Catcall (7 page)

13

L
EO

A
ll evening, we had to pretend he was Leo.

‘D’you want the TV on, Leo?’

‘Milk-shake or orange juice, Leo?’

‘Shall I read you a story, Leo?’

Some of the questions Jamie answered in his Leo voice. To others, he only gave a nod or a shake of his head. As Leo he was stern and kingly.

Mum went into the kitchen to get the tea, leaving me and Jamie to keep an eye on Jennie in the lounge. Course, Mum was delighted that Jamie had started talking, but she didn’t know the half of it. I followed her to the kitchen.

‘Mum? You know this Leo thing?’ I said. ‘At school? It was weird. Jamie and Arran were making up a play together–Jamie was Leo, and Arran was Jamie.’

Mum unplugged the kettle and took it to the sink. ‘A play? That sounds like fun. And that’s when Jamie started to talk?’

I nodded. ‘But, Mum, you know we went to that wildlife park, with Dad? And saw lions?’

‘Mm?’

‘Well, in the play, Jamie said the lion told him something. He said that before, too.’

Mum stared at me, then jumped back as tap-water sprayed all over the lid of the kettle and soaked the sleeve of her jumper. ‘Oh,
now
look.’ She turned off the tap. ‘He said
what
?’

‘The lion told him something. I was waiting for him to say
what,
but that was as far as they’d got, with the play.’

‘Oh, but he was just pretending, surely!’ Mum dabbed at her sleeve with a towel.

‘Well, course he was!’ I humphed. ‘I mean, the lion didn’t
really
talk! But––’ I stood by the draining-board, remembering the lion’s steady gaze, and the shudder that had gone through me. No, not really a shudder. I hadn’t been frightened, I’d been–hypnotised. I couldn’t have moved if I’d wanted to. I was held by that fiercely calm gaze like a hedgehog in car headlights. Perhaps the lion had told me something, too, sent me a message…if I could only
understand
…

‘But what ?’ Mum prompted.

‘Well, look at this.’ As soon as we’d got in from school, I’d typed a copy of the play-script Jamie and Arran had written, and printed it out. I took the page out of my jeans pocket and gave it to her. ‘Here’s what they did. See, Jamie was Leo, and Arran was Jamie–his mask was meant to be Jamie. But it’s not finished, Arran said.’

‘Arran was Jamie? Whatever made him think of that?’

I shook my head–how would I know? Mum read the script, slowly, her lips shaping the words. Then she went back to the beginning and started again. I didn’t like what I’d just done–taking Jamie’s script without asking, using it as evidence. Too late, now. Mum had it in her hand.

‘Are they going to finish it?’ she said at last. ‘If only we knew what the lion said! I mean, what he
thought
it said.’

‘Tomorrow,’ I told her. ‘They’re doing more on it tomorrow.’

‘Can I keep this?’

‘If you want.’ I’d been going to put it in my Book of Cats, but I could print out another copy.

‘I’d like to show it to the–to the doctor,’ Mum said.

What she meant was the
psychologist.

She tucked the paper into the rack where she keeps letters and vouchers and free offers. ‘Thanks, Josh. I’m glad you showed me. I wonder if I ought to speak to Mr Rose about this. Jamie needs time to finish this in his own way.’

Suddenly a look of panic came over her face, and she rushed into the lounge. Maybe she’d heard Jennie crying, or starting to cry–she seemed to have developed extra-sensory perception since Jennie had been born. I followed, but Jennie was lying peacefully in her crib, clenching and unclenching her fists the way she did sometimes, and Jamie was curled up on the sofa, still with his Leo mask on, looking at my wildlife magazine. I looked at Mum. Had she thought Jamie might hurt Jennie?

‘Tea in ten minutes, boys,’ Mum said.

She’d already forgotten that Jamie only answered to
Leo.

W
e were eating apple pie when I heard the rumble and clatter of Mike’s van on the driveway. He was late, because he’d been trying to finish a job in Cricklewood. I thought Jamie would have to take off his mask to eat–Mum hadn’t tried to make him, but had watched to see what he’d do. What he did, he pushed it up for each mouthful, then pulled it back quickly while he chewed and swallowed, hiding himself. He wouldn’t look at me or Mum, or join in the conversation.

What if he really had been taken over by something, some spirit of Leo or Lion that had turned him into a different person? What if the eyes behind the mask weren’t Jamie’s, but the glaring amber eyes of a lion? I tried to concentrate on eating my pie and making things seem normal. This was just stupid. If I got frightened of my own brother, what use would I be?

Mike came in, all dusty and cement-spattered in his overalls. Instead of giving us all a hug as usual, he stared at Jamie, surprised by the mask. Jamie stared back through the eye-slits. There was an odd stillness about him. A lion waiting to spring, I thought. There really was a stranger at our table. But Mike recovered quickly.

‘Wow, Jamie!’ he said. ‘That’s stupendous! Did you make it? You’ll scare Splodge–he’ll think there’s an intruder in the house!’

‘He’s Leo,’ I told Mike. ‘You have to call him Leo.’

Mike looked astonished. He always goes upstairs to change out of his work clothes as soon as he’s home from work, but today was different.

‘Come and sit down,’ Mum told him. ‘We’re having tea–Josh, me and Leo. Say hello to Mike, Leo.’

‘I’m Leo. You can’t tell me what to do,’ said Jamie in his Leo voice.

Very slowly, holding out his hands to the table to steady himself, Mike sat down. ‘Hello, Leo,’ he said.

Jamie nodded his head sternly.

‘Have you come to live with us?’ Mike gave a quick glance at Mum to check he was doing it right.

‘I might stay for a bit,’ Jamie said. ‘I live wherever I want. I’m Leo.’

‘Well, we’re very pleased to have you here,’ Mike said. He looked at the plates on the table. ‘Have you had something nice to eat? What do you like, I wonder? Pilchards? Minced rabbit?’

‘I’ve eaten, thank you,’ Jamie said.

‘You mustn’t joke with Leo,’ I whispered to Mike. ‘He’s a lion, a proud lion, not an ordinary cat.’

Mike nodded, then continued to Jamie: ‘How did you manage to eat your tea with the mask on?’

Jamie showed no sign of having heard. I thought: while he’s Leo, it isn’t a mask–it’s
him
. That’s why he won’t answer.

‘He pushed the mask up to put food in his mouth,’ Mum explained. ‘And down again while he chewed.’

‘I eat what I like,’ Jamie said. ‘And I like baked beans.’ It was almost his normal voice.

‘Good, so do I.’ Mike darted another look at Mum. ‘Have you left me any?’ I could see that they both felt the way I had at school–fidgety with excitement, sure that we’d almost got Jamie back.

We hadn’t. Only Jamie-as-Leo.

When it was Jamie’s bedtime, I went upstairs to fetch my Book of Cats. With difficulty, Mum persuaded him to take off the Leo face. ‘You can wear it again tomorrow, if you want.’

Reluctantly, Jamie lifted off the mask and put it on the low table between our two beds.

‘Have you cleaned your teeth?’

No answer.

‘Would you like a story?’

No answer.

Without the mask, Jamie was shut back into silence.

14

L
OO
-B
RUSH

W
e’d all been so busy with Jamie that I hadn’t noticed Splodge wasn’t around. Now, I realised I hadn’t seen him since we got in from school. Surely he hadn’t been outside all this time–soft old Splodge, who spent half his life sleeping on cushions? I looked round for him–the bean bag, the windowsill, the back of the sofa where he got the warmth of the radiator. Next I tried his upstairs places, but still couldn’t find him.

When I went back down, Mum and Mike were in the front room, sitting together on the sofa.

‘I just don’t understand it,’ Mum was saying. ‘Dr Awan was quite right–there’s nothing
stopping
him from talking. It seems to be the mask that made him start to speak. It’s so peculiar–like he’s hiding behind it!’

‘Perhaps he feels safer that way?’ Mike suggested.

‘But why? Why should he feel unsafe without it? Are you saying he feels unsafe here with us, with his family?’

Mike gave a
search me
shrug. ‘I don’t know, love, I really don’t. I was just trying to think of something that makes sense. Are you taking him back to the doctor’s tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I will. But I think it’s the psychologist we need, not the doctor.’

‘Why don’t you give Paul a ring? Get him to come over. Maybe Jamie needs his own Dad. Maybe Paul could even go to the doctor’s with you. Or the psychologist.’

‘Well–yes, maybe I will–’

‘Mum,’ I broke in, ‘where’s Splodge? I haven’t seen him since I got in from school.’

Mum turned to me, her face pinched up with a new worry. ‘No! He hasn’t been around, has he?’

‘Well, when did you last see him?’ I demanded.

‘He was definitely here when I gave Jennie her bath, because he sat on the toilet seat watching–you know how he does. But I don’t think I’ve seen him since.’

Mike frowned. ‘No. I’ve not seen him, either.’

‘What, you didn’t feed him?’ I accused Mum.

‘No, I forgot, with all this Leo business going on.’

‘But he never
lets
us forget! He’s never missed a meal in his entire
life
!’

‘Then that must mean he wasn’t here,’ Mum said. ‘I’d have tripped over him fifteen times while I was getting tea, otherwise.’

‘Why didn’t you say? How come you didn’t notice?’

‘Josh,’ Mum said, ‘I’ve got quite enough on my plate, don’t you think? Without you pestering me about the cat. Splodge can look after himself.’

I hated it when she spoke to me in that tired, patient voice. I turned away. ‘I’m going to look outside.’

‘Don’t worry! He won’t be far away,’ Mike said. ‘He’ll turn up as soon as he’s hungry, old Splodge the Podge.’

‘But he’s
always
hungry. I’ve got to find him.’

‘It’s dark, Josh–don’t go far. I don’t want you wandering about,’ Mum fretted.

‘I’m only going in the garden. Not on a Polar expedition.’

I was in a mood to be fed up with everyone–with Mum, with Jamie, with Splodge for disappearing, even with Mike, for telling me not to worry, when I
wanted
to worry.

Nothing was the same any more. We couldn’t just be normal, not since the baby.

It was all Jennie’s fault! It must be. Jennie kept Mum tied to nappies and feeds and bathtimes. Jennie spoiled Mum’s sleep, making Mum get up in the middle of the night when she cried. Everything had been fine, before Jennie. Now it was all
baby baby baby,
apart from the times when it was
Jamie Jamie Jamie
–you’d think no one else mattered.

My bad mood had sneaked up on me like a head cold, filling me up with it. I felt spiky and tight and irritable–I hated it, but didn’t know how to get rid of it, any more than I could get rid of the sneezes and the runny nose once a cold took grip. I wasn’t used to this! Mum was always saying how good-natured I am, how helpful, what a good brother to Jamie and Jennie. Just now I didn’t feel like being good or kind or helpful to
any
one. As for Jamie, and all this Leo business–he was just copying me, that’s all it was. Cats are mine, and I’m not sharing them. This was a stupid, babyish thing to think, and I knew it. That only made me crosser.

‘Put your coat on, Josh, if you’re going outside,’ Mum called.

‘Gloves, too, and don’t be more than a few minutes.’ That was Mike. ‘It must be sub-zero out there.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I muttered. ‘Leave me alone, will you?’

I took my coat from its peg and stomped out of the back door, shutting it hard behind me.

O
utside was so different from in, on this cold, cold night. We’re like cave people, barricading ourselves in with our lights and our fires against the chill and the dark, but it’s still out there, bigger than we can imagine. Same as it’s always been, always will be. We’ve got central heating and television and the internet, but we’re still living on this little spinning planet in the middle of all that dark, just like the earliest humans did.

Thinking that made me feel tiny and unimportant. But at the same time bigger inside, like being on the edge of understanding something.

It wasn’t nine o’clock yet, but it felt like stepping out into the middle of the night. Cold air pressed against my face, bit at my hands, streamed into my ears and round the back of my neck and through my jeans. I stood for a few moments on the patio, my back against the bright square of the kitchen window, letting my eyes adjust. Gradually, the high garden fence came into focus, a black slab against the sky, and there were street lamps beyond the high trees at the end of our garden, and lit windows in other houses. There was a sprinkling of stars, and a wisp of cloud like a scarf. As I looked, there were more and more and more stars, some bright and gold, others tiny pin-pricks. Course, they don’t look as bright as they would without the street lights. What was it like to be Early Man, even earlier than fire, with the only light coming from the stars and the moon? I felt dizzy, as if there was no up or down. I’d lose my balance, and tumble into the hugeness that stretches out for ever.

I moved my feet, to convince myself I was standing firm on the ground. They’d already started to go numb.

‘Splodge!’ I shouted. ‘Splodgey! Splodge, come here!’

I should have brought a torch.

‘Please!’ I added.

My voice floated away, up and up, towards the stars. There was no one to hear me. I waited for Splodge’s chirruping Hello, and his furry warmth against my leg. My eyes strained for the white bits of him–on the fence, among the shrubs. I knew how he came out of the dark–his white splashes like pieces of torn rag, then they suddenly make themselves into a whole purring cat. I walked up the garden path, making myself as tall as I could so that my voice would carry over to Doug’s garden next door. Splodge goes over there sometimes.

‘Splodge! Splodgey! You’ve missed your dinner!’

A shiver went down my back. What if cat eyes were watching me in the darkness? What if cat shapes were crouching among the plants?

What was the matter with me? I was only looking for my cat. I looked in every corner of the garden, still calling. No Splodge. I hated the thought of him melting into the dark, hearing me but choosing not to come.

It was so cold that I felt it in my teeth. Mike was right, I needed gloves and a woolly hat as well as my coat. In the morning the pavements would be silvered with frost. If I went back in, Splodge would quite likely sneak in through his cat flap in the next few minutes. And I hadn’t
really
looked everywhere indoors. Perhaps he’d found a new hiding-place. With the choice between a centrally-heated house and an icy cold garden, what sensible cat would be outside?

I let myself back in. Mum and Mike were still close together on the sofa, and I saw a tear-trail down Mum’s face. I looked away.

‘Any luck?’ Mike said in the fake-cheerful voice he used when he was trying to pretend nothing was wrong.

‘No. No sign of him. I’m going to look upstairs.’

‘He shouldn’t
be
upstairs,’ Mum said, getting agitated all over again. ‘Not when Jennie’s asleep in her cot. You know that!’

‘Yeah, right, have a go at me!’ I felt myself going hot. ‘Why’s it
my
fault?’

Mike looked at me sharply and I thought he was going to tell me off, but he only said, ‘Well, he’s got to be
some
where.’

I stomped up the stairs.

‘Don’t wake Jennie,’ Mum called after me. ‘Or Jamie.’

Jamie was asleep. I looked under both our beds, and pulled back my duvet, even though it was obvious there was no Splodge-hump under it. I looked behind the curtains. Then I went into Mum and Mike’s room. Mum leaves a night-light on, one of those things you plug straight into a socket, so that she can check on Jennie without having to switch on the main light or a lamp. I looked into Jennie’s cot.

She was lying on her back, with her head turned to one side. Her eyes were closed. I couldn’t see now, but I knew that her eyelids were the softest mauvey-white, like the curved inside of a sea-shell. She made a small snuffling sound as she breathed. Her mouth was slightly open, then it made a sort of mumbling movement, and she dribbled a bit.

All my bad temper came foaming up. Like when you drink Coke too quickly and it’s all fizzing inside, and you need to burp or sneeze to let some of it out.

‘It’s all your fault!’ I told her. ‘Everything was fine, till you came along. I wish you’d go away.’

There, I’d said it! I stood tall over the cot, triumphant. My voice sounded strange–rough and harsh and hissy. For a second I thought it was someone else speaking. The words echoed in my ears.

But it wasn’t someone else. It was me, loud and clear.

What was I doing, saying nasty things to a sleeping baby?

I knelt down and leaned into the cot. ‘Jennie, I didn’t mean it!’ I whispered. ‘It wasn’t me! I don’t know why I said it! You didn’t hear, did you?’

She stirred and made a tiny whimper, but didn’t wake up.

I watched her for a few more moments, hardly breathing. Then I stretched out a finger and touched her hand. Brand-new skin, living and warm, with fingernails, and little bones underneath even though I couldn’t feel them, all the same bones I’ve got in my much bigger hand. Our little miracle, Mike calls her. The way she’s made. The way she’s got everything in her she needs to be a real grown-up person. His beautiful little package, he calls her. Sometimes he goes all soft and soppy, cooing and muttering and cuddling her and talking all sorts of nonsense. He’s like a kid with a new toy, Mum says, only Jennie isn’t a toy. The girl she’s going to be, the girl we’ll get to know, my sister–where did she come from, that person? Where had she been till now?

Although I like facts so much, I also liked this not-understanding. This wondering. I smiled at Jennie, and touched her cheek. I felt how firm it was, how real. She was here now.

It was only when I went down again, and saw Mum and Mike both staring at me, and the almost frightened expression on Mum’s face, that a thump of shame and guilt slammed through me and I knew what had happened. They’d heard! Heard what I said to Jennie! Mum’s never far from the baby monitor. My horrible words would have been relayed down here five times more loudly than I’d spoken them. Or maybe she’d forgotten to switch it on?

My feet seemed to be superglued to the floor. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. But I felt my face flaming red, my heart pumping and my ears burning.

Neither of them spoke.

Perhaps they
hadn’t
heard? Perhaps the monitor wasn’t on after all?

‘No luck with Splodger the Dodger?’ was all Mike said. ‘Did you try the airing cupboard?’

‘No!’ Glad to get away, I raced back upstairs. The door on the landing was slightly open.

‘Splodge? You in there?’

The airing cupboard is where Splodge hides when there’s a thunderstorm, or fireworks, which are even worse. He stays in there for hours. He knows how to pull the door open by hooking it with his front paw, which is quite clever of him. I opened the door and knelt down on the carpet. There he was, crouched into the back corner, behind the tank.