Shamanka (13 page)

“My word, Pringle. A talking dog!” What kind of experiments are you conducting here?”

“Terrible things go on,” weeps a white rat. “They say it is for the greater good, but it's not for the greater good of us rats.”

“We have
feelings
,” sings a chorus of cats.

Dr Pringle's eyes are bulging like boiled eggs. Lola clears her throat and with great passion, she pleads with him.

“I know that, deep down, you're not a bad man, Dr Pringle; you're a good man. If someone locked your mother in a cage and experimented on her for the greater good it would kill you, wouldn't it? Sam is my child. You are killing me, Dr Pringle.”

Pringle is shaking so hard, his trouser bottoms are flapping. Lola puts her hands through the bars and begs. “Let me go, Dr Pringle. If you have a shred of compassion in you, let me go.”

“Let her go, or you spit on your own mother!” squeaks the rat.

Dr Pringle – who is a bit of a mummy's boy – finally crumbles. He scrabbles around for his keys and tries to undo the padlock on Lola's cage.

“Allow me,” says Mr Fraye.

Lola and Sam are reunited. There's no point describing the scene, because no matter how I arrange the words, it's impossible to convey the joy they feel, wrapped in each others arms. If you ever lose your orang-utan, you'll understand.

Mr Fraye is releasing the rats. Being a sensible man, as well as a compassionate one, he gives them plenty of time to run away before he releases the cats and the dogs and a pair of capuchin monkeys he found cowering in another room.

By now Dr Pringle has crawled inside a cupboard and closed the door, so, with a broad smile, Mr Fraye locks him in and ushers Sam and Lola back into the fresh air. “Come along, ladies. Mission accomplished.”

They walk back to the car. The capuchin monkeys are swinging in the trees. The dogs are barking with joy and cocking their legs against every tree they come across. The cats have curled up in the corn as if nothing has happened, because cats are not of this earth; they're made from shadows and shimmers and some strange slinky liquid unknown to science – not even to Dr Pringle. One little rat remains on the bonnet of the Morris Minor. It washes its whiskers, announces that life is wonderful, then it shoots off into the corn to raise a new generation.

Lola is sitting in the back of the car like an old relative looking forward to a Sunday drive. Sam is so happy, her eyes fill with tears. She isn't one to cry, as you know, but as she pulls out her hanky, something falls onto her lap. It's the cat charm Kitty gave to Ruth Abafey – she must have slipped it in Sam's pocket.

“Very pretty,” says Mr Fraye. “It looks like Bastet, the Egyptian cat goddess.”

If it belongs to Kitty, and if Mrs Reafy is to be trusted, the charm might have absorbed Kitty's emotions; maybe Sam could find her through psychometry. She will try later.

They arrive back at Mr Fraye's. In case you're in any doubt about his character, let me tell you that as well as being the perfect gentleman, he's the perfect host. He and his wife have no qualms about letting Sam share a bed in their spare room with an orang-utan, never mind that the sheets are from Harrods.

It's now a quarter to midnight. Snuggled up to Lola, Sam is having a quick look at the witch doctor's list. She's pretty sure Mr Fraye's name must be near the top – and of course it is – but she can't find Kitty Bastet anywhere.

She holds the cat charm, closes her eyes tightly and concentrates.

THE WISHBONE

This is the bone overlying a bird's breastbone. It's the custom to dry it for three days – three being a magic number. Two people then pull it apart. The one who gets the long half will have their wish come true.

THE HORSE SHOE

These protective amulets are often nailed onto houses, barns and stables. It's said that no witch will pass under one. The crescent shape is linked to the pagan moon goddesses, the Irish Sheela-na-gig and the Blessed Virgin Mary.

THE FOUR-LEAF CLOVER

Clover usually has three leaves, so a four-leaf clover is considered a lucky find. It's a genetic variation, like six-fingered human hands and multi-toed cats, and is believed to bring the finder health, wealth and happiness.

“I
had the strangest dream,” says Sam over breakfast, “about a place called Eel Pie Island. I don't suppose a place with a name as silly as that can really exist though.”

Mr Fraye passes the marmalade to Lola, who spreads it on her toast with her thumb.

“Hmm … yes, it does. It's on the River Thames, near Twickenham.”

Eel Pie Island used to be a popular resort for boating parties that had come to sample the famous eel pies.

“They don't make pies there any more,” says Mr Fraye. “The hotel has gone. The eel population has declined dramatically. Pollution, I'm afraid.” He chews his cereal carefully. “There are only about fifty houses on the island, mostly inhabited by boat builders, craft workers and the like.”

“Pop musicians,” adds Mrs Fraye, who rarely speaks, but serves and smiles.

“Yes, and them. Ah, well, I suppose they have to live somewhere.”

He knows a great deal about the place and Sam is curious to know if there's a particular reason for this.

Mr Fraye knocks his pipe out into a large glass ashtray. “There's a bird sanctuary at its southern end. I do a bit of twitching on the quiet.”

“I have to go there,” says Sam.

“You enjoy bird watching? Let's make a day of it. We might see a great crested grebe.”

But Sam isn't interested in going to Eel Pie Island to spot great crested grebes. She's hoping to find Kitty. “She might know where my father is. Mr Fraye, did you ever meet my father?”

No, but he'd heard of him. His sister had mentioned John Tabuh years ago when she thought he was a murderer and again recently, on the phone, when she realized to her shame that he wasn't.

“We can approach Eel Pie Island in the Morris,” offers Mr Fraye. “But … hmm … it can only be reached by footbridge or boat, I'm afraid.”

“I don't mind walking.” Sam gets down from the table. She's already dressed, but there's the small – or rather large – matter of Lola. Naturally, Lola must go to Eel Pie Island too, but Sam is concerned that an orang-utan may attract the wrong sort of attention.

“She could go in disguise,” suggests Mr Fraye. “Mrs Fraye could lend her an outfit. With a little ingenuity and a large hat she could pass for someone's grandmother.”

Giggling to herself, Mrs Fraye takes Lola by the hand and, together, they go through her wardrobe. Lola is used to dressing up. She takes great pleasure in trying on the vast selection of hats on offer. With the addition of a pair of glasses, she is transformed into a passable human being; but the illusion isn't quite complete.

“It's the way she walks,” says Sam. “Old ladies just don't walk like that.”

Mr Fraye insists his Aunt Lillian did, especially after her operation; but Sam isn't convinced. “I don't suppose you've a wheelbarrow? That might solve the problem.”

Mr Fraye won't hear of it; it would never do to push your granny in a wheelbarrow. “We have a wheelchair,” he says. “A folding one. We bought it for Lillian but she refused to get in it.”

Rather than bore you with the way Mr Fraye hit his head on a beam while trying to get the wheelchair down from the loft, and how he pinched his thumb as he forced it into the back of his car, let's move on as swiftly as we can through the traffic and down to the Thames. Sam can see Eel Pie Island from the window. Mr Fraye parks near the footbridge and unfolds the wheelchair for Lola. He puts a rug over her knees to hide the red hair sticking out of her stockings.

Mr Fraye is so kind, but the truth is that Sam wants to find Kitty by herself. It's time for Sam to move on. She's not sure where she's going and it's a scary thought, but she has her protective oil and witch's cord, and she hopes the witch doctor's notebook will guide her. She'll never find her father if she stays put.

“Mr Fraye, please don't be offended, but I think this is something I have to do alone.”

“Ah,” he replies, “I did wonder.”

“Did you?”

He nods sagely. “But will you be all right on your own? I could wait here, if you like.” He pauses. “Or … not,” he adds.

“I'll be fine, really. Lola will look after me.”

Again, he nods. “Of course. But if ever you're in trouble… Well, you only have to call and I'll come and collect you both.” He slips a coin into her pocket. “For the telephone.”

“Thanks for everything, Mr Fraye. I could never have rescued Lola without you.”

“It was a pleasure. An absolute pleasure, and I hope you find who you're looking for. If you believe you will, you will. Shoulders back, head held high, remember.”

As Sam pushes Lola's wheelchair across the footbridge, she realizes she's forgotten to ask Mr Fraye the three questions. But sometimes there's no need to ask directly – he's given her the answers through his deeds: talking doves are just an illusion. The reality is, though, there's no scientific explanation as to how he came into her life just when she needed him – was that magic?

She turns to wave goodbye, but he's gone. The coin is burning a hole in her pocket. She takes it out and a quick glance tells her this is no ordinary coin.