Kitten Wars (8 page)

‘Yeah, I knew all that. But it’s their
furniture
that’s arriving tonight, actually. Jazz’s mum told me,’ I said pointedly. I felt a bit mean making Dad feel
bad on purpose, but at the same time I wanted him to know I was fed up that I’d heard all the gossip from someone else.

‘I’ve been distracted recently, haven’t I?’ Dad stammered, putting his cutlery down. ‘It’s just this new play I’m working on. And then all that hassle
with Jaffa . . .’

‘It’s all right, really. The pressures of success, eh?’ I laughed half-heartedly. I was happy that Dad was doing well and not having to work for the
Daily Ranter
any
more. It meant he wasn’t as grumpy as he used to be. But one thing that had not changed was the number of hours he worked. If anything he seemed to be working even harder than he had before.
He was such a perfectionist. I remembered what Kaboodle had said about Dad doing it all for me. I did wish he would just stop sometimes, though.

It was all right for Jazz. If she was upset or excited about something she could always talk to her mum or dad or Aleisha. Even having Ty around had to be better than being on your own.

‘So, do you think we should invite them round?’ Dad said, cutting into my gloomy thoughts. He was grinning widely and cheesily.

‘Who?’ I asked.

‘The new neighbours.’

‘NO WAY!’

‘Hey, there’s no need for that!’ Dad frowned. ‘What’s the problem with being friendly?’

I shifted uncomfortably. ‘I just don’t really want to make a big deal out of them being our new neighbours, that’s all.’ I squirmed, remembering Jazz’s excitement
on learning how cool and good-looking the boy was meant to be.

Dad tutted. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you by wearing brightly coloured clothes or telling bad jokes or dying my hair green or anything,’ he said sarcastically.
‘Maybe I’ll just go round there on my own and say “hi” once they’ve had a chance to settle in. I don’t know – I hadn’t even given it a moment’s
thought till now, to be honest . . . Right,’ he said decisively, pushing back his chair. ‘You done with that?’ He gestured to my half-finished tea. I nodded. ‘OK, well,
I’m not going to do any more work tonight. How about a DVD?’

‘Nah,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit tired. I’m going up to read. Might have an early night.’ Truth was, I just wanted some time alone with Jaffa all snuggly on my
bed.

But the little kitten had other ideas. She wouldn’t settle at all and was off out of the room exploring before I could stop her. I did wonder if I should have followed her to make sure she
was safe, but I knew all the doors and windows would be shut at this time. Anyway, as I passed my bedroom window I was distracted by a removal van pulling up opposite outside Pinkella’s
house.

It was quite late for them to be moving in, I thought. I watched and waited to see what kind of stuff they would unload from the van, but no one came out. No sign of the family either.

I padded downstairs to tell Dad. He was half asleep in front of the TV, the newspaper open on his lap with Jaffa curled up on top of it and the remote in one hand.

‘Dad?’ I said softly.

‘Wha—?’ His head jerked up and he dropped the remote and jolted Jaffa awake. She shot into the air as if someone had plugged her tail into an electric socket and leaped on to
the window sill. Dad shook his head and rubbed his eyes. ‘Bertie, I thought you were in bed.’

‘Yeah well, the removal van made a load of noise opposite.’

Dad glanced at the window. ‘Oh, so they’re here.’

I noticed Jaffa was watching the van intently, as if she expected someone she knew to come out of it. I wondered if she was thinking about Kaboodle as I had done earlier. ‘Bit weird to
arrive so late, isn’t it?’ I said, bringing myself out of dreamland and into the present.

Dad shrugged. ‘We don’t know where they’ve come from, do we? Sometimes these guys come the night before they’re going to do the removal – means they can start first
thing in the morning. They can sleep in these vans, you know. Some of them are kitted out with beds and stoves and stuff.’

Jaffa was sitting back on her haunches and patting her paws against the window. It looked as though she was trying to wave at the van.

I wonder if she thinks that’s Kaboodle come back, I thought. I certainly wished it was.

I didn’t really know why the thought of this new family was doing my head in so much. It was a bit unfair of me, I knew that: I hadn’t even caught a glimpse of them yet. But I had
this nagging feeling that things were going to change as soon as they arrived. And something told me it wouldn’t be for the better.

I scooped Jaffa up and gave Dad a kiss.

‘Come on, Jaffs,’ I mumbled into her cute triangle of an ear. ‘Big day tomorrow, I guess. Let’s get some sleep.’

I had no idea just how big a day it would turn out to be.

I was still snoozing when Dad hammered on my door the next morning. I peered bleary-eyed at my alarm clock. Only eight o’clock! In the holidays! What was so important he
had to wake me up at
that
time for?

I stumbled out of bed and staggered to the door. Dad was standing on the other side of it, looking very sorry for himself. My first thought was he was cringing because I was looking a right
muppet. I always did in the mornings. It was mostly the fault of my hair which had a life of its own that did not involve asking me for permission before restyling itself into a look that would
probably best be described as Bomb-site of the Year.

But then as I rubbed my eyes and heard him say, ‘Now I don’t want you to worry, Bertie . . .’ I realized that he was looking sheepish rather than cringing. Suddenly I was wide
awake, my skin tingling in alarm.

‘It’s Jaffa, isn’t it?’ I cried.

‘The thing is, I was putting the bins out and—’

DRIIING!

‘The doorbell!’ I yelled, rather unnecessarily. ‘Go and get it, Dad – maybe someone’s got her!’

‘Don’t panic, Bertie,’ Dad said, sounding pretty unconvincing, I have to say. ‘You get dressed and I’ll answer the door.’

I muttered an ungracious ‘Thanks’ and ran back into my room to scrabble around for some clothes. Stepping out of my PJs, I left them where they fell and hastily pulled on some pants
and a half-clean top. I was just zipping up my jeans when there was the sound of bouncy footsteps on the stairs and Jazz appeared in the doorway.

‘Boy, you look rough!’ she said cheerily.

‘Thanks so much.’

‘Bertie!’ It was Dad, yelling up the stairs. ‘I’m going out to look for Jaffa!’

I glanced wildly at Jazz and then past her at the landing. I wanted to go with him, but Jazz was wearing her I’m-on-a-mission expression.

‘So, can I look out your window?’ she asked, pushing past me without waiting for an answer.

‘Erm, well, no you can’t. I’m kind of busy,’ I said, anxious to get rid of her so I could chase after Jaffa.

‘Hey, no need to be weird!’ Jazz responded, curling her lip at me. She always curls her lip at me when she doesn’t get something I’ve said. ‘You’ve only just
got up – you’re not
busy
at all.’

‘I am
about
to be busy,’ I said stupidly. ‘And anyway, I am not the one being weird. Seriously,’ I added.

After all, she was the one who had just turned up at a time of the morning usually reserved for the kind of deranged people who say things like, ‘We don’t want to miss the best of
the day now, do we?’ (Yes we do. We want to sleep.) And as if that wasn’t
weird
enough, she was now obsessed with looking out of my window. What’s not to be freaked
about?

Jazz shook her head impatiently. ‘OK, OK, I know it’s kind of early but I don’t have anything to do today,’ she said eventually, by way of an explanation.
‘So.’

‘So . . . ?’ I said.

‘So . . .’ Jazz faltered, looking away for a second. ‘I – er – I was thinking it might be fun to watch the new family move in. And you’ve got a better view
from your place than I have from mine.’ She fixed me with her deep brown eyes, challenging me to tell her I had other plans.

So
that
was what this was all about. I sighed.

‘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.’