by Simon Mason
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THE CATS OF CUCKOO SQUARE: CALLIE'S KITTEN Adèle Geras
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Adèle Geras
DELL YEARLING BOOKS are designed especially to entertain and enlighten young people. Patricia Reilly Giff, consultant to this series, received her bachelor's degree from Marymount College and a master's degree in history from St. John's University. She holds a Professional Diploma in Reading and a Doctorate of Humane Letters from Hofstra University. She was a teacher and reading consultant for many years, and is the author of numerous books for young readers.
To Gwilym and Eleri
Contents
Dad
Lucy
Mum
Will
Dad
The Quigleys lived in the middle of their street, in a house with a red door. There was a mass of rose bushes in the front yard and a smell of cat. The Quigleys didn't have a cat. The smell was made by other people's cats.
Will Quigley was tall and blonde. His sister Lucy was small and chunky. For some reason Mum and Dad hardly ever called her Lucy. They called her Poodle, or sometimes Poodlefish. They didn't call Will anything but Will. No-one could explain this.
The Peacheys lived two doors down in a house without a front fence. Mr Peachey – Ben – had planted a single laurel bush with dusty leaves, which cats avoided, even the Peacheys' own, Fatbrain. ‘Not enough cover,' Ben said smugly. Fatbrain favoured the Quigleys' rose bushes. Ben's children were Will and Lucy's best friends. Their names were Elizabeth, Timothy and Pokehead.
One afternoon there was a knock at the door. Lucy was the first to reach it. She liked answering the door – she was just tall enough to open it, standing on tiptoe on the skirting board and pulling herself up by the handle to reach the latch. She liked opening it a crack and peeping out.
‘Hullo,' Ben said, peeping in. ‘There's a smell out here.'
‘I know,' Lucy said. ‘It's cat's poo.'
After a while she let him in. Lucy liked Ben. She liked his fair hair and his glasses. They stood together in the hall.
‘Mum's in bed,' Lucy said. ‘Mums need rest,' she added.
Ben asked if her dad was in.
Will appeared briefly at the top of the stairs, wearing boxing gloves and carrying a copy of The Beano, and drifted away again. Then Dad came out of his study, looking distracted. He often looked distracted. It wasn't just his face that looked distracted, it was his hair and arms and eyebrows too. Even the sleeves of his shirt looked distracted.
He came downstairs and talked to Ben. It seemed that tonight was the night of Ben's office party, and their babysitter had let them down. Dad pulled his ears and looked friendly. When he wanted to, Dad could look very friendly.
‘Yes, of course,' he said. ‘I'd be happy to.'
When Ben had gone, Lucy said to Dad, ‘Are you going to babysit for Elizabeth, Timothy and Pokehead?'
Dad nodded.
‘Tonight?'
He nodded again.
‘Can I come?'
He shook his head.
‘I could help.'
‘You couldn't.'
‘I could.'
‘You couldn't, Poodlefish.'
‘I could help with the midnight feast.'
‘There won't be a midnight feast.'
‘Why won't there be a midnight feast?'
‘Because of the football match.'
Lucy looked at him.
‘I don't mean football match,' Dad said quickly. ‘I mean because of having to go to sleep. Or Timothy won't be able to play in his football match tomorrow.'
Lucy said, ‘Are you going to be watching football on the television all evening?'
‘Don't be silly,' Dad said. ‘I'll be babysitting. Babysitting's a very responsible job.'
When Dad said goodnight to Lucy and Will that evening, he told them he was going round to the Peacheys' house and said that they were not to disturb Mum. ‘Mum's very tired,' he said.
Will, in the top bunk, said, ‘Are you babysitting?'
Dad nodded.
‘Can I come?' Will sat up in bed.
‘Timothy's got a new computer game.'
‘No.'
Will scowled.
‘Dad's going to watch the football,' Lucy said helpfully.
Will scowled so hard the whole of his forehead seemed to fold down over his face.
‘Nonsense,' Dad said quickly. ‘Anyway, it's not till later.'
‘You never let me do what I want,' Will said. ‘Never. And you do what you want all the time.'
‘Now, Will.'
‘You never ever let me do anything I want. You never ever ever …'
‘Stop it, Will, before I get cross. Now, come on. Give me a kiss before I go.'
Will immediately rolled as far away from Dad as it was possible to get, and put his hands over his ears. Dad lifted his face to the ceiling and shouted, ‘Just give me a kiss!' And at once there was a cry from upstairs and the sound of coughing, and Mum called out weakly, ‘What's going on? Who woke me up?'
Dad left the room, looking distracted.
The Peacheys' house was exactly the same as the Quigleys', but everything was the other way round. It was like looking in a mirror. You turned left, not right, to go into the living room. The stairs went up to the right, not the left, and when you got to the top you turned left, not right, into the bathroom. Even the cord for the bathroom light was hanging on the wrong side of the bathroom door.
‘Good,' Dad said, as he finished reading a story to Timothy and Pokehead in the living room. ‘Up we go. Elizabeth's already in bed.'
Timothy and Pokehead ignored him.
‘Bedtime,' Dad said, glancing at his watch. ‘You monsters,' he added.
‘I don't go to bed,' Pokehead said conversationally.
‘She doesn't,' Timothy said.
‘Of course she does,' Dad said. ‘We all go to bed. We all need our sleep.'
‘I don't,' Pokehead said. She turned her face to him and stared at him unblinkingly. She had a wide face, very smooth skin and deep-set clear eyes. She looked capable of anything.
Dad said, ‘Remember what your mum and dad said.'
‘They can't do anything with me either,' Pokehead said.
Dad thought for a moment. He looked anxiously at his watch and glanced briefly towards the television set. Then he picked Pokehead up and tucked her under his arm. This seemed to surprise her. He carried her upstairs, and Timothy followed, looking interested. Taking advantage of the impression he'd created, Dad brushed their teeth and made sure they went to the toilet.
He tucked them in, Timothy in the top bunk, Pokehead in the bottom, and turned off the light. And turned it on again to look for Timothy's wet rabbit, which he found in the toilet, and turned it off again. And turned it on for the second time to look for Pokehead's five knitted penguins, which he found, eventually, already in her bed. And turned off the light for the last time, saying that he was not turning it on again in any circumstances, and said goodnight, and went down the stairs two at a time, looking distracted, and dashed into the living room, where he immediately turned on the television. He stared at it. Though the game had started only ten minutes earlier, the score was already 2-1, and the commentator was saying that never, in all his life, had he seen such a wonderful openi
ng to a game. Swearing openly because there were no children around, Dad sank into a chair, and when he turned his head he found Pokehead standing next to him.
‘What did you say?' she asked, staring at him. Before he could reply, she said, ‘Have you fed Fatbrain yet? I'll show you how to do it, if you want. First you have to get a big knife.'
When Pokehead was back in bed, about a minute later, Dad returned to the television and found that the score was now 2-2. The television commentator was choking with excitement. Almost immediately, from upstairs came the sounds of a disturbance, and he slowly backed out of the living room, keeping his eyes on the television until the last possible moment.
When he returned to the living room a quarter of an hour later, after separating Timothy and Pokehead, he found no change to the score in the football match, but both sides had had two men sent off. At once there was a crash in the kitchen, and he sprang up from his chair and ran out of the living room.
Pokehead was balancing on one leg on a chair, trying to open a can of cat food with a carving knife.
‘I need another knife,' she said, when she saw Dad. ‘This one doesn't work properly.'
Dad took the knife off her. ‘Listen to me, Pokehead,' he said in a quiet, strained voice.
‘I like you. I like your mum and dad.
You're my daughter's best friend. But if you don't go to bed and settle down now, I'll make sure you never see her again, as long as you live.' Then he picked her up and carried her upstairs.
The rest of the football match on television was entirely without incident. Dad sat there considering his evening. He thought that enough of it had been ruined already. He took a decision: if Pokehead played up any more he would take no notice of her. See how she liked that. This made him feel much better. He wondered if there was any beer in the Peacheys' fridge. There was.
After this, whenever he heard soft footsteps upstairs, he ignored them. Once or twice there was a pattering down in the hall, but he didn't investigate. Only once did he actually catch sight of Pokehead. He turned in his chair to see her tiptoeing past the living room door. But when he opened his mouth to speak, she held a finger to her lips, and tiptoed away again. He stayed where he was, and at last everything was quiet.
After the football match was over he went to check on the children. Elizabeth, who had her own room, was sleeping neatly on her side. Timothy was sprawled on his top bunk as if he'd just dropped off the ceiling, his duvet bunched round him. But Pokehead's bed was empty.
Dad stared at the bed as if a bed was something he'd never seen before. He frisked the duvet with his hands, then got down on his knees and looked under the bed. He checked the top bunk, to see if she'd crawled in with her brother, but there was just Timothy, with his mouth open. He went round the room, looking into the corners. Then he went round again, looking in the book cupboard, behind the curtains and in all the drawers.
‘Pokehead?' he whispered. ‘Pokehead?' The room was silent except for Timothy's heavy breathing.
Dad swore, though he knew he shouldn't. He left the room – looking very distracted – and began to search through the house.
In bed just down the street, Lucy was having one of her dreams about doors. She dreamed she opened a door and went into a room, and found another door in front of her. She opened that door and went into another room the same as the first, with another door in it, and she opened that door, and went into another room the same as the other two. She was just opening the next door when Dad woke her up.
‘It's me,' he hissed. ‘Are you awake?' ‘No,' she said sleepily. She yawned. ‘You mustn't wake Mum either.'
‘That's why I'm waking you,' Dad whispered. She opened her eyes. ‘You have to help me,' Dad said. He was shaking Will lying next to her. In the night Will had come down to her bed, as usual. Will was scared of the dark, but Lucy didn't mind, she liked him being with her. It was friendlier with two. When Dad shook him, Will woke up with a loud snort, saying, ‘Dunno.'
Dad was telling them both something about Pokehead, but he wasn't making any sense.
Will said, ‘What do you mean, lost her?' ‘Quickly, get dressed,' Dad said. ‘Ben and Philippa will be back in half an hour. You have to help me find her.'
In five minutes they were all standing in the Peacheys' hall. It was very quiet and most of the lights were out. It felt strange, as if they shouldn't be there.
‘Are we allowed to whisper?' Lucy whispered.
Dad said, ‘Listen to me carefully. She's not in her bed, she's not in Timothy's bed, or Elizabeth's. She's not anywhere. I've checked the whole house, I've even been up to the attic, which she couldn't possibly get to.' He thought about this. ‘Which I don't think she could have got to. I've checked all the windows, I've looked in the cupboard under the stairs, I've been out in the back garden. Nothing,' he said. ‘There are two possibilities. One is that she's had an accident somewhere in the house, somewhere where we can't hear her. Like the roof,' he said grimly. ‘The other …' He went pale. ‘The other possibility is that she left the house.'
‘How could she have left the house?' Will said. ‘You'd have seen her.'
Dad said nothing.
‘Was it when you were watching football on the television?' Lucy asked helpfully.
Dad swallowed. ‘I'm going out there now,' he said. ‘You two have to stay here in case Timothy or Elizabeth wakes up. Don't wake them deliberately though, they'd only be frightened. Try to think of places Pokehead might be. Little places,' he added. ‘Dark, little places where she'd know I'd never find her.'
Then he went. They heard him calling down the street: ‘Pokehead! Come home, Pokehead!'
The Peacheys' house was hushed and strange. The rooms were different colours from the Quigleys', and they had different smells, and everything was the wrong way round.
‘You have to hold hands, Will,' Lucy said.
Holding hands, they went upstairs. In Pokehead's room, Will climbed up the bunk-bed ladder and looked at Timothy as he slept.
‘His mouth's open,' he whispered to Lucy.
Then they stood on the landing, holding hands.
‘I don't want to go into the attic,' Lucy said.
‘Dad's already looked in the attic.'
‘Dad's already looked everywhere. Is Dad in trouble, Will?'
They stood there thinking about Dad.
‘I have to go to the toilet,' Lucy said.
‘You have to come with me.'
Still holding hands, they went along the landing to the bathroom, and Will found the light switch, though it was on the wrong side of the door. They were very quiet, and they could hear how quiet the house was.
Lucy sat on the toilet, feeling scared.
‘I'm scared, Will,' she said. ‘I don't want to go and look in those dark, little places. I want to stay here.'
Will said, in a strange voice, ‘I've got to go and check the roof.'
Lucy knew Will was frightened of the dark. ‘Don't go, Will,' she said. ‘You'll be scared.'
‘Dad said I had to,' he said. He walked stiffly across the bathroom, holding his arms against his sides, and when he turned to her his face had gone flat the way it did when he was determined.
‘He didn't, Will,' Lucy said. ‘Don't go. Stay here with me.'
‘I have to,' Will said. Lucy noticed that he was standing up very straight. And then he went.
Now Lucy was alone. She sat on the toilet in the Peacheys' bathroom, feeling scared. The house was quieter than ever. She imagined Will creeping out on to the dark roof high above her. She was good at imagining things, making up stories in her head, but she didn't like this story, and when she'd imagined Will climbing up the steep, wet roof and clinging on to the chimney, she wanted to stop. Once, from the street outside, she heard Dad's faint voice: ‘Pokehead! Poke-head!' Then it was gone. She couldn't help herself: she gave a few little gasps, and felt the tears come into her eyes.
Then suddenly Will was in the bathroom again, sitting with his back a
gainst the wall, and holding his arm, as if he'd hurt it.
‘Will!' she cried. ‘Did you find her?'
Will said nothing, nursing his arm, and panting slightly.
‘Have you hurt yourself, Will? Did you go right over the roof?'
‘I've got to talk to Dad,' Will said gruffly.
‘You were very brave, Will,' Lucy said.
Will began to soften. He gave an enormous wince and said, ‘It's nothing, just a scratch. I didn't go all the way over the roof. You can't get all the way over.
Actually,' he said, ‘you can't get onto the roof at all, not from the house. But there's a window in Ben and Philippa's room, really high up, and, if you hold on right, you can lean out and look onto the roof. Onto a bit of the roof anyway.'
Lucy looked at him with admiration. ‘Did you lean out, Will?' she asked.
He shrugged. ‘I could have done,' he said, ‘if I'd had to.' He was going to say more, but they heard Dad come in the front door, and they ran together to the top of the stairs. He was alone.
‘Are you two all right?' he called, looking up.
‘She's not on the roof, Dad,' Will said in the gruff voice he'd used before.
Dad looked at him in a funny way. Then he said, ‘Thanks, Will. I knew I could count on you.'
‘What are you going to do now, Dad?' Will asked.
‘I'm going to call the police,' he said.
Lucy and Will stayed at the top of the stairs, and listened to him talking on the phone. ‘Six years old,' they heard him say. ‘About an hour ago.' Then he came out of the living room, and said to them, ‘They're on their way. Ben and Philippa will be here soon, as well. From wherever it is they've gone.'
‘Ben's office party,' said Lucy, who was good at remembering things about people.
‘Yes, the office party,' Dad said. ‘Do you two want to go back home now?'
Lucy shook her head. Will said, ‘We want to stay with you, Dad.'
Lucy and Will sat on the top step, while Dad paced up and down the hallway below.