Catcall (11 page)

19

S
TRANGER
D
ANGER

N
oori was waiting for me, but I told him I had to go to the shops, and walked off before he had the chance to say he’d come too.

I hung around in the High Street for a bit, but there were loads of kids from school there, older ones flirting with each other, calling names across the street or pretending to push each other in front of buses. I decided to walk, and headed off without knowing where to go. A bus to Wembley pulled up at the next bus stop, so I bought a ticket from the machine and jumped on just in time. I sat upstairs at the back. When everyone else got off, I did too, then walked some more.

Usually I like being out in the streets, especially in the mornings when the shops are opening up and the roads are busy with delivery vans and people going off to jobs and school. I like the feeling of the day starting up, and I like seeing people, wondering where they’re going and what sort of day they’re going to have.

This was different, though. I was making myself feel like a runaway, a fugitive, because it suited my mood. It was already getting dark, and it was cold too, and starting to drizzle. I carried on walking, choosing whichever direction I liked the look of. Noise spilled out of a pub, and a man wavered across the pavement in front of me. I smelled fag-ash and whisky, even though it must be early for drinking. A group of big lads came towards me, laughing, taking up the whole pavement. The drunk man shouted something at a passing car, then one of the group yelled out something I didn’t catch. There was a bit of laughing and shoving, and two of the boys barged into me, but didn’t say sorry.

I turned left into a quieter street. It led away from the shops, into a road of parked cars and vans, and lock-up garages. There were rubbish bins and an overflowing skip. Should I carry on, or go back to the road with the pub in it? I had no idea where I was. There was no street sign that I could see, so I walked on till I saw some, but the names Wigley Road and Albion Crescent didn’t mean anything to me. I carried on to the next corner. The rain was coming down harder now, and a passing motor-bike sprayed water all over my trousers. This was pointless, but I wasn’t giving in and going home. Not yet. My hair was getting wet, and cold water was seeping down inside the neck of my coat. After a bit I almost started to enjoy it, in an odd way. It felt right, the mood I was in. An icy wind and a blast of hailstones would have been even better.

A right turn, then left and right again, brought me to another main street, with buses and cars and traffic lights. It was busy here, Friday rush hour, everyone coming home from work. I saw a warmly-lit café, Agnelli’s Cappuccino Bar, and thought of going inside. It made me think of Mike, steaming and foaming away with his new coffee machine. I’d have loved one of his special choco-lattes just then.

Ahead of me I saw steps down into an Underground station. People were streaming out, turning up collars, zipping their coats, opening umbrellas. I went down and looked at the big map, with the tube lines all in different colours. I could get on the Bakerloo line here, then change for wherever I wanted. Where
did
I want? I stood tracing the Bakerloo brown with my finger, and saw that at Baker Street it links up with the yellow of the Circle Line. The Circle Line goes to South Kensington, which is where you get off for the Natural History Museum. I knew because we went there on a school trip once, and I wanted to see the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibition that was on now.

Dad had said he’d take Jamie and me one Saturday, but he hadn’t yet. It’d be warm and dry in the museum, and I could stay there till it closed.

Then I remembered seeing on the website that the museum was free, but you had to pay to see the photography exhibition. I felt in my pocket to see if I had enough money. There was no note, only a lot of coins. While I was counting them, it dawned on me that even if I had enough to get in, it’d be pointless to go there as late as this, when I wouldn’t have time to see everything.

A man was standing next to me–had been for a few moments–and I realised that he wasn’t looking at the map, but at me. When I noticed him, he grinned. If he thought he knew me, I didn’t recognise him. He was about Dad and Mike’s age, in an overcoat, with a shirt and tie underneath.

‘All right, son? Not lost, are you?’

‘No. I’m fine.’ Standing down here in the warmth and light, I shivered with the damp that clung to me. One of my shoes was leaking, my hair dripped, and the cold trickle inside my coat made me want to be safely indoors. I was hungry, too, but if I spent my money on a McDonald’s I might not have enough to pay for a bus home.

I went up to the street again, thinking I might buy a bar of chocolate at least, then look for a bus. When I stopped to look round for a paper shop, I saw that the man had followed me up the steps. He grinned at me again, and came over.

‘If you’re short of dosh, I’ll help you out,’ he told me. ‘Give you a lift somewhere, if you want. Where you trying to get to?’

How dim did he think I was? There was no way I was getting in a car with a man I didn’t know. And I didn’t like the way he was smiling at me. But there were lots of other people about, so I wasn’t really worried.

‘Nowhere,’ I told him, and ran back down the steps. At the bottom I turned to make sure he hadn’t followed me again, but he was just standing there watching.

Even though I wasn’t scared of him, it made me realise how alone I was, in a place I didn’t know. How many times have Mum and Mike told me–always let them know where I’m going, and what time I’ll be back? They’d be furious. I counted out change for the ticket machine and bought a single child ticket, then got on a Metropolitan Line train westbound. By now I wished I’d never thought of this. I was tired and hungry and damp, and I hadn’t been to the Natural History Museum or run away from home or done anything dramatic at all. I felt like a wuss.

The train was full of rush-hour people, and I had to stand all the way to our stop. Then the ten-minute walk home. A blue Focus was parked outside–that meant Mum’s friend Claire was visiting.

‘Josh! Where’ve you been?’ Mum’s face was bright and relieved. ‘And you’re soaked, look at you!’

‘Went round someone’s house.’ I tried to make it sound like nothing.

‘
Whose
house? Why didn’t you phone? I’ve been worried. Come on, get those wet things off. Let me hang your coat up.’ I dumped my rucksack and followed her through to the kitchen. They were having a cup of tea there, and Claire was holding Jennie. ‘
Whose
house?’ Mum asked again. ‘Was it that girl, Floss?’

‘
No!
I went round to Noori’s.’ I crossed my fingers behind my back.

‘Well, why didn’t you say?’

I just shook my head. I knew Mum was crosser than she wanted to show in front of Claire.

When I’d changed into jeans and sweatshirt, I went in the front room with Jamie and thawed out by the fire, and Mum brought me a glass of apple juice and a piece of walnut cake.

Jamie stared at me. ‘Did you run away?’

So he was still talking, even if only in that odd dull way, as if he wasn’t properly awake. Perhaps that meant we could forget about the psychologist.

‘I just didn’t feel like coming straight home, that was all!’ I told him. ‘I got on a bus and then a train. Only don’t tell Mum.’

‘Where would you go, though, if you did run away from home? Would you go to the zoo?’

I huffed a laugh. ‘What, you think I’d find myself a nice cosy cage, and make myself a straw nest to sleep in? Look, I didn’t run away, and I’m not going to, so what’s the point of asking?’

‘You’d need lots of money, I expect.’

‘Yes, I expect you would,’ I told him, picking up the remote to see what was on TV. ‘And I haven’t got lots of money, so I’d be stuck.’

‘You could have taken your Christmas money. Have you still got it?’

‘Yes, in my drawer. It’s for my binoculars.’

‘You could have bought a train ticket with that.’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t have it with me, and anyway I want the binoculars. Stop going on about it, OK?’

Mike came in soon after that, and Claire stayed for pasta and salad and they opened a bottle of wine, so Mum forgot she was in a nark with me. I felt bad about lying to her, but she didn’t ask any more questions, so I didn’t say anything. I was annoyed, too, that she hadn’t been all
that
worried. I mean, I could have been kidnapped or murdered for all she knew, and she was too busy gossiping with Claire to notice!

Splodge crossed in front of me as I got to the top of the stairs, so maybe that would bring me better luck, whether it was the black or the white that did it. Tomorrow had to be a better day.

20

W
HAT THE
L
ION
S
AID

G
oing to bed, I thought of what Jamie had asked me.
Make him go away. Please, make him go away.

I hadn’t, though, had I? Jamie had asked me for help, and I hadn’t given it. Instead, I was letting Leo take me over as well. Leo was here now, inside me, inside Jamie.

If he went away, what would he leave behind? Would he take part of Jamie with him? Part of me?

I shivered, thinking of cat eyes staring, eyes like drills that bored into my brain. Lion eyes, solemn, amber, unblinking.

I
knew I was dreaming.

It wasn’t winter but a hot, dry day in summer. The patio doors were wide open, and my feet were bare. I walked to the open door for coolness. There, in the garden, was Splodge, running towards me from the shrubs at the back, with something in his mouth. A small pale thing. An alive and writhing thing.

‘Splodge! Drop it!’

I ran out, feeling the warm grass under my toes. Splodge backed off, glaring. A warning growl sounded in his throat. I saw the mouse clamped between his jaws–its bright eye, its quiver of whiskers, a feeble movement of one small paw. Splodge had changed–not a pet, a purring lap-sitter, but a wild, savage creature.

As I hesitated, wondering whether to shout loudly or make a grab and hope he’d drop the mouse, he changed even more. He grew and grew, filling the lawn. His black-and-white patches melted together and became tawny gold. A ragged mane sprouted around his neck. His paws were heavily padded, his legs were muscled. And all the time his amber eyes stared at me, holding me, reaching far inside me, telling me what he knew.

How could I have made such a stupid mistake? It wasn’t our back garden after all, but the lion enclosure at the wildlife park. How could I have mistaken a full-grown lion for a pet cat? Where were the bars between us, the deep ditch? Where was Dad? There was nothing but air, and when I opened my mouth to shout for help, darkness rushed into my throat, clogging it tight.

What the lion carried in his mouth wasn’t a mouse, either. It was bigger. It was wrapped in white baby clothes. I saw the movement of a podgy hand. I saw long, curved teeth, sunk into the baby blanket.

The lion’s eyes burned into me, and I knew they were speaking. They were telling me what I already knew.

My throat, my lungs, my whole body was straining to yell out,
‘No!’
The word stayed in my throat, choked. But someone else was screaming. It sliced the air into jagged strips, hurting my ears. Someone was screaming for me, voicing what I couldn’t: ‘No!
No! No!’

Jamie.

I opened my eyes and saw the pale strip of street-light that was the gap between the curtains. Safe in my own bed. No lion. But Jamie–

‘Jamie! Jamie! Wake up–you’re all right!’

A flick of the light switch chased away the shadows. Jamie, whimpering, had clenched himself into a tight knuckle of fear under his duvet. Gently, I shook his shoulder.

‘Jamie! It’s all right! But I don’t know what happened–I think I was dreaming your dream––’

Jamie uncurled enough to look at me. His eyes were swimming with tears. ‘Lowther,’ he said. ‘I want Lowther.’

I looked round, and found Lowther on the floor where he’d fallen out of bed. When I picked him up, Jamie grabbed him and pulled him under the duvet.

I took a deep breath, and tried to find words.

‘Jamie,’ I said. ‘It’s the lion, isn’t it? The lion we saw, all mixed up with Splodge and that mouse he killed? Is that what you dreamed? Jame, I saw him too! I dreamed the lion, with–with something in his mouth. He looked at me. But he spoke to you, didn’t he?
What did he say?’

Jamie’s eyes closed. A tear trickled down the side of his face.

‘He said–he said––’

‘Yes?’

‘He said,
I know. You don’t want her, do you?
’ His eyes opened. He gazed straight at me.

‘Her?’

‘The baby,’ Jamie whispered. ‘
I’ll get rid of her. For you. I’ll get rid of her.’

Floorboards creaked on the other side of the landing. Jamie’s face twisted in misery. ‘Don’t tell Mum,’ he whispered. ‘Please! Promise you won’t tell her! Don’t tell anyone!’

So I promised.

B
ut what now?

It meant that I was the only person who could help, didn’t it? Unless the psychologist was a mind-reader.

M
ike and I spent Saturday morning sorting out the junk room.

For the two years we’d lived here, this had been the place for shoving whatever didn’t belong anywhere else. The computer and its chair stood just inside the door, but the rest of the room was a junk-hole. It was crammed full of Mike’s golf clubs, and old jigsaw puzzles and games, and pictures that didn’t have anywhere to hang, and crusted old paint tins, and things that might be useful if they were mended or oiled or given new batteries. The plan was to clear everything out and turn this into Jennie’s bedroom. Till we did, it was so stuffed that we could only get in there by trampling and clambering and balancing. Splodge teetered on top of a pile of boxes, working out where to go next. He loved messy places, and boxes and bags he could hide in.

‘We should have done this ages ago,’ Mike said. ‘We’ve got the wallpaper and the curtains. I’ve put off tackling this lot, that’s the trouble.’

‘How come Jennie gets a room to herself?’ Jamie asked, appearing in the doorway. ‘Me and Josh have to share.’ Splodge turned and looked at him, then made a leap for the windowsill, scrabbling with his back legs for a grip. He pressed himself against the window and looked at Jamie with wide, round eyes.

‘She’s a girl. She’ll need privacy when she’s older.’ Mike swayed, one foot in a space he’d cleared by the door, the other one groping for a foothold further in. Balanced, he turned to look at Jamie. ‘I thought you
liked
sharing with Josh?’

There was a pause while Jamie thought about it. Then he said, ‘I do,’ in the flat, unJamie-like voice we were getting used to.

‘When I win the lottery,’ Mike said, ‘we’ll have a loft conversion and bags of room. Indoor swimming-pool and jacuzzi as well. Here, Josh, take this. Got those bin-bags?’

Before long, the landing was knee-deep in bags and boxes.

‘What’ll we do with all this?’ I asked. Jamie had gone downstairs, and Splodge had come down from the windowsill and crawled inside a carrier-bag of old Christmas cards.

‘Some can be stashed up in the loft, some can go to the charity shop, and I’ll do a tip run with the rest,’ Mike said. ‘Or we could have a bonfire. There’s all this old paperwork I should have slung out years ago. Can’t think why I didn’t dump it when we moved here.’

‘Let’s have it tonight, the bonfire!’ I said. ‘Dad’ll be here.’

‘Well, I suppose we could. It should be a clear night.’

I liked bonfires, especially in cold weather. I thought of flames leaping, and crackling twigs, and drifting flakes of ash. And that gave me an idea.

Dad was due to come over about three, because he’d been working all morning. Mum left Jennie with Mike and went to the supermarket to get sausages and potatoes for a bonfire supper. While she was out, and Mike busy with Jennie, Jamie and I went into the garden to collect bits of pruned twig for the fire. I took the chance to tell him my idea.

‘You know when we were at the wildlife park?’

Of course he did. He said nothing, frowning.

‘And I told you how humans first found a way of frightening lions?’ I said.

‘Fire!’ Jamie was breaking off pieces of dry twig, not looking at me.

‘That’s right. They used fire. Lions are frightened of fire. What you ought to try, if Leo comes near you, if you want him to go away–what you do is, you imagine a great big fire, big flames jumping up between you and him. Then he can’t get at you. If it’s at night, and you’re in bed, you can just turn the light on. The light’ll frighten him away.’

Jamie looked obstinate. ‘I’m not scared of lions. I’m not scared of anything.’

‘OK, but–you, you know, asked me to help. So I’m trying.’

‘Well, don’t.’ He hunched away from me. ‘Why can’t you leave me alone?’