by Helen Brain
She locked her bike and hurried around the corner to the stable yard. The class had already started. She’d better fetch Oreo and hurry up.
Then she stopped dead.
A big light and a photographic umbrella were set up outside the stables. A cameraman fiddled with a huge camera on a tripod.
“What’s happening?” Jamie asked him.
The cameraman winked at her. “Someone’s getting a surprise and I’m here to film it.”
Jamie’s heart started to pound. Could it be? Could it really be that her mother had bought Oreo for her after all? Did Mrs Bunhoffer agree to the discount? … That’s why her mom’s car was here. She hurried over to the stable, trying not to skip, hardly daring to breathe. She wanted to fling her arms around her mother and hug her to death. She was the best mother ever.
“SURPRISE!” voices yelled as she opened the stable door.
Her heart nearly stopped with excitement.
Then Liberty Barker-Polls grabbed her shoulder. “For goodness sake, Jamie, you’re in the way,” she snapped, pushing her out of the doorway.
Jamie heard a small gasp. In pranced Shardonnay with a look of fake surprise on her perfectly made up face.
“Oh Mummy, Daddy!” Shardonnay cried. “Thank you! How did you know I wanted Oreo?”
Her father patted her shoulder. He was a greasy little man with a shaved head and a thick gold chain around his neck. “Hey, Doll, I’m not thick. You told me yourself: ‘If you don’t buy me that horse, Daddy, I will sulk forever’.”
Shardonnay glared at him. “I never said that. You’re lying.”
“Now, now,” said Liberty. “Let’s not spoil this lovely moment. We need a few shots with the whole family and the horse in the paddock.” They all trooped out of the stable, Shardonnay leading Oreo. As she passed Jamie she gave a smug little grin. “I knew your parents would never be able to afford him,” she smirked. “You big loser.”
Jamie felt her knees give in. She sat down hard on a hay bale.
“Right, everyone, that’s enough excitement for today,” Lee called as she came into the stable yard. “The lesson’s already started.” She caught sight of Jamie and hurried over. “Oh, Jamie. I am so sorry, Love. I meant to tell you that Mr Barker-Polls had put in an offer on Oreo. I was going to tell you today. I had no idea that all of this was going to happen.”
Suddenly Arabella popped her head around the corner. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Surprise! I’ve tailored your jodhs! Thought you might like to wear them today so I brought them straight here.”
Arabella was holding up the charity shop jodhpurs. One leg was shorter than the other and loose threads hung off them like tentacles.
Jamie felt like bursting into tears.
“Come on now,” Lee said briskly. “McTavish is saddled and waiting. It’s only a week till the horse show, and I’m sure you’ve got a chance for a rosette. You’re easily the most talented rider in the advanced class.”
Jamie shook her head. “I haven’t got a chance. It’s just not fair.”
17
The kittens get a new home
Jamie was lying on her bed feeling miserable. Shardonnay had posted a picture on Facebook. It showed a beaming Shardonnay posing next to Oreo in her cream jodhpurs. In the background Jamie sat on a hay bale, looking like she was going to cry, with the Barney-patch clearly visible on her knee. She was never going to live this down.
Her phone rang. It was Pan. “Jamie, I’m here with Ilona. I’ve come to fetch the mommy cat and the kittens. My mom said I could have ALL of them. Can you believe it? Come and help me buy some toys for them. And I need to choose a basket and some treats, and maybe a scratching post so they don’t ruin my mom’s curtains. And they’re so fluffy we’ll need a special hairbrush …”
Jamie sat up. Pan’s mom had agreed she was old enough to have a pet at home? That was fantastic. “I’ll be there right now,” she said, jumping off the bed.
She found Pan in the hospital, in front of the cage where the kittens were lying in a heap, drinking from their mother. Unathi lifted the mother from the cage and put her on the soft blanket at the bottom of the wicker cat basket. “You must be careful with her,” he said to Pan. “Her back legs and tummy are still sore, so don’t let her jump.”
He handed her a tube of paste. “You must give her two and a half ml of this every day to help her go to the toilet. Here’s a syringe. And you need to make an appointment with Ilona for the kittens to be vaccinated when they are nine weeks old.” Pan nodded. It was a lot to take in.
Jamie felt a pang as Pan lifted the little grey fluff ball into the basket. “I’ll miss you, Little Grey,” she murmured, scratching him under the chin. He really was the cutest kitten ever.
“I’ve got no idea what I’m gonna call them,” Pan said as they went through to the shop to choose some toys. “Do you want to come stay the night, Jamie? You can help me get them settled and think of names.”
“I’d love to,” said Jamie. “Can you ask your chef to make us a hot chocolate pudding?”
Pan laughed. “Sure. And steak, egg and chips. How does that sound?”
Ilona snorted. “A chef indeed!” she muttered, digging her knitting needle into the lumpy beige jersey she was knitting.
The girls had piled up a selection of toys and treats on the counter and Pan was about to pay when the silver SUV pulled up at the front door.
“Oh no,” muttered Jamie. “Guess who’s here. It’s the Whiner. I can’t face her. Let’s go and hide in the hospital till they go.”
They disappeared into the back room just as Shardonnay and her mother came into Reception. “I’d like some more Costalot dog food,” they heard Liberty say.
“Oh cute,” Shardonnay trilled. They heard the basket opening. “What adorable kittens. Are they for sale? Mommy, please buy me these cutie pie kitties.”
“You’ve had enough animals for one day, Darling,” Liberty said.
“Who do they belong to?” Shardonnay asked. “Are they proper pedigree Persians?”
“Looks like it,” Ilona said. “They must be worth a lot of money. Jamie and her friend Pan found the mother run over outside the mall. They’re going home with Pan now.”
“All three kittens, AND the mom? That’s just greedy. Can’t I have just one?”
“You’ll have to ask her,” Ilona said. “The girls are hiding in the hospital. Jamie … Pan!” she yelled. “Your friend’s here. Wants a kitten.”
Instead of waiting for them, Shardonnay trippled on her high heels right into the hospital.
“Hey, this is out of bounds to the public,” Jamie snapped. “You’re not allowed in here. And put that kitten back in the basket.” Trust Shardonnay to be holding the little grey boy. Did she go out of her way to be as annoying as possible?
Shardonnay ignored her. “Pan, gimme this kitten,” she said, clutching Little Grey to her chest. “I’m begging you. I’ll let you ride Oreo if you give him to me.”
Pan gave her a withering stare. “Not interested,” she said. “You think you can just take whatever you want. Well you can’t have Little Grey. He’s mine.”
Shardonnay’s eyes narrowed. “Fine,” she said. “But just know this. What Shardonnay wants, Shardonnay gets.” And she turned on her heel and marched back to the car.
18
The Poo Blaster
Pan and Jamie had spent half the night playing with the kittens. Jamie loved seeing how happy Pan was to have pets of her own at last. But when she got home Tick pulled her aside.
“Mom’s really mad,” whispered Tick. “That Nimrod 2 thing I bought didn’t work. Mom was okay when it arrived – a little bit cross at first but then she got excited – but she blasted the drains all afternoon yesterday and all morning today and the toilet still floods if you flush it. She’s mad, mad, mad. You’d better watch out.”
Upstairs in the bathroom she found her mother with goggles on holding a giant contraption in the to
ilet. She was sweating and mumbling, “Flush, dammit, flush.” Fifi was standing next to her wearing one of Arabella’s surgical masks.
Jamie peeped in. “Hi, Mom. Can I help you?”
“You can’t,” Fifi said. “I’m helping Aunty Arabella. We’re buthy fixthing the toilet. Thee?” She held up her hands with a pair of latex gloves dripping over the end of her wizened fingers. “I’m all prepared in cathe there’th dythentery or Munthhauthenth by Procthy germth.”
“You sure you don’t want some help, Mom?” Jamie asked.
Arabella fixed her with a furious glare. “Jamie, if I, with my seven years of university education, cannot fix this toilet, how do you propose to do better?”
Jamie was shocked. Her mother must be really mad to say something so mean. She gulped. “I just thought, well maybe, sometimes if a fresh pair of eyes has a look …”
Arabella’s shoulders sank. “Sorry, Jamie, you’re right. Here. See what you can do.” She handed over the goggles and stepped out of the way. Jamie picked up the Nimrod 2 and examined it. There was a little lever on the side. It could be turned on or off. It was set to OFF.
“Hmm,” she murmured. “Wonder what happens if I flick this.” She turned the lever to on and pushed the Nimrod into the toilet. Then she pressed the handle. There was a rushing, gurgling sound. It started in the toilet and moved down the pipes like a rumble of thunder, louder and louder till … there was a hideous scream, and a huge bang.
“Who screamed?” Arabella shouted. “Tick, Toby! Are you alright?”
“That wath Ilona thcreaming,” Fifi said. “Fantathtic! I can do thome firtht aid on her.” And she scuttled down the stairs. Jamie and Arabella rushed after her.
“Ilona, are you alright?” Arabella called through the back door of the hospital. “Ilona … Ilona!”
Ilona came staggering out of the toilet, clutching her bottom. “Damned lavatory exploded,” she snarled. “I swear it wasn’t me. I wasn’t doing anything out of the usual. Damned thing just blew up.”
Jamie couldn’t resist it. “OH NO!” she exclaimed. “You ruined the plumbing. Have you been eating those Russian sausages again?”
“No, no!” Ilona cried, looking appalled. “I promise you, Arabella, I didn’t do anything I don’t usually do.”
“Jamie’th lying,” Fifi squeaked. “Aunty Arabella wath trying to fixth the loo, and Jamie uthed the Nimrod 2 Turbo Blathter and blew your botty to thmithereenth. Now lie down, Aunty Ilona. I know firtht aid. Let me thee the damage. You might have thplinterth in your thphincter.”
“Get away from me,” Ilona snarled. She glared at Arabella like an enraged bull about to charge. “I’m going home now, and you can expect to hear from my lawyer. You’ll pay for this, I’m telling you. You’ll pay through the nose. Dr Knight would never have tolerated this kind of chaos.” And she stormed off clutching her buttocks.
Unathi came running up. “Doc, Doc!” he called. “The drains are fixed. Come and see!”
Jamie was overjoyed when they got to the garage. The Snotterbel patch was totally destroyed. No more green sludge. Instead the garden was filled with a smelly brown sludge.
“See, your machine blew the manhole wide open,” Unathi said, clapping his hands. “The drains are clear at last.”
“Do you think that was causing the blockage, Mom?” asked Jamie, pointing at a wad of brown muck.
Arabella peered at it. “Could be. Wonder what it is?” She poked at it with a stick. “It seems to be material.” She picked up a part of it with her stick. “Your dad’s underpants. Just look at that! There must be twenty pairs here,” Arabella exclaimed. “That naughty monkey has been flushing them down the loo again.”
“Did you see Ilona’s face, Mom?” Jamie chortled. “I wish I’d seen her sitting there, reading her old Reader’s Digest, and suddenly BOOM, all the poo water shooting down the pipes, and unfortunately her big bum is blocking the only exit …”
“Thank heavens she was there,” Arabella began to laugh too. “If her rear end hadn’t been acting like a cork there’d be a filthy mess all over the hospital. We should thank her. I nearly collapsed when you asked her if she’d been eating Russian sausages again.”
Only Fifi wasn’t amused. She pursed up her mouth. “I am dithappointed in you two,” she said, shaking her head till her pigtails wobbled. “It’th nathty to laugh at other people’th mithfortuneth.”
And that only made Jamie and Arabella laugh even harder.
19
Prof makes a quiche
“Darling!” shouted Arabella, “Where are you?”
The prof popped his head out from behind the door of his lab. “Hmm?”
“I’m working late tonight at the Cat Rescue Centre,” said Arabella. “You’re doing supper. I’ve left Liberty’s quiche recipe on the kitchen counter for you. You might have to pop out to the shops to pick up some of the ingredients.”
“Can’t we just have cereal?” whined the prof.
“No way,” said Arabella firmly. “Quiche, and don’t make a fuss about it. And by the way, Fifi is staying with us for the weekend, so you’ll have to make her a hypoallergenic quiche – her tofu is in the fridge.”
“Hmmph,” muttered the prof. “We’ll see about that.”
He was still muttering when he went down to the kitchen to start cooking. “Hell and Damnation! Look at the time,” he grumbled. “It’s too late to get to the shops now.”
Fifi was sitting on the kitchen table, tying bows into Snoopy’s coat. “Do you know how to make quithe, Uncle David?” she asked. “Becauthe I can help if you’re thtuck.”
“Of course I know how to make a quiche,” he roared. “It’s basic chemistry. Now run along, Uncle David has lots of cooking to do.”
“Come, Thnoopy,” called Fifi. “You look very nithe. Let’th thee if anyone elthe wantth thome pigtailth.” And she skipped off clutching a handful of ribbons.
The prof beat together the eggs and milk in a bowl. He dug through the pantry looking for biscuits to make a crumb base for the quiche. No biscuits. No tuna either. Suddenly he remembered the cat tuna that Arabella sold in the surgery. Surely it was the same stuff. He wandered through to the surgery.
“Ilona, I need cat tuna and …” he scanned the shelves, “some of those dog treats that look like digestive biscuits.”
Ilona was still in a filthy mood. “Up there,” she grunted, gesturing with her thumb towards the shelf. “Get them yourself.”
“No problem,” the prof beamed. “You’re not your usual smiling self today, Ilona. What’s wrong?”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Ilona boomed, getting up. “A person can’t even use the bog here without endangering their life. I’ve had it, Prof, I’m telling you. I’ve had it up to here.” And she tapped the top of her head.
“Oh dear,” the prof said, grabbing the tins and packets off the shelf. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll bring you a nice slice of my quiche to make you feel better.”
“You’re cooking dinner?” Ilona said, her bad mood melting. “Dr Knight also liked to cook. You really are a wonderful man, Professor. I’d love a slice.”
Back in the kitchen the prof opened the can of tuna and emptied the contents into the quiche mixture. He cut his thumb on the tin and groaned. This quiche was starting to make him grumpy. He tipped the biscuits out on the counter and started bashing them with a rolling pin. He needed spinach and truffles, but there weren’t any.
He ran upstairs to his lab. Hidden behind his Alethiometer was the box of chocolate truffles old Dr Horeheck had given him to say thank you for adopting the parrot. Luckily the recipe only called for one, grated. Seemed a bit stupid to grate a chocolate, so he chopped it finely and threw it over the tuna.
Now where did Arabella grow that plant she said was a super food? Ah yes, by the garage. What a splendid thing it was to forage for food. Took him back to his student days … He hurried across the back garden. Something untoward seemed to have happened to Ara
bella’s Snotterbel patch. It smelt bad back here, and why was a piece of toilet paper stuck to the garage wall?
Dammit, there wasn’t enough Snotterbel. He’d have to find something else. Nasturtiums. They were edible weren’t they? He’d chop up the leaves and use them instead of spinach.
Soon they were washed, chopped and laid out on top of the tuna in the pie crust. The prof was rapidly losing his appetite.
He was just pouring the egg and skim milk mixture over the nasturtiums when Fifi came back. “Uncle David, I’m hungry,” she whined. “Ith thupper nearly ready? Are you making thpethial tofu quithe for me. I’ve got allergieth.”
“No, Fifi,” said the prof sucking his sore thumb. “This quiche is completely hypoallergenic; dairy, gluten, sugar and legume free, organic, super food and all the rest of that stuff. So you’ll just eat it like everybody else.”
Fifi’s eyes widened. “I hope that’th not tuna. Tuna giveth me hiveth and fat lipth.”
The prof was losing his cool. “I’ll give you a fat lip if you ask anymore stupid questions,” he muttered. “Fifi,” he said firmly, “this is high omega tuna. It’s actually good for hives.”
Fifi looked sceptical. “If you thay tho. But why have you got dog bithcuitth … Oh no, Uncle David, you are uthing dog bithcuitth by mithtake. No-one will eat thothe!”
The prof slammed his hand on the kitchen counter making Fifi jump. “I have just spent the last half an hour cutting my finger, bashing biscuits, grating truffles, harvesting super foods and making quiche. You will blooming well eat it. And if you so much as make a peep about the biscuits to your aunt or cousins,” he stabbed his finger at Snoopy’s chest, “that mutt of yours will land up in my next quiche. Get it?”
Fifi quivered as she stared at him from behind her oversized spectacles. “Capithe, I’ll eat the quithe.”
