Catcall

by Linda Newbery

Without the mask, Jamie was shut back into silence.

  14

  LOO-BRUSH

  We’d all been so busy with Jamie that I hadn’t noticed Splodge wasn’t around. Now, I realised I hadn’t seen him since we got in from school. Surely he hadn’t been outside all this time–soft old Splodge, who spent half his life sleeping on cushions? I looked round for him–the bean bag, the windowsill, the back of the sofa where he got the warmth of the radiator. Next I tried his upstairs places, but still couldn’t find him.

  When I went back down, Mum and Mike were in the front room, sitting together on the sofa.

  ‘I just don’t understand it,’ Mum was saying. ‘Dr Awan was quite right–there’s nothing stopping him from talking. It seems to be the mask that made him start to speak. It’s so peculiar–like he’s hiding behind it!’

  ‘Perhaps he feels safer that way?’ Mike suggested.

  ‘But why? Why should he feel unsafe without it? Are you saying he feels unsafe here with us, with his family?’

  Mike gave a search me shrug. ‘I don’t know, love, I really don’t. I was just trying to think of something that makes sense. Are you taking him back to the doctor’s tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, I will. But I think it’s the psychologist we need, not the doctor.’

  ‘Why don’t you give Paul a ring? Get him to come over. Maybe Jamie needs his own Dad. Maybe Paul could even go to the doctor’s with you. Or the psychologist.’

  ‘Well–yes, maybe I will–’

  ‘Mum,’ I broke in, ‘where’s Splodge? I haven’t seen him since I got in from school.’

  Mum turned to me, her face pinched up with a new worry. ‘No! He hasn’t been around, has he?’

  ‘Well, when did you last see him?’ I demanded.

  ‘He was definitely here when I gave Jennie her bath, because he sat on the toilet seat watching–you know how he does. But I don’t think I’ve seen him since.’

  Mike frowned. ‘No. I’ve not seen him, either.’

  ‘What, you didn’t feed him?’ I accused Mum.

  ‘No, I forgot, with all this Leo business going on.’

  ‘But he never lets us forget! He’s never missed a meal in his entire life!’

  ‘Then that must mean he wasn’t here,’ Mum said. ‘I’d have tripped over him fifteen times while I was getting tea, otherwise.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say? How come you didn’t notice?’

  ‘Josh,’ Mum said, ‘I’ve got quite enough on my plate, don’t you think? Without you pestering me about the cat. Splodge can look after himself.’

  I hated it when she spoke to me in that tired, patient voice. I turned away. ‘I’m going to look outside.’

  ‘Don’t worry! He won’t be far away,’ Mike said. ‘He’ll turn up as soon as he’s hungry, old Splodge the Podge.’

  ‘But he’s always hungry. I’ve got to find him.’

  ‘It’s dark, Josh–don’t go far. I don’t want you wandering about,’ Mum fretted.

  ‘I’m only going in the garden. Not on a Polar expedition.’

  I was in a mood to be fed up with everyone–with Mum, with Jamie, with Splodge for disappearing, even with Mike, for telling me not to worry, when I wanted to worry.

  Nothing was the same any more. We couldn’t just be normal, not since the baby.

  It was all Jennie’s fault! It must be. Jennie kept Mum tied to nappies and feeds and bathtimes. Jennie spoiled Mum’s sleep, making Mum get up in the middle of the night when she cried. Everything had been fine, before Jennie. Now it was all baby baby baby, apart from the times when it was Jamie Jamie Jamie–you’d think no one else mattered.

  My bad mood had sneaked up on me like a head cold, filling me up with it. I felt spiky and tight and irritable–I hated it, but didn’t know how to get rid of it, any more than I could get rid of the sneezes and the runny nose once a cold took grip. I wasn’t used to this! Mum was always saying how good-natured I am, how helpful, what a good brother to Jamie and Jennie. Just now I didn’t feel like being good or kind or helpful to anyone. As for Jamie, and all this Leo business–he was just copying me, that’s all it was. Cats are mine, and I’m not sharing them. This was a stupid, babyish thing to think, and I knew it. That only made me crosser.

  ‘Put your coat on, Josh, if you’re going outside,’ Mum called.

  ‘Gloves, too, and don’t be more than a few minutes.’ That was Mike. ‘It must be sub-zero out there.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I muttered. ‘Leave me alone, will you?’

  I took my coat from its peg and stomped out of the back door, shutting it hard behind me.

  Outside was so different from in, on this cold, cold night. We’re like cave people, barricading ourselves in with our lights and our fires against the chill and the dark, but it’s still out there, bigger than we can imagine. Same as it’s always been, always will be. We’ve got central heating and television and the internet, but we’re still living on this little spinning planet in the middle of all that dark, just like the earliest humans did.

  Thinking that made me feel tiny and unimportant. But at the same time bigger inside, like being on the edge of understanding something.

  It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, but it felt like stepping out into the middle of the night. Cold air pressed against my face, bit at my hands, streamed into my ears and round the back of my neck and through my jeans. I stood for a few moments on the patio, my back against the bright square of the kitchen window, letting my eyes adjust. Gradually, the high garden fence came into focus, a black slab against the sky, and there were street lamps beyond the high trees at the end of our garden, and lit windows in other houses. There was a sprinkling of stars, and a wisp of cloud like a scarf. As I looked, there were more and more and more stars, some bright and gold, others tiny pin-pricks. Course, they don’t look as bright as they would without the street lights. What was it like to be Early Man, even earlier than fire, with the only light coming from the stars and the moon? I felt dizzy, as if there was no up or down. I’d lose my balance, and tumble into the hugeness that stretches out for ever.

  I moved my feet, to convince myself I was standing firm on the ground. They’d already started to go numb.

  ‘Splodge!’ I shouted. ‘Splodgey! Splodge, come here!’

  I should have brought a torch.

  ‘Please!’ I added.

  My voice floated away, up and up, towards the stars. There was no one to hear me. I waited for Splodge’s chirruping Hello, and his furry warmth against my leg. My eyes strained for the white bits of him–on the fence, among the shrubs. I knew how he came out of the dark–his white splashes like pieces of torn rag, then they suddenly make themselves into a whole purring cat. I walked up the garden path, making myself as tall as I could so that my voice would carry over to Doug’s garden next door. Splodge goes over there sometimes.

  ‘Splodge! Splodgey! You’ve missed your dinner!’

  A shiver went down my back. What if cat eyes were watching me in the darkness? What if cat shapes were crouching among the plants?

  What was the matter with me? I was only looking for my cat. I looked in every corner of the garden, still calling. No Splodge. I hated the thought of him melting into the dark, hearing me but choosing not to come.

  It was so cold that I felt it in my teeth. Mike was right, I needed gloves and a woolly hat as well as my coat. In the morning the pavements would be silvered with frost. If I went back in, Splodge would quite likely sneak in through his cat flap in the next few minutes. And I hadn’t really looked everywhere indoors. Perhaps he’d found a new hiding-place. With the choice between a centrally-heated house and an icy cold garden, what sensible cat would be outside?

  I let myself back in. Mum and Mike were still close together on the sofa, and I saw a tear-trail down Mum’s face. I looked away.

  ‘Any luck?’ Mike said in the fake-cheerful voice he used when he was trying to pretend nothing was wrong.

  ‘No. No sign of him. I’m going to look upstai
rs.’

  ‘He shouldn’t be upstairs,’ Mum said, getting agitated all over again. ‘Not when Jennie’s asleep in her cot. You know that!’

  ‘Yeah, right, have a go at me!’ I felt myself going hot. ‘Why’s it my fault?’

  Mike looked at me sharply and I thought he was going to tell me off, but he only said, ‘Well, he’s got to be somewhere.’

  I stomped up the stairs.

  ‘Don’t wake Jennie,’ Mum called after me. ‘Or Jamie.’

  Jamie was asleep. I looked under both our beds, and pulled back my duvet, even though it was obvious there was no Splodge-hump under it. I looked behind the curtains. Then I went into Mum and Mike’s room. Mum leaves a night-light on, one of those things you plug straight into a socket, so that she can check on Jennie without having to switch on the main light or a lamp. I looked into Jennie’s cot.

  She was lying on her back, with her head turned to one side. Her eyes were closed. I couldn’t see now, but I knew that her eyelids were the softest mauvey-white, like the curved inside of a sea-shell. She made a small snuffling sound as she breathed. Her mouth was slightly open, then it made a sort of mumbling movement, and she dribbled a bit.

  All my bad temper came foaming up. Like when you drink Coke too quickly and it’s all fizzing inside, and you need to burp or sneeze to let some of it out.

  ‘It’s all your fault!’ I told her. ‘Everything was fine, till you came along. I wish you’d go away.’

  There, I’d said it! I stood tall over the cot, triumphant. My voice sounded strange–rough and harsh and hissy. For a second I thought it was someone else speaking. The words echoed in my ears.

  But it wasn’t someone else. It was me, loud and clear.

  What was I doing, saying nasty things to a sleeping baby?

  I knelt down and leaned into the cot. ‘Jennie, I didn’t mean it!’ I whispered. ‘It wasn’t me! I don’t know why I said it! You didn’t hear, did you?’

  She stirred and made a tiny whimper, but didn’t wake up.

  I watched her for a few more moments, hardly breathing. Then I stretched out a finger and touched her hand. Brand-new skin, living and warm, with fingernails, and little bones underneath even though I couldn’t feel them, all the same bones I’ve got in my much bigger hand. Our little miracle, Mike calls her. The way she’s made. The way she’s got everything in her she needs to be a real grown-up person. His beautiful little package, he calls her. Sometimes he goes all soft and soppy, cooing and muttering and cuddling her and talking all sorts of nonsense. He’s like a kid with a new toy, Mum says, only Jennie isn’t a toy. The girl she’s going to be, the girl we’ll get to know, my sister–where did she come from, that person? Where had she been till now?

  Although I like facts so much, I also liked this not-understanding. This wondering. I smiled at Jennie, and touched her cheek. I felt how firm it was, how real. She was here now.

  It was only when I went down again, and saw Mum and Mike both staring at me, and the almost frightened expression on Mum’s face, that a thump of shame and guilt slammed through me and I knew what had happened. They’d heard! Heard what I said to Jennie! Mum’s never far from the baby monitor. My horrible words would have been relayed down here five times more loudly than I’d spoken them. Or maybe she’d forgotten to switch it on?

  My feet seemed to be superglued to the floor. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. But I felt my face flaming red, my heart pumping and my ears burning.

  Neither of them spoke.

  Perhaps they hadn’t heard? Perhaps the monitor wasn’t on after all?

  ‘No luck with Splodger the Dodger?’ was all Mike said. ‘Did you try the airing cupboard?’

  ‘No!’ Glad to get away, I raced back upstairs. The door on the landing was slightly open.

  ‘Splodge? You in there?’

  The airing cupboard is where Splodge hides when there’s a thunderstorm, or fireworks, which are even worse. He stays in there for hours. He knows how to pull the door open by hooking it with his front paw, which is quite clever of him. I opened the door and knelt down on the carpet. There he was, crouched into the back corner, behind the tank.

  ‘Come on, you silly old lump! What’re you hiding for?’

  I tried to pull him out. He shrank back, and I had to reach in with both hands. Eventually I had him in my arms, stiff and resisting.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I said into his fur.

  I wanted to take him downstairs and give him his dinner, but Splodge didn’t want to be carried. While I was awkwardly trying to stand up, he struggled free, scratching my arm hard with the claws of his back feet. Then he rocketed down the stairs. His tail was fluffed out, the way it goes if a dog chases him in the street.

  I ran down after him.

  ‘Was that Splodge, or a piebald whirlwind?’ Mike was on his feet, looking behind the sofa.

  ‘Come out, scaredy-cat!’ I got down on all fours. Splodge was crouching there, between the sofa and the wall.

  ‘Come here, puss-puss-puss!’ Mike tried, from the other end.

  Splodge was looking one way then the other, quick and scared, with his ears pressed flat back. He looked ugly like that, some terrified wild thing, not my usual silly, softy Splodge-Face. I could see his tail, fluffed out to three times its usual size.

  ‘Leave him,’ said Mum. ‘He’ll come out when he’s ready.’

  Mike got to his feet. ‘Something’s scared him. His tail’s gone loo-brush.’

  As soon as he’d moved away, Splodge shot out and streaked towards the cat flap. It swung in and out behind him, clattering. I hesitated, wondering whether to go after him. Now he was out in the darkness, part of it, swallowed up by it.

  ‘It’s Leo,’ I said. ‘Leo’s scared him.’

  And me. I’d scared him.

  ‘Leave it now. At least you found him,’ Mum said. ‘I’ll put his food down and he can have it later. He’ll come in when we’ve all gone to bed.’ She gave a big yawn. ‘Gosh, I’m tired. Jennie had me up three times last night. Won’t it be nice when she sleeps straight through? And, Josh, look at the time. You ought to be in bed by now.’

  We all heard the sound from the baby monitor. A few whimpers, a small hiccupping sound, a wail, then full-scale crying. So it was on, and they must have heard me with Jennie. Mum set off up the stairs, slow and weary like someone trudging up the last steps to the summit of Ben Nevis. I followed, too ashamed to say I was sorry, or even to say goodnight properly.

  I’d said what I’d said, and it was impossible to unsay. But worst of all was that I hadn’t even meant it. For those few seconds, something had got into me, taken over.

  15

  TIGER

  On Thursdays, Mr Baynton takes our class for English. Really he’s a Geography teacher, and Mrs Lloyd’s our English teacher, but Mr Baynton has to do this one lesson a week because of a timetabling clash. He’s called Blinky because he always blinks a lot, especially if he gets wound up. Sometimes he takes off his glasses and dabs at his eyes with a hanky. First time I saw this, I thought he was crying.

  He was doing Poems. Today he read us this poem called The Tiger, which is so famous that I’d heard it before–the one that goes:

  Tiger, tiger, burning bright

  In the forests of the night,

  What immortal hand or eye

  Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

  When he’d read it to us, he told us what some of the words mean, like symmetry and sinews and anvil, and then he asked us some questions about it. What did we think of it? What did we like about it?

  There was a silence. Then Toby said, without putting his hand up, ‘This William Blake bloke who wrote it, he must have run out of ideas.’

  Mr Baynton blinked at him. ‘How d’you work that out?’

  Toby did this wind-up thing, opening his eyes very wide, then blinking just enough to make his friends laugh, without making it obvious enough for anyone to accuse him of taking the mick. The weird thing is, I’ve no
ticed Mr Baynton blinks a lot less when he’s teaching Geography. It’s English, and specially poems, that make him blink.

  ‘Well,’ said Toby. ‘’Sobvious. The end’s exactly the same as the beginning. He couldn’t think how to end it, so he’s just copied out the beginning again.’

  ‘And what does that do?’ Mr Baynton was dabbing at one eye with his little finger.

  Floss put up her hand, but before Blinky could ask her, Chad Wilkins joined in. ‘It doesn’t even rhyme. I mean, eye doesn’t rhyme with that word symmetry, does it? Unless you say symmetr-eye. Rubbish, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a sort of rhyme. A near-rhyme.’ Mr Baynton took off his glasses, rubbed the lenses with his hanky, and put them on again. ‘Poets do that, sometimes. Yes, er, Florence, isn’t it?’

  ‘Floss,’ said Floss.

  ‘Dental,’ muttered Bex.

  ‘See, Toby, I think you’ve missed the point of that verse,’ said Floss, turning round to explain. ‘It gives it a kind of frame. Brings us back to the start. Like we’re back where we were, still wondering.’

  Toby made a yeah, and? face, but Blinky did a lot of nodding, and tried to get other people to join in. Course, now that Toby had rubbished the poem, and only Floss had put her hand up, no one else was keen, so he told us a bit about rhetorical questions and then asked us to make a list of adjectives. When we’d done that, we had to write our own poem about a tiger.

  I didn’t like it. I couldn’t write about tigers here, in the classroom, with everyone else having a go at them. Cats are my private thing, and it didn’t feel right even thinking about them in a lesson, surrounded by other people. For a few minutes I considered doing a Jamie-like sulk–refusing to do anything at all. I could always say I hadn’t been able to think of anything.

  Then I remembered doing list poems with Mrs Lloyd, last term. I could do one of those. So I wrote:

  The Tiger (panthera tigris)

  Tigers are immensely strong and powerful.

  Tigers can bring down animals of ten times their own weight.