Kitten Smitten (10 page)

‘Oh come on, Bert,’ Jazz wheedled, head on one side, her eyes growing huger by the minute. ‘Aren’t you even just a teensy bit curious to see what they’re
like?’

‘Yeah, OK,’ I admitted. ‘Sorry, Jazz. It’s just . . .’ I decided to be honest in the hope that I’d at least be able to get out and leave Jazz
curtain-twitching on her own. ‘I’m really worried about Jaffa. She’s just escaped again and she’s still so young, and she’s not really allowed out for another week cos
she’s only just had her vaccinations—’

‘Oh, cats are always running off,’ Jazz cut in, more than a hint of boredom creeping into her voice. ‘You were the one who told me that, remember? When Kaboodle wasn’t
there that time and you thought he was dead and you ended up doing that memorial thing.’
ME?
It’d all been Jazz’s idea as far as I was concerned. I raised my eyebrows, and
she flushed as if reading my mind and then shook her head carelessly. ‘Anyway, she’s bound to want to come and go – it’s what cats do, isn’t it? So, can we look out of
your window? The lorry’s been there all night. And I saw the mum and dad carrying some boxes in from their car as I walked along the road just now. I tried to catch their eye, but they
didn’t spot me. Haven’t seen the boy yet!’ she added, her velvet eyes flashing with excitement.

Give me strength!

‘OK, yeah. I’ll just grab some binoculars, shall I?’ I said sarcastically.

‘Cool! Then we’ll really be able to . . . Oh, you were joking,’ she said, catching the look on my face.

Although binoculars wouldn’t be such a bad idea, now I came to think of it. I could have used them to see if Jaffa was out in the street somewhere.

‘There!’ Jazz squealed, wrenching me away from my mopey thoughts. She was pointing out of my window and jumping up and down.

‘Where?’ I shouted, thinking she’d seen Jaffa.

‘Can you see him? Can you?’ she cried.

My heart plummeted down to my bare feet as I realized she was pointing at the boy over the road. I tried to get a look at him, but Jazz was hogging the window, pressing her face up against it
and breathing steam on the glass.

I stepped away and stared at my friend. Not only was her behaviour decidedly loopy this morning, she was looking pretty dressed up considering she’d only come round to hang out with me.
Her hair had even more beads in it than usual and they made a right racket while she bounced around the place. She was wearing a denim miniskirt, purple leggings, purple and silver pumps and a
purple T-shirt with a picture of a guitar on it in silver glitter and the word ‘LOVE’ in huge swirly letters.

‘Bertie!’ Jazz said, jabbing me in the arm with a very sharp finger. I glanced down, frowning – that had hurt!

‘Are those
false nails
?’ I asked her, my jaw dropping in total disbelief. What had got into her?

‘Bertie, you are not listening to me,’ Jazz said, ignoring my question and frowning. ‘I asked you if you’d seen Fergus. You’re not going to see much if you just
stand there gawping at me like that.’

I chewed back a comment along the lines of ‘You’re the one who’s gawping’, and said sweetly, ‘Sorry, Jazz. Just got a bit sidetracked by those talons of yours. And
by the way, they’re quite sharp, you know?’ I rubbed my arm for dramatic effect.

Jazz’s face darkened. ‘Sor-ree. I think they’re cool. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about the finer arts of manicure,’ she sneered. ‘Come here and watch
what’s going on outside.’

I shuffled into the tiny space she had left me and squashed up against the window. All I could see was the huge removal lorry (which I’d already seen quite enough of since it arrived last
night), several men hoisting beds and garden furniture down a ramp and into the house, and a man and a woman standing by the front door pointing and gesturing.

‘That’s Fiona and Gavin Meerley,’ Jazz said knowledgeably. ‘The mum and dad— oh wow!’ she interrupted herself. ‘He’s got a drum kit!’ She
rapped an excited rhythm on the pane with the freaky fingernails. ‘And – do you reckon that’s his guitar?’ She pointed to a strange elongated parcel covered in thick brown
paper. By the level of interest this had generated in my friend, I was pretty sure ‘he’ referred to this Fergus guy, not his dad.

‘Hmm,’ I said. I was scanning the contents of the lorry, which were coming out in quick succession. I wondered idly if these new people had any pets. Would I be able to guess from
the stuff they had brought with them? Did you even pack pet stuff in a van when you moved?

‘There! There!’ Jazz shrieked again, breaking into my thoughts. I spotted a lanky figure slope out of the house, his hands in the pockets of his hugely baggy jeans, his longish hair
flopping in his eyes. He mooched off around the side of the van and stood there for a moment, looking up and down the street. Jazz squealed again and jabbed noisily at the windowpane with her false
nails.

And that’s when Slouch Boy decided to look up and see my best mate doing her I’m-about-as-bonkers-as-it-gets routine in my bedroom window. I quickly shot out of sight, but not before
I saw the boy smile sheepishly in our direction and wave. It was a smile which totally transformed his face from pretty normal-looking to mega-friendly-looking in an instant. I felt heat rush to my
face and turned on Jazz.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ I hissed.

‘What do you mean?’ Jazz retorted. ‘It’s not
my
fault! If you hadn’t been so dopey in the first place I wouldn’t have had to point him out to you and
then I wouldn’t have tapped the window by mistake and then he wouldn’t have looked up.’ She paused to gaze dreamily out of the window. ‘He’s soooo
cool
!’

I snorted. ‘Oh, you think so?’

Jazz flipped round. ‘Yes. I do actually,’ she spat. ‘Why are you smirking?’ she went on in a low voice. ‘You’re jealous, aren’t you? I knew it!’
she howled, throwing her hands up in the air.

‘Oh, cut it out,’ I said irritably. ‘I don’t even care who this loser is. I’ve had enough. I’m going to look for Jaffa.’

‘
I’m going to look for Jaffa
,’ Jazz mimicked in a sing-song voice.

‘Yes, I am!’ I butted in before she could say anything about what a baby I was thinking about my kitten all the time. ‘And you know why? Because I care about her and I’m
worried about her and I don’t give a monkey’s about a new family or a “lush” boy or anything else at the moment, actually. She’s a tiny little cat out there all alone!
Anything could happen!’

‘Oh get a grip, Bertie!’ Jazz muttered, rolling her eyes.

I gasped. What was happening between me and my best friend? She had never been so mean or uninterested in me before.

I burst into tears and stormed out of the room, down the stairs and out of the back door. I was about to slam the door with a final dramatic gesture when I remembered that I needed to take some
keys with me. I whirled back into the utility room to grab them off the hook and came face to face with a very superior-looking Jazz.

‘Honestly, all this fuss over a kitten. You do know you’re overreacting, don’t you?’ she said pityingly. She shook her head as though I was a hopeless case. ‘I
guess I’ll see you later.’

Then waving her ridiculous long nails at me, she sashayed out of my house and back into her own much more grown-up and sophisticated life.

W
e didn’t find Jaffa. After we’d scoured the street, Dad said he’d go back and search every corner of the house just in case she
had got back in somehow. Bit unlikely, I know, but we were feeling pretty desperate.

In the end I had to admit defeat. I was hot, thirsty and hungry. I hadn’t had any breakfast, I remembered. I dragged my feet back home and made us some food.

‘You could always put a poster up in the street,’ Dad suggested through a mouthful of cheese sandwich. ‘Or leave a plate of something really tasty out by the back door,’
he added thoughtfully. ‘And you know what? I think I’ll go and get a cat flap today. Maybe she’s been trying to get back in and hasn’t been able to. What’s her
favourite food, d’you think?’

‘She loves tuna,’ I said feebly. ‘Well, she loves the tuna-flavoured kitten food we got from Paws for Thought. Maybe we could try leaving some real tuna out?’

Dad rolled his eyes. ‘OK. But don’t be surprised if you have half the cats in town crowding round the back door.’

Even I managed a weak laugh at that. I could just imagine what Kaboodle would say. ‘Fancy leaving tuna out for all the rabble to come and help themselves! Honestly, Bertie, you have no
idea how we cats think . . .’

So Dad went out to buy a cat flap (and have a good natter with ‘Bex’ as well, no doubt!) and I fetched a tin of tuna and set it down outside the back door.

My mobile rang early the next day. Jazz had reprogrammed the ringtone again. It had made me laugh when she’d done it, but the way I was feeling right now, it wasn’t
doing anything to lighten my mood.

‘You’ve got to come here – I’ve got so much to tell you. And show you!’ Jazz announced breathily, hardly giving me enough time to say ‘Hi’. ‘He
came round last night!’ I grimaced quietly to myself. I didn’t have to ask who ‘he’ was. And no sign of an apology from Jazz.

Still, I swallowed my sadness and told Dad I was going to Jazz’s.

‘We’ll continue the search for Jaffa,’ I said, hoping against hope.

But of course, Jazz had very different plans.

‘Quick, come upstairs – I don’t want Ty to hear us talking,’ she hissed, whisking me through the door so fast I nearly fell over my own feet. ‘He was a right pain
yesterday, shoving Huckleberry in everyone’s faces and butting into the conversation with stuff about guinea pig poo, like the total idiot that he is.’ She rolled her eyes as far back
as it was possible for them to go without rolling out of her head altogether.

Good old Ty! I wished I’d been there. Jazz didn’t notice my reaction; she was in too much of a tearing hurry to get me into her room. I almost tripped up the stairs. Once on the
landing, she whirled into her room, her head twisting from side to side as though she were being tailed by a gang of evil mafia guys, and then yanked me through the door by my elbow, catching me
off balance.

‘Hey!’

‘Shh!’ she admonished, her finger to her lips. Ty might hear.’ She closed the door quietly and firmly behind us and dragged a beanbag over to keep it shut – although I
didn’t think a beanbag would have much effect against the human cannonball that was Jazz’s younger brother.

Jazz whizzed over to the far corner of the room, plonked herself on the floor and gestured wildly at me to sit with her.

I slumped down next to her and caught a strong whiff of something.

‘Are you wearing perfume?’ I asked disbelievingly.

Jazz scowled. ‘Yeah. So? Anyway, listen – like I said,
he
came over with his mum.’ Her voice had dropped to a half-whisper.

There was no use in complaining or trying to change the subject. Jazz had that flashing look in her eyes and that wide-stretched smile she reserved for occasions of extreme excitement, like the
time her dance class had won the regional championships and she had been chosen to go up on stage and receive the cup.

‘And?’ I said, thinking I had to say something to show I was listening.

‘And you’ll never guess what!’ she replied, pausing dramatically in what would have been a build-up of tension. Except that as far as I was concerned, there wasn’t
any.

‘What?’ I replied.

‘His mum is a television producer and his dad works in the music business!’

Oh no! This was possibly the worst news I had had so far about this family. I could just about cope with the fact that they were living in Kaboodle’s old house and had set my best
friend’s heart aflutter with all the musical instruments they’d moved in with, not to mention their son, but now Jazz was telling me that the parents were her ticket to fame and
fortune! Well, that really put the lid on it for me. The new family had it all. I was out of the picture. Case closed.

I sat hunched over, elbows on knees and head in hands, and half-listened as Jazz burbled away.