The Grasshopper's Child (15 page)

‘Sor, that's a
disgusting
thing to say,' snapped Brook.

‘No it isn't. It's the way things work. I didn't say Chall didn't deserve to win.'

The tall woman in the tapestry skirts had been walking up and down, jogging the baby to quiet him, and glancing curiously at the Exempt Teens table. Finally she came over.

‘You must be Heidi Ryan. I'm Portia. Such a terrible thing, a
terrible
thing—'

‘
Mum
,' groaned Sorrel. ‘Leave her alone. What's it got to do with you?'

‘Not that you aren't welcome here, of course you are,' said Portia, ignoring her daughter and staring at Heidi. ‘But we'll have to find you a more suitable placement, Heidi. An urban setting, where you'll feel more at home—'

The very old lady suddenly gave vent to a loud, wet and extremely smelly fart. ‘So glad you've joined us today, Heidi,' said the lady of the manor, and hurriedly took herself off.

John Fowler snickered heartlessly.

‘Hey, Cyril, I think yours needs changing! What a pong!'

‘I
would
attend to my Elder's needs,' said Cyril. ‘In an emergency: although it wouldn't be dignified. But this is not an emergency, as Chall is here. Chall, please help your gran.'

‘She's not my gran, she's my
great
-gran.
OhforGod'ssake
. Come on,
nenek
.'

‘Challon's nan is Cyril's assigned Elder?' said Heidi.

‘It's because it's randomised,' growled Jo Florence, arriving at that moment to pick up a packed box of herb posies. ‘Any fool thing can happen. Hiya, Heidi, y'all right?'

‘All right.'

Heidi moved up the bench to talk to Brooklyn. ‘Brook, I want to ask you something. Your mum told me, on the way here, she looks after animals?'

‘Hedgehogs, yeah. We breed them for re-introduction.'

‘Does she know about cats? There's this stray cat I'm feeding, he's got a lump on his throat, and it
stinks
, like something rotten. I'm really worried, and I can't ask my owners to send him to the vet. Would it be okay if I asked your mum? For advice, I mean.'

‘No,' said Brook. ‘It would not. Don't
mention
cats to my mum. The only good cat is a dead cat. They attack hedgehogs.'

‘Oh.'

‘Try me.'

‘Huh?'

‘In another life, before I had heart disease, I was going to be a vet. It sounds as if your feller's got an abscessed fight wound. I could treat that. Mum has a cabinet of pet medicines for her dim-wit spiny ratoids. I know where she keeps the key: but I'd have to see him.'

‘Wow. Thanks. Only I don't know how I can get him to you. I didn't think of that.'

Challon returned as they were having this whispered conversation. She set the old lady back in her place beside Cyril, and sat by Heidi.

‘What's up?'

‘A secret pet emergency,' murmured Brook. ‘At the Garden House. Are you in?'

Challon looked startled. She frowned; then quickly nodded. ‘I'm in.'

‘Okay, Heidi,' said Brook. ‘Probably tomorrow. But we discuss it later, not here.'

By five the sorting was over. Heidi carried one of the last boxes out. Villagers were getting on their bicycles, or setting off on foot. The estate workers had vanished, or were fully occupied. She took her box into the smaller, modern barn herself. The light inside was low; the boxes of fresh produce neatly stacked. She was glad to be alone for a moment.

An urban setting, where you'll feel more at home
.

An urban setting: Heidi knew what
that
meant. Ignorant, racist bitch!

Staring at Heidi in that horrible way, so different from the way Jo Florence's mum had looked at her. The lady of the manor, thinking
poor Heidi
was from a terrible background, and couldn't survive among people who used knives and forks. She paced up and down, glaring at the high-piled loot, all those masses of delicious, quality fresh produce: while the people who did the grading and packing made do with ‘winter salad'. A swede and a few beetroots; a few potatoes. Maybe a couple of carrots. An onion if you were lucky.
Food
Criminals,
she thought, vindictively.

I'll tell the police.

And why not? The Inspector was obsessed with Mehilhoc. How did Heidi end up here, had she noticed anything funny going on? He was full of questions. Heidi wasn't normally the sort of person who'd grass, but she'd already crossed that line in her heart, when she told the Inspector Dad had dodgy contacts. She'd have named names if he'd shown an interest. But he hadn't. He hadn't got back to her about the rings either. No session with an expert for Heidi, no sign of the Purple Suitcase. She'd heard nothing from the hospital either. For one glorious half hour she'd thought everything was turning around, but everything was worse than ever. Over and over, seeing what she'd seen when she walked into that room—

Heidi knew what people thought. She knew the Exempt Teens pitied her; even Old Wreck Tallis probably pitied her for being so dumb she believed her crazy mum was innocent. Only Clancy understood. Heidi would fight like the devil for Mum, say anything, never give an inch, but all the time, every moment, she faced the worst thing—

Someone was watching her from the doorway. It was George.

‘Hey, Heidi. What are you doing in here? Snooping?'

‘Just dumping the last box. That's a lot of veg. I was wondering where it all goes.'

‘Restaurant trade,' said George. ‘Don't be scared, it's all legit. My Dad isn't stupid. Want to see the paperwork? It costs a lot to run a whole village, and this is how it happens.'

‘I didn't see you sorting carrots.'

‘Not my thing.' He came over, with that lanky, swaggering walk, and stood too close.

‘I met your mum,' said Heidi.

‘Yeah, I know. What did you think of her?'

‘She seems like a strong, powerful person. Lets you know who's boss.'

‘Trust you. You cut straight to the chase. Strong and powerful. I call her
Mother Courage
, like in the Musical, because she never weakens.' He reached inside his jacket. ‘I was looking for you. I brought you a present.'

The flat, oval gold case weighed heavy in Heidi's hand. She found the catch, opened it, and saw a pair of antique miniatures, a girl in lace and silks, a boy in a gold-trimmed hat.

‘Where did you get this? Is it yours?'

‘Nicked it from my Elder. Dr Gunn, she's not a real doctor, but she used to doctor us, in the Crisis. I was terrified of her when I was a kid. She's blind, lives with her dog. She's got a ton of old gewgaws, she'll never miss it. You like? What's it worth? A kiss?'

Suddenly his arm was around her, his eyes were serious: his mouth was soft and inviting, his breath warm and sweet on her face. Heidi slipped out of his grasp.

‘Hey, why be like that? I know you like me, and no one's looking. What's up?'

‘Nothing. Just that I heard you and Challon were an item, maybe.'

George's smile vanished. ‘Oh, I get it. Girltalk. She's dumped me. Good as dumped me, if I cared. She never thinks about anything but Virtual Brit and making it big, these days.'

‘Funny, that doesn't sound like Chall to me.'

Nobody had told Heidi anything. She'd just seen the way Challon and George behaved with each other, and come to her own conclusions. But she'd hoped it wasn't true.

‘You'd better put this back,' she said, handing him the locket. ‘It's old and it's too good, it's bound to be on a police register. You'll get done if you try and sell it.'

‘I knew you'd be impressed. Right up your alley, inner-city girl. Okay, spurn me, see if I care. I still like you. I get shivers whenever you're near. Like this.' He was too close and she couldn't make herself stop him: his fingertips traced fiery sparkles up and down her spine.

‘Be nice, and I'll tell you something. Something that you
reeeaally
need to know—'

A horn tooted loudly, out in the farmyard.

‘Heidi?' called Brook's mum's voice. ‘Heidi! Where are you? We need to get going!'

She pushed George away and ran.

13: The Tower

Brook called her in the evening, asked some questions about the Bad Dream Cat and volunteered to do a house visit. Brook, thought Heidi, was one of those rare, valuable people who doesn't just say things. If they can do something for you they'll do it, and at once. She didn't know if a slave was allowed visitors. On the whole it seemed better not to ask, so they arranged for the visit to be discreet. Next day after lunch Brook texted her, and she went to open the back gate. Brook and Chall were waiting there, and Sorrel too: which Heidi didn't remember being part of the arrangement, but it couldn't be helped. In silence the four of them tiptoed swiftly up to the front hall: past the door of the Book Room where Old Wreck was probably lurking, and up all the hundreds of spooky stairs.

Heidi's attic looked a lot worse with three fresh pairs of eyes staring at it. She wished she could have entertained in the basement kitchen, a room she could be proud of.

‘Right,' said Brook, after a short, awkward silence. ‘Where's the patient?'

‘Shut in my bathroom.'

‘Let's get him.'

Sorrel and Challon came along, which Heidi could have done without. Sorrel stared hard at the Baba-Yaga bath, the torn lino and the damp-stained walls. The Bad Dream Cat didn't put up a fight. When Heidi picked him up he gave one piteous mew, and made no resistance. Back in Heidi's room, Brook examined him. The Cat kept his round orange eyes on Heidi, pleading for mercy and making her feel terrible—

‘Yep,' said Brook, ‘that's an abscessed bite.'

‘What bit him? A fox?'

‘That's what he can tell his mates. From the shape of the tooth-marks, it looks more like a run in with a squirrel. Now we need to immobilise the patient. Get ready to hold him.'

Brook unrolled her tool kit, and produced a fat, soft stretchy tube, like a knee-bandage. With amazing speed she'd whipped it over the Bad Dream Cat's head. She turned him into a bulging, bandage-coloured sausage, and started snipping away at his fur.

‘Now I have to lance it. This will be disgusting, I warn you.'

She took out a professional-looking scalpel, sliced the lump and gently eased it open. There wasn't much blood: what rolled out was mainly stinky green pus.

Sorrel yelped ‘Euuugh!'

Heidi had trouble not throwing up, but she managed to keep on holding the cat's head. Brook cleaned the wound and sprinkled it with antiseptic powder. She pressed open Bad Dream Cat's jaws, gently but firmly, and squeezed clear liquid from a dropper down his gullet. She smoothed his throat until he swallowed, fastened a cone collar round his neck and deftly rolled him out of the wrap.

The Bad Dream Cat crouched flat on the floor, not daring to stir.

‘That's it,' said Doctor Brook. ‘He's amazingly docile, so I'll leave the bottle and the antiseptic powder with you. Wrap him in a towel: you wouldn't manage the body-wrap, it's a trick to learn. Give him two one mil doses a day, keep the wound clean, and I'll see him in a week. Or before that, if the wound looks infected or starts smelling again. Or if he starts kicking up rough. Where will you keep him? He has to stay indoors, with the collar on, until the wound is cleanly healed.'

Heidi picked up Bad Dream Cat. ‘In the bathroom. I've made him a litter tray, and I can keep that door shut. My owners never come up here.'

Brook came to inspect the facilities. The litter tray was a baking tin filled with torn up paper. The patient's bed was a cardboard box with one of Tallis's ratty old towels in it. It was the best she could do.

Brook nodded. ‘This is fine. You've thought it out. You must have had pets before.'

‘Not really. I'm incredibly grateful, Brook. And
really
impressed.'

‘No problem. I practice every chance I get. Because, well, you never know.'

They flushed a bunch of pus-smeared tissues, washed their hands and left Bad Dream Cat in peace. Back in Heidi's room, Sorrel had got hold of Rock Mouse. Heidi reclaimed him, and moved some things so Brook could sit on the rimless wheelback chair.

‘Sorry,' said Sorrel, ‘shouldn't I have touched your pebble?'

‘Nah, it's okay.'

Heidi sat on the floor, Rock Mouse in her hands. She didn't like having Sorrel here, not after having met her mum; and that thing with George in the barn. ‘It's only an old souvenir. Mum and Dad bought it for me on my first ever day at the seaside. It used be a mouse, with eyes and a tail, and two little shells for ears, but they fell off. Dunno why I keep it, really.'

She was lying. Rock Mouse was very precious. He held the sparkling green water, and the pebbles, all shades of pink and brown, that had hurt her toes. The bouncy bright smell of the sea; the cries of the gulls. The vanilla ice cream that dripped from her cone, and the feeling, the unbearably lovely
feeling
of clinging to Mum's hand and Dad's hand, swinging along between them. For years and years she had loved that memory above anything, and found it again whenever she held Rock Mouse: not caring that he'd lost his trimmings.