‘Oh God,’ I breathed, clutching Jem’s arm.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he whispered quickly. ‘No one will hear.’
Simeon manoeuvered The Bus expertly, exactly judging the width of the path between the ponds and bringing the rear doors plumb with the gate of the cage, a small gap remaining for him to squeeze through. Jem opened the van doors, placed a plank, ramp-like, against the van and pulled out an orange tarpaulin. There was rope if we needed it, but Jem reckoned we could roll Cleo without it. We spread the folded tarpaulin in front of the hut and stood, well lit by the moon, watching each other, hesitating before the next bit. (‘The brawn part,’ Simeon called it. ‘As opposed to the brain part.’)
Jem knelt down and crawled in beside Cleo. Five seconds later he was out again, swearing in horror.
‘Jesus bloody Christ! She’s still awake! You stupid shit!’ He swiped at Simeon with his fist.
‘Bullshit.’
‘Her head moved, fuckwit.’
‘They do that, fuckwit. People move when they’re doped. Doesn’t mean they’re awake.’ He bent down and extended an arm slowly into the hut, touching Cleo’s neck, feeling around. ‘I don’t think she’s fully out,’ he said. ‘But she won’t be any problem.’
Jem was still shaking. ‘Christ, Simeon, you know less than three-fifths of fuck-all about big cats. This is a fierce animal, a slow swipe of her paw could lay you out.’
‘She’s unconscious, she’s not going to swipe …’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ I said, annoyed with both of them, anxious about time. ‘We’re wasting time.’ I dropped down and crawled into Cleo’s hut.
‘Cat!’
‘I’ll push,’ I said, ‘you two pull. Move it.’
It was blacker than night inside the hut, but warm and rich with Cleo’s smell — a rank mixture of dusty pelt, old straw and urine. I crawled over the straw to the back of the hut, conscious of the heat coming from Cleo’s body, certain I could hear the slow beat of her heart.
‘It’s all right, sweetie,’ I said, ‘we’re getting there, I’m going to push and Jem’s going to pull …’ I stroked her flanks, surprised at the hard, wiry feel of the fur. She moved beneath my hand, a slight motion, but jerky, and I gave a squeak.
‘What!’ said Jem, at the opening of the hut.
‘Let’s hurry,’ I said.
‘I couldn’t see what Jem and Simeon did,’ I told Miriam, ‘but later when we were in The Bus and sort of hysterical with relief we just babbled at each other — what we did, what it felt like. I think Simeon hauled her front legs and Jem wrapped his arms right round her neck and pulled it towards the opening.’
‘Incredible,’ said Miriam. She seemed genuinely impressed.
‘I pushed sort of up and out, on her rear, my nose buried in her pelt.’
‘She smells like a toilet,’ said Simeon.
‘Shut up,’ said Jem and I together, grunting into Cleo’s fur. But in fact after the initial effort we moved her easily. She seemed finally to glide off the straw, through the opening, onto the tarpaulin. I moved forward with her out into the caged area.
‘Stand on the tarp, Cat,’ said Jem urgently, ‘it’s gonna slide.’
I grabbed the edge of the tarpaulin, pulling now, as Jem and Simeon moved Cleo into the middle. We all stood, then, panting hard, hearts thumping, staring briefly at the black shape on the orange spread, coiled in on itself, foetus-like. And as we stared Cleo seemed to unfurl like a flower on time-lapse film, her body and legs stretching in spasms.
‘Holy fuck,’ said Simeon. ‘Let’s move it.’
We did move, strangely rhythmic together, fluid and co-operative, all of us dragging the tarpaulin to the gate, then up the ramp, Jem and Simeon holding the sides high, me tilting the bottom end so Cleo didn’t slide out backwards. She seemed to fill the inside of the van, though Simeon had emptied it of his gear and removed the stereo speakers to make extra room. (He had also, on Jem’s instruction, nailed in place a wall of reinforcing mesh which separated the cab of the van from the rear section.) As we pushed Cleo in and lifted the ramp, she let out a snortle and stretched again, her legs rasping softly against the tarpaulin.
‘Relax,’ said Simeon, closing the doors of the van quickly. ‘So she’s stretching a little, so what? No sweat. It’ll take hours for that dose to wear right off. We’ve got time to get to Otira and back again. At least she’ll be ready to go when we get there.’
‘Yeah, but she’ll have gone apeshit inside that confined space first,’ said Jem, his voice low and furious. ‘You fucked up, brother.’
‘Calm him down, would ya, Red?’ said Simeon. ‘She’s in REM, for Christ’s sake, dreaming about the jungle. We have got a stack of time. Just chill out, Jemmy.’
I grabbed Jem’s hand, thinking he might hit Simeon.
‘This cat is a cool cat,’ said Simeon, when we were inside the cab. He turned the ignition, laughing softly. ‘And Red’s a cool Cat, too. And it goes without saying I’m a cool cat, so that leaves you, little …’
‘If you don’t shut up,’ said Jem, when Simeon stopped the van on the drive and Jem got out to shut the gate, ‘I’m going to smash your cretinous face.’
‘He’s an emotional boy, isn’t he?’ said Simeon indulgently.
‘Simeon,’ I said, wearily, ‘could you please stop it?’
‘Hey, Red,’ Simeon slurred, no doubt rolling his eyes, ‘all unner control.’
It wasn’t of course.
‘I’ve thought about this a lot,’ I said to Miriam, ‘and I think Simeon wanted it to happen like this.’
‘Like what?’ said Miriam.
‘He wanted to wind Jem up. He deliberately reduced the tranquilliser dose, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted Cleo to wake up, he thought it would liven things up, get Jem agitated. He didn’t want it to be a straightforward thing. He wanted us to be frightened and uncool. He liked trouble. But only trouble that he had anticipated,’ I said slowly, thinking back. ‘Trouble that he could control.’
‘Dangerous,’ said Miriam.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He underestimated Jem.’
‘And what about you?’
‘Did he underestimate me?’
‘No, did you underestimate Jem?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I didn’t at all expect what came next.’
At first Cleo seemed only to yawn and stretch and snortle, but the sounds, so near, were unnerving.
‘Good pussy,’ said Simeon. He drove through the QEII Drive roundabout, west through the new connection to Northcote and then north until we reached the edge of the airport. Then we started heading westward, to the mountains. I stared out into the black country night, studiously not thinking about the day before what was now yesterday, when I’d last been in the van. Beside me, Jem was silent, no doubt biting his tongue, choking back recriminations. I touched his hand and it flickered only slightly under mine.
Cleo’s smell, contained in such a small space, seemed to fill the van, pungent and feral. At Yaldhurst she let out a distinct whine and by West Melton she was scratching the tarpaulin. Jem watched her through the mesh, but said nothing.
‘What’s happening?’ said Simeon, apparently unworried.
‘She’s going to try and get up soon,’ said Jem neutrally.
At the turnoff to Sheffield Jem nudged me and I turned to see Cleo rise shakily on all fours. Her head was about fifteen centimetres from the ceiling, her nose right against the mesh. I stared straight into unearthly yellow eyes.
‘Simeon, stop!’ I said, turning quickly away, moving instinctively towards the dash. ‘Stop! She is seriously awake.’
‘Whoa Trigger!’ said Simeon, pulling over. ‘Fuckwitted animal.’ He looked at Cleo. In answer she yawned, her big eye-teeth uncomfortably close, her sour breath warming our faces.
‘What’ll we do?’ I said.
‘Two choices, I’d say,’ said Simeon. ‘We go on and risk it, or we go back and get some more dope.’
Jem said nothing. I calculated. It was 2.15 now; we’d lose an hour, maybe an hour and a half, but we could still get to Otira and back before opening time at the Sanctuary.
Cleo was turning around in the back, now, seemingly gaining strength by the second. In the motionless van her tread seemed uncomfortably heavy and threatening.
‘Go back,’ I said to Simeon. ‘Go fast.’
He drove very fast, swerving into Russley Road, seeming to circle the Memorial Avenue roundabout on one tyre. Behind us Cleo was turning and turning, chasing her tail, a weird, disturbing dance. She growled and whined, the sounds only centimetres from our ears. On Fendalton Road she began pawing the mesh, her uncut claws dragging on it.
‘Talk to her or something,’ said Simeon. He was leaning forward, like Jem and I, away from the mesh and Cleo’s scrabbling paw, hunched over the steering wheel. ‘Christ, that stuff’d better hold. I’ve got to get into the Garrison, and that’ll take another ten minutes, at least.’
‘What’s the Garrison?’ said Jem, a minute later. They were his first words since we’d turned back.
‘Where I keep my arsenal,’ said Simeon. ‘Naturally.’
Seeing us through the mesh was too much for Cleo. She began to attack it with her teeth, pulling so hard that the entire frame wobbled.
‘She can’t break it,’ said Simeon, answering the thoughts of each of us. ‘It’s made of steel, for Christ’s sake.’
But I was terrified now, terrified that the mesh frame, which was only tied in place, would come loose before we reached the Garrison. Her nearness, her noises, her frantic clawing and chewing were very, very menacing. As we turned into Whitmore Street I looked for Jem’s hand, his reassurance.
‘Simeon,’ said Jem, his hand cold in mine. ‘Simeon, drive back to the Sanctuary. We’ve got to take her back.’
I looked at him in astonishment. He was leaning on the dash, side-on to the door, looking straight at Simeon, his face determined.
‘I mean it, Sim, I can’t do it, I can’t do it to Angus and Jeannie. I’ve been thinking about it all night, it’s not right.’ He looked at me. ‘I’m sorry Cat. I just won’t be able to live with it. They’ll be distraught and if they find out it’s us, which they’re bound to — God knows how we thought we’d get away with it — they’ll be completely devastated. Turn here, Simeon, it’s the quickest way, here, left, Simeon, did you hear me? Here!’
Simeon ignored him, driving straight down the road leading to the river and the Garrison.
‘Don’t be such a limp dick, Jem, you’re losing it. You and the crazy cat. Chill out. And you too, you hysterical moggy.’
Cleo, as if she understood, stopped pulling at the mesh momentarily and hissed, her back arching, her yellow eyes narrowing.
‘Fuck you,’ said Jem, furiously. ‘I mean it. Turn around, before it’s too fucking late. I don’t want to do it, understand? I’ve thought about it long and hard and I think it’s wrong.’
‘Jem’ I said tentatively, completely taken aback by this change of heart, ‘Jem, they won’t find out, it’ll be okay, we’ve planned it so carefully, they can’t find out, we’ll just get Cleo—’
‘No, Cat. No. Simeon, turn the fucking van around! Now! Simeon! Do what I fucking say.’
We were round the river now, heading for the Dallington bridge. I looked from Simeon to Jem to Cleo, the latter two practically foaming at the mouth; Simeon, calm in contrast, an inscrutable look on his face.
‘Look you bastard, if you don’t turn around I’ll—’
‘You’ll what?’ Simeon drawled. ‘Knock my head off? Jeremiah the Pacifist? I don’t think so.’ He turned into Galbraith Avenue.
‘Simeon,’ I said. ‘Could we discuss this?’
‘No!’ shouted Jem, ‘there’s nothing to discuss, Cat! I’m responsible to the Salters and I’ve decided — I’m sorry, it’s irrevocable — I don’t want to go through with this. Christ, I’m only sorry we ever decided to do it in the first place. We must have been crazy.’
We were outside the Garrison now. Simeon stopped the van and took the keys from the ignition. Cleo paused in her scrabbling, lifted her head at the sudden cessation of motion and growled low and long. She started moving around in circles again, deeply agitated.
‘But Jem,’ I said urgently, struck by the absolute silence and dark of the suburb at night, ‘what about Cleo? What about her happiness? Isn’t this what it’s all about?’
‘What about loyalty, Cat? I just can’t do it — ever since I talked to the Old Man, it’s been haunting me — they trust us. I just can’t do it to them.’
‘Christ, nothing changes, does it, Jem boy?’ said Simeon, his voice cold. ‘I should have known better than to imagine you of all people could carry something like this through — you make me vomit, you sanctimonious, you arse-licking, fucking, mewling little …’
‘Simeon,’ I whispered feebly, stunned by the ugliness of his attack. He hates him, I thought, feeling an old truth slowly catching up with me.
Cleo was at the mesh again, with her head now, heavy and rhythmic.
‘We should get some tranquilliser anyway,’ I said to Jem, but he hardly seemed to hear me.
‘I realise the concept of loyalty is fundamentally alien to you,’ Jem said to Simeon, sounding oddly calm suddenly. ‘But could you please just drive back to the Sanctuary anyway, or give me the keys so I can drive.’
‘Sorry, Grandad,’ said Simeon. ‘I’m into liberating panthers, not caging them. I want a bit of fun. Why don’t you just fuck off out of here and let me and Red attend to the cat. That way your small-town conscience can stay salved and your loyalty unblemished. And speaking of loyalty—’ Simeon opened the door of the van, stepped out, then ducked his head back in. ‘You might need to have a word to your girlfriend about the concept, old boy.’
No, Simeon, I thought, hardly believing what was coming next. No, please, God, no. I watched him, paralysed by the thought of what he was going to say, dumb and horrified.
‘Seems she doesn’t subscribe to your high standards,’ said Simeon, looking at me, his face empty.
‘I know how she feels about Cleo,’ said Jem, ‘but—’
‘You misunderstand, old boy,’ said Simeon, tossing the keys in the air, catching them. I turned away, saw Cleo through the mesh, crouching by the back doors of the van, growling, looking ready to spring. ‘Fidelity, Jemmy — outmoded to my way of thinking, but high on your list, I’m sure. Seems Cat-girl’s more like me, really. She proved it good and proper less than thirty-six hours ago in this van. Bloody nice it was, too,’ said Simeon Hook, pocketing his keys and heading for the Garrison.
It was at that auspicious moment that Cleo sprang, butting the mesh with great force, denting it outward, so that momentarily her face hung suspended, angry, in front of us, before she backed off, backed up, crouched low, ready to rush forward again.
‘So, Simeon exits,’ said Miriam, ‘leaving you and Jem side by side in the front of the van, while Cleo is head-butting the mesh.’
‘It was a nightmare,’ I said, seeing it, feeling it all over again. ‘Cleo just went crazy — the tranquilliser must have affected her weirdly. She was terrifying. But at the same time it was like there were two parallel dramas — what was happening with Cleo and what was happening with me and Jem. And it was bizarre. I mean, even though Cleo was going nuts and it was obvious she was trying to get at us, it was like for a long moment after Simeon went, it was like Cleo receded and Jem and I were sitting there all alone, in a pool of utter silence, while what Simeon had said sunk in.’
‘How did Jem react?’ Miriam asked.
I thought of Jem, his taut body seeming to slacken and a great stillness settle over his face as he looked at me, oblivious to everything except my answer to the question in his eyes.
‘He knew,’ I said. ‘He looked at me and he knew it was true. It was written all over my face.’
‘That must have been a terrible moment,’ said Miriam.
‘His eyes filled with tears,’ I said, remembering those tears, seeing them shine in his eyes.
‘It’s not the whole truth,’ I began, feeling a great blackness descend on me. My mouth seemed to move so slowly and my brain felt muddy and heavy with the effort of explaining.
‘Yeah?’ said Jem. ‘What’s the whole truth then? So where does the truth lie?’
‘Huh, truth lies,’ I said, dully. ‘Truth lies.’ I had to raise my voice against Cleo’s battering, which seemed suddenly to leap into focus.
‘Jem! She’s loosening the frame. She’s going to knock it down. God, what’s Simeon doing?’
‘Where’s the torch?’ said Jem urgently, pushing over me to the driver’s seat. ‘Find it. Hold it here.’
He had his hands behind the steering wheel, searching, fiddling. But before I could locate the torch Cleo flung herself at the mesh and it skewed sideways, leaving a gap near the driver’s seat.
‘Get out of the car, Cat.’
‘What are you doing?’ I shouted, my hands up on the frame, trying to push it into place again. This time Cleo aimed a slashing claw at my hands.
‘Get out, Cat! Get out!’
As he yelled, Cleo stuck a paw in the mesh and dragged at the frame, pulling it back and down, half flattening it. She pulled with her paw, growling when her claws stuck in the wire, but then they came free and she clambered up the right side of the frame, pushing it backwards as she climbed, heaving herself up and over and on top of Jem.
I watched as she flayed his head.
I watched as his head came back and the heavy paws scored deep gashes down his face, blood springing instantly.
I scraped frantically at the door, watching her vicious teeth close on his neck.
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