Authors: Anna Wilson
I drew back from his hug and gave him a sceptical look.
‘And if she doesn’t come back right away,’ Dad said wearily, ‘I’ll go looking for her myself, even if it means knocking on people’s doors, OK? Now, go and do
something useful like tidying your bedroom – or give Jazz a call and sort out your differences, eh? I’ve got to get on.’
I grunted and left the room while he whisked around, tidying up the kitchen. I went into the sitting room, grabbed a book and flopped on to our low window sill. It wasn’t the comfiest of
seats, but it meant I could pretend to read while keeping an eye out on the road to see if Jaffa was darting between our neighbours’ houses.
I tried to distract myself by reading a couple of lines of my book, but I’d never been much of a reader and it took too much concentration to get back into the story. Besides, my bum hurt,
perching on the window sill like that. I couldn’t settle. I threw the book down and pulled out my mobile to check my messages.
Nothing. No voicemails either. Jazz wasn’t going to be making the first move then, I thought miserably.
I toyed with the idea of going round there on the pretext of asking if she’d seen Fergus. It might have been fun to see the look on her face if I casually mentioned that I’d met him
and that he’d asked me to the park. But I knew where that would lead, and I wasn’t up for a fight. I thought about saying I’d help her get into the auditions for
Who’s
Got Talent?
That would make her sit up and take notice of me. But then I didn’t exactly have any grand plans about how I was going to make that happen.
As these crazy thoughts fizzed and popped in my mind, I paced around the room, circling the carpet the way Dad does in his study when he’s stuck on a scene and doesn’t know what to
write. I was making my third or fourth tour of the room when I heard a soft ‘Meeeeew’ from outside.
‘Jaffa?’ I called, rushing out to the hall.
‘Meeeeeew! Me locked out!’
‘It’s OK. Bertie’s here!’ I cried, pathetically. I opened the front door to see my tiny cat sitting on the doormat, licking her chest and twitching her head round as if
she was irritated by something.
‘What’s up, Jaffsie?’ I crooned as I bent down to pick her up. ‘You having a nice little wash?’ I kissed her gently. That’s odd, I thought – she smells
funny. Kind of lemony. It reminded me of something, but I couldn’t think what. My fingers brushed against something rough on the back of her neck and there was a tinkling sound.
‘What’s this?’
I held her away from me so I could get a good look at her.
‘Itchy . . .’ Jaffa mumbled as she continued washing.
I gasped. There, around my beautiful kitten’s soft, fluffy neck, was a hideous, glittery purple collar! It looked huge against Jaffa’s small frame, and it glimmered and shimmered
like a dress a ballroom dancer or an ice skater might wear. It was disgusting.
‘Yeee-uuck!’ I howled in horror. ‘Where on earth did this come from?’
Jaffa jumped and howled back, her ears flat and her eyes bulging. ‘No shouty at me!’ she miaowed. ‘Me didn’t do it!’
I chewed my bottom lip. ‘I know. Of course you didn’t. I didn’t mean to upset you. But,’ I hesitated, ‘who did?’
Jaffa turned her head slightly away. ‘Not telling,’ she said stiffly.
I felt a knot of frustration forming in my stomach. I wanted to scream at Jaffa to tell me about this other person she was making herself at home with, but I made myself stay calm. After all, as
Dad said, Jaffa had at least come back. And it didn’t look as though she liked the collar all that much, the way she was pulling and licking at it. So maybe she was coming round to the idea
that my house was the best option. Well, I was going to make sure I sent a very clear message to the ‘other place’. I was going to get rid of that collar right away.
‘Jaffa,’ I said quietly ‘shall we see if there are any nice treats in the kitchen?’
I carried her down the hall. Forget what Dad and ‘Bex’ said about introducing new food gradually, I thought.
‘Jaffa!’ Just my luck, Dad was still in the kitchen. ‘See, Bertie? Told you she’d come back. Hey, what’s that round her neck?’ He came over to gawp at the
gross disco-collar.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘What does it look like?’ I was willing him to go away so that I could get rid of the thing as quickly as possible without alarming Jaffa.
‘You didn’t buy her that, did you?’ Dad was like a dog with a bone – he was not going to let this thing go. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘Why that man so crazy mad?’ Jaffa mewed.
I laughed.
‘Bertie! Don’t laugh at me when I’m talking to you. Answer my question,’ Dad demanded.
I sucked my cheeks in. ‘Wasn’t me. Jaffa just came back wearing it and I now fully intend to get rid of it. But first of all I need a treat to distract her.’
I marched past Dad to the utensils pot and snatched a pair of kitchen scissors and then I opened the fridge, intending to grab another prawn and feed it to Jaffa while I cut the collar off.
‘Hold it right there,’ Dad said. ‘I don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not giving her any more prawns. If you want to distract her, give her a cat
biscuit.’
‘Me don’t like them bikkit things,’ Jaffa whined.
‘She doesn’t like them,’ I told Dad stroppily.
Dad crouched down beside me. ‘Since when?’ he said.
‘Since for ever!’ mewled Jaffa.
‘
She doesn’t like them!
’ I repeated loudly, trying to cover Jaffa’s whining. ‘One more prawn isn’t going to kill her.’
Dad got up, looking at me and Jaffa as if we were both loop-the-loop. ‘Okaaaay. Don’t mind me. I just live here.’ And, thank goodness, he left me to it, muttering about
‘moody daughters’ being bad enough but ‘moody kittens’ being another thing altogether.
‘Jaffa!’ I hissed, once Dad was out of earshot. ‘What’s going on? You run away to goodness knows where and won’t tell me, you refuse to eat the food we’ve
bought you, then you’re off again and you come back wearing a
rank
new collar and won’t tell me who’s given it to you, and to make matters worse it feels like you’ve
only found your voice to use it against me! I – I love you, you know,’ I faltered. This was not the approach I had wanted to take.
Jaffa let out a mini kitten-sized sigh and said huffily with her pretty pink nose in the air, ‘Me not talking till me gets prawn.’
‘Sorry?’ I stammered.
‘Praaaaaaaaaaawn!’ She let out a long plaintive mew.
I was worried the noise might bring Dad running back again, so I hastily staggered to my feet. ‘OK, OK! Hang on a second.’
Jaffa stuck her nose higher in the air and said nothing.
I set her down on the work surface and got a prawn out of the fridge, then I picked the scissors up again and turned back to Jaffa, making ‘Here, kitty-kitty’ noises for Dad’s
benefit in case he had his study door open.
‘Me not Kitty-kitty,’ Jaffa pouted.
I chose not to react to this and held out the prawn.
Jaffa’s whiskers twitched at the fishy aroma, and she edged slowly forward, looking as though she was creeping up on an unsuspecting mouse and about to pounce. I would have thought it was
funny if I hadn’t been so worried about what she might do next.
‘Mmm! Yummy-yum-yum in my tum-tum,’ Jaffa purred, her dainty little pink tongue licking a piece of fish from the edge of the bowl.
‘Glad you like it,’ I said, using the distraction of the food to slide the scissor blade swiftly under the truly repulsive purple collar and give it a satisfyingly crunchy SNIP.
Jaffa was enjoying the prawn so much, she didn’t even notice. One point to me, Mr or Mrs Whoever-you-are Catnapper person, I thought to myself with a sneer.
Finally Jaffa gave a contented little yawn, showing every one of her minuscule pointy white teeth, and set to work licking her paws and washing behind her ears.
I couldn’t wait another second. ‘Jaffa,’ I said carefully, ‘now you’ve eaten, can you please answer my questions?’
Jaffa stopped in mid-chest-lick and blinked at me. ‘Questions?’ she asked blankly.
‘Who gave you the collar?’ I asked as calmly as possible.
‘Nice prawn lady,’ Jaffa answered smugly.
Aha! So now at least I knew it was a lady.
I carried Jaffa back into the sitting room and settled down in an armchair near the window for a cuddle. So, I thought, as I picked up my book again and flicked through the pages idly, if I
wanted to find out who was trying to steal my cat, I would have to look for a woman who had enough money to spend on showering Jaffa with prawns and who thought accessorizing a cat with glitter was
a good idea. I racked my brains but couldn’t think of any woman who matched that description in our cul-de-sac. Hey, maybe it was a girl – one who liked purple . . .
No, it couldn’t be! Jazz wasn’t interested in animals.
Was she?
I shivered. Jazz was the only person I could think of who would imagine a cat would look great in such a horrible collar. The last time I’d seen her she’d flown off the handle at me
for being worried about Jaffa, and I hadn’t spoken to her since Jaffa had come back . . . Was my once best mate now so angry with me that she would stoop this low?
I stared out of the window, my brain locked in freeze mode.
And then I spotted Fergus Meerley walking up his front drive, and I had an idea.
I
left Jaffa snoozing on the sofa and shouted to Dad that I was going out.
‘Where?’ he shouted back.
‘New neighbours!’ I called, then I scooted out of the front door before he had a chance to pass comment.
I ran over the road to number 15 and had my hand on the doorbell when I realized what a stupid thing I was doing. Who did I think I was, rushing over uninvited, and to a boy’s house at
that? It was the kind of thing Jazz might do, I thought ruefully, as I backed away from the door and prepared to make a run for it.
Too late – the door was flung open and there was Fergus, peering through that ultra-shiny fringe of his. He reddened.
‘Oh, hi. It’s you,’ he said.
My heart sank into my boots. He’d been expecting it to be someone else, hadn’t he? No prizes for guessing who. Oh well, no getting out of it now: I would have to speak to him. He
looked a bit like Zeb Acorn, I thought. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a zig-zaggy white motif on it and super-skinny black jeans with a pair of beaten-up black Converses. I couldn’t
help admitting Jazz was right: he did look cool.
I shook my head angrily. I didn’t want to think about Jazz.
‘Yeah, it’s me,’ I said. Doh! What a numpty.
‘Er, d’you wanna come in?’ he mumbled, looking at the floor. Not exactly the world’s warmest invitation, especially since he wasn’t even moving to one side to let
me pass.
‘I – well, OK,’ I muttered.
This was such a bad idea. I was in way over my head. I’d rushed over here on a whim, thinking I was going to be able to enlist Fergus’s help in finding out what Jazz was up to with
Jaffa. And now I had no plan of what to say or how to behave. What had I thought I was going to ask: ‘So, when you went round to Jazz’s did you see a small ginger cat?’ Not
exactly subtle. At best he’d think I was a control-freak pet-mad baby, obsessed with my fluffy-wuffy kitten; at worst he’d think I was a one hundred per cent loser loony-case
who’d got lost on her way out of Loserville and was too much of a loony to be allowed back in again.
‘So, did you, like, find your cat?’ Fergus reluctantly stepped to one side and gestured for me to come in.
Great. He did think I was a pet-mad control freak. ‘Y-yes,’ I stammered, fiddling with one of my curls till it got so tightly wrapped round my finger I realized in panic that it was
stuck. I pretended to scratch my ear. ‘And, er, no,’ I added. ‘Actually, that’s what I came to talk to you about.’
Fergus looked at though I’d just slapped him in the face. ‘Oh.’ His eyes kept flicking down the hall towards the kitchen. Then it dawned on me: was Jazz there?
I felt cold despite the summer heat. I disentangled my finger and rubbed my arms. What if she was there? I wasn’t ready to talk to her yet. Especially not in front of Fergus. I backed away
and said, ‘Actually, it really doesn’t matter. Jaffa came back and then she went away again, but she’s back now. It’s OK. I don’t know why I came round. Sorry to have
bother—’
‘Hey, hey, slow down,’ Fergus said, putting his hand on my shoulder and then immediately withdrawing it as if he’d burned his fingers. ‘I – listen, start from the
beginning,’ he said. He sounded kinder, but he was still looking shiftily in the direction of the kitchen.
‘She’s not here, is she?’ I blurted out.
‘Who?’ Fergus said – rather quickly, I noticed.
‘Jazz,’ I said.
I wasn’t prepared for his reaction. He laughed. Long and loud and raucously, almost as though he were relieved.
‘N-n-no, no no!’ he gasped. Then, catching sight of my puzzled face he said, ‘Sorry, it’s just . . . I’m not exactly Jazz’s favourite person at the
moment.’
‘Oh,’ I said. Disappointment washed over me. Fergus wasn’t going to be much use to me if he’d fallen out with Jazz as well. ‘That’s a shame,’ I added
lamely.
‘It is?’ Fergus asked, suddenly looking rather disappointed himelf.
‘Yes. I was kind of hoping you’d be able to do something for me, you see,’ I said, feeling a bit more confident now that Fergus seemed to be relaxing slightly.
He gave a wry smile. ‘If it’s to do with Jazz, I doubt it. You know I was going round to see her when you and I met?’ he asked, flushing again.
I nodded. Wow, Jazz had certainly got under his skin, I thought, watching the colour spread across his cheeks.
‘Well, she wanted to know all about
Who’s Got Talent?
, my mum’s the producer, you see.’ Don’t I know it! ‘Jazz went on and on at me to talk to Mum
about getting her into the auditions.’ Poor Fergus, he was looking really uncomfortable now. ‘I had to tell her, Bertie. It’s just not possible. You have to be—’
‘Sixteen, I know,’ I cut in. ‘I told her that myself. But the thing about Jazz is, she doesn’t understand the word ‘no’. Unless she’s using it
herself,’ I added quietly.