“Wot you lookin’ at?” Tina Trotts would shout at anyone passing by. Tina was the local bully, and her gang of teenage hoodlums ruled the estate. She was only fourteen but she could make a grown man cry, and often did. Every day she would flob on Zoe’s head from the flats as the little girl walked to school. And every day Tina would laugh, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
If the family had owned an allotment or even the smallest patch of grass anywhere on the estate they could call their own, Zoe would have dug a little grave with a spoon, lowered her little friend into the hole and made a headstone with a lolly stick.
Gingernut,
Much loved Hamster,
Expert breakdancer,
And sometime bodypopper.
Sadly missed by his owner and friend Zoe,
RIP2
But of course they didn’t have a garden. No one did. Instead, Zoe had wrapped her hamster carefully in a page from her History exercise book. When her dad finally returned home from the pub, Zoe gave him the precious little package.
My dad will know what to do with him, she thought.
But Zoe hadn’t reckoned on her horrible stepmother getting involved.
Unlike his new wife, Dad was tall and thin. If she was a bowling ball, he was the skittle, and of course bowling balls often knock over skittles.
So now Dad and Sheila were arguing in the kitchen about what to do with the little package Zoe had given to Dad. It was always awful hearing the two of them shouting at each other, but tonight was proving particularly unbearable.
“I suppose I could get the poor girl another hamster,” ventured Dad. “She was so good with it…”
Zoe’s face lit up for a moment.
“Are ya crazy?” sneered her stepmother. “Another ’amster! You are so useless, ya can’t even get a job to pay for one!”
“There are no jobs,” pleaded Dad.
“You’re just too lazy to get one. Ya useless git.”
“I could find a way, for Zoe. I love my girl so much. I could try to save up some of my benefit money—”
“Dat’s hardly enuff to keep me in prawn cocktail crisps, let alone feed a beast like dat.”
“We could feed it leftovers,” protested Dad.
“I am not havin’ another one of dose disgusting creatures in me flat!” said the woman.
“It’s not a disgusting creature. It’s a hamster!”
“’Amsters are no better dan rats,” Sheila continued. “Worse! I work all day on me ’ands and knees keepin’ dis flat spick and span.”
She does no such thing, thought Zoe. The flat is an absolute tip!
“And den the nasty little fing comes along and does its dirty business everywhere!” continued Sheila. “And while I am on the subject, your aim in de bog could be better!”
“Sorry.”
“Wot do ya do? Put a sprinkler on de end of it?”
“Keep your voice down, woman!”
The little girl was once again finding out the hard way that secretly listening to your parents talk could be a very dangerous game. You always ended up hearing things you wished you never had. Besides, Gingernut didn’t do his dirty business everywhere. Zoe always made sure she picked up any rogue droppings from his secret runs around her room with some loo paper and flushed them safely down the toilet.
“I’ll take the cage down the pawn shop then,” said Dad. “I might get a few quid for it.”
“I will take it down de pawn shop,” said his wife aggressively. “You’ll just spend the money down de pub.”
“But—”
“Now put de nasty little fing in de bin.”
“I promised Zoe I would give him a proper burial in the park. She loved Gingernut. Taught him tricks and everything.”
“Dey were pathetic. PATHETIC! A breakdancin’ ’amster?! Absolute rubbish!”
“That’s not fair!”
“And you’re not going out again tonight. I don’t trust ya. You’ll be back down de pub.”
“It’s shut now.”
“Knowing you, you’ll just wait outside until it opens tomorrow morning… Now come on, give it ’ere!”
Zoe heard the pedal bin open with the stamp of her stepmother’s chubby foot and the faint sound of a thud.
With tears streaming down her face, Zoe lay down in bed, and covered herself with her duvet. She turned to her right side. In the half-light she stared at the cage as she did every night.
It was agonising to see it empty. The little girl closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep. Her heart was aching, her brain was spinning. She was sad, she was angry, she was sad, she was angry, she was sad. She turned on to her left side. Maybe it would be easier to sleep facing the grimy wall rather than staring at the empty cage. She closed her eyes again, but all she could think about was Gingernut.
Not that it was easy to think, what with the noise coming from the neighbouring flat. Zoe didn’t know who lived there – people in the tower block weren’t exactly close – but most evenings she heard shouting. It seemed like a man screaming at his daughter, who would often cry, and Zoe felt sorry for her, whoever she was. However bad Zoe thought her life was, this girl’s sounded worse.
But Zoe blocked out the shouting, and soon fell asleep, dreaming of Gingernut, breakdancing in heaven…
oe trudged even more reluctantly than usual to school the next morning. Gingernut was dead, and with that her dreams had died too. As Zoe walked out of the estate, Tina flobbed on the little girl’s head as she always did. As she was wiping the flob out of her frizzy hair with a page ripped from one of her exercise books, Zoe saw Dad crouched over by the tiniest patch of grass.
He appeared to be digging with his hands.
He turned around quickly, as if in shock. “Oh, hello, my love…”
“What are you doing?” said Zoe. She leaned over him, to see what he was up to, and saw that the little package containing Gingernut was laid on the ground, next to a small mound of earth.
“Don’t tell your mum…”
“Stepmum!”
“Don’t tell your stepmum, but I fished the little fella out of the bin…”
“Oh, Dad!”
“Sheila’s still asleep, snoring away. I don’t think she heard anything. Gingernut meant so much to you and I just wanted to give him, you know, a proper burial.”
Zoe smiled for a moment, but somehow she found herself crying too.
“Oh, Dad, thank you so much…”
“No word of this to her though, or she’ll murder me.”
“Of course not.”
Zoe knelt down beside him, picked up the little package and lowered Gingernut into the small hole her father had dug.
“I even got one of these for a headstone. One of the old lolly sticks from the factory.”
Zoe took out her chewed biro from her pocket, and scribbled ‘Gingernut’ on the stick, though there wasn’t really room for the ‘t’, so it just read:
GINGERNU
Dad filled in the hole, and they stood back and looked at the little grave.
“Thanks, Dad. You are the best…”
Now Dad was crying.
“What’s the matter?” asked Zoe.
“I am not the best. I am so sorry, Zoe. But I will get another job one day. I know I will…”
“Dad, a job doesn’t matter. I just want you to be happy.”
“I don’t want you to see me like this…”
Dad started walking away. Zoe pulled on his arm, but he shook it out of her grasp, and walked off back to the tower block.
“Come and meet me at the school gates later, Dad. We can go to the park, and you can put me on your shoulders. I used to love that. It don’t cost a thing.”
“Sorry, I’ll be in the pub. Have a good day at school,” he shouted, without looking back. He was hiding his sadness from his daughter, like he always did.
Zoe could feel her stomach screaming in hunger. There had been no dinner last night as Sheila had spent all th
e benefit money on fags, and there was no food in the house. Zoe hadn’t eaten for a very long time. So she stopped off at Raj’s Newsagent.
All the kids from school went to his shop before or after school. As Zoe never received pocket money, she would only come in to the shop and gaze longingly at the sweets. Being exceptionally kind-hearted, Raj often took pity on the girl and gave her free ones. Only the out-of-date ones though, or those with a hint of mould, but she was still grateful. Sometimes she would be allowed a quick suck on a mint before Raj asked her to spit it out so he could put it back in the packet to sell it to another customer.
This morning Zoe was especially hungry, and was hoping Raj would help…
TING went the bell as the door opened.
“Aaah! Miss Zoe. My favourite customer.” Raj was a big jolly man, who always had a smile on his face, even if you told him his shop was on fire.
“Hello, Raj,” said Zoe sheepishly. “I don’t have any money again today I am afraid.”
“Not a penny?”
“Nothing. Sorry.”
“Oh dear. But you do look hungry. A quick nibble on one of these chocolate bars perhaps?”
He picked up a bar and unwrapped it for her.
“Just try and eat around the edge please. Then I can put it in the wrapper and back on sale. The next customer will never know!”
Zoe nibbled greedily on the chocolate bar, her front teeth munching off the edges like a little rodent.
“You look very sad, child,” said Raj. He was always good at spotting when things were wrong, and could be a lot more caring than some parents or teachers. “Have you been crying?”
Zoe looked up from her nibbling for a moment. Her eyes still stung with tears.
“No, I’m fine, Raj. Just hungry.”
“No, Miss Zoe, I can see something is wrong.” He leaned on the counter, and smiled supportively at her.
Zoe took a deep breath. “My hamster died.”
“Oh, Miss Zoe, I am so so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“You poor thing. A few years ago I had a pet tadpole and it died, so I know how you feel.”
Zoe looked surprised. “A pet tadpole?” She had never heard of anyone having one as a pet.
“Yes, I called him Poppadom. One night I left him swimming around in his little fish bowl, and when I woke up in the morning there was this naughty frog there. He must have eaten Poppadom!”
Zoe couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.
“Raj…”
“Yes…?” The newsagent wiped a tear from his eye with the sleeve of his cardigan. “Sorry, I always get quite emotional when I think about Poppadom.”
“Raj, tadpoles turn into frogs.”
“Don’t be so stupid, child!”
“They do. So that frog was Poppadom.”
“I know you are just making me feel better, but I know it’s not true.”
Zoe rolled her eyes.
“Now tell me about your hamster…”
“He is, I mean, was, so special. I trained him to breakdance.”
“Wow! What was his name?”
“Gingernut,” said Zoe sadly. “My dream was that one day he would be on the TV…”
Raj thought for a moment, and then looked Zoe straight in the eyes. “You must never give up on your dreams, young lady…”
“But Gingernut is dead…”
“But your dream doesn’t need to die. Dreams never die. If you can train a hamster to breakdance, Miss Zoe, just imagine what you could do…”
“I suppose…”
Raj looked at his watch. “But as much as I would like to, we can’t stand here chatting all day.”
“No?” Zoe loved Raj, even if he didn’t know a tadpole turned into a frog, and never wanted to leave his messy little shop.
“You better be off to school now, young lady. You don’t want to be late…”
“I suppose so,” mumbled Zoe. Sometimes she wondered why she didn’t just bunk off like so many of the others.
Raj beckoned with his big hands. “Now, Miss Zoe, give me the chocolate bar please, so I can put it back on sale…”
Zoe looked at her hands. It had gone. She was so hungry she had devoured every last morsel, save for one tiny square.
“I am so sorry, Raj. I didn’t mean to. I really didn’t!”
“I know, I know,” said the kindly man. “Just put it back in the wrapper. I can sell it as a special diet chocolate to someone fat like me!”
“Good idea!” said the little girl.
Zoe went over to the door, and turned around to face the newsagent.
“Thank you, by the way. Not just for the chocolate. But for the advice…”
“Both are free of charge for you any time, Miss Zoe. Now run along…”
Raj’s words went round and round in Zoe’s mind all day at school, but when she returned home to the flat she felt the same sense of absence. Gingernut was gone. For ever.
Days went by, then weeks, then months. She could never forget about Gingernut. He was such a special little hamster. And he brought her so much joy in a world of pain. From the moment he died, Zoe felt as if she was walking through a storm. Very slowly, as the days and weeks passed, the rain became a little lighter. Though the sun had still not shone.
Until one night, months later, when something completely unexpected happened.
Zoe was lying in bed after another insufferable day at school at the hands of the bullies, and the dreaded Tina Trotts in particular. There was shouting from next door as usual. Then, out of a brief moment of quiet in the night, came a tiny sound. It was so soft at first it was almost imperceptible. Then it became louder. And louder.
It sounded like nibbling.
Am I dreaming? thought Zoe. Am I having one of those strange dreams that I am lying in bed awake?
She opened her eyes. No, she wasn’t dreaming.
Something small was moving in her bedroom.
For a mad moment, Zoe wondered if it could be the ghost of Gingernut. Lately she’d found a couple of what seemed like droppings in her room. No, don’t be crazy, she told herself. Must be funny-shaped clumps of dust, that’s all.
At first all she could see was a tiny shadowy shape in the corner by the door. She tiptoed out of bed to have a closer look. It was little and dirty and a tad smelly. The dusty floorboards creaked a little under her weight.
The tiny thing turned around.
It was a rat.
hen you think of the word ‘rat’, what is the next thing to come into your head?
Rat... vermin?
Rat... sewer?
Rat... disease?
Rat... bite?
Rat... plague?
Rat... catcher?
Rat... a-tat-tat?
Rats are the most unloved living things on the planet.
However, what if I told you that what Zoe found in her room that night was a baby rat?
Yes, this was the cutest, sweetest, littlest baby rat you can imagine, and it was crouching in the corner of her room, nibbling on one of her dirty hole-ridden socks.
With a tiny pink twitching nose, furry ears and huge, deep, hopeful eyes, this was a rat that could win first prize in a vermin beauty pageant. This explained the mysterious droppings that Zoe had recently found in her room: it must have been this little mite.
Well, it certainly wasn’t me.
Zoe had always thought she would be terrified if she ever saw a rat. Her stepmother even kept rat poison in the kitchen, as there was always talk of an infestation in the crumbling block of flats.
However, this rat didn’t seem very terrifying. In fact, if anything, the rat appeared to be terrified of Zoe. When the floorboard creaked as she approached, it skirted the wall and hid under her bed.
“Don’t be scared, little one,” whispered Zoe. Slowly she put her hand under the bed to try and stroke the rat. It shivered in fear at first, its fur standing up on end.
“Shush, shush,” said Zoe, comfo
rtingly.
Little by little, the rat made its way through the garden of dust and dirt under Zoe’s creaky little bed and approached her hand. It sniffed her fingers, before licking one, then another. Sheila was too idle to cook, and Zoe was so starving she had stolen a bag of her stepmother’s dreaded prawn cocktail crisps for her dinner. The rat must have been able to smell them on her fingers, and despite Zoe’s grave misgivings about the snack, which bore no relation to prawns or indeed cocktails, the rat didn’t seem to mind.
Zoe let out a little giggle. The nibbling tickled her. She lifted her hand to stroke the rat, and it ducked underneath and raced to the far corner of the room.
“Shush, shush, come on. I only want to give you a stroke,” implored Zoe.
The rat peeked at her with uncertainty, before tentatively, paw by paw, making its way over to her hand. She brushed its fur with her little finger as lightly as she could. The fur was a lot softer than she imagined. Not as soft as Gingernut’s, nothing was. But surprisingly soft nonetheless.
One by one, Zoe’s fingers lowered and soon she was stroking the top of the rat’s head. Zoe let her fingers trickle down its neck and back. The rat arched its back to meet her hand.
Most likely it had never been shown such tenderness before. Certainly not by a human. Not only was there enough rat poison in the world to kill every rat ten times over, but when people saw a rat, they would generally either scream or reach for a broom to whack it with.
Looking at this little tiddler now, though, it was hard for Zoe to understand why anyone would want to harm him.
Suddenly, the rat’s little ears shot up and Zoe quickly turned her head. Her parents’ bedroom door was opening, and she could hear her stepmother thundering along the hallway, huffing with each step. Hurriedly, Zoe snatched up the rat, cupped it in her hands, and jumped back into bed. Sheila would go crazy if she knew her stepdaughter was in bed cuddling a rodent. Zoe took the duvet between her teeth and hid under the covers. She waited and listened. The bathroom door creaked open and closed, and Zoe could hear the muffled sound of her stepmother thudding down on to the cracked toilet seat.
Ratburger Page 2