A Home for
Shimmer
Cathy Hopkins
Books by Cathy Hopkins, for older readers:
Love at Second Sight
Playlist for a Broken Heart
Series by Cathy Hopkins, for older readers:
Million Dollar Mates
Mates, Dates
Truth, Dare, Kiss or Promise
First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Simon and Schuster UK Ltd
A CBS COMPANY
Copyright © 2015 Cathy Hopkins
This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.
No reproduction without permission.
All rights reserved.
The right of Cathy Hopkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
Simon & Schuster UK Ltd
1st Floor, 222 Gray’s Inn Road
London
WC1X 8HB
www.simonandschuster.co.uk
Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney
Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
PB ISBN: 978-1-47111-793-0
EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-47111-794-7
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY
For Amy Smith and her real-life dog, Shimmer
Contents
Chapter One: Newbie Time
Chapter Two: Sad Cat, Stray Cat
Chapter Three: Horse Poo City
Chapter Four: Trump Town Blues
Chapter Five: Love at First Sight
Chapter Six: Sneaking Out
Chapter Seven: A Plan Is Hatched
Chapter Eight: To the Rescue
Chapter Nine: Chateau D’Espair
Chapter Ten: Cluck Cluck
Chapter Eleven: Looking for Shimmer
Chapter Twelve: Unexpected Volunteers
Chapter Thirteen: Disaster
Chapter Fourteen: Shimmer the Welly Wee-er
Chapter Fifteen: Invasion of the Men in Suits
Chapter Sixteen: Everybody Loves Shimmer
Chapter Seventeen: The Grand Opening
Chapter One
Newbie Time
‘It will be fine, honey. You’ll make friends before you know it. Text me later, OK?’ said Mum as I got out of the car into the cold, wet February day.
I shut the door and waved goodbye to her from the pavement. I turned and looked at the pebbledash buildings spread out in front of me, into which hundreds of pupils were swarming like bees into hives. Like me, they were dressed in a grey uniform with white shirt – but unlike me, they all knew each other. I felt terrified. Easy for Mum to say it will be fine, I thought as she drove off, leaving me to face the unknown. I’d been dreading this day for weeks. I’d be the new girl at a school with over a thousand pupils in Somerset. I’d never felt so alone in all my life. Mum didn’t understand. I’d be going into Year Seven halfway through the winter term. Everyone would already have their friends sorted, from the start of the school year in September.
Groups of girls with their arms linked, chatting away, passed me by. One gave me a brief, curious look, then carried on walking. Others called to each other; one threw a book that caught her mate on the back of the head. I knew I had to go in but I felt stuck to the spot, as if my feet had grown roots. The bell went and everyone speeded up. I took a deep breath. I can do this, I told myself. I’m not scared. But I was. I made myself remember the pep talk given by Mum and Dad this morning over breakfast. ‘A new chapter. Be brave. Yadah yadah,’ they’d said, and they were right. The move from city life in Bristol to the countryside village of Compton Truit was a big change for all of us. I wanted to be strong. I wanted to walk in with my head high, not skulk in like a scaredy cat.
What would Lady Gaga do if she was about to start a new school? I asked myself.
She’d strut right in with mad hair and a rubber chicken hat on her head. The answer came back from my inner Lady G. Head high. Get in there, girl.
I was about to assume Lady Gaga attitude (without the chicken hat, obv) and join the moving crowd when I noticed a girl had come to stand next to me. Her shoulder-length hair was the colour of dark rubies and her eyes were jade green. With my mousey-brown hair pulled back from my face in a ponytail and my normal, hazel-coloured eyes, I felt pale and boring next to her.
‘You new?’ she said.
I nodded.
‘Thought so,’ she said. ‘Me too. Shall we do a runner?’
I liked her immediately. She had an open, friendly face and her eyes were full of mischief.
I laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I feel like doing.’
She linked her arm through mine. ‘Well now there’s two of us,’ she said, ‘so it won’t be so bad. My name’s Caitlin O’Neill.’
‘I’m Amy,’ I said. ‘Amy Westall.’
She looked at the school and, just as I had a moment earlier, she took a deep breath. ‘We’ll get soaked if we stay here much longer, so come on, Amy Westall, let’s do it. Now, tell me all about yourself . . .’ she said as we marched in, arms linked, like the best of old friends.
‘So what brings you to this part of the world?’ asked Caitlin at lunch, when we’d found two empty seats in the dining room. Every table was full of girls eating, talking, laughing, making loads of noise. It was the first chance we’d had to talk properly because as soon as we’d got inside the school we’d been grabbed by a tall skinny lady with blonde frizzy hair and watery blue eyes. She turned out to be our class teacher, Mrs Lawson, and she escorted Caitlin and me round the school, showing us where we had to be for classes, where the cloakrooms and the dining room were. Caitlin kept a few steps behind her and mimicked the way she walked (briskly with stiff arms and legs) and mouthed the words that she was saying as though Caitlin was a ventriloquist and Mrs Lawson was her dummy. I would never dare do something like that, but it didn’t stop me cracking up at Caitlin, then having to pretend I was having a coughing fit. After the tour, we went in to meet our new classmates – and Caitlin was right, it wasn’t as bad as I’d imagined. Now that I had a friend who seemed like she was going to be a laugh, my shyness and anxiety about meeting so many evaporated.
‘Long story,’ I replied, as I got out my cheese and tomato sandwich and an apple. ‘Short version is that my parents have gone insane—’
‘Mine too,’ interrupted Caitlin. ‘Actually not just recently, they’ve always been bonkers.’
‘Mine too, but it got worse this year.’
‘What happened?’ asked Caitlin through a mouthful of crisps.
‘They went to Glastonbury—’
‘The music festival?’
I nodded. ‘That part wasn’t so bad, but while they were there, they went to a workshop run by an old friend of my dad’s. They were at school and uni together, then Dad became a vet—’
‘Your dad’s a vet? Cool. I love animals, especially cats. Our old cat, Smokey, died before we moved. I blubbed for weeks. Sorry. I’m always interrupting people. Go on. Your dad’s old mate?’
‘Yeah. He went to India to find himself—’
‘He should have just looked the mirror then he’d have gone: “Oh, there I am. I’ve found myself.”’
‘I so wished he’d stayed in India,’ I laughed, ‘but he didn’t. He came back and set himself up as a New Age guru. We used to laugh about it. “Uncle Robin. Haha. What a nutter.”
Then he invited Mum and Dad to go to Glastonbury, to stay in his posh yurt, and attend his “find yourself” workshop for free. At first Mum and Dad didn’t want to go, but seeing as they’d never been to a festival, they thought why not? A weekend in the country, some good music and a few of Robin’s boring lectures thrown in. “We’re not old yet,” they said. And off they went with their camping gear and wellies like a pair of old hippies. So embarrassing.’
‘Didn’t they take you?’
‘No, they packed me off to my aunt’s house. They weren’t the same when they came back. Dad especially. He said he wanted to change his life. That “life isn’t a rehearsal and we all have to make the most of the time we’ve got”.’
‘Unbelievable,’ said Caitlin. ‘Something similar happened to my dad. He used to be a teacher. We lived in Swindon and he taught geography. Everything changed for him when Grandad died. After that, Dad was different. He said, and I quote, “Life is too short to waste and I want to do something I feel passionate about,” so he packed in his job and we moved down here.’
‘Mid-life crisis,’ I said.
Caitlin nodded. ‘Exactly. Must be their hormones.’
We both sighed and looked out of the window for a moment.
‘So what does your dad do now?’ I asked.
‘Organic farming. He’s got this idea about growing vegetables. He’s actually a lot happier, but I don’t think courgettes earn him as much money as his last job. He’s always going on about “following his heart” though.’
‘I don’t believe it! That’s exactly what Dad said when he came back from Glastonbury. Those very words. “We have to follow our hearts.” He packed his job in too.’
‘What? Isn’t he a vet any more?’
‘Well yes, but it’s different here. Where we lived before, it was posh poodles and pedigree cats, that sort of thing. Here, he’s hoping to work with all sorts of animals but the practice isn’t open yet because—’
‘What town did you live in?’
Wow – Caitlin really did like interrupting.
‘Bristol. But Dad was brought up in a tiny village in Somerset and he wanted to get back to his roots.’
‘And all this happened after Glastonbury?’
I nodded. ‘It all happened so fast. Mum and Dad put our house on the market and it sold really quickly, then they saw a place down here and suddenly, as if someone waved a magic wand, abracadabra, here we are. Old life gone, new life started. Josh, my brother, and I—’
You have a brother?’
I nodded.
‘How old?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘Handsome?’ Caitlin asked with a cheeky grin.
I nodded. Here we go again, I thought. Girls were falling over themselves to get close to Josh recently. ‘He doesn’t know it though. He only likes animals and designing stuff on his computer. He’s not interested in girls.’
‘He hasn’t met me,’ said Caitlin.
I laughed. ‘What about your mum?’ I asked.
‘She’s a nurse,’ said Caitlin. ‘Dad moved here first, the summer before last. He came to get things set up and start planting the vegetables, and then when Mum got a job at the local hospital last month, we all came too. That’s Mum, me and my two younger brothers. What about your mum?’
‘She used to work as a receptionist for a dentist. She’s not sure what she’s going to do down here yet. She wasn’t as keen as Dad to move, but he talked her into it.’
Caitlin grinned. ‘Did he talk her into following her heart too?’
I nodded.
‘Imagine,’ Caitlin continued, ‘if your heart jumped out of your body, out of your chest, budoink, splat, on to the pavement and you literally had to follow it as it splat, splat, splatted down the road.’
‘Ew! You’ve been watching too many horror films.’
Caitlin nodded. ‘My brothers love them. We’re not supposed to watch them, but whenever Mum or Dad leave the room, over the channel goes into spook or zombie land. What about you? Did you want to move?’
I sighed. ‘No. Nobody asked about my heart,’ I said. ‘If they had, they’d have heard it saying “Nooooo,” very loudly.’
Caitlin nodded. ‘Me too. I was so freaked out about leaving my old friends. But nobody listens to me in our house.’ She looked around the packed room. I thought again how glad I was to have met with Caitlin. It would have been awful sitting here on my own like a loner. ‘I reckon we can either sink or swim here, Amy Westall,’ Caitlin continued. ‘We can be miserable for the rest of our lives, or make the most of it.’
I liked her attitude. ‘Let’s swim!’ I said.
We both mimed front crawl at the same time and then burst out laughing. We were completely in sync already. Our air swimming caused a few funny looks from people nearby, but I didn’t care. For me, it sealed the deal. My new friend was super fun and didn’t care what people thought of her.
‘Great,’ said Caitlin. ‘We can’t change the fact we’re here. Maybe it won’t be so bad and maybe we’ll get to follow our hearts when we’re older. I want to be an actress. What about you?’
‘Not sure yet. Maybe artist. Maybe writer. I like making up stories.’
‘Cooool,’ said Caitlin. ‘Maybe you can write me a part and we can both be famous.’
By the time we left school that day, we’d already swapped phone numbers and email addresses and had arranged to meet at each other’s houses. Life in Compton Truit was looking up already.
Chapter Two
Sad Cat, Stray Cat
‘Mum, it’s freezing,’ I called down the stairs, ‘can’t you put the heating on?’
‘It is on. Put another layer on,’ Mum called back. All week she’d been saying, ‘Put another jumper on . . . put another pair of socks on . . .’ It’s because the heating system here is prehistoric and the boiler gurgles, which is spooky late at night. I thanked God my old friends in Bristol couldn’t see me sitting here on a Saturday morning with a woolly hat on indoors. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror on my wardrobe. A girl with long hair wearing a green bobble hat stared back. I tried pulling the hat over to one side to make it look more stylish but it looked even madder. I didn’t care. It was cold.
Caitlin was coming over later so I got out my diary while I was waiting for her.
Dear Diary
I have landed on the moon. Might as well be, as it’s a million miles away from life as I know it.
Nearest shops: over half a mile away. Nightmare.
School: Some snooty girls, some boring teachers, but mostly OK and not as bad as I thought it would be. Love the art teacher, Mrs Rendall, which is good because art is one of my favourite subjects. She’s mad (in a nice way), très stylish, and made me feel very welcome. She loves interior design and got us looking at loads of ideas for decorating houses, which I can pass on to Mum.
New house: not so new. Where we live is called Silverbrook Farm and it was built in the 1800s. It’s a draughty farmhouse that has been extended over the years. It has low beams in every room which Dad keeps banging his head on. If he carries on this way, he is going to get concussion. I bet the house is haunted. We don’t even have a satellite dish because we are in the middle of NOWHERE surrounded by fields, trees, sheep and barns that are falling down. Also empty stables that are full of cobwebs and stink of horse poo, and there’s a barn at the end which is run as a tea shop by Mrs Watson, who is the widow of the vet who was here before Dad took over. Mr Watson died last year, which is why his veterinary practice came up for sale. I wonder if he’s haunting the place. Perhaps it’s not the boiler that’s making a noise in the middle of the night, but his ghost. Wooooooooo. Agh! I’m scaring myself. I say tea shop, but it’s basically a big shed with a couple of rickety old tables and chairs and a counter with a large tea urn for the people who come by with their animals and want a drink while they wait. I think Dad would prefer not to have to provide tea as part of his services but he’s a real softie and Mrs Watson’s
been doing it for years. ‘Gives her a reason to get out of the house in the morning and see people,’ Dad says. I think he’s a bit scared of her. She’s not very friendly and is always telling Dad how her husband used to do things.
My new bedroom: paint is peeling off the ceiling. It is in every room. There’s a damp patch in the corner and the wallpaper looks like it was put up about a hundred years ago. It was probably was. Pale green with little pink roses on it. So last century. The floorboards creak (also spooky at night). Plus the whole house has a musty smell. Yuck. Mum says it’s a new room spray called Eau de Damp. She thinks she is being funny.
Dad and Josh love it here. They are bonkers. I can tell Mum still has reservations. She says she has found the locals unwelcoming but she is being Cheery Mum which is Very Annoying. I’m not sure I like it here either. I miss my old life despite having met Caitlin. In Bristol, I knew loads of people.
I closed my diary and texted Natalia, my best friend back in Bristol. Help! I’m in the middle of Nowhereland, I wrote.
Her reply pinged through a minute later. I’d swap with u any day. Ur so lucky.
I knew she wouldn’t be sympathetic. She’d always wanted to live in the country. When I first got to Silverbrook, she insisted that I Skype her then carry my laptop around and show her exactly where we were. She loved it, saying it looked romantic.
I texted back. Knickers to you.
Underpants to you, she texted back. Exploding ones.
Natalia and I can have deep and meaningful conversations that go on like that for hours. We pride ourselves on them. Mum said it’s juvenile to text such silly messages to your friend. She can talk. She says ‘Oh, poo!’ when she’s fed up – and if that’s not juvenile, I don’t know what is.
I put the phone aside and got up to look out of the window. Caitlin was coming to hang out. I did explain to her that hang out was all we could do because there is nothing to do here apart from look at trees or go New Age mad and hug them.
‘That’s cool,’ she’d said, but I got the feeling that she was as much a townie as I was.
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