This close, I could see every pin and every flap of skin on his face. I could also see that he was clutching something in his hand, and I knew it was the puzzle box.
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I tried to move, but it was as though I was stuck fast to the bed.
It was such a helpless feeling. I knew that Nani was lying right there beside me, but I couldn’t speak to her or even touch her. I was paralysed with fear.
Then the man with the pins spoke. “Beware the Curse,” he told me in a gravelly whisper. “Beware the Curse of Samarkand!”
I heard a clicking noise and I saw a light, so I knew he’d opened the box. Then I felt him pressing down on me, and the glow from the box got brighter and brighter till it hurt my eyes.
“Look inside,” the pin man said, with an evil laugh. “Dare to look inside. . .”
I couldn’t, though. I shut my eyes tight, and all the time the light was getting brighter, and the terrible box was getting closer.
The laughter was getting louder too, because now there wasn’t just the pin man floating above my bed, there was Sniper too. His face, underneath a gigantic grey hood, pushed up in front of the pin man, and he waved an enormous mallet at me.
“Open the box,” Sniper chanted. “Open the box, or I’ll bang-bang-bang you wif me mallet. . .”
He raised the mallet high in the air and as he did, the weight on my chest got so heavy, I could hardly breathe. I managed to make a little whimpering noise, and that made Sniper shout at me again.
This time, however, he seemed to have forgotten all about the box.
“Where’s me cough linctus, Yosser?” he roared down at me. “Where have they put me cough linctus?”
With one great jump I woke up. I was drenched in sweat, and my arms were flailing about. There was Nani sitting astride me, shining a torch into my face.
I was never so pleased to see anyone in my life. I squirmed out from underneath her and searched among the stuffed animals till I found the cough linctus, and then I poured some into the little plastic cup and gave it to her.
Then we lay side by side in the torchlight. From time to time Nani coughed.
“Can’t understand what’s given me this tickle, Yosser,” she said, with a loud wheeze. “Just woke up with it. . .”
I didn’t answer, but I felt my face get hot. I lay very still, thinking about the pin man’s evil laughter and how he’d kept telling me to open the box. Then I pictured Nani’s box, just a few metres away in my underwear drawer.
Supposing it really did contain a curse? Supposing it contained the Deadly Curse of Samarkand?
Supposing that was why Nani didn’t want it?
My imagination went into overdrive then. I thought about all the bad things that had happened lately – the recession, and the health and safety inspection, and Auntie Shabnam, and Sniper’s gang, and the mallet – and suddenly it all made sense.
It was like a curse. And ever since Nani had spat on the puzzle box, everything had got worse.
I switched off the torch. Nani gave another wheeze, then turned over and hugged me. Gradually her breathing became slower, and she began to snore again.
I couldn’t sleep, though. I just lay for hours in the darkness, holding onto Nani’s nightie and wishing with all my heart that I’d left the box from Samarkand where it was.
Better out than in
The next morning, when Nani and me dragged ourselves downstairs, the first thing we saw was a large B&Q carrier bag lying on the breakfast table.
“Auntie Shabnam arrives on Monday,” Mum said briskly. “That’s just four days to convert her room into an ultra-smooth, ultra-chic executive office.”
She took a roll of wallpaper out of the carrier bag and unfurled it. It had a design of red and gold zigzags.
“I thought we’d paint three walls Fiesta Red, with one jazzy Feature Wall,” Mum went on. “Make a bit of a splash – what do you think?”
Nani cast a malevolent eye over the red and gold zigzags. With a grunt of extreme disapproval, followed by a wheeze, she poured milk over her cereal and the tablecloth, and the toast rack.
Frowning, Mum turned to me. “We can always paint over it with magnolia once Auntie Shabnam goes home,” she said. “She’ll like it, Yosser, won’t she?”
I tried to imagine Nani’s room as an ultra-smooth, ultra-chic executive office with Fiesta Red walls and red and gold zigzags, but all I could think of was migraine headaches.
“It’ll certainly be bold and contemporary,” I said, and I glanced over at Nani, who was looking daggers at me.
“Might make the room look a bit small, though,” I added.
Mum drained the last of her tea and walked over to the sink. Her shoulders, I noticed, were right down.
“It’ll have to do,” she said. “I don’t have time to change it.”
Then she took the carrier bag and headed upstairs. “I’ve only got the morning,” she shouted back at us. “We’re going to have another health and safety inspection, so the shop’s got to be thoroughly cleaned.”
Suddenly, I remembered Killer Queen. “No!” I shouted, jumping out of my chair. “Wait!” And I thundered up the stairs behind Mum, three at a time.
When I caught up with her, she had one hand on the bedroom door handle.
“It’s OK, Mum,” I said, pulling at the carrier bag. “You can go to the shop right now. Kylie and me’ll do it.”
Mum looked doubtful.
“Kylie’s a dab hand at painting,” I assured her. “We’ll have the walls done by the time you and Dad get home – honest!”
I took out my mobile and texted Kylie, Wanna hlp mk N’s rm look lk a road axidnt?
Within thirty seconds Kylie rang me back to say she was “well up for it”. She also said she’d managed to get me a small portion of yesterday’s tinned salmon for Killer Queen.
“Off you go,” I told Mum. “It’ll be fine. . .”
And, with a look of relief, and a dire warning not, on any account, to give Bilal a paintbrush, she hurried off.
***
Painting the walls – even Fiesta Red – was extremely soothing. Nani was downstairs entertaining Bilal, and so we’d put Killer Queen next door to sleep off her salmon-and-milk breakfast. For a while, we worked away in companionable silence.
Underneath the calm, though, everything was churning up inside me, and the more Nani’s walls turned the colour of blood, the more they reminded me of the pin man, and Sniper’s mallet, and my awful nightmare.
I could feel the tears at the back of my eyes, and every now and then they seemed to find their way down my nose, which made me sniff. Of course, it was only a matter of time before Kylie noticed.
“You OK, Yosser?” she asked.
I wanted more than anything to tell her why I was so upset, but I felt I shouldn’t. The big birthday party was tomorrow night, after all. Her nerves must be stretched to breaking-point. So I said I was fine, and that I was only sniffing because of the paint.
“Have you noticed what a good view of your house you get from the window?” I said.
We stopped painting and went over to the window. Just then, Kylie’s front door opened and her mum came out. She had on a backpack.
“She’s off to the shops to buy in stuff for tomorrow,” Kylie said. “There’s a little ‘do’ in the house before the actual surprise party. She says I can sleep over with you,” she added. “If that’s OK?”
I nodded. “We can sleep in here in sleeping bags,” I said. “With our backs to the Feature Wall. . .”
We watched Kylie’s mum walk down the path. At the gate she paused, bent to examine a rose bush, then shook her head gravely.
“Greenfly,” Kylie explained. “They’re everywhere. Yesterday they decimated her early-flowering chrysanthemums.”
“Can’t she get greenfly spray?” I said. “That’s what Nani uses on her pot plants. Mind you, you’ve got to stay well out of range when she’s at it. . .”
; Kylie shook her head. “Mum’s strictly organic,” she said. “No sprays, no slug pellets. She relies totally on ladybirds and frogs.”
She sighed. “Nothing’s going right for her at the moment. Nothing.”
Sadly, we watched Kylie’s mum disappear round the corner. Her back view reminded me of my mum’s back view that morning.
“The noise was atrocious last night,” Kylie went on. “The whole gang was in Sniper’s room, and, honestly, you’d have thought the ceiling was going to cave in.
“Mum went up and asked him what was going on, and he just told her to keep her nose out of things that didn’t concern her. That way, no one would get hurt.”
She turned to me and said, in the saddest voice you could ever imagine, “I just want my mum to be happy, Yosser. And she isn’t.”
That did it. I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. All of a sudden they just spouted out of me and there I was, holding onto Kylie and weeping buckets and telling her all about the nightmare and the box and everything.
“I was going to give it to you for your mum,” I sobbed. “But it’s cursed, Kylie. Cursed. The pin man said so, and I know it sounds silly, but I believe him, ‘cause everything’s going wrong for everyone. . .”
I was just drawing breath to launch into a list of all the things that had gone wrong since Nani spat on the box, when Kylie hissed, “Look!” and pointed, and there was Sniper, creeping out of the front door with a big bundle under his arm.
“I’ll bet he’s going to hide the murder weapon in the garden,” Kylie whispered, “in case there’s a police raid. That’s what criminals always do. . .”
We watched Sniper flatten himself against the wall and creep round to the back of the house. When he got to the garden gate he dumped what he was carrying, looked around in all directions, stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave three sharp whistles.
“The signal,” Kylie explained, and sure enough, in a couple of seconds Germane and Twista appeared and the three of them slapped one another’s shoulders and banged one another’s knuckles. Then, hooting and shrieking, they disappeared round the back, out of sight.
Sinking down onto the floor, Kylie wrung her hands in despair.
“It’s like living with a time bomb,” she said. “I just don’t know where it’ll all end.”
Then she gave her head a shake, stood back up, and completely changed the subject. Kylie’s great that way – she never lets things get her down for long.
“You’ve got to get a grip on this box thing, Yosser,” she said. “Curses only work because people believe in them. You read about them in books, but they aren’t real.”
“But I do believe in the Curse of Samarkand,” I said. “I’ve got it into my head, and even though I know it’s stupid, I can’t get it out.”
“Exactly,” said Kylie. “You’ve let your imagination get the better of you. There’s only one thing to do,” she said firmly. “Open the box. See for yourself there’s nothing inside.”
I thought about it, and the more I thought, the more I saw that Kylie was dead right.
“You’ve got to hunt for the key, Yosser,” she went on. “Leave no stone unturned – it’s got to be somewhere in the house.”
Then she picked up her paintbrush and dipped it in the Fiesta Red paint tin.
“It’s like my dad’s always telling us,” she said, as she ran a large red slash from one end of the wall to the other. “Things are better out than in. . .”
Germane
On Saturday morning I woke early, to the sound of pouring rain and Nani’s wheezes.
There was a feeling of utter dread in my stomach, and a sour lump of guilt at the back of my throat.
I clambered carefully over Nani, fetched some milk from downstairs, then crept into the Fiesta Red bedroom. Killer Queen peeped out over the top of her box, and I lifted her out, and watched her drink the milk. Then I put her on my lap and stroked her.
Things couldn’t have been much grimmer. That morning, Mum and Dad were going to paper the Feature Wall. On Monday morning the new furniture would arrive, and on Monday evening Auntie Shabnam would take up residence.
As far as Killer Queen was concerned, we’d reached the end of the road.
I held her against my cheek. Her fur was silk-soft and she smelled of fishy milk. “There’s nowhere left for you to hide,” I told her. “And I’ve no more food for you. And you’re making Nani ill. I can’t keep you. I just can’t. . .”
Killer Queen meowed pathetically and watched, cross-eyed, as I gave her box a bit of a clean. Feeling incredibly sorry for myself, I lifted her back in, got dressed, and went downstairs to begin the hunt for the heart-shaped key.
I hunted everywhere. I climbed on chairs and ran my hands along every shelf. I tipped out every vase and every jar. I crawled under tables, searched inside drawers, and rummaged down the backs of settees and armchairs. I even felt inside the toes of ancient shoes and slippers. That key was nowhere.
By this time, things were beginning to stir upstairs. In double-quick time, I set the breakfast table, and by the time Mum and Dad appeared with Bilal, the tea was bubbling on the stove and the bread was in the toaster.
When everyone was settled round the table, I ran back upstairs and shifted Killer Queen into my bedroom. Kylie had given me a ball with a bell inside which belonged to one of the Papillons, and I threw it in the air and watched Killer Queen pounce on it, then roll onto her back and shred it with her back claws.
I wished I could play with her all morning, but of course I couldn’t. Before you could say ‘executive office’, Mum and Dad and the wallpapering table were on their way up. I threw Killer Queen’s ball one last time, then went downstairs to keep Nani and Bilal company, and to take my mind off things.
All week, Nani had been playing a game with Bilal which involved a load of plastic tubs. Every time he put a small tub inside a bigger tub, Nani would say, “In, Bilal. Say in,” and every time he tipped one out, she would say “Out, Bilal. Say out.”
The game was incredibly tedious, and Bilal only ever made gurgling noises, but Nani kept on and on at it. I suspected anything was better than thinking about red and gold zigzags and Auntie Shabnam. I sat on the settee beside Nani and we watched Bilal.
“Any progress?” I asked.
Nani smiled and shook her head. “The best things in life,” she said solemnly, “take time. Out, Bilal.”
I sat for a bit, watching Bilal dribble into his tubs. Then, cautiously, I said, “You know the key for the puzzle box, Nani? I don’t suppose you have any idea. . .?”
Nani frowned and chewed the inside of her cheek. Then she shook her head.
“If you don’t mind,” I went on, “I’d like to give the box to Kylie’s mum for her fortieth birthday.”
To my relief, Nani’s face softened a little. “Go ahead, Yosser,” she said. “And I hope it brings her more joy than it brought me. In, Bilal.”
***
By lunchtime I’d had more than enough of the In/Out game, so I changed into my very best jeans and my turquoise-and-silver kameez, and my glitziest turquoise hijab. I found an umbrella, and went to Kylie’s house to see if she needed help with the ‘do’.
When Kylie opened the door, she looked completely stressed out. Her hair was sticking straight up, and there were streaks of purple glittery stuff on it, and on her arms and her face.
She had two Papillons clamped to her chest. Another two were running in and out between her legs. Behind her, three more leapt up and down like demented jack-in-the-boxes. Every single dog was barking fit to burst.
“We usually keep the Papillons in the dining room,” Kylie explained, “but we’ve set out the buffet there. Can’t trust them with a roomful of canapés. . .” And she handed one to me.
Now, I’ll be honest, I’m not that keen on Papillons. I know they’re very cute, with their shiny black noses and their funny butterfly ears and everything, and I could probably cope with one if it was reasonably calm
– but seven hysterical Papillons was way too much for me. And, that afternoon, it was definitely too much for Kylie as well.
I dumped my umbrella and tried to sidle in, but my way was completely blocked. Then, as I turned to close the door, a Papillon took hold of the hem of my jeans – my very best jeans – and proceeded to shake it vigorously from side to side.
Handing me another Papillon, Kylie tried to pull the jean-ripper off. Immediately, the three jack-in-the-boxes smelt freedom and flew out of the door and down the garden path. With an agonised cry, Kylie raced after them.
As soon as she’d gone, the remaining Papillon joined forces with its friend, and a spirited tug-of-war began. I watched in horror as my very best jeans ever were shredded before my eyes. Then, when it seemed things couldn’t possibly get any worse, they did. Germane arrived.
Taking gigantic strides that sent all the Papillons flying, he strode up the path towards me, and as he walked he slowly drew his hand out of his pocket. I saw the bright flash of something small and silver.
A knife? A razor blade?
On the doorstop, Germane bent so that his face was level with mine. This close, he was simply enormous, and he was wearing some sort of musky stuff that made me feel quite lightheaded.
I gazed, mesmerised, into his shades. Every sequin of my glitzy turquoise hijab was reflected there. So were the whites of my eyes.
Above the shades, Germane’s dreadlocks hung like wet creepers in a dusky-grey forest, and somewhere to the left of his nose, a diamond sparkled like a solitary star in a dark, dark sky. For a long time, neither of us spoke. Then Germane did.
“You Yosser Farooq, then?” he said, in a big, deep voice.
For a split second I considered denying it. Then I nodded. I was beyond terrified.
“Got somefink for ya, Yosser Farooq,” Germane said, and he opened his hand, and held the silver object right under my nose.
I looked down into his massive palm. All I could make out through the rain was a vague silver shape which was pointed at one end. Desperately, I stood on tiptoe and tried to catch Kylie’s eye but Kylie, oblivious to my plight, was still chasing Papillons.
There's a Hamster in my Pocket Page 3