Kitten Smitten

by Anna Wilson

  ‘Oh, right. So he’s Ty’s pet? That makes sense.’

  Jazz frowned at me. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘N-nothing!’ I stammered. ‘I just meant – well, I was thinking that you didn’t exactly seem enthusiastic about Huckleberry?’ I stopped. I was in danger of digging a hole too deep to get out of.

  Jazz had the beginnings of a mad-bad-and-dangerous-to-know look on her face. But then the cloud passed and she let out a long slow breath and said, ‘Yeah, which is why me becoming Huckleberry’s Next Best Owner is not really my idea of fun. It’s cool you’re here actually, Bertie. You can give me some advice.’

  I felt my shoulders relax. Everything was going to be all right. Jazz and I were still friends.

  We went into the TV room. Huckleberry’s cage was on a table by the window, so I carefully unhooked his little claws from my jumper and placed him gently inside. I couldn’t help feeling a bit envious. This little guy was a barrel of fun and his cage was awesome: full of tubes for him to scurry in and out of, piles of sawdust and a little cubby hole for him to sleep in. It looked like one of the ones I’d seen in Paws for Thought. Shame Ty and Jazz didn’t seem to appreciate the little guy.

  ‘Did you get him from that lady round the corner?’ I asked. ‘The one you told me about when I had the Pet-Sitting Service?’

  Jazz flopped down on to a beanbag and I slumped down next to her. ‘Telly?’ she asked, reaching for the remote and completely ignoring my question. ‘I’ve got this cool new DVD from the last series of Who’s Got Talent? It’s this behind-the-stage thing? They show you all the interviews with the guys who got into the finals. I sooooo wish I could audition for the next one!’ she babbled.

  ‘Right,’ I said, disappointed. What had happened to asking me for advice about Huckleberry? But I guessed I was lucky Jazz wanted to spend time with me at all, the way things had been lately, even if I was going to have to sit through this rubbish.

  We snuggled down and Jazz fiddled about with the remote. The screen blazed with light and noise and I groaned inwardly as a bunch of people with weird clothes and horrible hair started screaming and whooping and yelling about how being on Who’s Got Talent? was their ‘dream come true’ and it had been ‘just the most incredible journey’ and how it had ‘changed their lives forever’. Jazz was whooping and yelling in agreement and seemed to have completely forgotten that I was there.

  I was just thinking that maybe I should slip away quietly and get back to Jaffa, when Jazz’s mum came into the room.

  ‘Hi, Bertie! Haven’t seen you for a while. You OK?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, thanks.’

  ‘Great!’ She smiled her huge, glossy smile which always made a warm feeling spread like sunshine inside me. ‘Want to hear some interesting news?’

  Jazz frowned. ‘Shh!’ she snapped.

  Jazz’s mum went over to the TV and turned it off, silencing her daughter’s protests with a don’t-start-with-me-young-lady look in her big brown eyes. ‘You shouldn’t be watching telly on a lovely day like this!’

  ‘B-but—!’ Jazz started.

  ‘Jazz,’ Mrs B said, a dangerous note of warning creeping into her voice. Then she looked at me and grinned apologetically. ‘So, as I was saying. You know those new neighbours?’

  Jazz crossed her arms and flicked her head back stroppily. ‘What about them?’ she said, trying to sound like she didn’t give a stuff.

  But her eyes were shining. I focused on not smirking. Jazz couldn’t wait to meet that boy she’d told me about. It was so obvious.

  Mrs Brown immediately drew herself up to her full height, squaring up to her daughter. It was always a pretty impressive sight when Jazz and her mum had a face-off. I quite enjoyed being a spectator, but deep down was relieved I was not involved. Put it this way: when Jazz’s mum was putting on her tough act, I could see where her youngest daughter got it from.

  ‘I thought Bertie would like to know – seeing as she’s going to be living opposite these people,’ Mrs Brown began tartly, ‘that Mr Smythe told me—’

  ‘Mr Smythe! Whoo! Hamster Man!’ Jazz crowed, putting her hands up to her face as if she were nibbling a carrot and twitching her nose in a realistic impression of a giant hamster.

  ‘Ja-azz!’ I protested, embarrassed at her impersonation. It was true, Mr Smythe did act as rodenty as his hamsters, Houdini and Mr Nibbles, but even so it was mortifying seeing Jazz take the mickey out of him in front of her mum.

  ‘Sor-reeeee!’ Jazz drawled, wobbling her head at me.

  Mrs Brown sucked her teeth. ‘OK, OK, I know he’s a bit strange. But he’s always been friendly to me. And anyway, he gave me some good advice about looking after guinea pigs,’ she said, looking at me. ‘Heaven knows no one in this household seems to be taking an interest.’ She glared at Jazz. ‘Anyway, I’m getting off the point. Mr Smythe says that the removal vans may arrive tonight, ahead of the family. You should probably tell your dad, Bertie. Oh yes, and he said these people may only be here for a short time – they’re renting Fenella’s place. She’s not going to sell her house in case she wants to come back.’

  My heart fluttered like a trapped moth at the words ‘come back’. Did this mean I might see Kaboodle again soon? I would love to be able to ask him more questions about Jaffa. Where had she really come from? How come I couldn’t seem to understand her? How could I get her to calm down and be less skittish around me? But my excitement faded at Mrs Brown’s next words.

  ‘ – but it seems that’s not going to be any time soon. Her career’s really taken off since your dad wrote that play for her, Bertie, and she’s been offered loads of work. Apparently she’s got to travel a lot, so she’s decided to let out her house for at least six months while she makes up her mind what to do—’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Tell us something we actually want to know,’ Jazz butted in rudely.

  Mrs Brown frowned and Jazz muttered another barely audible ‘sor-reee’ at the floor.

  ‘Mr Smythe also told me some gossip about Fergus. But . . . I’m obviously intruding on your valuable time,’ Jazz’s mum teased, noting the sudden spark of interest on her daughter’s face. ‘I’ll leave you girls to it.’

  ‘But, Mum—’ Jazz cried.

  Mrs Brown turned her back on Jazz’s frustrated bleating.

  Jazz made to follow her, but Aleisha stuck her head around the door. ‘What’s up with you guys?’ she asked. ‘You look as if the world’s about to end. Hey, did Mum tell you about the new boy? You know he’s in a band, right? Well, you won’t believe it – they’ve got an album deal already! How cool is that? I checked him out on the net.’ She paused for effect and then said, ‘He’s lush!’

  I felt my face collapse as Jazz started jumping up and down on the spot, squealing and squeaking like a hundred Huckleberries.

  8

  Moving In

  At tea that night I asked Dad if he’d heard from Pinkella.

  ‘Er . . oh, yes,’ he said vaguely, spooning baked beans into his mouth and staring into the middle distance. ‘Why?’

  ‘Just wondered if she’d told you anything about her tenants,’ I said, trying to keep my voice light.

  Dad blushed. ‘Oh, sorry, Bertie, I should have told you – yes, there’s a family coming to live in her house. They were supposed to arrive tonight, actually—’

  ‘Yeah, I knew all that. But it’s their furniture that’s arriving tonight, actually. Jazz’s mum told me,’ I said pointedly. I felt a bit mean making Dad feel bad on purpose, but at the same time I wanted him to know I was fed up that I’d heard all the gossip from someone else.

  ‘I’ve been distracted recently, haven’t I?’ Dad stammered, putting his cutlery down. ‘It’s just this new play I’m working on. And then all that hassle with Jaffa . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, really. The pressures of success, eh?’ I laughed half-heartedly. I was happy that Dad was doing well and not having to work for the Daily Ranter any more. It meant he wasn’t as gr
umpy as he used to be. But one thing that had not changed was the number of hours he worked. If anything he seemed to be working even harder than he had before. He was such a perfectionist. I remembered what Kaboodle had said about Dad doing it all for me. I did wish he would just stop sometimes, though.

  It was all right for Jazz. If she was upset or excited about something she could always talk to her mum or dad or Aleisha. Even having Ty around had to be better than being on your own.

  ‘So, do you think we should invite them round?’ Dad said, cutting into my gloomy thoughts. He was grinning widely and cheesily.

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘The new neighbours.’

  ‘NO WAY!’

  ‘Hey, there’s no need for that!’ Dad frowned. ‘What’s the problem with being friendly?’

  I shifted uncomfortably. ‘I just don’t really want to make a big deal out of them being our new neighbours, that’s all.’ I squirmed, remembering Jazz’s excitement on learning how cool and good-looking the boy was meant to be.

  Dad tutted. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you by wearing brightly coloured clothes or telling bad jokes or dying my hair green or anything,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Maybe I’ll just go round there on my own and say “hi” once they’ve had a chance to settle in. I don’t know – I hadn’t even given it a moment’s thought till now, to be honest . . . Right,’ he said decisively, pushing back his chair. ‘You done with that?’ He gestured to my half-finished tea. I nodded. ‘OK, well, I’m not going to do any more work tonight. How about a DVD?’

  ‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit tired. I’m going up to read. Might have an early night.’ Truth was, I just wanted some time alone with Jaffa all snuggly on my bed.

  But the little kitten had other ideas. She wouldn’t settle at all and was off out of the room exploring before I could stop her. I did wonder if I should have followed her to make sure she was safe, but I knew all the doors and windows would be shut at this time. Anyway, as I passed my bedroom window I was distracted by a removal van pulling up opposite outside Pinkella’s house.

  It was quite late for them to be moving in, I thought. I watched and waited to see what kind of stuff they would unload from the van, but no one came out. No sign of the family either.

  I padded downstairs to tell Dad. He was half asleep in front of the TV, the newspaper open on his lap with Jaffa curled up on top of it and the remote in one hand.

  ‘Dad?’ I said softly.

  ‘Wha—?’ His head jerked up and he dropped the remote and jolted Jaffa awake. She shot into the air as if someone had plugged her tail into an electric socket and leaped on to the window sill. Dad shook his head and rubbed his eyes. ‘Bertie, I thought you were in bed.’

  ‘Yeah well, the removal van made a load of noise opposite.’

  Dad glanced at the window. ‘Oh, so they’re here.’

  I noticed Jaffa was watching the van intently, as if she expected someone she knew to come out of it. I wondered if she was thinking about Kaboodle as I had done earlier. ‘Bit weird to arrive so late, isn’t it?’ I said, bringing myself out of dreamland and into the present.

  Dad shrugged. ‘We don’t know where they’ve come from, do we? Sometimes these guys come the night before they’re going to do the removal – means they can start first thing in the morning. They can sleep in these vans, you know. Some of them are kitted out with beds and stoves and stuff.’

  Jaffa was sitting back on her haunches and patting her paws against the window. It looked as though she was trying to wave at the van.

  I wonder if she thinks that’s Kaboodle come back, I thought. I certainly wished it was.

  I didn’t really know why the thought of this new family was doing my head in so much. It was a bit unfair of me, I knew that: I hadn’t even caught a glimpse of them yet. But I had this nagging feeling that things were going to change as soon as they arrived. And something told me it wouldn’t be for the better.

  I scooped Jaffa up and gave Dad a kiss.

  ‘Come on, Jaffs,’ I mumbled into her cute triangle of an ear. ‘Big day tomorrow, I guess. Let’s get some sleep.’

  I had no idea just how big a day it would turn out to be.

  I was still snoozing when Dad hammered on my door the next morning. I peered bleary-eyed at my alarm clock. Only eight o’clock! In the holidays! What was so important he had to wake me up at that time for?

  I stumbled out of bed and staggered to the door. Dad was standing on the other side of it, looking very sorry for himself. My first thought was he was cringing because I was looking a right muppet. I always did in the mornings. It was mostly the fault of my hair which had a life of its own that did not involve asking me for permission before restyling itself into a look that would probably best be described as Bomb-site of the Year.

  But then as I rubbed my eyes and heard him say, ‘Now I don’t want you to worry, Bertie . . .’ I realized that he was looking sheepish rather than cringing. Suddenly I was wide awake, my skin tingling in alarm.

  ‘It’s Jaffa, isn’t it?’ I cried.

  ‘The thing is, I was putting the bins out and—’

  DRIIING!

  ‘The doorbell!’ I yelled, rather unnecessarily. ‘Go and get it, Dad – maybe someone’s got her!’

  ‘Don’t panic, Bertie,’ Dad said, sounding pretty unconvincing, I have to say. ‘You get dressed and I’ll answer the door.’

  I muttered an ungracious ‘Thanks’ and ran back into my room to scrabble around for some clothes. Stepping out of my PJs, I left them where they fell and hastily pulled on some pants and a half-clean top. I was just zipping up my jeans when there was the sound of bouncy footsteps on the stairs and Jazz appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Boy, you look rough!’ she said cheerily.

  ‘Thanks so much.’

  ‘Bertie!’ It was Dad, yelling up the stairs. ‘I’m going out to look for Jaffa!’

  I glanced wildly at Jazz and then past her at the landing. I wanted to go with him, but Jazz was wearing her I’m-on-a-mission expression.

  ‘So, can I look out your window?’ she asked, pushing past me without waiting for an answer.

  ‘Erm, well, no you can’t. I’m kind of busy,’ I said, anxious to get rid of her so I could chase after Jaffa.

  ‘Hey, no need to be weird!’ Jazz responded, curling her lip at me. She always curls her lip at me when she doesn’t get something I’ve said. ‘You’ve only just got up – you’re not busy at all.’

  ‘I am about to be busy,’ I said stupidly. ‘And anyway, I am not the one being weird. Seriously,’ I added.

  After all, she was the one who had just turned up at a time of the morning usually reserved for the kind of deranged people who say things like, ‘We don’t want to miss the best of the day now, do we?’ (Yes we do. We want to sleep.) And as if that wasn’t weird enough, she was now obsessed with looking out of my window. What’s not to be freaked about?

  Jazz shook her head impatiently. ‘OK, OK, I know it’s kind of early but I don’t have anything to do today,’ she said eventually, by way of an explanation. ‘So.’

  ‘So . . . ?’ I said.

  ‘So . . .’ Jazz faltered, looking away for a second. ‘I – er – I was thinking it might be fun to watch the new family move in. And you’ve got a better view from your place than I have from mine.’ She fixed me with her deep brown eyes, challenging me to tell her I had other plans.

  So that was what this was all about. I sighed.

  ‘Oh come on, Bert,’ Jazz wheedled, head on one side, her eyes growing huger by the minute. ‘Aren’t you even just a teensy bit curious to see what they’re like?’

  ‘Yeah, OK,’ I admitted. ‘Sorry, Jazz. It’s just . . .’ I decided to be honest in the hope that I’d at least be able to get out and leave Jazz curtain-twitching on her own. ‘I’m really worried about Jaffa. She’s just escaped again and she’s still so young, and she’s not really allowed out for another week cos she’s only just had her vaccinat
ions—’

  ‘Oh, cats are always running off,’ Jazz cut in, more than a hint of boredom creeping into her voice. ‘You were the one who told me that, remember? When Kaboodle wasn’t there that time and you thought he was dead and you ended up doing that memorial thing.’ ME? It’d all been Jazz’s idea as far as I was concerned. I raised my eyebrows, and she flushed as if reading my mind and then shook her head carelessly. ‘Anyway, she’s bound to want to come and go – it’s what cats do, isn’t it? So, can we look out of your window? The lorry’s been there all night. And I saw the mum and dad carrying some boxes in from their car as I walked along the road just now. I tried to catch their eye, but they didn’t spot me. Haven’t seen the boy yet!’ she added, her velvet eyes flashing with excitement.

  Give me strength!

  ‘OK, yeah. I’ll just grab some binoculars, shall I?’ I said sarcastically.

  ‘Cool! Then we’ll really be able to . . . Oh, you were joking,’ she said, catching the look on my face.

  Although binoculars wouldn’t be such a bad idea, now I came to think of it. I could have used them to see if Jaffa was out in the street somewhere.

  ‘There!’ Jazz squealed, wrenching me away from my mopey thoughts. She was pointing out of my window and jumping up and down.

  ‘Where?’ I shouted, thinking she’d seen Jaffa.

  ‘Can you see him? Can you?’ she cried.

  My heart plummeted down to my bare feet as I realized she was pointing at the boy over the road. I tried to get a look at him, but Jazz was hogging the window, pressing her face up against it and breathing steam on the glass.

  I stepped away and stared at my friend. Not only was her behaviour decidedly loopy this morning, she was looking pretty dressed up considering she’d only come round to hang out with me. Her hair had even more beads in it than usual and they made a right racket while she bounced around the place. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, purple leggings, purple and silver pumps and a purple T-shirt with a picture of a guitar on it in silver glitter and the word ‘LOVE’ in huge swirly letters.