The Cat Mummy Read online

‘Oh no, please. You look sweet, Verity,’ said Miss Smith. ‘Don’t worry, Verity’s not in any trouble at all. I just came round because Verity dropped her purse. It fell out of her school bag and rolled under a desk. I brought it round in case you were worried about it.’

  ‘How kind of you,’ said Dad. ‘Say thank you, Verity.’

  ‘I knew it was silly taking that broken bag to school. You’ll take your duffle bag tomorrow,’ said Gran.

  ‘I can’t!’

  They all looked at me.

  ‘I mean . . . I lost my duffle bag.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Verity, of course you haven’t lost it,’ said Gran. ‘And do go and put some decent clothes on, dear.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got any clean clothes, Gran.’

  Gran frowned at me.

  ‘Verity! What’s the matter with you? There’s at least ten different clean outfits hanging in your wardrobe. Now go and put something on at once!’

  Gran doesn’t often get cross, but when she uses that tone you can’t argue with her.

  I looked desperately at Grandad.

  ‘Can’t I stay in my fairy frock, Grandad?’ I pleaded.

  Grandad tutted at me. ‘Do as Gran says, darling,’ he said.

  I looked at Dad.

  ‘Upstairs, Verity. Quick sharp,’ said Dad.

  So I went upstairs, very very slowly. I stopped to listen halfway up.

  ‘That’s not like our Verity. She’s usually such a good little girl, does as she’s told and never any arguing.’

  ‘Of course she’s had a worrying time, lately.’

  ‘Has she seemed upset at school, Miss Smith?’

  ‘Well yes, she hasn’t been her usual self at all. I agree, she’s generally a lovely cheery little girl, a total joy to teach. But of course when she’s had such a devastatingly terrible bereavement to deal with––’

  ‘Bereavement?’ said Dad. ‘We don’t know for sure that Mabel’s dead.’

  ‘We’ve done our best to advertise.’

  ‘She might come back yet. It’s a bit soon to give up hope – though she’s never run away before.’

  ‘But . . . I thought . .. Verity said . .. so her mum’s left home?’ said Miss Smith.

  ‘Her mum?’ said Gran. ‘No no, my daughter passed away long ago.’

  ‘When our little Verity was born,’ said Grandad.

  ‘Has Verity been talking about her mum at school, Miss Smith?’ said Dad. ‘I think she’s been dreaming about her. It’s been worrying me a lot. Perhaps you can help us. We’ve never been very good at talking about it––’

  ‘It’s too upsetting,’ said Gran.

  ‘Of course she didn’t ever know her mum,’ said Grandad.

  ‘I see,’ said Miss Smith, though it was clear she didn’t. ‘So . .. who is Mabel?’

  ‘Oh! That’s our cat,’ said Dad.

  I gave a moan. Gran came whipping outside into the hall.

  ‘Verity! Are you hanging about on the stairs listening to us? I told you to go and get some sensible clean clothes on!’

  ‘I can’t, Gran!’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter with you today?’ said Gran crossly. ‘Why are you showing me up in front of Miss Smith? And what have you been saying to her?’

  I hung my head, unable to explain. Gran sighed. She took hold of my arm and started pulling me up the stairs.

  ‘No, Gran! Please! Don’t!’ I whimpered, realizing where we were heading.

  Gran tugged me into the bedroom. She stopped to get her breath. She sniffed.

  ‘What is that smell?’

  ‘I . . . I’m not sure,’ I said, which was the biggest lie yet, because I was surer than sure.

  My eyes swivelled towards the wardrobe. So did Gran’s. She stepped towards it.

  ‘Don’t!’

  But she did. She flung the door open – and then reeled backwards, choking.

  ‘Oh my goodness! What on earth . . .?’ She bent down and saw the duffle bag at the back.

  ‘There’s your duffle bag! Is that where the awful smell is coming from? Don’t say you’ve left your wet swimming things in there all this time?’

  She seized the duffle bag, pulled it out into the open, undid the top . .. and tipped the contents onto my carpet.

  Then Gran screamed and screamed and screamed. Dad came running. Miss Smith came running. Grandad came hobbling.

  Gran went on screaming for a long, long time. Even after she was downstairs and trembling in her armchair and Miss Smith had poured her a cup of strong sweet tea, Gran still made little gaspy sounds.

  Dad and Grandad made loud gagging sounds as they shovelled poor Mabel and her duffle bag into a big black plastic rubbish sack and carted her outside into the garden. Then they washed and washed and washed.

  I wept until the front of my stupid fairy frock was sodden.

  Miss Smith made a fresh pot of tea when Dad and Grandad came back.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Gran gasped. ‘I should have made the tea. Whatever must you think of us?’

  ‘I reckon you got more than you bargained for when you brought our Verity’s purse back!’ said Grandad.

  ‘Verity?’ said Dad.

  They all looked at me. I wept harder.

  ‘Don’t cry so, pet. I’m not cross. I’m just . .. puzzled. Why did you hide Mabel in your duffle bag? And why did you wrap her up like that?’

  ‘It was bandages. Did you think it would make her better?’ said Grandad.

  ‘Bandages!’ said Miss Smith.

  She looked at me. I looked at her.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ said Miss Smith. ‘You tried to make Mabel into a cat mummy!’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mabel R.I.P.

  It all came out. Gran was very upset, wondering how I could have done such a silly, shameful thing. Grandad started spluttering with laughter. Dad was fussed because I hadn’t said anything the moment I’d found Mabel.

  ‘I couldn’t,’ I shouted. ‘She was dead. We don’t talk about anyone being dead because we all get upset and dead people have to be buried and I couldn’t bury Mabel because she’s frightened of outdoors and she’d hate to be buried under the dirty earth with all the worms.’

  I thought they’d all be cross with me for shouting like that. Not a bit of it! They looked shocked. Then they all started being very kind. Gran sat me on her lap and Grandad said he’d donate his special toolbox as a coffin and Mabel would stay safe inside. Miss Smith said I could maybe paint the toolbox with Egyptian signs so that it would be like a special mummy case. She said the very first Ancient Egyptians used very similar wooden boxes. If I painted big Egyptian eyes on the side of the box then this would mean Mabel could look out, and I could also paint a special door so her spirit could get in and out of the coffin.

  ‘A special little cat-flap door,’ I said, blowing my nose. ‘That’s right, Verity,’ said Miss Smith, giving me a hug. It was as if she’d stopped being my teacher and was now a member of my family.

  Dad had a little private word with her. I couldn’t hear much until right at the end. Miss Smith said I was her special favourite in her class. She really did! I wish I could tell Sophie and Laura and Aaron. I especially wish I could tell Moyra. But I know it’s a secret. And I’d hate it if Miss Smith told my secret to the whole class.

  After Miss Smith went Gran started a very, very long session with disinfectant and scrubbing brush in my wardrobe while all my clothes whirled round and round in the washing machine. Grandad took all his tools out of the toolbox and cleaned it up and sanded it down so it was smooth for me to paint on.

  Dad helped me do the painting. It was getting quite late by this time but we all knew Mabel couldn’t wait much longer to be buried. I needed to wear something more sombre than a fairy outfit and all my clothes were being washed, so I took another of Gran’s old sheets and wrapped it round and round me and secured it with a purple chocolate box ribbon. I looked almost like an Ancient Egyptian myself.

  Dad and