Cat Mummy (8 page)

So I had a bath and felt a lot fresher. But the clean clothes were a BIG problem. They were hanging in my wardrobe. When I opened the door a crack and smelt them I knew I couldn’t possibly put any of them on.

I started to panic. I’d have to try to creep downstairs with all my clothes in the middle of the night and put them in the washing machine. But what was I going to do
now
?

I ended up putting on my old fairy costume which I found screwed up at the bottom of my toy box. I hadn’t worn it for a couple of years. It was much too short and much too tight. I felt a perfect fool, but at least it only smelt of old teddy bears.

Gran looked astonished when I lumbered
downstairs
, wings flapping, net skirts barely covering my knickers.

‘What on earth have you got that fairy frock on for, Verity?’

‘I wanted to play fairies, Gran. Please let me,’ I said, and I swooped about, pretending to be a soppy little fairy.

‘What a lovely fairy! Can I have a wish?’ said Grandad, coming in from the garden.

I had to keep on and on playing fairies. I was still flitting about granting magic wishes when Dad came home – early again, in time for tea.

‘Is that the latest fashion?’ Dad said warily, peering at me.

‘Oh Dad, don’t be silly,’ I said. ‘I’m being a fairy, right?’

I did a daft pointy-toe dance to demonstrate.

Dad and Gran and Grandad had a muttered conference while I twirled.

‘She seems to have perked up astonishingly.’

‘She didn’t even ask if there were any phone calls about Mabel.’

‘I came home early in case she wanted to do another search of the neighbourhood, but it seems a shame to suggest it now.’

It was easier if they all thought me a heartless baby who’d forgotten all about Mabel, but I hated having to act the part, especially when Gran pandered to me and gave me an extra fairy cake at tea.

We were all still sitting at the table when the doorbell rang. Gran went to answer it and came back into the living room . . . with Miss Smith!

‘I’m so sorry! I’ve interrupted you when you’re having your meal,’ said Miss Smith.

‘Not at all! We’ve finished anyway. Let me get you a cup of tea or coffee, Miss Smith,’ said Dad, leaping up.

‘I’ll do it, dear,’ said Gran. She doesn’t like anyone helping her in the kitchen.

Grandad was looking at me, eyebrows raised.

‘Is our Verity in a spot of bother at school, Miss Smith?’ he asked.

Gran frowned.

‘Verity? What have you been up to? Go and put a clean school frock on, dear. Whatever will Miss Smith think seeing you in your funny fairy outfit?’

‘Oh no, please. You look sweet, Verity,’ said Miss Smith. ‘Don’t worry, Verity’s not in any trouble at all. I just came round because Verity dropped her purse. It fell out of her school bag and rolled under a desk. I brought it round in case you were worried about it.’

‘How kind of you,’ said Dad. ‘Say thank you, Verity.’

‘I knew it was silly taking that broken bag to school. You’ll take your duffle bag tomorrow,’ said Gran.

‘I can’t!’

They all looked at me.

‘I mean . . . I lost my duffle bag.’

‘Don’t be silly, Verity, of course you haven’t lost it,’ said Gran. ‘And
do
go and put some decent clothes on, dear.’

‘I don’t think I’ve got any clean clothes, Gran.’

Gran frowned at me.

‘Verity! What’s the matter with you? There’s at least ten different clean outfits hanging in your wardrobe. Now go and put something on
at once
!’

Gran doesn’t often get cross, but when she uses that tone you can’t argue with her.

I looked desperately at Grandad.

‘Can’t I stay in my fairy frock, Grandad?’ I pleaded.

Grandad tutted at me. ‘Do as Gran says, darling,’ he said.

I looked at Dad.

‘Upstairs, Verity. Quick sharp,’ said Dad.

So I went upstairs, very very slowly. I stopped to listen halfway up.

‘That’s not like our Verity. She’s usually such a good little girl, does as she’s told and never any arguing.’

‘Of course she’s had a worrying time, lately.’

‘Has she seemed upset at school, Miss Smith?’

‘Well yes, she hasn’t been her usual self at all. I agree, she’s generally a lovely cheery little girl, a total joy to teach. But of course when she’s had such a devastatingly terrible bereavement to deal with––’

‘Bereavement?’ said Dad. ‘We don’t know for sure that Mabel’s dead.’

‘We’ve done our best to advertise.’

‘She might come back yet. It’s a bit soon to give up hope – though she’s never run away before.’

‘But . . . I thought . . . Verity said . . . so her mum’s left home?’ said Miss Smith.

‘Her
mum
?’ said Gran. ‘No no, my daughter passed away long ago.’

‘When our little Verity was born,’ said Grandad.

‘Has Verity been talking about her mum at school, Miss Smith?’ said Dad. ‘I think she’s
been
dreaming about her. It’s been worrying me a lot. Perhaps you can help us. We’ve never been very good at talking about it––’

‘It’s too upsetting,’ said Gran.

‘Of course she didn’t ever know her mum,’ said Grandad.

‘I see,’ said Miss Smith, though it was clear she didn’t. ‘So . . . who is Mabel?’

‘Oh! That’s our cat,’ said Dad.

I gave a moan. Gran came whipping outside into the hall.

‘Verity! Are you hanging about on the stairs listening to us? I told you to go and get some sensible clean clothes on!’

‘I can’t, Gran!’

‘Whatever’s the matter with you today?’ said Gran crossly. ‘Why are you showing me up in front of Miss Smith? And what have you been
saying
to her?’

I hung my head, unable to explain. Gran sighed. She took hold of my arm and started pulling me up the stairs.

‘No, Gran! Please! Don’t!’ I whimpered, realizing where we were heading.

Gran tugged me into the bedroom. She stopped to get her breath. She sniffed.

‘What
is
that smell?’

‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ I said, which was the biggest lie yet, because I was surer than sure.

My eyes swivelled towards the wardrobe. So did Gran’s. She stepped towards it.

‘Don’t!’

But she did. She flung the door open – and then reeled backwards, choking.

‘Oh my goodness! What on
earth
 . . .?’ She bent down and saw the duffle bag at the back.

‘There’s your duffle bag! Is that where the awful smell is coming from? Don’t say you’ve left your wet swimming things in there all this time?’

She seized the duffle bag, pulled it out into
the
open, undid the top . . . and tipped the contents onto my carpet.

Then Gran screamed and screamed and screamed. Dad came running. Miss Smith came running. Grandad came hobbling.

Gran went on screaming for a long, long time. Even after she was downstairs and trembling in her armchair and Miss Smith had poured her a cup of strong sweet tea, Gran still made little gaspy sounds.

Dad and Grandad made loud gagging sounds as they shovelled poor Mabel and her duffle bag into a big black plastic rubbish sack and carted her outside into the garden. Then they washed and washed and washed.

I wept until the front of my stupid fairy frock was sodden.

Miss Smith made a fresh pot of tea when Dad and Grandad came back.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Gran gasped. ‘I should have made the tea. Whatever must you think of us?’

‘I reckon you got more than you bargained for when you brought our Verity’s purse back!’ said Grandad.

‘Verity?’ said Dad.

They all looked at me. I wept harder.

‘Don’t cry so, pet. I’m not cross. I’m just . . . puzzled.
Why
did you hide Mabel in your duffle bag? And why did you wrap her up like that?’

‘It was bandages. Did you think it would make her better?’ said Grandad.

‘Bandages!’ said Miss Smith.

She looked at me. I looked at her.

‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ said Miss Smith. ‘You tried to make Mabel into a cat mummy!’