He was alive and trying to become human again, and then in all probability would attempt to tell the world – or at least the school governors – the truth about her.
But she had a plan. And it was so good that it shone in her mind like an oil-sleek sardine in a can. And, with that plan in her mind, she headed out of the school gates to have a word with her chief disciple.
A Bit About Pumpkin
MISS WHIPMIRE CROSSED OVER the road to talk to Pumpkin.
By the way, in case you are one of those readers who has to know everything about every single character in a book, I’ll tell you a few facts about this particular swiper. He was stupid. Stupid enough to do anything Miss Whipmire asked of him. He had known her when she’d been a Siamese cat, and hadn’t liked her very much as she had been a fireside, and firesides and swipers are never the best of friends. Plus, she had been critical of his fence-walking skills. But she had been a good fighter, and good fighting always impressed Pumpkin, especially if the fighting was being done by a fireside. And then, after she had become a human, he was even more impressed. It was useful having friends in human places, especially ones who made sure he was stocked up on sardines in lemon-infused olive oil, his absolute favourite. (Even the roughest of swipers has sophisticated taste when it comes to fish.) And it gave him kudos out on the street to be a TLC’s favourite. (TLC: Two-Legged Cat. Street slang for cats-turned-into-humans. The opposite of a no-hoper, which I believe has been mentioned – human-turned-cat.) Not that Pumpkin ever wanted to be a TLC himself. No. He was perfectly happy being an orange moggy, cruising gardens, networking, boxing flies, rubbing up against old ladies in exchange for milk, and flirting with Lyka (who was never interested).
Where was I?
Oh yes. Somewhere around:
Miss Whipmire crossing over the road to talk to Pumpkin.
He saw her coming and knew she’d be even more cross with him now after his second failed attempt to get the Barney cat. So he was there, ready with an excuse.
‘Look, all right … OK, thing is, old gal, we failed you,’ he said. ‘We did. I did. I failed you. But there was nothing we could be doing. The Terrorcat showed up. He was going to start using his powers so we had to run …’
Pumpkin, by the way, was a succinct cat, and fitted all of the above words into one and a half miaows plus an ear scratch.
Miss Whipmire had no time for chit-chat. ‘Get Maurice,’ she said. ‘And tell him to come to my office.’
Pumpkin was confused. ‘But I thought you said you wanted ’im to stay indoors at your ’ouse till the Barney cat was dead.’
Miss Whipmire glared down furiously, for once not caring if anyone could see her through the staff-room window.
‘Well, Barney would be dead, wouldn’t he, if you weren’t such an idiot? And, just so you know, if I wanted questions I’d have hired someone with a pedigree,’ she hissed, her nails tingling as if they’d forgotten they weren’t claws. ‘I need Maurice here because I happen to have Mrs Willow in my office, wondering where her son is. Now do it. Go.’
Pumpkin went.
She looked up and saw a girl in Year Ten staring at her as she shouted at the cat. ‘And what are you doing out of school, girl?’ Miss Whipmire snapped.
‘School’s over, miss. I was just coming back for choir practice.’
‘Oh yes, you’re the terrible singer. Are you wearing make-up?’
‘No.’
‘Well, you should. Or just try a paper bag. No eye-holes. You look hideous.’
And, as the girl ran crying into the school, Miss Whipmire sighed to herself in disgust. ‘Humans.’
An Accurate Description
‘YOUR SON WILL be here shortly,’ Miss Whipmire said, on her return to the office. ‘He’s just, erm, playing an important game of rugby right now.’
‘Really?’ said Mrs Willow, looking out of the window at the girls playing hockey. ‘I didn’t think he had games today.’
The head teacher drew the blinds closed then sat down on her chair, smoothing her back against the sheepskin rug.
‘Well, don’t worry. As I say, he’s on his way.’
They chit-chatted a while, then sat in silence for almost half an hour.
Miss Whipmire sensed Barney’s mum was feeling horribly awkward sitting in that room, which made her happy.
‘Are you a cat person, Mrs Willow?’
‘Erm, no. Not really.’
A condescending smile. ‘Didn’t think so.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I’ve lost my cat.’
‘Really? Oh.’
‘Yes,’ said Miss Whipmire, acting every bit the concerned pet owner. ‘He’s called Patch. Because of the white patch of fur around his left eye.’
‘How weird. I’ve just seen a cat like that.’
I bet you have, thought Miss Whipmire. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. But this one belonged to someone else. A woman saw it and claimed it after it came into the library.’
‘Oh?’ Then Miss Whipmire’s face screwed up with false pain. ‘Oh, please, oh, no, don’t tell me it “belonged” to a lady with blonde hair, wearing a bit too much make-up and over-sized earrings.’
Barney’s mum thought, and her face revealed that this was a pretty accurate description. ‘Well, yes.’
‘So my dear little Patch is with her?’
‘She said the cat’s name was Maurice.’
Miss Whipmire wanted to try and make Barney’s mum feel guilty, just for fun, but she decided not to. She had all the information she needed, and making too big a deal out of it would only arouse suspicion. And the suspicion had to wait at least until Barney Willow was dead.
She smiled. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure it was a totally different cat.’
And around about then there came a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ said Miss Whipmire.
A boy who looked every bit like Barney entered. Mrs Willow stood up and hugged him. ‘I’ve been so worried about you!’
‘See, I told you he was OK, Mrs Willow. And, look, he’s all red and sweaty from playing rugby.’
Maurice realized this was his cue. ‘Yes, Mum, I’ve been playing rugby.’
‘Now,’ said Miss Whipmire in a rather clipped tone, ‘if you don’t mind, I’ve really got quite a lot of business to attend to. You’ll see Barney later on. Don’t worry.’
And so Mrs Willow left, mildly confused but generally relieved, and headed outside to her car. Inside the office, meanwhile, Miss Whipmire was touching Maurice’s face.
Her son’s face.
‘Oh, my darling, you’ve done it! You’ve done it! My brilliant, brilliant boy!’
And Maurice smiled softly. He was pleased to see his mum, and happy not to belong to the Needles, but he still wasn’t comfortable yet in his new skin. ‘Yeah. I love you, Mum.’
His mother didn’t hear him as his words coincided with the sound of the bell ringing for the final time that day.
‘Now, listen,’ she said. ‘Here’s the plan.’
The Warney Pillow
BARNEY GAZED AROUND the room with that weird kind of excited terror that comes from being in an enemy’s territory when the enemy isn’t around. He was about to leave when he saw something lying on the bed. Something soft and grey and sad-looking. A donkey! Eeyore! Gavin Needle had a cuddly Eeyore on his bed.
For a moment this struck Barney as such a brilliant piece of information that he forgot about being a cat. But he was reminded when he heard a noise. The kind of noise that when you are a cat you can’t really ignore.
It wasn’t loud.
Just a whimper, really, coming from somewhere else.
The dog.