Ice Lolly (8 page)

I say no, tomorrow.

“Mum could probably drive you there,” says Michael, “if you wanted. It’d only take about ten minutes.”

I tell him that I’d rather get the bus. “I don’t like having to ask Auntie Ellen for things.”

There’s a bit of a pause, then Michael says, “OK.”

I think he understands.

I wake up feeling happy. Mr Pooter is eating his special cat food and has stopped being sick, and I am going to see Mrs Caton! I am quite excited. She will be so pleased that I liked her book.

I put
Three Men in a Boat
and
Diary of a Nobody
in my bag. It occurs to me that really I ought to telephone
first, to check that Mrs Caton will be there, but I am not very good on the telephone. and anyway, I want it to be a surprise!

I tell Auntie Ellen that I am going to visit someone.

“Who’s that?” she says. “Someone from school?”

“It’s that woman!” shrieks Holly. “I bet it’s that woman!”

Auntie Ellen immediately wants to know which woman.

“That woman that’s a teacher,” says Holly.

I say she’s not a teacher, she’s a librarian.

“Mrs Caton?” says Michael. “You’re going to see Mrs Caton?”

“Has she invited you?” says Auntie Ellen.

Before I can answer, Holly’s chipped in with, “She thinks she’s her friend!”

I say, “She is my friend. I’m taking her book back to her.”

“Well, don’t outstay your welcome,” says Auntie Ellen. “Where does she live? Do you need a lift?”

Michael nods at me, but I tell Auntie Ellen that I can catch the bus. I add that I’m quite used to finding my way around.

“Very well,” says Auntie Ellen. “But take your phone, just in case. Give me a ring if you need picking up. Do you have enough for your bus fare?”

Oh! My face falls; I hadn’t thought of bus fares. I used up most of my pocket money on prawns and special cat food tins. Auntie Ellen, as if resigned, takes out her purse and gives me some pound coins. Holly sends me this really
filthy
look.

“You’re mad,” says Michael, following me out of the room. “Mum could have got you there in ten minutes…she did offer!”

How can I explain that I want to go by myself? It would ruin things if Auntie Ellen took me. It would make it feel sort of…
tainted.
But I can’t say this to Michael.

“Is Mrs Caton really your friend?” he says.

I tell him yes. “We’re both book people.”

I can see he thinks it a bit odd, but he says he’s glad I’ve found someone. “It must have been hard, starting a new school in the middle of term. And some of those girls, they can be really mean.”

I’ve already forgotten about them; they don’t bother me. Nothing bothers me, now that Mr Pooter’s getting better.

“Well, have a nice day,” says Michael.

He is such a polite boy. I really like him.

It takes me ages to walk to the bus stop, and then I have to wait fifteen minutes for the bus, but I don’t mind. I’m fizzing with anticipation. I imagine Mrs Caton’s face when she sees me on the doorstep.

“What? You’ve read it so soon?” she goes. (In my imagination, that is.) She invites me in so that she can read my review. We have this long, cosy chat together, all about books, and I lend her
Diary of a Nobody
. She promises she will read it straight away. “I’ll call and let you know,” she goes (still in my imagination). “Then you can come round again and we can read
my
review!”
She might even lend me something else.

Of course, she may not be there; I have to be prepared for that. But I’ve brought a pen with me, and some paper, and I can always write her a note. then she can ring me and I can come back another day.

I find her road quite easily. It is a tiny close and her house is the second one along. I ring the bell and wait, anxiously. I really hope she’s in!

The door opens. Two small children are standing there; a girl and a boy. I never thought of Mrs Caton having children. the little boy has jam all over his face; the girl is covered in what looks like flour. Solemnly she says, “This is the Caton residence.”

I ask her if Mrs Caton is in. She turns and shouts, “Mu-u-um!” and Mrs Caton appears. She is carrying a mixing bowl and beating something with a wooden spoon.

“Laurel!” she says. “What on earth are you doing here?”

She sounds every bit as surprised as I thought she
would; just not in the way that I imagined. Suddenly, I’m feeling a bit uncertain.

“Why are you here?” she says.

I swallow, and say that I’ve brought her book back.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says. “I told you, next term. How did you find my address?”

Something isn’t right. She doesn’t seem happy to see me. I mumble that I looked her up in the telephone directory.

“Well, you really shouldn’t have come here, you know.” She hands the mixing bowl to the little girl and tells her to take it back to the kitchen. “It isn’t right.”

I swallow, and hold out the book. She takes it from me. She doesn’t even ask me if I enjoyed it.

“I…I’ve…done a review.” I pull it out of my bag. She looks at it, frowning. “And I’ve brought you
Diary of a Nobody
!”

“Laurel, I’d honestly rather not,” she says. “Not right now. Bring it next term, will you? Will you do that?”

I nod, miserably.

“Please don’t be upset,” says Mrs Caton. “I’m sure you meant well, but you must see, it’s not really appropriate. You can’t just call round like this. Apart from anything else—” She smiles at me, trying to make a joke of it. “It’s holiday time! Even librarians need a break.”

I stammer that I thought we were friends.

“Well, of course we’re friends!
School
friends.” She takes the review from me, but not
Diary of a Nobody
. “Next term we’ll have a good long talk about
Three Men in a Boat
. Meanwhile, I’ll look forward to reading what you have to say about it. All right?” She smiles again, and I do my best to smile back. “That’s better! Now, you’ll have to excuse me, we’re in the middle of baking a cake. It’s Sally’s birthday tomorrow and she’s having a party, so it’s all a bit hectic, I’m afraid. See you in September!”

I turn, and trail down the path. I shouldn’t have come. I have been
intrusive.
Mrs Caton isn’t really my friend; she was just pretending, because she feels sorry
for me. And now I’ve made a nuisance of myself, trying to force
Diary of a Nobody
on her. She obviously doesn’t want to read it. She was just trying to keep me happy. I feel so humiliated.

Slowly, I retrace my steps to the bus stop. I desperately, desperately don’t want to go back. If it wasn’t for Mr Pooter, I might even run away. Except what would I do? Where would I go?

A bus comes along and I get on it. Half an hour later I’m walking up the path, using my key to let myself in. I can’t see any sign of Holly or Michael, but I can hear Auntie Ellen on the phone. I start up the stairs, and there is Holly, waiting for me on the landing.

“You’re back,” she says. She pushes past and goes galloping down, yelling, “Mum, she’s back!”

I go into my bedroom – and my heart almost stops beating. the rug which I used to cover up Mr Pooter’s sick has been removed, and there on the pink carpet, just inside the door, is an ugly yellow stain.

I hear Auntie Ellen’s voice, calling up the stairs,
“Laurel! Can you come down here, please?”

My heart starts up again,
bam bam bam
, thudding and panicking inside my rib cage. auntie Ellen is waiting for me, at the end of the hall.

“Come out here,” she says. “I want a word with you.” She is looking very grim. We go into the kitchen and firmly she closes the door on Holly. “Sit down.” She points to a chair. I sit, stiffly, on the edge of it. “Right! Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

I don’t ask,
about what?
I am not brave enough; and anyway, I know.

“I asked you a question,” says Auntie Ellen. “I should like an answer.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I’m not making any sound. I can’t speak!

“All right.” Auntie Ellen pulls out a chair and sits down opposite me. “Let’s try it another way…what is that stain on your bedroom carpet?”

I sit, silent and frozen. Auntie Ellen drums her fingers.

“Laurel! I’m waiting. Will you please tell me…
what is that stain
?”

“It’s…”

“It’s what? It’s cat sick, isn’t it?”

I nod, miserably.

“And you put the rug over it in the hope I wouldn’t notice!” Her voice has gone all Welsh and sing-song, swooping up and down. I shrink back on to my chair. “If you’d owned up at the time,” says Auntie Ellen, “we might have been able to do something about it. It’s far too late, now. It’ll never come out. the carpet’s ruined.”

I manage to croak that I’m sorry.

“Sorry?” The word comes out as a hiss. I see a little spray of spit fly through the air. “Sorry’s not good enough! I know you were brought up to believe it didn’t matter if you lived in a pigsty, but we happen to have higher standards. We like the place to look decent. That’s my mother’s room, you know…the room she stays in when she’s here. We only did it up last year, we got that carpet new. Now what am I
to do? You think we’re made of money?”

I shake my head and say again that I’m sorry.

“It’s not much use being sorry after the event. Why didn’t you tell me at the time?”

I whisper that I was too scared.

“Scared? What do you have to be scared of? Has anyone ever lifted a finger against you?”

“I was scared—” I gulp down a lump that’s blocking my throat—“that you’d blame Mr Pooter.”

“I don’t blame dumb animals,” says Auntie Ellen. “I blame the owners. For goodness’ sake, Laurel! You’re old enough to know better.”

I suddenly jump up. “I’ll go and scrub it!”

“Scrubbing won’t do any good, it’s soaked in. The carpet’s ruined, just accept it. But if that cat is going to keep being sick all over the place—”

“He’s not!” The words come wailing out of me. “He’s getting better, he’s not doing it any more!”

“Cats shouldn’t be in bedrooms anyway,” says Auntie Ellen. “They should be outside.”

“Oh, please,” I say, “please! He can’t stay outside, he’s old, he’s not used to it! He might get attacked, he might get lost, he’d be so confused…
please
don’t say he has to go outside!”

Auntie Ellen stands up and begins clattering saucepans in the sink. “I don’t know,” she says. “I shall have to think about it.”

“
Please
,” I beg.

“Laurel, I know things have been difficult for you,” says Auntie Ellen, “but you have to understand that they’ve been difficult for us, as well. It’s very disruptive, having to take someone in. We were quite prepared to do it, after all you’re family, but you really haven’t made things easy. You block the toilet, you cost us a small fortune in vet’s fees, and now you’ve ruined a perfectly good carpet. What do you want me to say? Just go on and ruin the rest of the room? Ruin the rug, ruin the duvet? It may be the way you were used to living, but it’s not the way we live here!”

I hang my head and stare down, fixedly, at my feet.
They seem an extraordinarily long way away. It’s like they’re in a mist. I can’t see them properly, my eyes are all wet.

Why? Why are they wet? I draw myself up. I am an ice lolly. Frozen solid. Back, back, into my ice house! I breathe, deeply, and the wetness turns to frost.

“Laurel?”

I jerk my head up.

“Are you listening?”

I say yes; I’m listening.

“If it happens one more time—”

What? I look straight into her eyes, daring her to say it. Say it, say it! She drops her gaze.

“Just make sure that it doesn’t,” she says.

Out in the hall I find Holly; I suppose she’s been listening. She calls after me as I go back upstairs, “I don’t know what’s going to happen when my nan comes to stay!”

They all go out in the afternoon. I sit in the garden with Mr Pooter and think about running away. there’s
only one place I could go, and that is back to London. To Stevie. What would she say if I turned up on the doorstep? She would be even less pleased than Mrs Caton. But I don’t think she would turn me away. She certainly wouldn’t turn Mr Pooter away. Stevie would do anything for a cat.

I haven’t any money, and I don’t know for certain that Uncle Mark is going to give me any. Not now that Auntie Ellen has discovered the carpet. He might say I can’t have any more until I’ve paid for a new one.

But that is all right. There is a pot in the kitchen cabinet where Auntie Ellen puts all her loose change; everything from 20p down to 1p. Mum and me used to have a pot like that. When it was full we used to give it to Stevie for her cat charity. Auntie Ellen uses hers to buy treats. I know it would be stealing if I took it, but I don’t really care. I
would
care, if it was for cats. Or any other charity, if it comes to that. But it isn’t, so I don’t.

By the end of the afternoon I have taken the money and put Mr Pooter in his carrying box and caught the
bus into town. I’ve gone to the station and bought a ticket for London and am on my way to Stevie’s. In my imagination, that is. I haven’t quite got around to imagining what Stevie will say, but that is not important. Whatever she says, I know she will look after Mr Pooter. that is all that matters.

I feel strong now that I have worked out a plan. Even when the car arrives back and Holly comes into the garden and starts on again about the carpet, it’s like she is just a fly buzzing against a window pane.

“Don’t you have anything to say?” she says.

No. I have nothing to say.

“You’d think you’d at least be
sorry
.”

I rub my cheek against Mr Pooter’s fur.

“Mum loved that carpet,” says Holly. “She chose it specially…it’s dusky pink.”

I think, hysterically, that now it’s sickly yellow; and without warning a mad giggle bursts out of me.

“You’re
evil
,” says Holly. “You know that? You’re evil!”

She runs off, into the house. I think that I probably
ought to be upset – or insulted – or something. But I’m not. I’m not anything. I’m inside my ice house, clutching Mr Pooter, and there isn’t anything anyone can say or do that will get to me.

Later on, I’m in my room. Uncle Mark is back from work and we have had tea, and now I have come up here to be with Mr Pooter. I know Auntie Ellen hates him being downstairs, but I won’t leave him on his own. He likes to be with people. Mum said that when I was at school he used to sit on her lap all day long. Even though she couldn’t get out, she never felt lonely with Mr Pooter to keep her company. He’s the most loyal cat there ever was! He never left Mum’s side, and now that he’s old I won’t leave his.