’ve found out where I am. Or they will have done before too long . . . I overheard Jazzie’s mum talking to someone about it on the blower.’

  ‘The Morrises? Oh, your real family. The family who knows you as Bob, in fact,’ I said.

  The large cat suddenly looked so incredibly fierce I thought he might bite me or something, so I hastily added a pathetic, ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Oh dear indeed,’ Cupid said, dramatically arching his back.

  ‘So when are they coming to collect you?’ I asked.

  ‘I dunno . . . yet,’ he replied. ‘Apparently one of your nosy-parker neighbours saw a poster and recognized the description as being of my good self. They called the Morrises and left a message with ’em and then phoned my Jazzie’s mum to say they should expect a call from my rightful owners any day now. My babe’s gonna be ‘eartbroken,’ he added sorrowfully.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. This made an urgent situation even worse. Not only was Jazz being bullied, she was about to lose her beloved Cupid kitty-cat too. I had to talk to Fergus. I cast a glance at his house and said, ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Nah, mate,’ growled the cat. ‘You can’t go. You’re gonna talk to these Morris people and tell ’em I don’t wanna live with ’em no more, got it? They treated me like muck and then ran off and left me, didn’t they? They’ve no right to take me away from my Jazzie.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Look, I’m flattered, really I am, but what am I going to say? “Hello, Mr and Mrs Morris. My name’s Bertie Fletcher. I’ve been talking to your moggie. I’m terribly sorry but he’s found himself a new home.” They’d have me locked up for being a loony quicker than you could say fish supper!’

  ‘Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,’ said Cupid, inching closer and giving me the evil eye. ‘If you know what’s good for you, sunshine, you are gonna sort this out. All right?’

  ‘OK! OK! I’ll see what I can do,’ I cried, edging towards the door of number 15. ‘Gotta dash now!’ And eyeing Cupid cautiously, I made a run for it and rang the bell before he could decide to sink his claws into me.

  Fergus greeted me with his usual massive grin. ‘What’s with all the drama, Bert?’ he asked teasingly. Then, looking over my shoulder, he said, ‘Hey – did you know Jazz’s cat had followed you? Look, he’s on the wall—’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I said
. ‘I couldn’t get rid of him. He such an attention-seeker.’

  ‘Oi! I ‘eard that!’

  ‘Shut the door quick before he comes in here,’ I pleaded, ducking out of Cupid’s sight.

  I followed Fergus into the kitchen as he chuckled about how it was typical that Jazz had fallen for an attention-seeking cat.

  ‘It’s Jazz I need to talk to you about actually,’ I said abruptly.

  Fergus caught the note of unease in my voice and stopped laughing. ‘Oh?’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Everything.’ I tipped my head back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Looks like Jazz is going to have to give that cat back to his owners after all. But something much worse has happened. At school. I’m not sure if you’re going to believe me, cos I know you’re friends with them and everything, but—’

  ‘Hey, hey!’ said Fergus, putting a hand on my arm and looking concerned. ‘Slow down. Start from the beginning.’

  So I did. I told him about the overheard conversation, about the fake text, about the audition that never was, and about how I’d been suspicious of the Gruesome Twosome ever since they had first jeered at Jazz that time on the bus.

  Fergus listened in silence, his expression growing darker and more serious the more information I gave him. I forced myself to carry on, although a low-level nagging in my brain was telling me that he might never talk to me again after this.

  I finished and waited for him to say something. Anything.

  But he just carried on staring at me, his face grim. And then Fiona walked in.

  ‘My, don’t you two look severe!’ she chirruped. ‘Not had a tiff, I hope?’

  Fergus flicked her a look of disdain – not something I’d ever seen him do before, that was for sure! Then he said, ‘Yeah, well, you’d look “severe” if a mate had just ruined your day.’

  My blood stopped pumping in my veins. This was it; he was going to tell me to get out. I swallowed hard.

  But then he said, ‘I think we need your help, Mum. And fast.’

  20