Cat's Paw (24 page)

‘Ben!’ She unleashed a flood of questions.

‘No, Tiffany, I can’t talk long, they’ll hear. Tell me quick. Did you find her?’

‘Find who? Oh, Mrs Powell. I suppose I have.’

‘Right, bring her back with you.’

Right?
That was all he had to say? He might at least pretend to sound impressed. But already he was rabbiting on. She listened, annoyed. Then astonished. Finally, appalled.

‘Ben. That
can’t
be true. It
can’t
be.’

It was true. She could hear it in his voice. With the phone crammed against her ear, she cursed herself for being so far away.

‘Okay.’ She tried to sound reassuring. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll help.’

Minutes later she was running through the trees, stumbling on roots in her haste. A red scent on the breeze suggested that some of the residents, at least, had been served lunch. She came to the
fence of the jaguar pound.

‘Do you think she’d let me have a go?’ Yusuf was saying.

‘No,’ said Susie. ‘And nor will I.’

Frieda and her cubs were red to their whiskers, rending great clubs of flesh and bone that might have been a freshly butchered deer. A crimson haunch in a velvety pelt had become the bloody rope
in a cub tug of war. Beyond them strolled Mrs Powell, strewing more meat in the undergrowth. Tiffany called her name.

‘Later. It’s feeding time.’

‘Mrs Powell, this is important!’

‘You’re in a queue behind four jaguars,’ Yusuf pointed out.

‘Mrs Powell!’ Tiffany shouted. ‘You must come. You have to. Because he does want to see you now! He really does!’

‘Who does?’ asked Susie.

It was no good. The distance and the trees made it too easy for Mrs Powell to feign deafness. Tiffany lost patience. She pushed through the gate and strode across the clearing, stepping so
suddenly in front of Mrs Powell that she almost got an intestine in the face.

‘Please talk to me.’

‘Tiffany, in the name of Anubis–’ Mrs Powell turned pale. Tiffany realised she was inside the enclosure with the jaguars less than two bounds away. Yusuf and Susie stared
aghast through the wire. Oh well, too late to run. Tiffany relayed what Ben had told her, doing it in one breath.

‘So you see.’ She gasped for air. ‘Things have changed. A lot.’

Mrs Powell nodded.

‘Shall we?’ She indicated the other side of the fence and Tiffany was way ahead of her. Once healthy amounts of chain link stood between them and the jaguars, she filled in the
others on what was happening in London, making sure Mrs Powell heard every word.

‘Well,’ said Yusuf, ‘that sucks.’

‘It sounds like a job for the counter-terrorist police,’ said Susie.

‘Oh, like they never mess up,’ said Yusuf.

‘Susie’s right,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘This is hardly my line of work. Plus, I’m retired.’

‘You’ve got to come,’ said Tiffany. ‘Geoff wants you to. And Ben
needs
you to.’

‘Tiffany.’ Mrs Powell drew her to one side. ‘It’s admirable that you came all this way just to get help for Ben.’

‘It wasn’t just–’ She stopped, sensing a trap.

‘Why did you come?’

‘To help Ben! But I also came because…’ Tiffany looked Mrs Powell in the face. ‘I missed you. Because we never really said goodbye.’

‘No, we didn’t.’ Mrs Powell’s hand rested on her arm. ‘I was sorry for that. And I have been glad to see you. Still, I wonder.’

‘What?’

‘Was it not also a good excuse?’

Tiffany didn’t understand.

‘An excuse,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘To seek me out. It must be good to have someone else to guide you. To tell you what to do, what to think. So much easier than making your own
choices, blaming yourself when they are wrong–’

‘That’s not how it is!’

‘Who leads the Cat Kin now?’ Mrs Powell demanded. ‘Not Geoffrey. He’ll move on once you’ve sorted out his mess for him, mark my words. Not Ben, for all his
exceptional talent. And not me. You lead the Cat Kin now, Tiffany. Or else no-one does.’

‘Me?’ said Tiffany. ‘Look! Mum sews my name in the collars of my T-shirts!’

‘Then don’t,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘Use pashki as a way to keep fit. Or give it up. Or else follow it to whatever dangerous place it leads you. But do not sit forever at my
feet.’

Tiffany searched her face, feeling the green eyes becoming cold and distant. And the rage rose in her.

‘Don’t give me that–’ she cried, ‘–that high and mighty wisdom! Pretending you’re teaching me some big final lesson!’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘The truth? Or a good excuse?’

Her teacher’s face tightened.

‘You’re a coward,’ said Tiffany. ‘That’s the real reason. You’re afraid to see Geoff again. Because then you might have to say sorry.’

The green eyes flashed. ‘I have done nothing to apologise for.’

‘No? Then why haven’t you spoken to him since before I was born?’

Mrs Powell turned from her. ‘Think what you will. I am not returning to London. When you’re older, you’ll understand.’

She walked back towards the jaguar enclosure.

‘You do not say things like that!’ Tiffany screamed.

‘Go and help your friends,’ said Mrs Powell. ‘You will manage without me.’

‘Come on, Tiffs.’ Yusuf touched her shoulder. ‘Better pack our bags. I’ll check the train times.’

‘Mrs Powell!’ Tiffany shouted. ‘If anything happens to Ben, or to Geoff, or to anyone else, I’m holding you responsible! I’ll never forgive you,
Felicity!’

Tiffany was used to thinking of cats as graceful, powerful and mysterious. It came as a shock to be reminded that they could also be breathtakingly selfish.

‘…and they let us drink wine at dinnertimes, which was hilarious, but the Mona Lisa was a massive let-down, you can’t even get close because of the
bullet-proof glass.’ In the shade of the chapel’s threshold Olly scrolled through the photos on his phone while the others craned their necks to see. ‘…and the Eiffel
Tower, or
la Tour Eiffel
as we say in France, it’s twice as big as you think it’ll be, though I was quite glad Tiffany wasn’t there – I bet you’d have gone
Eth-walking along the girders.’

‘Good trip, then?’ Tiffany glanced at Yusuf and Susie. Oh no, was she wearing that same fixed smile?

Olly, who like them had arrived back in London this very afternoon, looked happily exhausted. Tiffany just felt exhausted. Mum and Dad, of course, had wanted to know all about Paris, and if not
for Stuart (who knew the truth, and fed her morsels of information in the questions he had prepared) she would have given herself away. They were miffed when Tiffany insisted on going to her pashki
class as normal, rather than staying in to talk to them.

‘Some of that French arrogance has rubbed off on you,’ was Mum’s opinion.

Geoff arrived late to the chapel, scruffier than ever and squinting from lack of sleep. He greeted Tiffany with a nod as if she’d never been away.

‘Er. We’re back,’ she stammered.

‘Mm. Wondered where you’d got to.’

‘Sorry.’

‘So,’ said Geoff. ‘Did you succeed?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know.’

‘Do I?’ Tiffany sighed. ‘I found her. She’s alive. Alive and well and living on Dartmoor.’

‘And?’

‘And she’s not coming.’

Geoff’s eyes widened. ‘You
saw
her?’

‘Yes. Stayed at her house.’

‘And you explained what’s going on? Ben told you that?’

‘Everything. She knows. About Fisher. The tunnel bomb. Everything.’

‘But she’s not coming.’ Geoff fell silent. He walked to the end of the nave and stood with his back turned. For a moment he could have been a priest. Then he raised his head to
the rose window and a yell bounced off the stone.

‘
Damn it!
’

She couldn’t have put it better herself.

Yusuf let out his breath. ‘What now?’

Tiffany rubbed at her mouth. Now, no doubt, she would trudge off home and bury herself under a duvet. Then she noticed Cecile looking at her. Daniel was looking at her. Olly was still perusing
photos on his phone, but Susie was looking at her, and all of them had drifted closer. Yusuf stood expectantly. He was genuinely asking what they should do. Asking
her
.

‘What now?’ she replied. She paused. The duvet plan disintegrated. ‘It’s simple, isn’t it? We do what needs to be done.’

‘What needs to be done,’ Cecile echoed, flatly.

‘Sorry, I’m lagging a bit here.’ Olly put his phone away. ‘I’m still not clear about… about what that is.’

‘Geoff?’ said Tiffany.

He swivelled to face them.

‘The night after tomorrow, Martin Fisher’s going back to that tower block. So am I. And one way or another it will end there.’

An early owl trilled in the silence.

‘And, um,’ said Olly, ‘where are
we
at this point?’

‘That’s not for me to say,’ said Geoff. ‘Though I expect Ben will be there. He hasn’t a choice, you see. Fisher’s sure to bring him. Along with twenty-odd
polecats.’

‘If Ben has no alternative,’ said Tiffany, ‘then neither do we. We’ll be there too, Olly. Does that answer your question?’

‘Ri-ight. So, is that a
you
“we”, or a
we
“we”?’

‘You look like you need one,’ Daniel sniggered.

‘It means all six of us.’

‘Plus Geoff and Ben, makes eight,’ said Yusuf. ‘Facing what, twenty? Twenty-five? Full marks for ambition.’

‘Are you saying we have to fight this gang?’ asked Cecile.

Susie shrieked with laughter. ‘Yeah right, we’re fighters.’

‘I’m a graphic designer,’ said Olly.

The chattering grew. She was losing them. Tiffany moved into the doorway, blocking the shaft of light, so that they all had to turn to look at her in the sudden gloom.

‘I’m not a fighter either,’ she said. ‘But if I have to, I’ll fight. Everyone find a mat and get into pairs. Cecile, you’re with me. It’s time for some
pashki practice.’

The first noises came to him in dawn dreams: the roar of the sea in a conch shell, rising in waves, receding. Then a hush before the singing of the rails, ushering in the rush and the roar
again. All morning it repeated, every three, four, five minutes, as it would all afternoon and deep into the night. Ben had grown used to the trains that howled through Platform 1, but he could no
longer ignore them. He heard them as he knew Martin Fisher must hear them, feeling every wave of noise tighten Fisher’s madness another notch.

‘A house on Mayfair, please,’ said Thomas.

Ben passed him a green block. Hannah rolled the dice and drew a Chance card:
Get out of jail free
. At least his two friends seemed to have forgiven him. Terrified of upsetting them again,
even by accident, he was careful not to ask any more questions or mention anything unusual. So careful, in fact, that he had managed to buy up the full set of red streets before he noticed that
their game of Monopoly was being played with real banknotes. Thomas, who played like the devil, was kneeling on about two grand of cash, and had just snapped up the last of the Utilities when Kevin
called them all for mustel-id training.

‘Don’t we get a day off today?’ whined Dean, at the games console.

‘Why? There’s nothing special about today. Routine is important.’

After the workout Kevin, who seemed restless, went to knock on Fisher’s door. While the weary polecats sprawled on the floor of the escalator hall, Ben sneaked upstairs to a corner where
he had found a pocket of mobile phone reception. Tonight was the night. He had to be ready for the worst. Maybe he had enough credit left to hear two voices first.

He dialled Dad’s number and tried to sound light-hearted. ‘Hi Dad, it’s only me, just thought I’d–’

‘
Ben!
’

He hated that falling feeling.

‘Ben, are you there? Is that you? Ben, where the hell–?’

Though he knew deep down that it was pointless now, he started to say, ‘But I’m at Mum’s.’

‘Your mum rang me, she rang
me
, Ben, to ask when I would kindly let her see you again. And I was set to ask her the same thing. She thought you were staying at my place! What have
you been telling her? She’s called police, social services, the works… Two weeks, Ben! Two whole weeks! Where, where…?’