A Home for Shimmer

by Cathy Hopkins

  As I stared at the grey skies and mist outside, Ginger, our cat, leaped up on to the windowsill and sat looking out longingly. ‘Countryside, lots of it to see,’ I said to him, ‘and lots and lots of rain.’ There were views from every window and some days, you could see for miles over fields to hills in the far distance. But for the last week, all I had seen was drizzle.

  Ginger’s the family cat, but everyone knows that he’s really Josh’s. Ginger loves my brother and follows him around the house like a dog would. He sleeps in his bed, sometimes actually on Josh’s head. Mum wasn’t too happy about him being in Josh’s room most of the time, but when she told Josh to close his door at night, Ginger howled the place down, clawed at the door and kept us all awake so Mum relented. He’s a funny cat. We think he imagines that he’s from royal blood because he always likes to sit above the rest of us if he can – on a shelf or top of cupboard – and look down on us as if we are his loyal servants – which we are – running about opening doors for him when he cries, giving him food or water when he goes to his food bowl. He’s been stuck in the house for over three weeks now, since we arrived, and he’s not happy about it but Dad said under no circumstances were we to allow him out, no matter how much he paws at the window or cries, or he might run away from our new house. We don’t want to lose him, but he’s dying to get out there and start exploring. I asked if I could have a pet of my own but Mum said no. I’ve a good mind to write to the prime minister and let him know that I am being ignored in this family on every level.

  ‘I know, Ginger,’ I said as I stroked his head. ‘So unfair.’

  He butted my hand with his head in reply.

  I felt so lonely when we first arrived in Compton Truit. I even cried myself to sleep the first few nights. I’m not usually a cry baby but I missed Natalia and I’d been brought to this bleak cold place where the only sign of life outside is chickens. Dad went and bought those last week. ‘This is just the beginning,’ he said and looked at me as if he expected me to do a dance of joy. Over chickens. I know. Mum wasn’t too pleased either. She often gets cross with Dad and says that he has his head in the clouds. She’s right. He does live in his own world. Mum’s always saying, ‘Earth to Richie, Earth to Richie . . .’ It seems like he lives in a happy world though. He looks like an absent-minded professor, with his messy dark hair and glasses, and he doesn’t care about clothes at all. He often wears odd socks or puts his jumper on inside out. He especially annoys Mum when he does his tuneless humming. It’s never a song you can recognise. I can tell how Mum is feeling about Dad by the way she comments on it. If she’s in a good mood and Dad comes in going, ‘Lala, mnn, nn,’ she will say in a normal tone of voice, ‘Richie – humming.’ If she’s in a bad mood, she will say, ‘Richie!’ then add in a sharp voice, ‘Humming.’ He takes notice to begin with, then forgets he’s doing it and wanders off again going, ‘Hmm, nmm, hmm, nmm.’ I don’t mind it, plus it lets me know when he’s coming, which isn’t a bad thing when I’m reading under the covers past my bedtime. Mum and Dad are an unlikely pair; opposites really. She’s small, blonde and neat and used to dress in smart clothes when we lived in Bristol, though she’s taken to wearing fleeces, jeans and wellies since we got here. With all the mud outside, we have no choice. She used to take a lot of pride in her appearance and liked the getting-dressed-up part of her job. I wonder if she misses it.

  Josh shares Dad’s enthusiasm about the move. He’s loved it here from the start. He loves the outdoors whatever the weather, unlike me who is happier inside snuggled up with a book or watching TV. Out of the window, I could see him and Dad strutting around in the land to the right of the house. Both were oblivious to the rain. All they talked about now was boring stuff like fencing or what they could do with the stables. I suggested knocking them down and building a leisure park and they both laughed as if I was joking. I wasn’t. Mum’s not been around either, she’s been up and down to the village buying paint or buying furniture online, busy and happy to have a project.

  ‘It’s just you and me, Ginger.’

  ‘Meow,’ he replied and put his paw up to the window again.

  I could see a car coming up the lane. I don’t know what kind because I’m not into cars apart from what colour they are. This was a green one. It drove into the yard and stopped. Caitlin got out of the passenger side and looked up at the house. She was dressed in jeans, a red quilted jacket over a navy jumper with silver hearts on it, a grey knitted scarf and grey Converse. She looked older and very cool. I whipped off my hat before she saw me then raced down the stairs to find her already chatting away to Dad and Josh.

  A man with a beard and tousled red hair got out of the car. Caitlin introduced him as her dad.

  He gestured at the house and land with his arms. ‘Amazing place you got here,’ he said to my dad. ‘Great position.’ They seemed to hit it off immediately and soon Dad was showing him around. He looked nothing like a geography teacher, more like a country and western singer in jeans, a red checked shirt and leather jacket.

  ‘So you’re at Amy’s school?’ Josh asked Caitlin. I was pleased that he’d asked her but I knew that he was being polite rather than actually interested. Mum had drilled it into us both to make conversation with visitors and not act, as she put it, ‘like gormless idiots who don’t have a tongue in their heads’. As if. Mum can be Very Insulting as well as Annoying and Strict.

  Caitlin nodded, put her head to one side and looked at him coyly. ‘Amy told me she had a handsome brother,’ she said.

  Josh looked embarrassed by her attention. He looked around like he wanted to get away, which made Caitlin laugh, which made Josh even more embarrassed.

  ‘I so did not,’ I said. ‘I said I had a brother. End of.’

  Caitlin punched my arm playfully. ‘Just joshing,’ she said. ‘Nice to meet you, Josh.’

  ‘You too,’ said Josh but he was already backing away and looking in Dad’s direction. ‘Er . . . think I’ll go and join . . . over there.’ And off he stumbled.

  ‘He’s quite shy really,’ I said when he’d gone. ‘And I told you he wasn’t into girls.’

  Caitlin looked after him. ‘Give me time,’ she said, then continued in a strange accent, ‘no-von can resist ze charms of la belle femme Madame Caitlin O’Neill.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother. He’s boring really, just into animals, being outdoors and computer games,’ I said.

  Caitlin looked over in the direction that Josh’d gone. ‘Didn’t look boring to me,’ she said, then sighed longingly, a bit like Ginger had earlier when he’d looked outside.

  ‘So give me the grand tour,’ she said when we saw that Josh had caught up with our dads.

  ‘Where do you want to start – in or out?’ I asked.

  ‘In,’ said Caitlin. ‘And pretend you’re an estate agent and I’m looking to buy.’

  I laughed. ‘You’re the one who wants to be an actress, not me.’

  ‘All good practice,’ said Caitlin. ‘I am ze very rich foreign lady who is looking to invest her money. You want to be a writer, make up a story.’

  ‘OK, Madame Belle Femme, step this way,’ I said as I led her through the hall into the kitchen. ‘Follow me. Inside, the décor is shabby chic . . . with plenty of shab but not much chic. Some estate agents might say “in need of modernisation”. I’d say, the place is falling down and I don’t think it’s been redecorated in a hundred years. Note the original flagstone flooring and how it has been worn away by the feet of those gone before us. The house has four bedrooms upstairs and has built-in air conditioning because there are draughts everywhere, ensuring a flow of cold air at all times of the day, whether you like it or not. And in here, a typical farmhouse style kitchen,’ I pointed above at the dark wooden beams, ‘the beams date back to the days of our ancestors and the damp patches by the window give the place an authentic sense of history.’

  ‘Merveilleux,’ said Caitlin. ‘Or, as you say in English – fantabulous.’

  ‘And if
you follow me, we have a cosy living room through here. The stone fireplace you can see and the heavy velvet drapes came with the house.’

  Caitlin wrinkled her nose. ‘And vot is dat smell?’

  ‘Eau de Peat. From the fire. Dad builds a real fire most nights because the house is freezing.’

  ‘Oui, je comprends. It is – how you say? – quaint?’

  ‘No. We don’t say “quaint”, we say “paint” – and the whole house needs loads, as well as a whole refurb from top to toe,’ I said.

  ‘I like it,’ said Caitlin. ‘It’s got a lot of oldie-worldie character.’

  I showed Caitlin upstairs and she followed me around commenting here and there as we went from room to room. ‘And vot are the neighbours like?’ she asked in her unidentifiable foreign accent that kept going from Russian to Indian.

  ‘Ah, the neighbours. They cluck a lot and lay eggs, apart from that, they’re no trouble,’ I said as we went downstairs and I led her outside to the side of the house to the extension that served as Dad’s clinic.

  Caitlin let out a big puff of air. ‘Look, it’s so cold I can see my breath.’

  ‘I know. I don’t remember it ever being this cold in Bristol,’ I said.

  ‘Is that why the previous owner sold up – too cold for him?’

  ‘No . . . um . . . he died – which is why the practice came up for sale. Dad used to work in a centre where there were three vets but here, it’s just him.’ We peeked in the windows of the clinic but there was nothing much to see – Dad’s office, a small waiting area with loads of posters on the wall and to the back, a room where he treated the animals. Like the house, it was run-down-looking, in need of decorating and some new furniture.

  ‘He hasn’t had a lot of work since he got here,’ I said. ‘Mrs Watson told him that’s because he’s an outsider. She said it will take time to earn the locals’ trust, and that her husband was born and went to school here so everyone knew him.’

  ‘She doesn’t sound very friendly,’ said Caitlin. ‘Though my dad’s found the same, I think. He said it takes a while for people here to let you in and that starting a new business takes time.’

  In the fields in the distance, we could see our dads chatting away. Josh was still with them. ‘Maybe our dads can be friends.’

  Caitlin turned to look. ‘Looks like they are already. Cool.’

  ‘They’re doing the fence pointing dance,’ I said as we watched them take turns in pointing at things. ‘Dad and Josh are always doing it these days. One points, one turns, another points.’

  Caitlin made up a version of the dance. Point, turn, point – then she added a knee bend, which of course I copied. ‘Looks like they’re getting on though,’ she said. ‘So where to next, Mrs Estate Agent?’

  ‘Er . . . next I’ll show you the holiday homes,’ I said and led Caitlin towards the stables.

  Caitlin looked impressed. ‘Seriously? You have holiday homes?’

  I laughed. ‘We do, mainly for small insects. Wait till you see them. Holiday homes for mice and spiders.’

  Caitlin pulled back. ‘Uck. Spiders. I don’t do spiders.’

  I went close to her and made my fingers walk up lightly up her arm and her neck. She shrieked and ran off. ‘Madame Belle Femme doesn’t like creepy-crawlies.’

  I laughed. ‘There’s a sort of tea shop in one of the barns. Want to look? Mrs Watson comes and opens it up on weekdays. She lives in a cottage at the end of the lane now but still sees this place as her territory.’

  ‘Only if there are no spiders,’ she replied.

  ‘No. Only bats in there.’

  Caitlin pulled back again. I could see she was going to be easy to wind up. When she realised I was joking, she started to mock strangle me. ‘You are ze crazee estate agent. I will have to keel you because I am not really a buyer, I am ze deadly assassin.’

  I freed myself from her and began to run towards the front of the house with Caitlin chasing and doing karate chops after me. Both of us stopped because we could see a battered car (red) coming up the lane from the main road. It drew up outside the front door and an anxious-looking white-haired old lady carrying a cat basket got out.

  I went over to her. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked.

  The lady looked down at the basket. ‘I’m Mrs Edwards from down the road. You can call me Lily. I’ve this cat here.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Have you come for my dad? He’s the vet. I’m afraid his clinic is closed this morning but he’ll be open again on Monday.’

  While we were talking, Caitlin knelt down to look at the cat. It was black with a white bib and had enormous gold eyes. ‘Hello puss,’ she said as the cat poked a paw through the wire of the basket’s door. The cat meowed in response to Caitlin. ‘Oh I think it’s trying to talk to me. What’s its name?’

  The cat meowed again, which made Caitlin laugh. ‘It’s trying to tell me its name. Is it a girl or a boy?’

  Dad, Mr O’Neill and Josh appeared round the corner and came over to see what was happening.

  Lily shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Don’t know if it’s a he or a she or what its name is. Just I can’t look after it. I know that. It came to my back door and won’t go away, but I have cats, see. I got three of my own. Can’t have no more. I was told that this is an animal shelter and I could leave it here.’

  Dad bent over, opened the basket and picked the cat up. He took a quick look at it. ‘It’s a she,’ he said.

  ‘Ooh. Can I hold her?’ asked Caitlin.

  Dad nodded and Caitlin gently took the cat from him. It nuzzled into her jacket straight away and started purring. As Caitlin stroked its head, she looked like she was going to purr too.

  ‘So can I leave her here?’ asked the lady.

  ‘Oh no, we’re not an animal centre . . .’ I began as Caitlin put the cat back in the basket, which she didn’t seem to like. When Caitlin closed the basket door, she complained loudly and poked her paw through again.

  Dad bent over to look at the cat again and she meowed at him as well.

  ‘She’s really trying to tell us something,’ said Caitlin.

  ‘Probably that she doesn’t like being in the basket,’ said Dad. ‘Few cats do.’

  ‘Can I leave her with you?’ asked Lily. ‘I have to get back, see. My son’s coming for his lunch with his kiddies.’

  ‘How do you come to have her?’ asked Dad.

  ‘She kept coming to my door. She was clearly starving so I fed her a few times. Wolfed the food down. She had no collar on so I’ve no idea where she’s from. I heard that there was a shelter here. Could you find her a home? Seems a sweet creature.’

  ‘Oh no, we’re not a shelter. I’m a vet. I see sick animals,’ said Dad.

  Lily’s eyes watered and she looked like she was going to cry. ‘But I can’t keep her.’

  ‘Have you put up lost cat notices?’ asked Dad. ‘She might be a cat new to the area who’s got lost, or could belong to a neighbour who’s got a dog or a new baby. Cats often leave home in circumstances like that. They don’t like change.’

  ‘I haven’t got time to put notices up! I did what I could. I’ve fed her and left water outside. I am an animal lover, but she wants to come in and my old cats wouldn’t have that. It’s not fair to them.’

  Dad could see that she was getting upset. He put his hand on her arm. ‘Of course you’re an animal lover. You’ve done your bit. I wasn’t doubting that.’

  ‘So can you take care of her? I don’t like to think of her out there in this weather, hungry and cold.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Dad. ‘Now don’t you worry yourself any more. Let me take your details and then the first thing we can do is to see if anyone local has lost her.’

  ‘I can do that,’ said Josh. ‘I could put up notices on trees and lampposts in the village and—’

  ‘And I could help,’ interrupted Caitlin. She gave me a quick look. I knew her volunteering wasn’t so much through love of animals as wanting to get to know Josh
better. Hmmmph.

  Josh didn’t notice. ‘That would be great, thanks. Come on, we’ll get started straight away.’ And off they went towards the house leaving me outside. Hey, I wanted to call after them. Caitlin’s my new friend, not yours, Josh.

  In the meantime, Dad had taken down Lily’s contact details and soon she was on her way back down the lane.

  ‘So what are you going to do with her?’ asked Mr O’Neill.

  Dad looked down at the basket and the cat looked up and meowed at him, as if asking the same question. Dad chuckled. ‘You are one talkative cat.’

  ‘We can’t have her in the house,’ I said. ‘Ginger would go mental.’

  ‘I know,’ Dad agreed. ‘But we have to put her somewhere.’

  The cat was meowing non-stop. I leaned over and picked it up. ‘Shh, we’ll look after you. No need to cry.’ It stopped immediately and wasn’t frightened at all. It seemed to sense that I would be kind to it. It started purring and nuzzled my cheek. I glanced up at the window to check that Ginger wasn’t looking out, in case he got jealous, and there he was on my bedroom windowsill, giving me a filthy look. I quickly put the black-and-white cat back in its basket and once again she let out a loud cry of objection.

  ‘Why don’t you put her in one of the stables?’ Mr O’Neill suggested. ‘At least she could run around in there a bit and be out of the horrible weather.’

  ‘She’ll be lonely!’ I said.

  Good idea, Mike,’ said Dad. ‘‘Don’t worry, Amy, we’ll look in on her. Let’s go and make her comfortable, then I’ll make us both a cup of coffee.’ He looked at me. ‘Actually you’re not doing anything are you, Amy? Make us a cup of coffee, will you?’

  And off they went towards the stables, leaving me standing there alone in the yard. Abandoned by Caitlin, treated like a servant by my dad. I looked up at the house and saw that Ginger was still on the windowsill in my bedroom. He put both paws up to the window as if he wanted to biff them open and, when that didn’t work, he sat back looking very cross.

  ‘Exactly how I feel,’ I said and stomped in to see what Caitlin and Josh were doing ‘Just call me Cinderella,’ I said to no one in particular, as I put the kettle on. ‘Everybody’s servant.’