Cat Kin

by Nick Green

  ‘Nowhere.’ It was an effort to speak. ‘Just with a friend.’

  ‘A boyfriend?’ Stuart grinned.

  Normally she would have tickled him for that. Instead she turned away. Then she saw something that made her stomach heave. Stuart, glass of water in hand, was lifting a pill to his mouth.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Huh?’ Stuart dropped the pill and it rolled behind the loo.

  ‘You can’t. Er…’ She had to think. ‘I’ve told you not to drink the water from the bathroom taps. It’s from the tank. It could make you ill.’

  ‘Cow plops. I always drink it. So do you!’ Stuart tipped another tablet from the jar and swallowed it. Tiffany clutched at the bathroom door, woozy.

  ‘You won’t be taking that stuff much longer, will you?’

  Stuart laughed. ‘It’s all right, I don’t mind the taste anymore. I quite like it, actually. Panthacea doesn’t make me fat like those other medicines.’

  ‘Listen, Stuart…’

  ‘Guess what. Today I managed to walk all the way to the high street and round the shops. I only needed the chair on the way back. And I haven’t had a cough for ages.’ He skipped out of the bathroom, steadier on his feet than he had been in months. ‘Watch out, Tiffany. Soon I’ll be strong enough to punch through cardboard like you can. How do you do that, by the way? Show me again.’ He trailed her across the landing into her room. ‘Showme-showme-showme!’

  ‘Oh, go to bed!’ she yelled.

  Stuart gazed at her with hurt eyes.

  ‘Spoilsport,’ he muttered, trudging out.

  Tiffany went to bed and lay awake.

  The flat was silent, but it was the kind of silence that told him Mum was home. Ben found her in the kitchen, sipping coffee. He had to resist the urge to hug her. He’d never needed to see anyone so badly.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  Her expression stopped him short. No wonder. It was, after all, pretty late. And as for the shock at coming home to find him gone…

  ‘Mum, I’m really sorry. I—’

  ‘You what? You went out?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know because I arrived home to an empty flat with the door wide open.’ She sniffed. ‘Mind you, at the time I didn’t think you’d gone out. I thought someone had kidnapped you.’

  Ben bit his lip. Dashing after Stanford he hadn’t thought to shut the door behind him. ‘Sorry. I—I had to leave in a hurry.’

  ‘No doubt, Benjamin. You had important things to do.’

  ‘I did! We—’ What on earth could he tell her?

  ‘Like getting hammered on whisky and cider at the bus-stop,’ Mum’s voice rose, ‘with those scummy kids you hang out with.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t you dare—’ Mum grabbed the whisky bottle off the sideboard and waved it in his face. ‘This was half full. I’m not so cracked in the head yet that I can’t remember things. There’s only you and me living here, you idiot. Who else is going to drink it, the mice?’

  ‘But it wasn’t me…’ He had to tell her. It was his only way out of this. But no. He could face her anger. Better to get flayed than to tell Mum that John Stanford had been inside their home, and could come back whenever he felt like it. Ben had no idea what that news might do to her. ‘I—I knocked it over and the lid wasn’t screwed on. I had to mop it up.’

  It was the feeblest lie he’d ever tried.

  ‘I can smell it on your breath from here,’ Mum shouted. Another lie, Ben thought, numbly. They bred like flies.

  ‘My one night of freedom,’ Mum went on, ‘when I’m meant to be getting myself together again, and you have to wreck it. Do you ever think of me for just one moment?’

  ‘Mum, listen, you don’t under—’

  ‘I mean, who’d have kids? They start noisy and smelly, they’re cute for ten seconds and then they turn into ungrateful, thieving monsters.’ She took a step closer and screamed in his face. ‘Where have you been?’

  Something broke inside him. ‘If you could shut up for five seconds, you’d know by now!’

  She slapped him. The left side of his face went stinging hot. The moment after that he would never clearly recall.

  He blinked, stunned from the blow, and saw Mum sprawled on the floor on the other side of the kitchen. What was she doing down there? He walked towards her, only to see her cower into the corner. She was shielding her face. A scarlet bruise was rising on her left cheekbone and three red lines ran down to her chin. Ben stared at his right hand, still hooked in a claw shape.

  ‘Mum,’ he whispered. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Not taking her eyes off him, Mum groped for the sideboard and pulled herself upright.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Mum,’ Ben pleaded. ‘I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what got into me. I never—’

  ‘Out!’ she cried. ‘Get out! How dare you? How dare you hit your mother?’

  Ben clutched at his head. This was not happening.

  ‘You’re not sleeping under this roof!’ Mum advanced, breathing hard. He retreated before her, confused, terrified.

  ‘No, Mum.’

  ‘Get to your father’s!’ she bellowed. ‘Go on, run to him. A right pair you make. A right pair of thugs. I wouldn’t take it from him and I’m damned if I’m taking it from you. Get out of my home!’

  Moments later he was standing on the pavement, transfixed by the light shining from their kitchen window, the last glimmer of life in the empty block. The wind had turned chilly. He folded his arms, wishing Mum had given him time to put on a coat or at least a sweater. Maybe if he stood here long enough the world would pop back to the way it was meant to be, like a crushed rubber ball. At length the light went out. He shivered some more. Nothing else changed.

  Her words continued to ricochet round his head, striking sparks in the great black cloud of his confusion. A right pair you make…I wouldn’t take it from him. What did that mean? Could he pretend he didn’t know? Come to that, how could he let four years pass and never once ask Dad exactly why he and Mum weren’t together anymore? Maybe it was because he hadn’t needed to. The little scar by Mum’s eye never came from walking into any door.

  He turned his back on Defoe Court and began to drift along the street like the blown scraps of litter, hardly knowing or caring where he was going.

  MONSTERS IN THE ATTIC

  And now, just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, Ben had disappeared. Tiffany had been round to his flat twice in the past three days, only to be told by a voice on the entry phone (presumably his mother) that he wasn’t in. At last she found his mobile number scrawled on the cinema ticket she’d been using as a bookmark. She dialled, sure no-one would answer. Someone cautiously said, ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Oh. Hi, Tiffany. How’s it going?’

  ‘What do you mean, how’s it going? It’s all going to hell in a cat carrier. As if you didn’t know. Have you been avoiding me?’

  ‘No. Nothing like that.’ Ben sounded tired. ‘I’m staying at my Dad’s. Family stuff. You don’t want to know.’

  She got the impression that he meant it this time.

  ‘Ben, we need to talk. You said we could do something about those poor cats.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like anything!’ She almost shouted it. ‘We can’t let it happen. All those leopards and tigers and things, in those cages with tubes stuck in them. They can’t turn round, they can’t lie down, they can’t even sleep.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Ben, please. We’re their only chance.’

  She waited.

  ‘What do you think I am?’ said Ben. ‘You think I don’t care? That stuff they’re doing makes me sick. They should get life in prison.’

  ‘So let’s do it!’ said Tiffany. ‘We’ll tell the police together. All they have to do is look inside that factory.’

  ‘The factory that everyone knows is empty.’

  ‘Just one
look,’ she cried. ‘That’s all it takes. We could make something up. Say there are drug dealers squatting there. That’s the truth, anyway.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ben. ‘But Tiffany, we’ve got to be careful. My Mum tried calling the police before, about a Stanford thing. It didn’t do any good.’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘But what if Stanford knows someone in the police force? What if he can get away with anything because his friends cover it up? The only thing we’d do is give away who we are and where we live. You don’t want Stanford knowing where you live.’

  ‘I’ll take the risk. If it means stopping Doctor Cobb.’

  ‘Think about it,’ urged Ben. ‘Look, I’ll…I’ll call you back later. We’ll work out a story, maybe. Don’t do anything stupid yet.’

  ‘When shall I do something stupid?’ she replied.

  There was a seething kind of silence.

  ‘Look, just wait, okay?’ Ben hissed. ‘This isn’t my only major problem right now.’

  ‘Why? What’s more important than this?’

  ‘I’ll tell you another time,’ said Ben. The line went dead.

  She sat with the phone in her lap for several minutes. She couldn’t believe it. Ben had chickened out. There was no other explanation. That was why he’d been avoiding her. She was halfway through redialling his number when she stopped and threw the phone at her pillow. She was wasting her time. The person she really needed to talk to wasn’t even in the country.

  No Ben, no Mrs Powell. What about the other members of the Cat Kin? She had Cecile’s number, and Susie’s. She wavered, then tried the second one.

  ‘Hello you!’ said Susie, sounding surprised. Apart from furtive chats at school in corridors or the dining room, they had hardly spoken to one another outside of the class.

  ‘Hi.’ Tiffany bit her lip.

  ‘Hello?’ said Susie again. Tiffany found she’d been staring mutely into space.

  ‘Susie,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a problem. Maybe you can, uh, give me some advice.’

  ‘Oh, me too!’ said Susie, as if a problem was the latest gadget. ‘My father and big brother want us all to holiday in Wales next year, can you believe that? White water rafting, and they know perfectly well that I can’t even swim, or at least not very well, only four lengths in a warm pool. And in Wales. As if it won’t be rainy enough here. I’ll make Dad change his mind so we can go home to Hong Kong instead. I can’t bear the countryside, can you? A big old waste of space. And I really don’t know about white water rafting. It sounds very stupid and risky, quite dangerous and rather boring too. In a minute!’

  Tiffany wrenched the phone away, half-deafened.

  ‘Sorry, Tiffany, that was my mother calling me to do silly chores. Anyway, Wales sounds awful, doesn’t it? Do your family drag you on daft holidays too? Listen, great talking but got to dash, mother’s going to pop.’

  ‘Bye,’ said Tiffany. She stood dazed for a moment. She had forgotten how some people went temporarily insane when they had a phone to their ear. She reflected, and decided not to ring Cecile. It wasn’t fair to drag friends into this. There was only one sensible thing to do. Call the police.

  The station’s operator put her on hold for ten nerve-wracking minutes. Her breath was loud in her ear. What if Ben was right? No, that couldn’t be.

  ‘Stoke Newington police.’

  ‘Um. I want to report a crime.’

  ‘Go ahead, love.’

  ‘There’s this old factory off Albion Road,’ she said. ‘They’re keeping tigers and leopards in there. In tiny cages. They’ve all got tubes stuck in them and this scientist is using them to make medicines. He takes the bile from their livers—’ She bit her tongue. It sounded ludicrous even to her.

  ‘Say again, love. I’m listening.’

  ‘It’s true,’ she protested. ‘Look, I’m not sure what’s going on. But it’s something very bad, and it’s inside that derelict factory. Can you check it, please?’

  ‘Something bad,’ echoed the officer, slowly, as if he were writing those very words on his pad. ‘Can you fill me in on some details? What did you say your name was?’

  The phone fell from her hand and lay on the carpet, burbling faintly, before going dumb. Tiffany ground her teeth. She would not pick it up again until she had a story they would believe. A hour later, it was still lying there.

  Ben wondered about calling her back. He wanted to explain. Tell her what had happened with his mother. Tiffany should know. She needed to know.

  ‘Benny!’ Dad called from the living room. ‘I’ve made a pot of tea. You want to come through and watch the boxing with me? I’ll tell you by round two who’s going to win.’

  ‘Just a second,’ Ben mumbled. His father had been unbearably merry ever since Ben had shown up on Wednesday morning, dazed after a night walking the streets. Not that Dad knew the real reason. He thought Mum was letting him have more ‘access’ at last.

  Alone in the tiny spare room of his father’s flat, Ben hugged his knees and watched the pigeons scratch on the windowsill. His memory was stuck in one groove, as if by replaying it over and over he could erase it, make it not have happened. His hand had struck at Mum quicker than thought, as electric current leaps from a wire. The force of it had thrown her across the kitchen. Invisible claws had scored her face. It was no enemy, no hired thug who had done this to his mother. It was him.

  He clutched his right hand by the wrist, as if it were a snake he had to strangle.

  ‘How could you?’ he whispered. ‘How could you do that?’

  ‘Ben?’ Dad knocked on the door. ‘They’re coming into the ring.’

  ‘In a minute!’ he snapped.

  All those hours of practising pashki and he’d never thought what it was doing to him.

  I don’t know what got into me.

  The cat-self he had awakened, his Mau body, had reflexes too fast for him to control. If he was hit, he would hit back, no matter who got hurt. And this thing was strong too, strong enough to knock a grown woman off her feet. He shrank inside, just as he had when he was five and had accidentally set the waste paper basket on fire, thinking the whole flat, the whole world, would burn down. This was the same feeling. He hadn’t meant this to happen. What had he done?

  ‘Tiffany! Check this out.’

  She glanced up from her magazine in time to see Stuart popping two large pills in his mouth and swallowing them in one gulp. His eyes bulged like a frog’s.

  ‘Cool, eh? Bet you can’t do that.’

  ‘Stuart!’ Mum scolded. ‘One at a time, love. You’ll choke.’

  ‘No chance,’ he grinned. ‘I’m the world’s greatest pill-swallower now. I could do four if I wanted.’

  ‘They’re not toys, you idiot!’

  ‘Tiffany! None of that,’ said Dad. He rolled up a couple of towels and stuffed them into a kit bag. ‘Cathy, where are my swimming goggles?’

  ‘Unless you gave them to me to be ironed, dry-cleaned or baked, Peter, I can only assume they’re where you last put them,’ said Mum.

  ‘A simple I-don’t-know would have done.’ Dad went whistling up the stairs.

  ‘I’m sorry, Stuart,’ said Tiffany. ‘But you know it’s bad to take too much of any medicine. Especially,’ she made sure she caught Mum’s eye, ‘one we don’t know much about.’

  ‘I take two at lunchtime. It says so on the label.’

  ‘Mum, don’t you think so?’ Tiffany pleaded. ‘He’s practically well now. Shouldn’t he come off that stuff soon?’

  ‘Why?’ smiled Mum, filling a watering can at the sink. ‘Anyhow, I don’t know what you mean by well. You’re going to get a lot better still, aren’t you, Stu?’

  ‘Yeah!’ said Stuart. He poked Tiffany, teasing. ‘You’re just jealous ’cos you know I’ll be stronger than you when we’re both grown up.’

  ‘Give me a break.’ Tiffany felt like smashing the Panthacea jar on the floor. That would get their attention. ‘All I’m saying is, he can
’t just keep taking pills.’

  ‘And why’s that?’

  ‘I dunno, Mum, you tell me. You’re the one who always goes on about nature being the best doctor.’

  ‘But Panthacea is natural, darling,’ said Mum. ‘Look here, it says on the label. Where are you going?’

  Tiffany was going upstairs in a hurry. Probably to be sick. She stared down the loo until the nausea passed. Someone knocked at the door.

  ‘Tiffany?’ It was Dad. ‘Did you want to come swimming with me and Stuart? We’re off in a minute.’

  She had to drink from the tap before answering, her mouth was so dry.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d just get in the way again, wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Not a chance,’ said Dad. ‘Go on, it’ll be fun.’

  ‘I don’t feel like it today. I might help Mum in the garden.’

  ‘Okey-dokey. Don’t let her get too muddy or the restaurant won’t let us in.’

  ‘Right.’

  When she was ready to go back downstairs, Stuart and Dad were on their way out.

  ‘Peter, my burgundy silk blouse,’ said Mum, catching them on the doorstep.

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Have you seen it? I want to wear it for the meal tonight.’

  ‘Well, unless you gave it to me to wash the car with,’ said Dad, giving Mum a kiss on the cheek, ‘I expect it’s where you last put it. See you girls later!’

  The blouse never showed up, so Mum compromised with a black evening dress and sparkly jewelry. She still looked pretty stunning and all the waiters fussed round her. Cathy Maine hadn’t dressed up like that for months, perhaps years, and it was, Tiffany supposed, a great evening. But only one detail of it stayed with her: watching Stuart wash down yet another of those tablets.

  She lay in bed next morning, listening to the blackbirds imitate car alarms, noticing the extra notes they made, too high for ordinary human ears to hear. It was absurd: she had these new abilities, yet she couldn’t stop her little brother taking a drug that was brewed from unimaginable suffering.

  And should she? For the fact remained that, evil or not, Panthacea was helping him get better. Stuart would have a childhood at last. He would run, swim without floats, hold a book without getting exhausted. He could catch a cold and they need not live in fear that it might be his last.