Kitten Cupid (10 page)

‘So,’ she said crisply, ‘how would you say Fergie is getting on at school?’

What?
Wow, how to make a girl feel uncomfortable in one quick and easy step . . .

‘Erm, OK . . . I guess,’ I mumbled, staring at my knees. ‘I haven’t really seen that much of him, what with us being in different years.’

‘Well, I hope he’s actually going to do some work this term,’ she said sharply. ‘He seems to be spending all his time playing with this band. Ah, there you are, darling!’ she said, turning to the door.

Saved! I thought, the panic that had been rising in me easing at the sight of Fergus scuffing his socked feet against the carpet.

‘Hey,’ said Fergus quietly.

‘Hey,’ I said, willing his mum to go.

‘Right.’ Fiona stood up briskly as if reading my thoughts, and brushed down her skirt. ‘I’ll have to leave you two to it; I’m already late.’ She glanced at her watch and bustled out of the room.

Fergus raised his eyebrows and waited until his mum was out of earshot. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Hope she wasn’t hassling you.’

‘No – checking up on you, actually!’

‘Oh?’ said Fergus, frowning slightly.

‘No, really – I’m just joking,’ I said quickly. Doh! What had I said that for?

‘OK, so . . . do you want to go out?’ he said.

We decided to head to the park, and on the way Fergus told me about the band and how he was really chuffed Kezia had told him about it. ‘Not sure what I think of her though,’ he added awkwardly. ‘She’s a bit . . . bossy!’

A warm sensation spread in my chest. ‘Yeah?’ I said. I was careful to keep my voice as uninterested as possible.

‘Mmm – kind of like Jazz on a
really
hyper day!’ he said, glancing across at me and grinning.

‘That reminds me,’ I said. ‘Did you go to those auditions yesterday for the show?’

Fergus looked at me blankly. ‘What show?’

‘You know – the one Kezia and Charlie are organizing for the end of term. They roped Jazz in – not that they had to try very hard, as you can imagine! She was well up for it. She hasn’t stopped going on about it – don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed?’

Fergus was pulling a face and shaking his head. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said. ‘There weren’t any auditions. Anyway, I can’t see Kez organizing a show. Rashid reckons she’s got as much musical talent as a cat playing the violin!’

His mention of the word cat reminded me why I’d been so keen to talk to him.

‘Talking of cats . . .’ I began.

‘Oh yeah! How’s Jaffsie? Man, I should’ve come round to yours this morning instead of dragging you over to ours to be interrogated by Mum. It’s ages since I’ve seen that crazy little scruff-ball.’

‘Hey! Who are you calling a scruff-ball?’ I said in mock indignation.

We had arrived at the park. ‘Put it this way – she’s a lot like her owner,’ said Fergus. Then, flashing me an evil grin, he shouted, ‘Race you to the swings!’ and charged off, his long legs giving him an unfair advantage. I chased after him, giggling and shouting at him to stop.

I skidded to a halt as Fergus plonked himself down on one of the swings and kicked himself off the ground. I dodged his legs and grabbed the swing next to him. Soon we were arcing through the air in tandem and shouting a conversation across to each other. Fergus howled with laughter when I told him that Jaffa had managed to hitch a ride to school with me – ‘So that’s why you were acting so weird!’ – and then looked grim as I gave him all the details about Sparky, finishing with the monster-through-the-cat-flap episode. He had stopped kicking and leaning back by this point and was letting the swing slowly come to a standstill.

When I’d finished he let out a long, low whistle and said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me all this before? You know I would’ve been, like, happy to help.’

I shrugged, feeling my face grow hot. ‘You’ve been kind of busy.’

Fergus looked ashamed. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I . . . I didn’t even think you’d want to hang out with me that much at school, to be honest. I thought you’d have tons of friends in your own year from your last school. And, well, I guess I’ve been trying to make friends in my own year too. And then there’s the band—’

‘It’s OK!’ I said. ‘I don’t expect you to look after me.’

Fergus looked stung. ‘Right.’

I immediately felt bad and started babbling. ‘So, any ideas how to get rid of the mystery marauder? Dad’s freaking out and threatening to keep Jaffa under permanent house arrest. Either that, or I reckon he might even make me get rid of her.’

My voice caught in my throat as I said those last words.

Fergus at once reached out and laid a hand on my arm. ‘No! He won’t do that. I won’t let him!’ he said rashly. He was silent for a moment. Then his expression began subtly to change from ultra-anxious via thoughtful through to I’ve-just-had-a-brainwave. His dark blue eyes flashed excitedly and he gasped.

‘You know what?’ he said. ‘I think I’ve just come up with the perfect solution.’

‘Yes?’ I asked. I felt a surge of hope wash over my gloomy thoughts.

‘Cameras!’ he said.

‘What?’

‘Cameras!’ he repeated. He leaped off the swing, sending it rattling chaotically to and fro, and stood in front of me, waving his hands about like a loon. ‘The way to catch the monster is to rig up a camera in your utility room! Mum works in telly, right? So she’s got access to some pretty funky technology. Leave it with me. I’m sure she’ll want to help. You know how much she loves Jaffa,’ he said mischievously.

I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning my head off. I had to admit, it was a pretty cool plan. I just hoped Fergus was right about his mum wanting to help.

O
nce we’d said our goodbyes, I thought about calling in on Jazz to tell her about Fergus’s genius idea. Even though Jazz had never cared that much about my pet, or anyone else’s for that matter (and that included her little brother’s guinea pig, Huckleberry), I knew that she would prick up her ears at the mention of the words ‘filming’ and ‘camera’.

As I rang the bell, I realized Jazz hadn’t replied to any of my texts. I’d texted her a few times since Friday . . . Weird, I thought. She couldn’t have lost her phone
again
, surely? Still, phone or no phone, she had been so hyper about the auditions it wouldn’t be altogether surprising if she had forgotten I existed. Then I remembered what Fergus had said about there not
being
any auditions. There was an uneasy niggling sensation at the back of my mind, as though a voice was trying to warn me about something.

I heard footsteps pattering down the hall. It was Jazz’s little brother, Tyson, who had come to greet me. As soon as he flung the door open with his characteristic energy I was hit by a wall of sound. The usual Brown Family Rumpus was going on inside: jazz’s mum was yelling at someone, someone was yelling back, horrendous music was thumping through the ceiling and a strange smell accompanied by rather a lot of smoke was coming out of the kitchen.

‘Hi,’ said Tyson calmly.

‘Like the T-shirt,’ I said, raising an eyebrow at his orange and green top; it had the words ‘Weapon of Mass Destruction’ written across the front.

‘Cool, innit?’ Ty squeaked, jumping up and down suddenly for no apparent reason. ‘Sam sent it from New York.’

Sam was the oldest Brown child – though he wasn’t a child any more. He had just left uni and was spending a year in the States doing something ‘totally boring’ according to Jazz. Jazz had an older sister too – Aleisha. She still lived at home, but wasn’t around much.

‘So,’ I said, ‘any chance I could come in?’

‘Oh. Yeah,’ said Ty, still bouncing. He moved to one side and, filling his lungs, he yelled, ‘JA-A-A-A-ZZ! BERTIE’S HERE!’

The shrieking at the other end of the house stopped abruptly and Mrs Brown came out of the kitchen, looking very unlike her normal unflustered self. Her face had smudges on it, her forehead was creased into a frown and her hair was rather ruffled.

She tried to smile. ‘Hello, Bertie. Perhaps you can talk some sanity into my daughter. Even her father and Aleisha don’t seem to be getting through to her.’

Jazz was flailing down the hall behind her mum, shouting, ‘It’s just not fair! You don’t understand me! I HATE you!’

Even for Jazz, this was pretty strong stuff.

Mrs Brown whirled round on the spot and sucked her teeth harshly. She stood her ground in front of Jazz, towering over her and staring her down. Jazz immediately shrank about ten centimetres.

‘I think,’ her mother said in a dangerously cold voice, ‘you had better apologize, young lady,’

‘
Sorr-eee.’

‘Fine. Now go up to your room and turn that appalling racket off. Bertie can go with you. You and I will talk later.’

Jazz made a point of staring at a mark on the wall to the left of her mum and tried to keep her face set in a defiant expression, but it was clear that she had already lost this particular battle.

‘Whatever,’ she said. But very quietly.

The last thing I wanted was to stay in their house while the atmosphere had the flavour of a war zone about it, but I had gone and got myself invited in now. So there was no getting out of it. In any case, part of me was a bit curious as to what the row had been about.

‘What’s going on?’ I said as I followed Jazz into her room.

Jazz turned and scowled at me. ‘Like
you
care,’ she said.

‘Er, like, yes, I so
do,’
I said, mimicking her sarcastic tone.

Jazz pushed open her door and went over to where her iPod was fixed on a massive docking station – a recent present from Sam which Mrs Brown had not been overly pleased about due to the size of the speakers. She whacked the volume up a couple of notches, but swiftly flicked it back down when her mum started yelling again from the hall.

Jazz flumped on to her beanbag and folded her arms tightly, sticking out her bottom lip in a furious pout.

‘So,’ I said, sitting down on the floor opposite her and crossing my legs, ‘you OK? Only, it seems, as you would say, a tad
stressy
round here today. And what’s with you ignoring my texts?’

‘Like I said, do you really care? Seems to me like you and Fergus are so
loved-up
these days you couldn’t give a stuff about anyone else,’ she snarled.

‘Whoa!’ I cried, throwing up my hands in front of my face. Her tone was laced with so much acid, I felt physically stung. ‘For your information, Fergus and I are not “loved-up”, and as for me giving a stuff about anyone else, I could say the same to you!’

Jazz’s face immediately crumpled and she buried it in her hands. I noted with alarm that her shoulders were shaking.

‘Jazz?’ I said sharply, shuffling over to squeeze next to her. I put a tentative arm around her.

She shrugged me off and shifted slightly away.

‘Jazz! I’m sorry I shouted at you, OK? You’re obviously upset. Tell me what’s going on, please?’ I felt panic rising up in me. My best friend never cried.

She peered through her braided hair, mascara-tears streaking her cheeks. ‘You’ll only say, “I told you so.’”

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. ‘Why would I do that?’ Then I stopped short. ‘Oh, Jazz – it’s not the auditions, is it?’

Jazz hesitated for a split second and then said sullenly, ‘No.’

I bit my lip. ‘Are you sure? Fergus reckoned . . .’ I stopped myself. Not a good idea to mention Fergus after what she’d just said about us. ‘Well, it must be something pretty important,’ I persisted. ‘You don’t usually shout at your mum quite like that, and I’ve never seen you in such a state.’

Jazz wiped her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her purple and silver T-shirt and snapped, ‘I’m just not having a ball at the moment, OK? And I don’t really want to talk about it. So can we change the subject?’

I breathed deeply, forcing myself to think of something that might lighten the mood. Then I remembered Fergus’s plan and I said, ‘Hey! How do you fancy getting involved in some undercover work?’

‘Eh?’

‘A covert operation to catch a mystery intruder,’ I said, laying on the suspense. I wiggled my eyebrows and twirled a fake moustache as if I were a mad detective.

Jazz sniggered in spite of herself. ‘You are a nuthead,’ she said. ‘What are you on about?’

‘First of all, I have to tell you what’s been going on round at my place . . .’ I told Jazz the whole story, just as I had earlier to Fergus. I finished by saying, ‘So you see, that’s why I’ve been pretty distracted. Not because I’m “loved-up”. And in any case, Fergus has been busy too.’ I risked saying his name again, cautiously watching out for any sign of Jazz launching into another tirade. She didn’t react, so I went on, ‘He’s either hanging out with Rashid and the guys in the band, or he’s surrounded by Kezia and her too-cool-for-school mates.’

Jazz gave a little shiver. That was the worst bit about crying, I thought. Once you’d stopped sobbing you had to go through that cold, shuddery stage when your eyes felt raw and your nose dripped with snot.

I got up to fetch her a tissue from a box on her desk.

‘So what’s this got to do with a “covert thing-ummy”?’ Jazz asked, taking the tissue and blowing her nose.

‘Oh, sorry! Yeah, erm, well, Fergus came up with this idea to catch Jaffa’s torturer on camera,’ I said.

Jazz’s eyes regained some of their usual sparkle as I filled her in. ‘That sounds cool!’ she said, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. ‘D’you reckon Fiona will go for it?’

‘Let’s hope so,’ I said. ‘Then you can come over and watch the action!’

Jazz beamed, her sore eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘Fab!’

‘In the meantime – fancy cracking on with some of that horrendous homework? It’s got to be better doing it together,’ I said.

Jazz groaned. ‘If we have to,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

I smiled, glad to see my friend behaving a bit more like normal.

‘Mates?’ I said.

‘Mates,’ she agreed, giving me a hug.

But somehow I was still feeling uneasy. Jazz was definitely not herself.

J
azz asked her mum if she could do her homework at my place; unsurprisingly Mrs Brown seemed only too glad to see the back of her stroppy daughter for a couple of hours. While Jazz gathered up her books, I asked her mum if it would be all right for Jazz to stay for a sleepover too.