My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece (23 page)

I had one more question and this one was even more difficult to ask. The world spun faster, cars and people and buildings a dizzy blur round me and Mum.
The t-shirt
I began, my eyes on a puddle on the pavement.
Oh yes
Mum said.
I meant to say
. She smiled.
It’s brilliant
. And I smiled back, despite everything. She rubbed the material between her thumb and finger.
It’s a lovely top. Where did you get it from. It really does suit you, James
.

I
DIDN’T EVEN
speak when we got back to the cottage and Dad asked if I wanted a hot chocolate. For some reason I’d spent the whole journey thinking about earthquakes and, as I walked into the hall, all I could see was the ground shaking and buildings falling in some far away place like China. I wondered if they had earthquakes in Bangladesh and if Sunya would tell me about them at school. She didn’t come to the talent show even though I invited her in the Christmas card and covered the
Please
in gold glitter. She must still be cross with me so she won’t want to talk about natural disasters any time soon.
Do you want a hot chocolate
Jas said softly. I just nodded and went upstairs to find Roger. He wasn’t in my room. I sat down on the windowsill and stared at my reflection in the glass. The Spider-Man t-shirt looked rubbish.

Maybe Mum had been joking. Or maybe she had forgotten that she sent it.

Yes. That had to be it. I nodded and my reflection nodded back.

She had forgotten.

Mum always forgets stuff. She goes to supermarkets and can’t remember what she wants to buy. And she can never find her keys ’cos she forgets where she puts them. Once they turned up in the freezer underneath a bag of frozen peas and she had no idea how they got there. No wonder she can’t remember something that happened one hundred and thirty two days ago.

Dad walked in with my hot chocolate. Steam swirled out of the blue cup.
Here you go
he said, sitting on my bed. Since we moved into the cottage, Dad’s only been in my bedroom once and that was when he was drunk and looking for the toilet.

I didn’t know what to say so I sipped my drink even though it was too hot and burned my tongue.
Nice
he asked, nodding at the cup. It wasn’t, but I said
Mmmm
anyway. He hadn’t stirred the chocolate powder in properly. It was all at the bottom of the cup like mud. But it was hot and it was sweet and Dad had made it so it was good. He looked all pleased with himself as he watched me drink.
Good for the bones. Grow up to be strong like Rooney if you drink one of them a day
he said.
I’ll make them for you
. He was going red and rubbing his hand over his chin and it made a nice noise ’cos of the whiskers. I said
Okay
and, as he stood up, he squeezed my shoulder for the second time that day.

I’m going to the building site on Monday morning
he said suddenly, staring at his foot as it moved back and forward and back and forward over the glitter on the carpet.
If they’ll still have me. It’ll do me good. Something to get up for
. He cleared his throat even though there was nothing in it.
Something to stay sober for
.

When I spray my deodorant, all the tiny drops hang in the air for ages and don’t disappear. That’s exactly what the word
Sober
did. It just stayed there and I couldn’t look up ’cos I didn’t want to see it swirling around Dad. I stared at the powder in the bottom of my cup as if it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen. It was dark brown almost black and drying in funny shapes. Jas reads her horoscope and some people read palms and some people read tea-leaves to tell their fortune. I squinted at the chocolate powder blobs but they didn’t reveal anything about my future.
Finished
Dad said and I said
Yeah
. He took my cup and walked out of my room.

I couldn’t sleep. I lay in bed with a tummy ache and I rolled on my right side and then on my back and then on my left side and then on my front but I couldn’t get comfy. My bed was too hot and I turned my pillow over to find some cool. I kept saying
She forgot that she sent it she forgot that she sent it
but the doubt had come back and everything was black and I didn’t believe the words in my head.

Mum gave up her job months ago. Mum doesn’t work for Mr Walker or any other mean boss. Mum didn’t have to teach when I invited her to Parents’ Evening. And she wasn’t even in the country when Jas invited her for Christmas.

She’d been in Egypt with Nigel while we’d been sitting in the cottage, waiting.

But she was at the theatre. She drove all the way from London to Manchester to see us in the show. That had to mean something.

I felt all wobbly and dizzy. I didn’t know what to believe. All the facts that were strong and safe and big and true had come crashing down. Like buildings in an earthquake. They don’t just happen in China or Bangladesh. There was one in my bedroom and it was shaking things up and smashing stuff to the ground and changing my life forever.

Granny says
Be careful what you wish for because it might come true
and I always thought it was stupid. Until now.
Ring this number to change your life
. I wished I’d never picked up the phone.

When I opened my eyes, sunlight was pouring through the window. I blinked twelve times to get used to the light. I yawned and it hurt my head and my eyes felt bruised. I hadn’t slept very well. I got out of bed and I expected Roger to rub his fur against my shins and wrap his tail around my ankles, but he wasn’t there. I hadn’t seen him since I got back from the contest. I stared out of the window. The garden was almost too bright to look at with the sun reflecting off the snow. I could just about see the tree and the pond and the bushes. But no Roger.

I ran to the kitchen. I looked at Roger’s bowl. His food was still there. Not eaten. I raced into the lounge. I looked behind the sofa. I searched behind the chairs. I sprinted up the stairs. Strange chemical smells were drifting under Jas’s door. I turned the handle and walked in.
Get out of my room
she yelled.
I’m naked
. Probably a lie but I shut my eyes.
Have you seen Roger
I asked.
Not since yesterday morning
she replied.
You shut him out of the lounge when we were practising the routine
. If guilt was an animal then it would be an octopus. All slimy and wriggly with hundreds of arms that wrap around your insides and squeeze them tight.

I went into Dad’s room. He was asleep on his back with his mouth wide open, snoring loudly. I shook him.
What
he groaned, covering his face with his arm and licking his dry lips. They were covered in brown stuff that looked like hot chocolate and he didn’t smell too strongly of alcohol.
Have you seen Roger
I asked and Dad said
I let him out yesterday before I drove to Manchester
and then he fell back to sleep.

I pulled on my wellies, put on a coat and set off.

I searched the back garden. I shouted Roger’s name. Nothing happened. I squeaked like a mouse and I squealed like a rabbit to try and make him stop sulking and start hunting. He didn’t come out of his hiding place. I looked up the tree to make sure he wasn’t stuck on a branch and I searched for paw prints but the snow was fresh and there weren’t any marks. The pond had melted and my fish was swimming and I said
Hello again
before I left the garden.

Roger isn’t a moody cat so I was surprised he was being so grumpy. I walked down the road and my head felt hot ’cos of the sun but my feet felt cold ’cos of the snow. Every time something moved, I expected to see Roger’s orange face. First it was a bird and then it was a sheep and then it was a grey dog running down the path with a red Christmas bow tied around its neck. I patted him and said
Nice dog
to the owner.
He’s a bit too energetic for me, lad
said the old man, who was smoking a pipe and had a flat cap on his head. His hair was the exact same colour as the dog’s fur and he had a kind face and brown eyes with heavy lids that made him look sleepy.
Have you seen a cat
I asked.
A ginger one
the man frowned.
Yeah
I replied, laughing ’cos the dog jumped up and put his icy paws on my tummy.
Down, Fred
the man muttered. Fred wagged his tail and ignored him.
A ginger cat
the man said again, and I didn’t understand why he had gone pale or why his hand shook when he pointed down the road.
Over there
.

Thanks
I said with relief. I pushed Fred down. He licked my hands and wagged his whole body.
I’m sorry
the old man said, his voice all wobbly.
I’m so sorry
.

And that’s when I knew.

That’s when I knew that Roger wasn’t hiding. That’s when I knew he wasn’t just in a mood. I shook my head.
No
I said.
No
. The old man chewed the end of his pipe.
I’m so sorry, lad. I think your cat
—

NO
I roared, pushing the old man out of my way.
NO
. I ran down the road, scared of what I might see but desperate to find Roger to show the old man that he was wrong, that Roger was okay, that my cat was just—

Oh.

In all the white snow there was a bright orange blob. Tiny. Lying on the road. Fifty metres away.
It’s not him
I said to myself but my blood froze like that witch in Narnia had made it winter but not Christmas. The sun shone on my head but I could not feel it. I didn’t want to walk another step but my feet weren’t listening to my brain and they were moving fast, too fast, down the road. It could be a fox. Thirty metres away. Please let it be a fox. Twenty metres. It was a cat. Ten metres. And it was covered in blood.

I stared at Roger. His glittery tail twinkled in the sunlight. I waited for him to move. Waited for five whole minutes for him, something, anything to move. But Roger was still. His legs looked too stiff and his ears looked too sharp and his eyes were glassy green marbles.

I hate dead things. They scare me. Roger’s mouse. Roger’s rabbit. Roger. I took a deep breath. It didn’t help. The octopus was holding my lungs and squeezing them hard. There wasn’t enough air. There would never be enough air. I started to pant.

I thought about the last time I saw Roger. He purred in my arms but I dropped him on the hall carpet. I closed the door in his face when he just wanted a stroke. I ignored his meows at the door and I didn’t even say goodbye when I went to the audition. I didn’t say goodbye. And now it was too late.

The snow underneath Roger was red. A sudden gust of wind blew his fur and he looked cold so I tiptoed forward. My teeth rattled in my head. My shoulders moved up and down as I tried to suck air into my chest. I was only two metres away now. I dropped to my knees and crawled closer. Slowly. Slowly. My heart bashed against my ribs.

Roger’s side was cut open. It looked deep and gooey. His front legs were twisted at a funny angle. Broken. Snapped. I thought about Roger sneaking off into the bushes and Roger running through the garden and Roger jumping out of my arms and landing on strong legs that still worked. I couldn’t stand the thought of him all cracked and cut and cold. I had to fix him.

I pushed out my finger. I moved my arm forward. My fingertip brushed his fur but my hand flew back as if it had just touched something hot. I was panting so hard I felt faint. I tried again. And again and again and again. I thought about the rabbit I lifted up with sticks and the mouse I carried on paper and, for some reason, Rose. Rose blown into bits. My throat burned painfully. I tried to swallow but the spit wouldn’t go down.

On the sixth try, I touched him. My arm was shaking and my palm was sweating but I put my hand on Roger’s back and held it there. He felt different. I remembered all the times I’d put my fingers in his fur, feeling warm skin and beating heart and ribs vibrating with a purr. They were still, now. There was no life left in his whiskers. No life left in his eyes. No life left in his tail. I wondered where it had all gone.