Cat's Paw (7 page)

Night, Ben thought. Somewhere high above this twilight cell, darkness had swallowed the city. His mind tried to reach up through the layers of rock and clay, towards a sky of dim stars through
diluted neon haze. Slowly turning. Twice he slipped into a doze; twice he woke up, sweating, the dream of a scream ringing in his ears.

Okay. He had faced dangers before. He didn’t scare easily, or so he liked to think. But those had been sudden threats, met in the heat of battle with quick-as-thought reactions. Now, as
hours piled on hours, he could feel his courage creaking beneath them. Who was being kept behind that closed door beneath the escalators? What kind of person, what living creature, could utter a
scream like that?

His fear overflowed. Straining in a crazed attempt to snap his bonds, he realised he was asleep. In the dream he had no arms. Two severed cat’s paws lay at his feet.

‘Hey. Wake up.’

A prod in the middle of his forehead. He flinched.

‘Steady.’ A hand on his shoulder.

The hand wore a fingerless black glove. He saw a man, kneeling, clad in black silk garments that made him think, absurdly, of pyjamas. Meanwhile the bright blue eyes reminded him of. . .

‘Geoff’s the name. Geoff White. Sorry I yelled at you the other day.’

‘
You?
’ Ben whispered.

It was the man from the pub. The unshaven jawline, the old-rocker hair. The same face, with one electrifying difference. From forehead to cheekbones his skin was bleached white, in a pattern
that was eerily familiar. The mask of paint around the sapphire eyes gave him a look somewhere between the Lone Ranger and the Phantom of the Opera.

‘Who are you?’

‘Geoff or Sir. I don’t much mind.’

Geoff passed his hand between Ben’s tied arms. Plastic cords fell to the floor with a sound like plucked strings.

Mau claws?
Ben’s mind reeled. He bent his elbows, flexed his numb fingers.

‘Fancy going home?’

‘How did you– Why–?’

‘I know, too many questions. Sorry about that thing with the paw print and so on. My little test. All to be explained, etcetera. It’s lucky you ran into me when you did.’

He twitched. From the corner came a rustling. Two heads popped out of blankets.

‘We weren’t asleep,’ blurted Hannah.

‘That’s not–’ Thomas bounced to his feet, hands raised ready to fight. In an eyeblink Hannah was beside him, crouched and quivering. Everything childish about them was
gone.

‘Here’s an idea.’ Geoff’s voice was very, very quiet, yet it filled the little room. ‘You both fell asleep. You woke and found your prisoner gone. Okay?’

Thomas darted sideways and stood before the door. His on-guard stance trembled. In Geoff’s shadow he looked pitifully small. Ben had the feeling that here was a man capable of
violence.

‘S- sorry, Ben,’ stammered Thomas. ‘We can’t let you leave. Nor you.’ He looked at the intruder and gulped.

Ben held out his hand. ‘Come with me.’

Hannah froze in mid-creep. ‘Where would you take us?’

‘I don’t know. Back to your families. Wherever you like.’

A tremendous battle seemed to be raging behind their frightened eyes. Geoff shuffled his feet.

‘No,’ said Hannah. ‘We can’t.’

‘Our family is here,’ said Thomas. ‘Why would we leave? It’s ridiculous.’

‘Listen–’

‘No,’ said Geoff in his ear. ‘Not now. A time may come when you can help these kids. But we have to move. At once.’

‘I’ll– I’ll come back,’ said Ben. ‘I promise. Now do as he says. You’ll be all right.’

Thomas and Hannah traded glances and edged aside.

‘Thank you,’ said Geoff. ‘Remember. You saw nothing. Asleep.’

They crawled back among their blankets.

‘Kevin will kill us,’ Hannah moaned.

Ben looked away. These children had been his jailers, yet he felt he was not escaping so much as abandoning them.

‘Bye,’ he murmured. They did not answer him.

Geoff opened the door and stole out onto the slumbering platform. Ben kept close. Along the cardboard dormitory the shaded lamps burned.

‘Where did you find the key to the office?’

‘Didn’t. Got a way with locks. Simple ones.’ Geoff wiggled a finger mysteriously.

‘You’re a – I mean, you know –’

‘Sssh. This lot aren’t exactly hard of hearing either. Down here.’

Geoff dropped off the platform into the railway trench. Ben, bursting with questions, followed him at an Eth-walk into the tunnel. The dimly glowing opening behind them had shrunk smaller than a
fingernail before Geoff made another sound.

‘Through darkness I walk in day,’ he murmured.

Ben steadied himself on the blackened brick wall.

‘You’re a pashki master.’

‘That certainly would explain a lot,’ said Geoff.

‘And now you run a pub?’

‘Nah.’ Geoff chuckled. ‘Earning pennies behind the bar. A nice thought, mind you. Landlord of the White Lion. It’d suit me, do you reckon?’

‘I suppose.’

‘One day, then. If I ever settle down. Now–’ He froze in mid-step. ‘Did I catch your name back there?’

‘Ben.’

‘Yes, I did. Great. Answer me this, Ben. How well can you see?’ He pointed. ‘Can you make out those chalk marks on the track where it curves?’

Ben widened his eyes. ‘One. Seven. And the letter J.’

‘Ha! Twenty-twenty night vision. Only three people in the country could have taught you that. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. I’m going to guess.’ He looked hard at
Ben. ‘Felicity. You’ve been around Felicity Powell.’

Ben had to nod.

‘I knew it!’ Geoff’s cry echoed alarmingly. ‘Didn’t I know it right away. Never say I’m losing my touch.’

‘You know Mrs Powell?’

‘As well as anyone ever has.’ Geoff’s voice sank again. He tightrope-walked along one steel rail. ‘We wore away footpaths together. Over rooftops, through jungles. Yes, I
know her. Or I did.’

He blinked his blue eyes.

‘It’s been so long. Tell me, Ben. How is Felicity? How’s she doing?’

Ben felt the night dump all its weariness on him at once.

‘This could take a while,’ he said.

The knees of Tiffany’s jeans had gone grey. Her dustpan rattled with grit, fluff, crayon bits, biscuit crumbs and two plasters. Welded to the hardwood floor she found a
wad of chewing gum, which she picked off with her thumbnail, grimacing. The shiny patch underneath showed up the grime everywhere else. Should she get a mop? There wasn’t time.

She put away the dustpan and cast a critical eye round the church hall. The Sunday School’s drawings looked more out of place than ever. Maybe she could take them down for this evening.
First she had to change her dusty clothes. It also seemed important to get her face-print just right, with no smudges. She was checking the tabby markings in her hand mirror when she heard the door
crash. Ben walked in.

‘Hello.’

His expression was mysterious – as mysterious as his phone call yesterday morning. It had gone something like this:

‘Ben, Hi! Ouch, it’s only seven a.m. I meant to say, I’m sorry about what I said the other day.’

‘What?’ said Ben. ‘No, no, forget that.’

‘O. . .kay. That means you’re sorry too, does it?’

‘Yeah, of course. Listen. We need a Cat Kin meeting tomorrow. You have to book the hall for Monday evening.’

‘
I
have to?’

‘Yes. Can’t explain on the phone. Too tired. But there’ll be a special guest.’

‘Guest? Did you say guest? We can’t let other people –’

‘Trust me. This is someone you really want to see.’ It was this tantalising hint that had persuaded her and made her come here far too early to start a frenzy of cleaning. Now she
did her best to decode his face. Despite the twinkle in his eye he looked frayed around the edges, as if he’d had a hard day at school.

‘So,’ said Tiffany. ‘What’s the big surprise?’

‘Wait for the others.’

Olly, amazingly, was one of the first to appear, and even the usual stragglers showed up on the dot of seven. Yusuf put his face round the door. ‘Someone having a birthday?’

‘Did Ben say we’ve got a visitor tonight?’ Cecile asked, and Tiffany could only shrug.

Susie cried, ‘Tickle him till he tells!’

‘Cut it out!’ Ben pushed her off. ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’

‘He?’ said Tiffany. A hope inside her, so frail she had barely noticed it, fell like a tree’s last leaf.

The group sat in awkward silence. Perhaps they had wondered the same as her. Feeling more and more foolish, Tiffany rubbed her wrists across her mouth, the way Rufus did when he fell off the
sofa while napping. How could she have been so silly as to imagine, even for a second, that. . .?

There was a knock. Instantly Ben was on his feet to open the door. In stepped a man in a black leather jacket. Tiffany caught her breath. She had seen him before. But where?

‘Here we are, Geoff,’ said Ben. ‘Our little team. Everyone, this is Geoff White.’

The newcomer stood still, taking in the room, the stacked chairs, the high windows, the Cat Kin sitting in a loose semi-circle. Then he wandered over with a tentative wave.

‘Interesting place.’ He looked round some more. ‘Nice finger-paintings.’

Tiffany saw puzzled faces. Yusuf mouthed a question. She helplessly shook her head.

‘Floor’s uneven.’ The man scratched a scar on his cheek, a pale path through the stubble that was almost a beard. ‘Narrow. Bit grubby. And those pictures. . .’ He
turned to face the group at last. ‘You realise you can’t possibly learn pashki in here.’

‘Ben, who is this man?’ Tiffany demanded.

‘I beg your pardon.’The interloper squatted among them, his feet flat to the floor. ‘Felicity Powell called me Geoffrey, mostly. But Geoff will do.’

‘Mrs Powell?’ Daniel exclaimed.

‘They’re old friends,’ said Ben.

‘Less of the old in my case, please,’ said Geoff. ‘But yeah. Friends, associates, comrades-in-arms. . . and teacher and pupil, both ways round. I could tell you some tales. . .
and I will. Only not tonight. More important is the story Ben has for you.’

‘Wait,’ said Tiffany. Things were running away from her. ‘You can’t just walk in here. We don’t even know you. And I saw you–’ now she remembered,
‘lurking outside my house!’

‘You must be Tiffany. Sorry. You got me bang to rights.’ Geoff held out his wrists, as if for handcuffs.

‘Why were you watching me?’

‘Because they don’t list the Cat Kin in the Yellow Pages.’

She returned his blue gaze, determined not to blink.

‘You’re cautious.’ Geoff blinked first. ‘Good. And you want proof that I am who I claim to be.’ He chuckled. ‘Well. I could tell you lots of facts about
Felicity. She hates dust and clutter. She subscribes to the National Geographic. She has a beat-up old radio that she keeps repairing. Etcetera. I know all that. Does it prove I’m her
friend?’

Foreheads wrinkled as they tried to follow his meaning.

‘Of course not,’ said Geoff. ‘No more than Tiffany can prove that her cat belongs to her. Friendship is hard stuff to get hold of. So it’s no good me just telling you who
I am. That’s for you to decide.’

Tiffany felt a twinge of recognition. She’d known someone else who said things like that. With his scarecrow hair, taxi-driver’s accent and sturdy, powerful build, this man seemed
almost a different species from the sleek Mrs Powell. But it was the difference of pepper and salt – in that she could, so easily, picture them together.

Geoff pulled up a chair and sat on it back to front.

‘This is sudden for me too,’ he said. ‘I will make time for us to get to know each other. Now there are more important things. Ben, go ahead.’

Ben stood up.

‘I, er. . .’ He laughed nervously. ‘I had a bit of an interesting weekend.’