As his dad said this he sniffed one of the pot plants by the door, and the scent soothed him. ‘At least there will always be plants.’
Barney sighed, feeling more fed up than ever that he was trapped in this body. In cat fancy-dress for possibly the rest of his life. ‘I just wish I’d never wished.’
‘Well, you did. And now you’ve just got to wish even harder,’ said his dad.
His mum’s voice, behind the door. Clearer this time: ‘Barney, shouldn’t you be going to school? You don’t want to be late. You were in trouble enough yesterday.’
There was a response. But not one they could hear properly.
And then footsteps coming from the street.
Barney head-nudged his dad. ‘That’s Rissa.’
And it was.
Rissa, still ten-storeys high, but with new worry etched on her face. She looked down. Saw Barney by the doorstep. And this time – he was sure – she actually saw Barney.
‘I read your message,’ she said, confirming his hope. ‘The one you made out of the crumbs. It’s you, isn’t it? You’re Barney.’
Yes, said Barney, but, of course, reading a message made out of carrot cake didn’t mean his friend could actually understand cat. But just in case, he added: And this is my dad.
Rissa crouched down to get as close to his level as she could. ‘Can you nod your head?’
Barney nodded.
‘And shake it?’
He did so.
She smiled, but her forehead said she was still worried. ‘OK. Nod for yes, shake for no. Got it?’
Barney nodded.
‘I’m going to tell your mum, OK?’
Barney shook his head. It wasn’t OK.
‘Why? Because of that other Barney?’
Barney nodded. So did his dad.
‘Who is that other Barney …? Is he a cat?’
Another nod.
‘Is he dangerous?’
Cats can nod, but can’t shrug their shoulders. She seemed to understand.
Rissa thought. ‘But if he’s even possibly dangerous we’ve got to tell your mum, haven’t we?’
Nod.
‘And she’s not going to understand you, is she?’
Shake. She was right, Barney realized. There probably wasn’t any other way.
So Rissa inhaled, hoping to find courage floating on the cool morning air, then stood up to ring the doorbell.
Barney’s mum answered.
Oh, Elaine, I do miss you sometimes, said Barney’s dad, unheard far below her.
‘Mrs Willow,’ said Rissa. ‘Listen, I have something to tell you.’ She picked up Barney. ‘This is your son.’
But Barney’s mum couldn’t believe this. She really physically couldn’t. You see, the space in your brain for ‘things you are prepared to believe in’ gets smaller as you get older. Each year the area shrinks, like the age rings of a tree trunk in reverse, and Barney’s mum was now forty-three years old, which left her with quite a small circle of believability.
‘I’m sorry, Rissa,’ she said, looking the wrong kind of concerned, ‘but I really think you might need to see a doctor.’
Rissa stayed where she was. ‘Please can I come inside? I think I can prove it.’
Barney’s mum shook her head. ‘Not with the cats, I’m afraid – Guster hates them. But you can come in on your own.’
Rissa kept holding Barney. ‘OK, I’ll do it here … Barney, are you a cat?’
Barney saw Rissa was looking at him, her eyebrows pleading for him to respond. Barney wasn’t concentrating, though. His whiskers were curling, sensing a danger his brain couldn’t translate.
‘Go on, son,’ said his dad, miaowing up from below. ‘Nod your head.’
So Barney did. He nodded.
‘There! Did you see—?’
Rissa stopped, because right behind Barney’s mum she saw Barney. Fake Barney. Maurice – although, of course, Rissa didn’t know that was his name.
‘Hello, Rissa,’ he said a little timidly.
‘Don’t pretend you know me,’ she said, angrier than Barney had ever heard her. ‘Anyway, who are you? And why are you doing this?’ She almost spat the words.
Then Barney realized what his whiskers were trying to tell him:
A car.
A car slowing down.
A car slowing down and parking near the house, the low mumbling vibration of its engine sounding like an ominous purr.
Barney knew that sound, even though he wasn’t a car person. Or a car cat.
He had heard it up close. Really close.
And the noise sent him right back to last night. In the dark, trapped. It was Miss Whipmire’s car.
As Rissa and his mum continued to talk, Barney waited in his best friend’s arms. He kept expecting his head teacher to appear. But she didn’t.
‘Dad,’ he said. ‘I think something’s going on …’
And just at that moment Barney felt a massive jolt as the world spun sideways. Something had knocked Rissa, he realized, just as he saw his own back walking away from him.
‘Hey!’ shouted Rissa.
‘Maurice,’ Barney wailed. ‘Where are you going?’
Then his mum stormed out onto the road. ‘Barney! What on earth are you—?’
She stopped, noticing something. Someone.
‘She’s just seen Miss Whipmire,’ Barney miaowed down to his dad.
‘Miss Whipmire?’
‘Yes. She’s a former cat. A really evil Siamese cat.’
‘Siamese …?’
‘Yes. And she wants to kill me. She’s evil. I mean, deeply evil.’
Barney noticed his dad was getting further away from him, even though he was standing in the same spot.
No! Barney shouted, realizing Rissa was carrying him out onto the pavement. He shook his head about twenty times in three seconds but Rissa wasn’t looking.
The next thing he knew, he could see her.
Miss Whipmire, Caramel herself, stepping out of her car while telling Maurice, ‘Come to me, my darling boy.’
She spoke softly, tenderly, and then, when she turned to see Rissa and Barney, her face forced itself into a smile.
‘Oh, hello, Risso.’
‘It’s Rissa, actually, miss.’
Miss Whipmire shrugged. ‘A rose by another name would still prick your fingers. And, oh, you’ve found my cat. I’ve been looking for him everywhere.’
‘This isn’t your cat.’
‘What’s going on here?’ This was Barney’s mum, now out on the pavement. ‘Oh, hello again, Miss Whipmire. What are you doing here?’
Miss Whipmire thought for a moment, surveying the street and its old semi-detached houses. A gaggle of schoolgirls in Blandford High uniforms had just appeared round the corner. A cat sat on a brick wall opposite. It was the ginger cat that hung round the school. The one that had chased Rissa and Barney.
Pumpkin.
Rissa recognized him too, because her hand suddenly tightened fearfully around Barney’s middle.
‘Mrs Willow,’ said Miss Whipmire. ‘I would really like to speak with you indoors.’
Barney’s mum looked at who she thought was her son, standing strangely close to his head teacher. ‘Barney? What’s—?’
‘Mum, just go inside. Miss Whipmire wants to talk with you.’
Mum, he’s not your son!
‘OK. I will. But I must say I’m finding this all very odd.’
Don’t listen to him! He’s a cat called Maurice!
‘Mrs Willow,’ said Rissa, ‘don’t do as they say. They might be dangerous.’
Yes! Listen to her!
Barney’s mum gave Rissa another flustered look.
Miss Whipmire smiled. ‘You just stay there, Rissa,’ she said, fast as a mousetrap.
Rissa didn’t know what was best. She looked down at Barney, who was shaking his head.
Follow, he miaowed. Ignore her.
And as he was carried forward he looked down at the doorstep, and all around, but there was nothing but an empty path and uninhabited flower beds. His dad was nowhere to be seen.