by Blake Jon
“Never,” he said.
“You’ll find it here,” I said, opening the cabinet above our heads.
Kris stared at the large oblong box I’d uncovered. “How did you know that?” he asked.
I held up the instruction booklet I’d found when I was making Feela’s litter. “Read it in a book,” I said.
Kris looked as hurt as if I’d stolen his favorite toy. “How do we connect it then?” he asked.
I checked the booklet. “The red and blue wires,” I explained, “to the red and blue terminals.”
Kris followed these instructions and the rest of the orders I gave for starting the boat, and was surprisingly gracious about it.
“I’ll go home, shall I?” he said. “You don’t need me anymore.”
“You still have your uses,” I replied. “Now get on and steer the boat.”
“Yes, miss,” said Kris. “Please, miss?”
“Yes, Kris?” I replied.
“Aren’t you going to cast off the rope first, miss?” said Kris.
“I was just going to do that,” I replied.
Kris’s honor was satisfied. Despite all our trials, we’d somehow got ourselves into a good mood, and as we set off in the morning sun, it felt for just a moment like a holiday, like the way the world should be. On battery power, the narrowboat cruised almost silently down the ancient canal, Kris at the tiller, me whisking Feela’s warm belly, birds twittering, no hassle, no pain.
After a while Kris started to feel tired and suggested I take over at the tiller. That was a vote of confidence, I thought. After a few instructions I took charge, which was a lot easier than I expected, except you had to think ahead, because it was a big, long boat which took time to respond. I even took the boat through a tunnel while Kris snoozed happily, ignorant of the danger he was in. When he finally emerged, bleary-eyed, he couldn’t believe how far we’d traveled without crashes, sinkings, or even a bump against the canalside.
“How’s Feela?” I asked.
“I thought she was out here with you,” said Kris.
“What?” I cried.
I ordered Kris to take over at the tiller and rushed into the cabin. No sign of her. I scattered cushions left and right, opened and slammed cupboard doors, and finally, with huge relief, located her beneath the sink. But my furious search had obviously frightened her and as I reached for her, she lashed out and ran. Before I knew it she was out of the cabin. I screamed at Kris to stop her from going overboard and as he spread his arms to herd her back she panicked even more, ran straight up the cabin door, and took to the roof. Once there, there were no more escape routes, so she got as far away from us as possible and crouched warily.
“Leave her,” I said to Kris.
“She can’t stay up there,” replied Kris.
“Just let her settle,” I advised.
Feela did settle, but not for a long while, and despite all our attempts to offer her treats, she showed no sign of coming down.
“I could try and get her,” I suggested.
“Roof’s too rotten,” said Kris. “You’ll go straight through.”
There was nothing to do but hope she’d get hungry. But Feela never got very hungry when the sun was out, and as the day wore on it was getting hotter and hotter. Far from wanting to move, Feela was getting more settled in the warm spot she’d found. She started lazily cleaning herself, first licking her paw and running it over her eyes, then falling back, lifting a leg, and licking that. After that she started working quite intensely on her private parts except, being a cat, they weren’t that private—and little did we know it, but they were about to get very public indeed.
We’d just rounded a bend. At first it looked just like another line of trees. Then, suddenly, we realized we were running alongside the garden of an old-fashioned canalside pub, with old-fashioned picnic benches and a whole host of customers eating their lunches.
Narrowboats can’t turn. We had no choice but to sail right by the customers, with Feela on full display, still busily at work on her nooks and crannies.
At first people seemed pretty amused to see us. Quite a few waved. Then, as they viewed Feela more closely, their attitudes changed. The waving stopped. Faces became serious. And just as we were leaving the garden behind two people stood up, left their pints and lunches, and came running after us.
I shouted a warning to Kris. He steered the narrowboat across to the other side of the canal, but this didn’t put off our pursuers. They were a man and a woman, probably in their twenties, maybe the type who liked to make citizens’ arrests or even worked as civil assistants to Comprot. Catching up with us (which wasn’t hard, given our speed) they yelled at us to pull over and stop, but they were wasting their breath. Luckily enough they were running out of towpath, and had to go scrambling up a bank as we went under a bridge and out of their sight.
The reprieve didn’t last long. Not far past the bridge they appeared again, running through a wood and down to the water’s edge. There was no path here, but that didn’t stop them from trampling the thistles and sweeping back the knotweed to get close to us.
“Jade!” cried Kris. “Get the stun-stem!”
I didn’t move. Kris was just testing me, knowing I was a pacifist. As long as we stayed on the other side of the canal our pursuers could do nothing, unless they had grapple hooks under their shirts, which seemed unlikely.
“Jade!” yelled Kris. “Get it now!”
“They can’t get us!” I cried.
“Look ahead!” yelled Kris.
I did so. Just fifty meters away the canal narrowed dramatically to become a channel scarcely wider than the boat. It was an aqueduct, and along one side of it ran a towpath—the wrong side, as far as we were concerned.
We were trapped.
I had to make a decision, maybe a life or death decision, for Feela.
I fetched the stun-stem.
Meanwhile, the man and woman had gotten ahead of us and were waiting at the aqueduct. Feela had settled now, eyes closed, within snatching distance of the towpath. But if they wanted her they’d have to get through me first. I’d taken up position at the front of the boat, where I could see the whites of their eyes.
“Get away!” I warned, jabbing the stun-stem towards them.
The woman raised both her hands. “It’s OK!” she said. “We’re not going to hurt you!”
I kept my guard up and my eyes fixed on the pair of them. “Get away!” I repeated.
“It’s all right, Jade,” said the man. “We’re friends.”
This, needless to say, took me completely by surprise.
“How do you know my name?” I barked.
“We’ve been following your story,” said the woman.
My guard dropped a little. They sounded sincere. As we drew level, the man held up a leaflet. I read the words FREE CATS LEAGUE.
“Keep ’em off!” yelled Kris.
“It’s OK, Kris!” I called back.
“All right, Kris?” shouted the man.
“Who the eff are you?” yelled Kris.
“I’m Raff,” shouted the man. “This is Amelie. We want to help.”
“Stop the motor, Kris,” I said.
Kris came up level with the couple and they handed him a leaflet. He studied it for a moment, then slowed the boat. “How d’you hear of us?” he asked.
“It’s all over the web,” said the woman, Amelie.
“Not the papers, I hope,” said Kris.
“Not yet,” said Amelie.
“Jump on board,” said Kris.
Amelie and Raff stepped on to the back of the boat, I joined them, and we all shook hands. Now that we’d got over the shock of meeting this couple, I trusted them totally. Mum always said I was a good judge of people, and these two had open faces, honest faces. Amelie had a rough clump of auburn hair and striking hazel eyes, dark and hooded, above a wide, red mouth full of strong teeth that looked as if they’d happily chew on a mammoth’s leg—raw, if possible. H
er voice as she chatted to Kris was deep and husky, with a loud dirty laugh breaking out every so often.
“We were just chatting about you,” she said, “and then there you were! It was like fate!”
“Except we don’t believe in fate,” said Raff. He was actually shorter than Amelie, with long blond braided locks and a warm natural smile like a great slice of melon.
“She’s beautiful,” said Amelie, looking across the roof of the cabin at Feela. “How long have you had her?”
“Four months,” I replied. I gave them a summary of the story so far, except once I got to Finn, they knew the rest. I couldn’t believe there were people about who were actually on our side—but according to Amelie, there were plenty.
“You need to lie low for a while,” she suggested.
“You can stay with us for a bit,” added Raff.
“Yeah, stay with us!” said Amelie enthusiastically. “If you moor up at Strandon Locks, I’ll get someone to give us a lift to our place.”
“What d’you think, Kris?” I asked.
Kris shrugged. He’d gone kind of quiet since Amelie got on the boat, and I had a funny feeling he might just fancy her. For some strange reason, this unsettled me.
Chapter Sixteen
You wouldn’t call Amelie’s flat homey. Computers and leaflets and megaphones littered the place, so there was hardly room for furniture, and the furniture was pretty basic. But Amelie and Raff weren’t the kind of people who cared about home comforts. As we soon discovered, all they cared about was cats, cats, and ending the market in cats.
Feela had never had so much fuss. One friend after another paid a visit, and every one of them was enraptured. They were quite struck on me and Kris as well. Everyone wanted to shake our hands, tell us what a great stand we were making, and wish us luck. I found this really daunting. I didn’t want to be anyone’s hero. I didn’t want their hopes resting on me. I just wanted to get somewhere safe.
Kris, on the other hand, seemed quite happy with the attention. He recounted all the stories of our flight so far, and every time he seemed to add a new detail, till the reality was getting lost in a legend of Kris’s own making.
There was a lot of discussion. Much of this centered on Ireland. Amelie didn’t think much of the new government there. If they were against Chen and Viafara and the market in cats, why did they make sure the free cats were neutered? If the cats couldn’t mate they’d eventually die out and we’d be back to square one.
Kris agreed with Amelie. He was even against having to take the cat to a clinic. If people couldn’t really catch cat flu, why didn’t the government just say it? Why did they give way to Chen and Viafara and make out there was still a threat?
I listened to the arguments but made no comment. I just didn’t know the truth about anything, and it amazed me how everyone else could speak so confidently when surely they didn’t know much more than me. Or maybe they did. I didn’t know about that either.
The discussions turned to what we should do next.
“It’s probably best to lie low for a while,” said Amelie.
“It’s OK to stay here,” added Raff. “You should be all right here.”
That suited me. I badly needed a rest, and I badly needed to be around older people, especially a woman like Amelie, who may have only been twenty, but was canny and solid, like Mum.
“OK,” said Kris. “We’ll do that.”
“Do I have any say in this?” I asked.
Kris gave a quick glance to Amelie. “Sorry, Jade,” he said. “What do you think?”
“I think we should stay,” I replied. “But not too long.”
Kris nodded thoughtfully. “You’re the boss,” he said.
I tried not to laugh.
“Good,” said Amelie. “We’ll fix you up with beds, then when you’re ready to go, we’ll get the van out.”
“You’ll take us to Ireland?” I asked.
“Why not?” said Amelie. “Have you got other plans?”
“No,” I said. “It’s just that I don’t want anyone else getting in trouble on account of us.”
“We’re not planning on getting caught,” said Raff.
“Speaking of which,” said Amelie, “what are we going to do about your appearance?”
“How do you mean?” I asked, all my insecurities suddenly rising.
“Your pictures will have gone out to every Comprot force in the country by now,” explained Amelie.
Kris’s face dropped. “I’m not cutting my hair!” he cried.
Amelie laid a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to,” she said, reassuringly. “I’ll do it for you.”
Something strange happened to Kris with Amelie’s hand on his shoulder. He went all quiet and tame and kind of limp. An almost silly smile appeared on his face. He muttered something about Samson then offered no further resistance.
“Now,” said Amelie, looking me square in the face. “What are we going to do with you?”
I’d always hated people looking at me closely. There was a bump on my nose, my cheeks were too fat, and my ears stuck out. Mum always said I was beautiful but she was Mum, and she wouldn’t be saying it anymore, and I had to try not to think about that, at least till I was on my own again.
“She’d look better without the fringe,” said Kris. It was the first time he’d ever commented on my appearance, and it made me flush up.
“Yeah, let’s make her look more radical,” said Raff, with a grin.
The thought of this horrified me. All my life I’d tried to look as unnoticeable as possible. I kept my hair a mousy-brown page boy, never wore make up and dressed middle-of-the-road. Maybe it was boring but I felt comfortable like that.
“Can’t you just dye my hair?” I asked.
“I was thinking of braids,” suggested Amelie.
“Braids would be good,” said Raff.
“Don’t worry,” said Amelie, “we’ll dye it as well.”
They waited for my reaction, but I was just too petrified to speak.
“It is up to you,” said Raff.
I steeled myself. “OK,” I said.
I suppose there was a funny side to it. They were going to make me stand out so Comprot wouldn’t notice me.
The make over began early that evening. They decided to henna my hair first, so I sat under a clingfilm helmet packed with hot mud watching Kris have his curly locks removed. Raff did this with an electric cutter, like shearing a sheep, so Kris didn’t even get the compensation of Amelie’s tender touch. At the end of it he gazed in the mirror with something like despair. Suddenly he looked so much younger, and more vulnerable, which was probably why he hated it. They even found him a pair of neutral glasses, so he ended up looking like a swot from the marina. I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Shut up,” said Kris, and he looked so hurt it made me laugh all the more. But I actually liked the way he looked now. Kris had strong eyes, quite startling, and they stood out all the more in his new choirboy face.
Now it was my turn. They washed off the mud and dried my hair. It was a bright auburn, but they’d forgotten my eyebrows, which were still a mousy brown. I looked ridiculous. Kris laughed his socks off.
“No worries,” said Raff. “I’ll put the kettle on again.”
“No,” said Amelie. “Let’s do her eyebrows dark.”
“No!” I cried. Didn’t I look bizarre enough already?
“Trust me,” said Amelie. “It’ll look great.”
I was not convinced. But Amelie obviously had a vision. She was as alert and excited as Feela at the sight of a bird. “You’ve got this pale skin,” she said, “and green eyes. If we give you dark eyebrows now, you’ll look kind of … Hungarian.”
“Is that good?” I asked.
“Well, I think it’ll be beautiful,” said Amelie.
I somehow doubted it, and wasn’t even sure if I wanted to be beautiful, but if I was, it would certainly change my appearance. So I gave way, and Amelie started wor
k on my hair while Raff carefully applied the dye to my eyebrows. It felt nice, all this attention, especially after two days with Kris. Maybe the world without Mum wasn’t such a bleak place after all.
Eventually it was done. Amelie added some loud earrings, then she and Raff surveyed their handiwork. They were delighted with it.
“What do you reckon, Kris?” they asked.
Kris nodded. “Radical,” he said. He wasn’t going to sound too excited, but I could tell he was looking at me with new eyes.
Raff fetched a mirror.
Oh my God.
Was that me?
It wasn’t just the braids, or the new hair color. There was a new look in my eyes, sharper, older, more alive somehow. I’d been so involved in our flight I hadn’t looked in a mirror in two days, and now that I did, I was a different person.
Funny enough, I think Mum would have loved my new look. She always loved it when I dressed up, or performed, or made myself special in any way. It wasn’t for Mum that I hid myself.
“Now you’ll pull off tomorrow night,” said Raff.
“Tomorrow night?” I replied. “What’s tomorrow night?”
“Didn’t we mention the party?” asked Raff.
Kris’s ears pricked up. “What party’s this?” he said.
“Friend of ours is leaving,” said Amelie. “She’s having a farewell to-do on her farm.”
“Will it be safe?” asked Kris.
“Sure,” said Amelie.
“Will it be all older people?” I asked.
“Nah,” said Raff. “Some of them will be bringing their kids.”
“Teenage kids,” Amelie quickly added.
“Unless you’d rather get going tomorrow,” said Raff.
“No, no,” said Kris. “We’ll stay.” Then a thought seemed to strike him. He looked quickly at Amelie, then added, “That all right with you, Jade?”
“You’re the boss,” I replied.
Chapter Seventeen
That night I slept on some cushions in the lounge. By now I was so tired I could have slept through an earthquake—but they say a child’s cries will always wake a mother, and I was the same with Feela. The sun had only just risen when she began to make the most unearthly mewl, one I’d never heard from her before. There was a meow which meant she wanted milk, a meow which told me she wanted the toilet, and a meow which simply said hello. This meow was longer, lower, and more plaintive than any of those. It worried me.
