There's a Hamster in my Pocket Page 4

  I was all on my own with Germane and a deadly weapon. The Curse of Samarkand had struck again.

  Discovered

  You know that feeling when you’re so embarrassed, you wish a wormhole would open under your feet and suck you into a parallel universe?

  That was the feeling I got when I finally realised what was in Germane’s hand.

  I’m still not sure of the exact sequence of events, because afterwards I reckon I was in post-traumatic shock, but I think I must have said something like, “Please, please, put that away. Please.”

  It must have been something like that, because then Germane said, “No way, sister. Dis here has cost me a lorra bovver, know wot I mean?” And he pressed the silver thing into my hand.

  Which is when I began to think I might, just might, have got it wrong. . .

  The silver thing didn’t feel like a knife or a razor blade. It was soft and warm. It also had a faintly meaty smell – though, in fairness to me, the meaty smell was pretty hard to make out, on account of Germane’s overpoweringly musky one.

  The actual moment of realisation came when Germane said, “Chicken livers, innit. For da pussy-cat.”

  That was when I wished the wormhole would open. That was when I wished I’d never been born.

  Fortunately, at that precise moment a swarming, squealing stream of wet white fur rushed towards us. Germane made his escape into the house, leaving me standing on the doorstep, gazing down at the river of Papillons.

  “Stop chatting, Yosser!” Kylie shouted on her way past. “The fruit punch isn’t even started!”

  I shoved the foil parcel of chicken livers into my pocket and followed Kylie into the kitchen. I must have looked like a zombie. I certainly felt like one.

  Tersely, Kylie handed me an apple and a knife. Then she opened a carton of blackcurrant cordial and poured it into a bowl.

  “Twista’s been upstairs banging and thumping with Sniper since first light,” she muttered. “And now Germane’s arrived. Who knows what they’re up to?”

  She poured in a second carton. Her hand was shaking.

  “As if that wasn’t enough,” she went on, “now Mum says we’ve to use my bedroom for the coats and umbrellas. I’m dead scared someone’s going to step on Toffee ‘n’ Caramel. . .”

  I stared miserably into the bowl of blood-red cordial. Another vision of the man with the pins and the woman with the puzzle box flashed through my mind. This time, the vision was accompanied by the agonised screams of mortally-injured Russian Dwarf hamsters. I badly wanted to cry.

  “It’s ‘cause we’re cursed, Kylie,” I said. “Everything – everything – goes wrong for us.”

  Kylie ran her hands through her glittery hair. Then she gave me a long, hard look.

  “You need to open that box, Yosser,” she said. “You need to see for yourself it’s not got a curse inside.”

  She put down the empty carton. “We’re getting out of here,” she said decisively. “We’ll finish making the punch, then take Toffee ‘n’ Caramel and Castle Hamster to your nani’s bedroom, out of harm’s way. We’ll keep watch on Sniper from the window, and then I’ll help you look for the key.

  “Not, you understand,” she added, “that I believe in the Deadly Curse of Samarkand. The Deadly Curse of Samarkand is merely a psychological phenomenon with which you have become obsessed. You do realise that, don’t you?”

  I nodded meekly and, as the two of us chopped up apples, I concentrated hard on thinking of the Deadly Curse of Samarkand as a psychological phenomenon with which I had become obsessed.

  I had to admit it made me feel ever so slightly better.

  When the punch was all ready for Kylie’s mum to add the vodka, Kylie and me crept upstairs. We gathered up Toffee ‘n’ Caramel, and all their personal effects, ready for the Great Escape.

  “We needn’t take the tubes or the yoghurt pots,” Kylie said, as she pushed Castle Hamster up under her T-shirt. “It’s important to look as inconspicuous as possible.”

  I looked at Toffee ‘n’ Caramel’s cage, which was an enormous plastic thing with built-in exercise wheels, and decided there was no way I could carry it inconspicuously. So I slipped a hamster gently into each of my jeans pockets, added a sprinkling of sunflower seeds, and followed Kylie out onto the landing.

  We were just about to go downstairs when the doorbell rang and Kylie’s mum, in a gold sparkly catsuit, ran down the hall, threw the door open, and ushered in my mum. Mum had Bilal in one hand and an umbrella and a shiny box in the other.

  “Quick!” hissed Kylie, reversing. “Hide!”

  We heard Kylie’s mum telling my mum to slip off her wet shawl and make herself at home. Then we heard her coming upstairs with the shawl and the umbrella. With great difficulty, we shuffled along the landing. Outside Sniper’s room, we flattened ourselves against the wall as inconspicuously as possible.

  When Kylie’s mum got to the top of the stairs she stopped, and for a moment I was sure she’d seen us. Kylie obviously thought so too, because she pressed herself right up against me. Her body was absolutely rigid, and I tried hard to make mine rigid too.

  Then a hamster began to wriggle about in one of my pockets. That made it harder than ever to stay still, particularly when I thought about the effect a mixture of sunflower husks, chicken liver and hamster poo might be having on my best jeans.

  At last Kylie’s mum went into Kylie’s room, and we relaxed against the wall. And that was when we heard Twista.

  “When’re you gettin’ rid of the old woman then, Sniper?” he said.

  “Cool it, man,” Sniper replied. “She’ll be gone soon enough. Can’t do nothin’, anyhow, till it’s dark.”

  Then we heard Germane’s low, gravelly voice. “Need to get rid of your kid sister an’ all,” he said. “Don’t want her squealin’, now, do we?”

  “It’s OK, man,” Sniper assured him. “Gorra sleepover wif her pal, innit.”

  At that moment, Kylie’s mum came back out. To our relief, she went straight downstairs.

  “Quick!” hissed Kylie. “Let’s get out while we still can!” And we tore down the stairs and out into the rain – which by now was torrential.

  When we got to my house we were absolutely soaked. A lot of the pink paint from Castle Hamster had dissolved onto Kylie’s T-shirt, and most of the purple glitter from her hair had washed down to join it. My jeans were plastered to my skin, and there was a horrible stickiness running down my legs. I dreaded to think how Toffee ‘n’ Caramel must be feeling.

  “You can use the bathroom first,” I told Kylie as I led the way upstairs. Then, without thinking, I threw myself against my bedroom door, fell inside . . . and almost died of shock.

  Sitting on the bed, in a white-and-silver sari, with the most beautiful white lace dupatta on her head, was Nani.

  On her lap, sleeping peacefully, lay Killer Queen.

  Secrets

  Smiling, Nani held up a small white plastic bottle.

  “Antihistamines,” she said, with a wink. “But if you’d told me sooner, I wouldn’t have had any wheezes. . .”

  I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Nani-jee,” I said. “Abjectly sorry.”

  Then, being careful not to wake Killer Queen, I reached into my pockets, felt stickily around, and grasped Toffee in one hand and Caramel in the other.

  “They’re Kylie’s,” I explained, holding them out for Nani to see. “And they’re only staying the night – honest.”

  Nani pushed her spectacles up onto her forehead and examined each hamster in turn.

  “Good for you, Yosser,” she said, replacing the spectacles. “So now we have no more secrets from one another. Mmm?” And she patted the bed.

  I put Toffee ‘n’ Caramel back, and sat down. I wasn’t quite sure what Nani meant about the ‘secrets’, but I was suddenly very aware of the box from Samarkand lying hidden in my underwear drawer.

  “I don’t have any more secrets, Nani,” I said. “Have you?”


  For a while Nani sat in silence, stroking Killer Queen. Then, putting her into my lap, she clambered up onto the bed and lifted down the wildcat from beside Smartypants’ bowl. Smartypants immediately perked right up.

  Nani sat back down beside me with the wildcat balanced across her knees. This close, it looked positively evil. Its stripy brown fur stood right up on end, and its golden glass eyes stared menacingly. Its back was arched and its mouth gaped open in a great frozen snarl. I prayed Killer Queen wouldn’t wake up and see it.

  “This came from Samarkand,” Nani said.

  “Along with the box?” I asked.

  Nani nodded. “Bit of a job lot, you might say,” and she ran her hand thoughtfully along the bristly arch of the wildcat’s back.

  “So the person who gave you the wildcat,” I said, choosing my words carefully, “also gave you the beautiful box?”

  Nani nodded again.

  Water was gurgling in the bathroom, and I knew if I didn’t find out Nani’s secret now, the chance might never come again. With my nani, timing is everything.

  “Was the person Nana?” I asked, and, sighing, Nani shook her head.

  “Your nana didn’t hold with killing, Yosser,” she whispered. “No, these gifts were given to me a long, long time ago. When I was very, very young, and rather . . . impressionable. . .”

  I could feel Killer Queen stretching. I could also hear the bathroom door opening.

  “Was he very handsome?” I whispered, and I bit my lip and waited for Nani’s answer.

  The answer never came, though, because at that moment Kylie burst in with a towel round her head, saw the wildcat on Nani’s lap, and screamed. That woke Killer Queen, and then Killer Queen saw the wildcat too, and she gave a squeal, leapt several metres into the air, and was caught by Kylie seconds before she hit the floor.

  Then Toffee (or Caramel) decided that conditions in my pocket had finally become unbearable and darted out and disappeared under the bed, and Nani, in an attempt to stop him, jumped up and dropped the wildcat on my foot. There was a dull snap as a hind leg split, and a little stream of sawdust ran out onto the carpet.

  For what seemed like forever, Kylie and Nani and me stood looking at one another, and then, quite suddenly, Nani put her arms round us both, took an enormous breath in, and said:

  “You know what I think? I think you two should catch all the animals and put them somewhere where they won’t eat one another, and then clean yourselves up, and put on some party gear, and get along to Kylie’s house pronto – because we are currently missing a great ‘do’!”

  And that is exactly what we did. Which is why I’ll probably never know if Nani’s man from Samarkand was very handsome. But, judging by the look in her eyes before she dropped the wildcat, I kind of guess he was. . .

  ***

  Strangely enough, Kylie and me quite enjoyed the ‘do’. To start with, anyway.

  We caught Toffee (or Caramel), and then I had a shower and got changed in lightning-quick time. I gave Kylie my pink sparkly salwar kameez to wear, and she said it made her feel like a princess, and I wore my all-time favourite midnight-blue one, with the diamond-trimmed hijab.

  The ‘do’ went on all afternoon. There was lots of food and balloons and dancing and games, and Kylie’s mum had a great time blowing out candles and unwrapping presents and telling people they shouldn’t have.

  Bilal had a ball too. He’d never met the Papillons before, and he quickly discovered that if there’s one thing better than a Papillon, it’s seven Papillons, especially when they jump all over you and lick your face.

  All in all, it couldn’t have gone better. Until the conga, that is. That was when things deteriorated, big-style.

  Kylie’s dad started it. Holding a large silver bag, he jumped up on the table and blew several shrill blasts on his party hooter. When everyone was quiet, he pulled out a red velvet devil’s costume, and a hairband with two red velvet horns that wobbled about on wires.

  “Get changed, love,” he said, throwing the costume over to Kylie’s mum. “Taxis’ll be here in half an hour to whisk us off to the Masons’ Arms for the real ‘do’! But before we go. . .” he wiggled his hips and snapped imaginary castanets, “. . .let’s conga!”

  Everyone cheered, and Kylie’s mum hugged the devil’s costume to her chest and said she’d honestly had no idea. Then we all made a chain with Kylie’s mum wearing the red velvet horns at the front, and me and Kylie, with Bilal sandwiched between us, at the back. (Nani decided a conga would play havoc with her rheumatics, so she sat on the settee and banged out the beat on the cream crackers tin.)

  It was when we were conga-ing round the dining room table that Kylie suddenly gave my waist a sharp squeeze.

  “Look, Yosser,” she hissed. “Over by the cheese-and-pineapple sticks. . .”

  I looked, and there were Sniper and Twista leaning against the table, stuffing their pockets with potato crisps and vol-au-vents.

  “See the way they keep pointing at Mum and laughing?” Kylie went on. “I’m telling you, Yosser – the minute everyone leaves for the Masons’ Arms, all hell’s going to break loose.”

  She let go of the person in front and ran out into the hall, pulling me and Bilal with her.

  “Those . . . social misfits. . .” she spluttered. “They’ve got absolutely no consideration for other people. Let’s go back to your house,” she went on, her voice smouldering with rage. “I can’t bear to breathe the same air. . .” And she ran out into the rain.

  I didn’t want Bilal getting soaked (or my midnight-blue salwar kameez, for that matter) so I dashed upstairs to get an umbrella. I was halfway up, when suddenly the whole world went black.

  For a moment I could see nothing. Then I smelt the unmistakable scent of musk, and realised my way was blocked by Germane. Next thing, he sat down on the stairs above me, took off his shades and smiled down at me. One of his teeth had a golden star, right in the middle.

  “Yo, sister!” he said, with a whistle. “You sure is lookin’ like a little Killer Queen!”

  Then he threw back his big head and laughed, and his laughter was like big, soft, velvety rumbles.

  Birthday Surprises

  The night of Kylie’s mum’s surprise party was the wettest, most miserable night of my life.

  All evening Kylie put a brave face on it, but you could tell she was in a terrible mood, and even Mum’s pizzas – with no fewer than twelve different toppings – didn’t cheer her up as much as you’d think.

  After tea, Kylie and me went up to the Fiesta Red room, which I’d made as cosy as possible for the sleepover. I’d moved in our sleeping bags and my make-up mirror and every item of make-up and nail polish I possessed, because I’d promised Kylie a radical Face ‘n’ Nail Makeover to cheer her up.

  I’d also moved in the wildcat, because I didn’t want Nani breathing in sawdust, and I’d propped it up against Castle Hamster. And, finally, I’d taken the dreaded puzzle box out of my underwear drawer, and laid it on Kylie’s sleeping bag.

  When we were all nicely settled, I picked up the box, positioned my fingers on the three pearl petals, and demonstrated how to get the sides to spring out and show the heart-shaped hole. Then I handed the box to Kylie, and she examined it from all angles.

  When she’d finished, she said, “It’s fabulous, thank you, even if it doesn’t open.” She said it in rather a flat voice, though, and I could see that, like me, she had very mixed feelings about it.

  “We could sneak downstairs when the grown-ups are in bed,” I suggested, “and have a final, all-out search for the key. Two heads are better than one. . .”

  But in the end we didn’t. I guess we’d both decided it was a lost cause. Instead, we took turns playing with Toffee ‘n’ Caramel and Killer Queen, and I tried hard not to think about what Mum and Dad were going to say when – inevitably – they found out about her. Then, when Nani came up to bed, I started Kylie’s makeover.

  But Kylie’s heart wasn’t really
in it. Every fifteen minutes or so, I had to stop to let her go and peer out of the window, and every time she did, her mood darkened. After one particularly bad session, when she said she’d distinctly seen Germane with the mallet, I braced myself.

  “Perhaps,” I said, carefully sticking a plastic ruby in the middle of her thumbnail, “we’ve got it wrong about Sniper and his gang. . .”

  Kylie looked at me as though I’d gone completely mad. “What’s to get wrong?” she asked sharply. “Sniper and his gang are the very Embodiment of Evil. There’s no two ways about it.”

  I bit my tongue. There was, after all, no doubt that Sniper and Twista were pretty challenged in the social skills department, but as for Germane . . . I wasn’t at all sure any more.

  Ever since he’d given me the chicken livers, I’d been wondering, and that afternoon, when he’d smiled his starry smile at me and told me I was “lookin’ like a little Killer Queen”, I really thought Kylie and me might have got hold of the wrong end of the stick.

  I didn’t like to say it outright, though – not with the way Kylie was feeling. It seemed somehow disloyal. Next morning, however, when the sun rose brightly on Kylie’s mum’s fortieth birthday, I was proved right. We had got hold of the wrong end of the stick.

  In fact, we’d got hold of the wrong stick.

  ***

  We were woken very early by Bilal banging us on the head with a plastic tub and shouting “Ow! Ow! Ow!” at the top of his voice.

  “Is he still teething?” Kylie muttered sleepily. “Sounds like he’s in agony. . .”

  I’d just opened my mouth to explain about the In/Out game, when several things happened in rapid succession.

  First, Kylie’s mobile gave a muffled ring from somewhere under the sleeping bags, and she jerked the sleeping bag up, catching the corner of Castle Hamster, which tipped over.

  Next, an extremely dishevelled Toffee ‘n’ Caramel appeared through the portcullis, and Bilal, with a scream of delight, made a nose-dive in their direction. The nose-dive dislodged the wildcat, which tipped over onto its side.