My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece (24 page)

The burn in my throat spread to my cheeks. They went from freezing cold to boiling hot in less than a millisecond. I stroked Roger’s head. Told him I loved him. Said I was sorry. He didn’t meow. I saw some tyre marks in the snow. Deep and short and diagonal, where someone had put the brakes on quickly and skidded on the road.

All the hurt turned into anger. With a shout of rage I jumped up and kicked the tyre marks. I stamped on them. Spat on them. Grabbed the snow in my hot fingers and threw it into the sky. I fell to my knees and punched the tyre marks as hard as I could and my fist hit the road and the pain felt good. The skin on my knuckles split open. I hit the road again.

If I hadn’t gone to the talent contest, Roger would still be alive. Last night I’d have noticed that he wasn’t in the cottage and I’d have gone to look for him and he would have come running up and he would have rubbed his body on my wellies and his fur would have glinted in the moonlight. But I’d been too busy worrying about Mum to worry about Roger.

I stopped thumping the ground. I stood up and my knees shook. I walked over to Roger and this time I didn’t feel scared of his dead body. I wanted to hold him. I never wanted to let him go. I wanted to give him a thousand strokes. A million cuddles. Say all the things I should have said when he could still hear my voice. I picked him up gently as if he was one of those boxes marked SACRED. His head flopped on his neck but I lifted it onto my shoulder. I pulled his body close to mine and stroked his fur. I rubbed his head and rocked him gently, like women do with babies.

I missed my cat. I missed him so much that the burn in my throat and the burn in my cheeks spread up to my eyes and burned them too. They started to water. No. Not water. Cry.

I cried. For the first time in five years. And my silver tears fell into Roger’s orange fur.

I
HATED HOW
cold he was. Roger had been outside too long. I unzipped my jacket and pulled him against my Spider-Man top. Then I zipped it up again to shelter him from the breeze and the snow that had started to fall. His head poked out of the top of my jacket and I kissed it gently. His whiskers tickled my lips.

I carried him home. I walked around all the icy bits on the road so that I wouldn’t slip. I couldn’t see the cottage through my tears but I walked up the drive and straight into the back garden. I was talking to Roger all the time now, telling him about the audition, how amazing Jas had been, how I’d understood the words of the song for the very first time and how they might have changed me. I told him I’d wanted to make Mum proud and that was why, that was why I’d shut him out of the lounge. I explained that I closed the door ’cos I was practising, and I wanted to impress Mum ’cos I was stupid, and I hadn’t realised it was pointless until it was too late. I whispered
Mum’s a liar and she abandoned me and nothing I can do will ever make her love me
. I wanted Roger to purr or meow so I knew that he forgave me. But he was silent.

I didn’t know what to do with my cat when I reached the pond. I didn’t want to bury him. I thought about his body under the ground, rotting away, and I was almost sick. I cuddled him hard, desperate to keep him just as he was, tight against my chest, bleeding all over my t-shirt.

But I knew I had to do something. Roger deserved a proper funeral. I thought about my sister on the mantelpiece. It would be nice to have my cat there too. I pictured an orange urn with Roger’s ashes inside. Then I could still talk to him and stroke him and hug him whenever I wanted. And all of a sudden I understood. All of a sudden I got it. Why Rose was in the urn on the mantelpiece. Why Dad found it too hard to sprinkle her in the sea. Why he gave her cake on birthdays, and why he fastened her seatbelt, and why he hung a stocking by the urn on Christmas Eve. It was too hard to let go. He loved her too much to say goodbye.

I fell to my knees and put my face in Roger’s fur and cried until I couldn’t breathe. My nose was running and my head was thumping and my face was swollen but I couldn’t stop. I heard a window open behind me. I heard Dad shout
Jamie, get inside. It’s freezing out there
. I didn’t move.

If I couldn’t have Roger, I wanted his ashes. I found two twigs and held one between my feet and used my right hand to rub the other against it. I cuddled Roger with my left arm and sang into his ear so he wouldn’t hear the sticks rub together and get scared. It didn’t work though. It was too wet for the twigs to catch fire.

I heard the back door open and I turned around. Dad.
It’s freezing
he said again, but then he stopped.
Roger
.

Dad pulled me to my feet and gave me the first hug that I can remember. It was strong and tight and safe and I pushed my face into his chest. My shoulders shook and my breath came in gasps and my tears made his t-shirt wet. He didn’t tell me to
Sssh
and he didn’t say
Calm down
and he didn’t ask
What’s wrong
. He knew it hurt too much to say out loud.

When there were no more tears left, Dad patted me on the back and unzipped my jacket. I didn’t stop him. He took Roger off me, gently slowly softly, and lowered him to the ground. He touched Roger’s eyelids and closed them carefully. The marbles disappeared. Roger looked like he was fast asleep.

Wait there
he said. His eyes were sad but his mouth was determined. He disappeared inside the cottage. A minute later, he was back, carrying a spade and a small object that he dropped into his pocket. I started to say
Cremate him
but Dad said
We can’t build a fire in the snow
. I tried to pick Roger up, to take him away. I didn’t want my cat to be buried underground. Dad grabbed my arm and said
He’s gone
. He nodded his head, convincing himself of something. His eyes filled with tears but he took a deep breath and blinked them away. He nodded again as if he’d made a big decision. Started to dig. Said
Whatever was there has disappeared
. His voice was tight with a sadness I thought I understood.

It took a long time. The ground was hard. All the time Dad worked, I stroked Roger’s head, telling him again and again that I loved him. More tears filled my eyes and trickled down my face. I didn’t want the hole to get deep enough. I didn’t want Dad to finish. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Jas appeared at some point. I didn’t hear her. One minute she wasn’t there and the next she was crouched by my side, crying quietly, stroking Roger’s bloody fur. Her hair was bright pink again. She’d dyed it back.

Dad stopped too quickly.
It’s done
he said.
You ready
. I shook my head.
We’ll do it together
Dad whispered and he took the small object from his pocket. The golden urn.
We’ll do it together
.

Sometimes Mrs Farmer said it’s too cold for rain and that’s how Dad’s face looked. Too sad for tears. He walked over to the pond. Jas stood up and crossed her arms, hugging her own body. I lifted Roger. Dad opened the urn. The sun shone stronger than it had done all day. Light bounced off the gold urn, making it sparkle.

I walked to the hole. Dad emptied some of Rose into his hand. No. Not Rose. Rose had gone. Dad emptied some of the ashes into his hand. I put Roger into the grave. Dad took a deep breath. I took a deeper one. Everything was still for a few seconds. A bird sang and a breeze shook the bare trees. Dad let go of the ashes. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t need to this time. Rose left a long time ago.

The first ashes fluttered down to the pond, mixing with the snow that fell from the sky. They landed on top of the water and sank. I could see my fish swimming near the lily pad. I grabbed the spade and scooped up some mud. My hands were sweaty on the metal handle. I held the spade over the hole but I couldn’t turn it. I couldn’t drop the mud on top of my cat.
Roger’s gone
I told myself.
He’s gone. That’s not him. Whatever was there has disappeared
. It didn’t help one bit. All I could see was Roger’s black nose and Roger’s silver whiskers and Roger’s long tail and I wanted to get him out of the grave. I wasn’t ready for him to be dead yet.

Dad tipped the urn again. More ashes fell onto his palm. He clenched his teeth and turned over his hand. Rose’s ashes dropped into the pond. If Dad could do it, so could I. I tipped the mud into the grave.

I couldn’t look at Roger. I couldn’t watch his body disappear under dirt. I whispered
I love you
and
You’ll always be my best pet
and
I will miss you
and then I pushed mud into the grave as quickly as possible. I didn’t wait to see what Dad was doing. I knew that if I stopped even for one millisecond then I wouldn’t be able to carry on.

I patted down the top of the grave to make it all neat and flat. Then I dropped the spade as if it had germs or something. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I felt sick at myself, sick at the world, sick in my tummy and my heart and my head. Jas put her arm around my shoulder and held me as I cried. Roger was gone. I’d never see him again. This was too scary to think about so I rubbed the tears out of my eyes and forced myself to stare at Dad. He was still by the pond, still sprinkling Rose’s ashes into the water. Bit by bit.

I walked over to him, pulling Jas by the hand. We stood either side of Dad and watched the ashes fall. My fish was swimming in a pretty pattern, his tail wiggling happily, and some of the ashes landed on his golden skin and stuck to his shiny scales.

There was only one handful of ashes left now. The last few specks fell onto Dad’s palm. He lifted the urn and looked right into it, shocked there was nothing left. His hands shook.

Don’t
I said suddenly.
Don’t do it
. Dad’s fingers curled around the last few ashes.
What
he said, breathing heavily, his face whiter than the snow all around us.
Don’t do it
I repeated.
Keep those
. Dad shook his head.
Rose has gone
he said with difficulty. He held the ashes up.
These aren’t her
. I stopped crying.
I know
I said.
But they were. They were part of her body. You should keep them. Just a few
. Dad looked at me and I looked back and something big zoomed between our eyes. He dropped the last few ashes inside the golden urn.

We were freezing so we went indoors. Dad disappeared upstairs for two minutes and Jas made three cups of tea. We didn’t speak as we drank them in the lounge. The mantelpiece looked empty without the urn. I realised Dad must have put it in his bedroom. Out of sight. But there if he needs it, which he will on the really sad days like September 9th. I know I’ll never forget that Roger died on January 6th for as long as I live, even if I have a billion pets, ’cos none of them will ever be as good as my cat.

When we finished our tea we just sort of stared at each other. Something big had happened to us that morning. Everything was different. And even though my tummy ached and my heart ached and my throat ached and the tears kept falling, I knew that the change wasn’t all bad. That something good had happened too.

Jas still didn’t eat. Dad still drank. But we stayed together all day. In the lounge. Not really speaking but not wanting to go to our bedrooms either. We watched a film. Jas asked me if I wanted to watch Spider-Man but I said
No
so she put on a comedy instead. We didn’t laugh, but we smiled at the best bits. And Dad told Jas
I like your hair
and when she said
Thanks
he replied
You should keep it pink
. And when it was time to go to bed and the stars shone in the sky like hundreds of cats’ eyes on a dark road, Dad gave me my second hug ever. It was as strong and tight and safe as the first. And as I lay under my duvet, missing Roger, wishing he was on my windowsill instead of lying underground, Dad came into my room with a hot chocolate. He put it in my hands and the steam felt nice on my face. This time the powder had been stirred right in.