“Oh hello, Hannah, love. How are you doing with all this stress going on? It can’t be good for you or the baby.”
Hannah rubbed her football stomach as she joined Mum at the fence. She always walked like that now. It was as if it were the only way she could gain momentum. I avoided looking at her oversized belly and watched Dad get a stepladder out of the shed, which he propped up on the grass and leaned against. Mr. Jenkins came over to talk to him. He was dressed in a fluorescent yellow running vest and black shorts and a pair of sunglasses rested on top of his head. He looked like a wasp. He said something to Dad, and Dad turned and looked up at my window and then shook his head.
“They’re talking about me, Lion,” I said. “What with everything going on, they still find time to talk about me.”
Mr. Jenkins followed Dad’s gaze and stared at me.
Mr. Jenkins was the worst teacher in our school, and for a while I’d managed to excuse myself from quite a few of his lessons (I felt sick, I’d pulled a muscle in my leg, I was getting over a chest infection, etc.). But he wasn’t fooled easily, and before long he was right on my case.
“You can’t be bothered, that’s your problem, isn’t it, Corbin?” he said when I told him I had a migraine and couldn’t go swimming. “Any feeble excuse not to do any exercise. You’re bone-idle! That’s what you are. Now shut up, get your suit on, and get in that pool.”
My anxieties weren’t too bad then, so I resigned myself to just having to get on with it, but I took my towel and trunks out of my bag as slowly as possible. I certainly wasn’t going to hurry.
I thought I was the only one left in the changing room, but then I could hear a boy frantically searching for something behind the forest of school uniforms hanging on rows of hooks.
“Where are you? You stupid letter! You’re in here somewhere, I know it!”
It was Jake Bishop.
“You all right, Jake?”
He looked up at me, his red-rimmed eyes wet with tears.
“I’ve lost the stupid letter. I’m not supposed to go swimming and my mum wrote a note and now I can’t find it.”
He took a deep breath, then, like a scurrying animal, he scratched around again in the pockets of his backpack.
“Can’t the school call your mum?”
Jake snorted.
“Yeah, right. I said that to Mr. Jenkins and he found that very funny. I’m Jake Bishop, remember? What do I matter?”
He turned back, pulling out his scruffy schoolbooks and ink-stained pencil case, piling them onto the bench.
Mr. Jenkins appeared from the pool and threw a pair of purple trunks at Jake, which hit him in the face.
“Get these on. You’ll have to borrow a towel.”
He saw me standing there.
“Why aren’t you dressed yet, Corbin? Come on!” He clapped his hands together rapidly like machine-gun fire. “You’re losers, the both of you! Especially you, Bishop. What are you?”
“A loser, sir,” said Jake quickly. He’d clearly been in this position with Mr. Jenkins before and wasn’t bothering to put up a fight.
“A pathetic excuse for mankind, that’s you. Now, hurry up!”
I darted back to my bags. The echoing shouts of our classmates from the pool sounded sinister, like they were all being tortured. I watched Jake through the dangling coats as he wiped his eyes.
“I can help look through your bag if you want,” I said.
I didn’t know what I’d do if he agreed. There was no way I’d touch Jake’s bag.
“What’s the point? Someone’s stolen it. Probably thought they’d get back at me. Well, this time they’ve won, but they won’t be winning when I get hold of them.”
He pulled his shirt over his head without undoing the buttons and tugged at the sleeves. As he turned away, I saw raw patches of eczema all over his back. I’d never had eczema before, but I knew as soon as his skin hit that chlorine-filled water it was going to hurt like crazy.
I never did find out if someone had taken Jake’s letter. He was probably right, it was very likely that someone did take it, just to get revenge on him. But on that particular day, there was only one bully in the changing room, and it certainly wasn’t Jake Bishop.
Mr. Jenkins rested his hands on the low fence between our yards as he babbled on to Mum and Dad. Hannah now had her arm linked through her husband’s, the sunlight dazzling on her white teeth as she stared up at him. Mum shaded her eyes as she and Dad nodded, agreeing with whatever it was Mr. Jenkins was saying. They didn’t have a clue how different he was from this perfect image he projected. Bullying kids, sneaking around in the middle of the night, smoking cigarettes when he was supposed to be setting a healthy example. What else could he be up to? He’d run past Teddy on the day he went missing. Had he turned back when I wasn’t looking? Had he seen him crouching down by the roses after all?
My PE teacher finished what he was saying and pulled his dark glasses down over his eyes, a mad grin on his face as Hannah began to talk. His head turned toward my window, and I had a strong suspicion he was staring right at me. When his grin twisted into a grimace, I knew I was right.
I was back in the office making more observations. Melissa Dawson’s car was parked outside Mr. Charles’s house, and Officer Campen was standing on the step. He put the back of his hand over his mouth as he tried to hide a yawn. A second car was parked a bit farther up, which I’m sure belonged to Detective Bradley.
I tried to sit at the computer but I couldn’t keep still, so I went to go back to my room. Nigel was sitting outside the door, blocking my way. He purred loudly and closed his eyes, his head rocking back and forth slightly.
“Get out of the way, Nigel,” I said as I tried to find an angle to get into my room. The ginger cat opened his eyes and watched me dancing around in front of him. “Go away, you disgusting cat!” I reached forward and pushed my door open, intending to make a leap for it over his head, but as soon as I’d opened the door he was in. Sauntering across the carpet, he jumped up on my bed, where he padded his feet up and down, snatching at the duvet cover with his claws.
I stood in front of him.
“Nigel! Get off! Get off, you flea-ridden old bag!”
The Wallpaper Lion snarled at me but I ignored him. I looked around the room for something to use to push Nigel off with, but there wasn’t anything I was prepared to get infected. The cat did three lazy turns and then curled into a furry circle, shutting his eyes. I wanted to cry. All of the cleaning I’d done that morning was ruined.
“Nigel, I hate you! I HATE YOU!” I spat at him.
The cat twitched an ear but didn’t move, so I pushed at the mattress with my knee, but he just wobbled a bit. I looked out the window and wondered whether to bang for Mum or Dad to help, but Mr. Jenkins and Hannah were still out there. It was far too embarrassing to ask in front of them.
I ran into the office.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: CAT!
Melody, I need your help! Can you come over? Right now?
M
I paced around, checking the street to make sure there was no sign of Melody, then I went back into my room. Nigel had stretched himself out like a long fuzzy sausage. I tensed my hands, but there was nothing I could do. I went back into the office, but there weren’t any emails.
“Come on, Melody! Answer!”
I looked out at number three. There was only one thing for it. I ran downstairs, pulled on my sneakers, and headed across the close.
If you stand on Melody’s doorstep (number three), you can’t see the number on Penny and Gordon’s house (one), so for now, I was safe from the unlucky number. I rang her doorbell, wishing I’d put on some fresh gloves.
Melody answered the door, and her eyes widened when she saw it was me. I took a breath and launched into what I had to say.
“I need your help. The cat’s on my bed! Can you come over and just get him off?”
I stopped, almost panting for breath.