Underneath the roar of the wind, Megan and Ryan heard a deep, low growl. The cat was standing in front of the wooden gate. They were trapped.
This cat was far bigger than the one in the watchtower. It was a tawny colour with a big bushy striped tail and a large head. Its round eyes glowed pale golden yellow as it fixed them with a chilling stare and hissed at them with a blood red mouth.
There was no time to lose. They had to find somewhere to hide. Ryan grabbed Megan’s arm and pulled her away from the pens, towards Irene’s back door. He tried the door handle, but it was locked. There was nowhere else to go, so they dived for shelter behind the fallen bins, dragging them close for protection. And all the time the cat continued with its low menacing growl, as the wind whirled in torrents around the pens.
It seemed a long time before the cat began to move, but when it did, it moved slowly and purposefully towards one of the pens. Then it stopped and looked around with its piercing eyes. It seemed to Megan like everything was happening in slow motion. Then without warning, the cat sprang into one of the pens. Making a lunge for the piece of raw meat on the string, it wrestled the gruesome mass to the ground and began to rip the flesh apart with its long, sharp teeth. Megan’s skin tingled with fear and she began to shake uncontrollably. Ryan was trying to be brave, but didn’t know what to do. He took out his phone. ‘Shall I call the police?’
Megan was horrified. ‘No. We’ll get into trouble. My dad won’t cope with it.’
Ryan became irritated ‘Well we’re already in deep trouble now, aren’t we?’ he said.
‘Who shall I call then, if it’s not the police? You tell me and I’ll call them!’
Their voices rose above the moaning wind as they became locked in an argument about who Ryan should phone, until the sound of an approaching car caused them to stop. They looked hopefully towards the back door of the gatehouse and waited. Megan let out a sigh of relief when they finally saw Irene’s face at the window by the back door. Ryan sprang up, waving frantically. The next thing they heard was the back door opening and Irene’s angry voice drifting on the wind. ‘Get in here,’ she ordered. Then, throwing only a brief glance at the cat, she ushered them into her house and closed the door.
All they could do was apologise to Irene and try to explain how they ended up in her garden. She was angry at first, but she seemed to calm down a little when Megan explained how Ryan had been trying to save the cat in the watchtower. She listened with interest when Ryan told her about the bag under the wooden seat, but she remained silent until they had finished.
‘Thank you for telling me everything,’ she said at last, ‘but I don’t want you jumping to the wrong conclusions.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ll have to talk to you later. If what you say is true, I need to get to the watchtower to rescue the cat as soon as possible.’
Ryan was keen to find out more. ‘Do the big cats belong to you?’ he asked.
‘They are not technically big cats,’ she answered, ‘even though they look like they are. They’re called wild cats. Nobody really owns them, because they’re wild, but I do try to look after them.’
‘How did you come to have them?’ asked Ryan again.
Irene was reluctant to talk. ‘My late husband was trying to breed them,’ she said quickly. ‘Look I need to get to the watchtower.’
But before Irene could say any more, a loud crashing sound from the garden sent her rushing towards the window. The wind had detached a large piece of roofing felt from her shed and was hurling it across the garden. Irene headed for the back door and Ryan dashed after her.
Megan was about to follow them when something caught her eye. The little photo on the shelf that she had tried to look at the night before had something familiar about it. As she approached it to take a closer look, her heart gave a sudden leap in her chest. The woman in the photo was her mother and she was the child sitting next to her. Even though her mother had died when she was six years old, Megan recognised her mother’s red curly hair. It was the same as hers. In the photograph, Megan was sitting with her mother next to a shelf full of cat ornaments and in her tiny hands she was holding a basket of knitted cats. Megan didn’t know why she did it, but she slipped the tiny photograph into her pocket and then turned to look out of the window, as if she had never taken it.
She could see Ryan and Irene struggling to catch hold of the roofing felt, but there was no sign of the cat. She watched as they finally caught the huge piece of felt and tried to weigh it down with loose bricks. She knew she should go out to help them, but somehow she couldn’t move. A strange sensation had come over her that rooted her to the spot. In her mind, she could hear her mother talking: Sit here with me Megan. You hold the cats. That’s it. Smile. Good girl. That’ll be a lovely photo.
It was their noisy return that finally jarred Megan back to real life. Irene complained about the wind and the damage to her shed, and Ryan began to relate how he nearly dropped a brick on his foot in the chaos. But Megan hardly heard them. Her mind was elsewhere.
When Irene finally sat down in her big armchair she looked concerned. ‘Maybe I’d better wait for this wind to die down a bit, before I try to get the cat back from the watchtower,’ she said.
‘Good idea,’ said Ryan. He seemed delighted for another opportunity to find out more.
‘Did you get the cats from Scotland?’ he asked.
Irene smiled. ‘I can see you’ve done some research. Yes, my late husband Mike had a cousin there.’
When Megan heard the name Mike, she instantly knew he was the man standing by the sports car in the photo on the wall. She couldn’t remember exactly when, but she knew she had met him before.
Ryan was still seeking more information. ‘How did you catch the cats if they’re wild?’ he asked.
‘Mike’s cousin found a wild kitten that had been abandoned by its mother,’ explained Irene. ‘It was a male tom-cat and it was a vicious little thing. His cousin couldn’t cope with it and was going to have it put down, but Mike took pity on it. Everyone warned him that wild cats can never be tamed, but he wouldn’t listen. I wasn’t having that ferocious cat in the house, so he built a pen in the garden to keep it in.’
Ryan was fascinated. ‘Which cat was that? The one outside or the one in the watchtower?’
‘It’s the one you saw outside,’ she replied. ‘He’s getting old now, slowing down a bit. We couldn’t think what to call him so we just called him Tom.’
‘Did Mike tame him?’ asked Ryan.
‘Oh no,’ she grinned. ‘You’ll never convince a wild cat that you’re not their enemy, but he did get Tom used to being around humans. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t attack anyone, unless he felt threatened for any reason,’ she added, ‘or if someone tried to take his food.’ Irene chuckled. ‘I leave food out for him in the pen over the winter and he always manages to return for it. Tom really loves his food.’
Megan was still only half listening. As she fingered the little silver photo frame in her pocket, thoughts of her mother were sweeping through her mind like the wind before an approaching storm.
Irene seemed pleased that Ryan was interested in her story and she directed most of her talking to him, without really noticing the increasingly troubled look on Megan’s face.
‘Mike enjoyed the challenge of trying to tame Tom,’ she continued, ‘even though he never succeeded. Then the year before Mike died, he decided he wanted to breed wild cats and create a family of them here in Oakton woods.’
‘I thought it was against the law to keep big cats as pets,’ interrupted Ryan.
‘It is,’ said Irene, ‘but as I said before, they’re not classed as big cats, even though male cats like Tom can grow to be the size of a small cougar. And besides,’ she went on, ‘Mike didn’t want to keep wild cats as pets. He just wanted to keep the species going. He loved to see them running wild and free.’
Ryan was becoming more and more enthralled by Irene’s story. ‘Is that why Mike got the other cat?’ he said excitedly, ‘so they could breed?’
Irene nodded. ‘We got her from a zoo that was closing down. She was only a year old when we got her. They called her Zoe. We built another pen to keep her in, so she and Tom could get used to each other.’
She lowered her voice. ‘When Mike died I wanted to carry on trying to breed the cats, because that’s what he would have wanted.’
There was a pause as Irene became temporarily lost in thought, but it was Megan who finally brought the conversation to a close. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her head was spinning round so fast that she thought she was going to faint. She darted up from her chair and then, as if her body and mind could withhold no more, she let out a cry of such deep despair that tears sprang from her eyes and ran down her cheeks in rivulets. Thoughts of her mother had finally overwhelmed her, like a great tidal wave.
Irene leapt up and guided Megan back to the chair. ‘What’s wrong Megan? Was it the cat that scared you?’ Megan nodded as she continued to sob. She felt embarrassed that she couldn’t control her feelings after all these years. When she had one of these panic attacks, she would tell people she wasn’t well or make something else up. Being scared of the cat was as good an excuse as any.
Ryan felt guilty and ashamed. ‘It’s all my fault,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m really sorry.’
Megan looked up. She was trying to stop crying by blowing her nose hard on a tissue.
‘It’s OK Ryan.’
Irene thought it would do Megan good if they carried on to the café at the Hall as they had planned. She assured them that Tom would do them no harm as long as they left him alone, but Ryan wanted to know what Irene was going to do about Zoe.
‘I’ve been letting her free to roam the woods for the last month,’ she answered, ‘but she always came back to the pen at night for food. So, when she didn’t return all last week, I went out to look for her.’
Megan was trying desperately to regain her composure, so no-one would suspect why she had been crying. ‘Is that who you were calling when you found me last night?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Irene. ‘I thought the night time was the best time to find her, as she would be out hunting for food. Then I heard the screeching sound. Female wild cats can make that kind of sound when they’re in need of help or looking for a mate. I had some meat in my bag to tempt her to come towards me if I found her, but of course I never thought of looking inside the watchtower.’
‘How are you going to get her out?’ asked Ryan.
‘I’ve got a large cat box that she’s been in before,’ she replied. ‘It’s a bit like a cage, but I think I can carry it to the watchtower. She knows my voice so if she can move at all, I’ll lure her into that with some meat.’
‘What about the bag under the seat?’ asked Ryan. ‘Can you find out what’s in it?’
Irene gave a concerned look. ‘If there is anything valuable in it, I will have to take it to the police. Assuming I can reach it that is.’
She looked out of the window. ‘The wind seems to be dying down a little bit, so maybe I’ll go now,’ she said.
As they left, Ryan asked Irene if they could call in to see her on the way back. He said he wanted to find out if Zoe had been rescued, but Megan guessed he was probably more interested in the bag. Irene hastened them to the back door and out into the garden.
‘If I’m not here when you return,’ she called from the doorway, ‘I’ll still be at the watchtower. Come and find me there.’
4
Frog-Eyed Sprite
It was a pleasant walk down to the Hall. The track was narrow, but it was well trodden by walkers and easy to follow and they were thankful that the wind had eased a little. Ryan talked excitedly about what might be in the bag in the watchtower. He had lots of wild ideas ranging from smuggled jewellery to ancient treasure from Oakton Hall and he was fascinated by how the bag could have got inside the watchtower if the iron gate was locked. Megan wasn’t really paying attention. She was thinking about the photo in her pocket and wondering why Irene had pretended not to know who she was last night. She decided that the only way to find out was to ask her dad, but she didn’t look forward to broaching the subject with him. Whenever she mentioned her mother, her dad got upset. Megan had always wanted to know more about how her mother died, but her dad wouldn’t talk about it. She knew that her mother was killed in a car crash somewhere off the York Road, but she knew very little else because, for some reason, she couldn’t find anyone who would talk to her about it. As the Hall came into view, Megan shelved her thoughts and put her feelings away for later, as if in a box. That was something she was well used to doing.
The Hall was a majestic sight, standing proudly in the middle of a small lake surrounded by trees and ornamental gardens. They had to walk through a small car park to reach the narrow iron bridge leading to the Hall. There were only a few cars in the car park and one car stood out from the others. It was a small red classic sports car, with a soft top. Ryan headed towards it to take a closer look. ‘Very cool,’ he drooled. ‘I wonder who this belongs to.’
Megan joined him. ‘I don’t know,’ she replied, ‘but Kirsty was telling everyone at the swimming club that she had a new car and I think she said it was red.’
Ryan smoothed his hand over the car bonnet like he was stroking a cat. ‘It’s a Sprite,’ he said.
‘Yeah. That’s right,’ said Megan confidently. ‘It’s called a Frog-Eyed Sprite, because the two big headlights on the bonnet stick out like a frog’s eyes.’
Ryan was impressed. ‘How do you know that?’
Megan had no idea how she knew about this car. ‘I must have seen one before somewhere,’ she replied vaguely.
Ryan moved round to peer through the windows. ‘Does Kirsty smoke?’ he asked.
Megan shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Why?’
‘There’s a packet of cigarettes on the passenger seat,’ said Ryan casually.
They were still admiring the car, when they heard someone calling. ‘Megan. Hey Megan!’
A woman with two children came over the bridge, waving as they walked. It was Mrs Campbell, one of Megan’s neighbours, with her two young daughters, Esther and Ivy.
‘Hi Megan. We’ve been swimming in the new pool,’ they called.
Megan loved these little girls. They always seemed so happy. Mrs Campbell and the girls gave Megan a lift to swimming club every Saturday, so she knew them quite well. She had been going to Oakton swimming club for a while now and it was one of the few places her dad would let her go without him. She envied the two little girls having each other, and a mother to go swimming with.
Mrs Campbell looked very serious. ‘Did you know Mrs Harris across the road was burgled last night?’
‘We saw the police car,’ said Ryan.
‘Mrs Harris was crying wasn’t she Mummy?’ said Esther sadly. ‘They took her grandma’s ring.’
‘We’re going to get her some flowers today,’ said Ivy.
‘I hear the Hall was burgled as well the other week,’ said Mrs Campbell. ‘Sarah on reception told me they’re having to change some locks, because someone stole a bunch of keys.’
‘Come on Mummy,’ called Ivy as she ran around chasing after her sister.
Mrs Campbell went to gather them up. ‘OK girls, let’s go and get the flowers. Bye Megan.’
Megan was intrigued about what they had just heard. ‘Maybe one of the stolen keys was for the watchtower,’ she said as they headed for the Hall.
‘Maybe it was stolen by someone who works there,’ said Ryan.
The café at the Hall overlooked the lake, but from some parts of the café you could also see down into the gym. Megan went to the counter to buy the drinks and cakes, whilst Ryan found a table.
By the time Megan arrived with the tray of food, Ryan was looking towards the gym with great interest. ‘That looks like Kirsty lifting weights down there,’ he said.
Megan took the food off the tray and glanced into the gym. ‘Yeah that’s her.’
Ryan picked up his cake, but his eyes were still focused on Kirsty. ‘She must be really strong,’ he noted. ‘Look at the size of those weights.’
They both watched in awe as she lifted weight after weight, her slim body writhing with effort as she hauled each weight above her head with determined precision.
‘It must be carrying that heavy backpack around that’s given her all that strength,’ said Ryan sarcastically. Even though he had only met her once in the woods, he had seen her running around the village on numerous occasions and there was something about her manner that he didn’t like. ‘I wonder how she managed to afford that sports car,’ he sneered.
Megan ignored him. She didn’t really know Kirsty, but she quite liked her. She was one of the many people who had come to work at Oakton Hall Leisure Centre, since a new company took it over several months ago.
They had just finished eating when Kirsty arrived in the café. Megan beckoned her over. ‘I’m just showing Ryan round,’ she said. Kirsty grinned at them both. ‘If you’ve not been to the new pool yet, I’m on my way there now,’ she said. ‘You can watch me take a lesson if you like, but I’m in a hurry, so you’ll have to be quick.’
Megan jumped up to join her, followed by a reluctant Ryan.
‘I’ll take you round the back of the kitchens, its quicker,’ said Kirsty, still smiling.
A side door saying ‘Staff Only’ led them to the outside, revealing a panoramic view of the lake with ducks and swans gliding across the water. They followed Kirsty along a small pathway until they came to a grassy area with a large stone on a plinth. The stone had some kind of metal dial on it. ‘That’s a sundial,’ explained Kirsty. ‘There are lots of things like that around the grounds here. They were put in by the Squire who built the Hall.’
Red Snow Page 4