remember?’
‘I won’t cry this time, I promise. Please.’
‘OK. Give me an idea, then, and I’ll tell you a scary story about it.’
‘Ummm…’
‘Cats!’
‘Cats? All right, then, Corey, cats it is. Hmm. Well, OK. There’s this Edgar Allan Poe story called ‘The Black Cat’. Have I told you that one before?’
‘No. Tell us now!’
‘OK, well, a long time ago, there once was this man who lived in this house with his wife and their cat—’
‘What was the cat called?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe Claude or something. Yeah, Claude. Anyway, Claude was black, black as night, and the couple who owned him loved him very much. Then, as time went on, the man started to drink way more than he should—’
‘Was he sad about something?’
‘Yeah, he’d probably lost his job or something or he hated being married, something like that. Anyway, he started taking out all his problems on the cat. When he was drunk he got moody, and the cat was always around, rubbing against his legs and meowing for food. And one day, this cat got on the man’s nerves so much that he took it out into his back garden…’
*
The bus dropped us off on the corner of Long Lane, and we walked the rest of the way until we came to the grubby sign for Whitehouse Farm, me with a gnawing throb of dread in my chest. Weirdly, it hadn’t changed at all in the years since we’d last been there. The mud-spattered jeep was still parked in a garage next door; the field opposite was still barricaded with three rusty shopping trolleys, linked end to end with rope. The sweet smells of hay and dung still hung in the air, and, despite my fear, I felt strangely happy to be back.
‘Go on then,’ said Max, nudging Corey forward. ‘Go and see if Mort’s there. Then we can go.’
Corey took one look back at the everlasting lane we had just walked down from the bus. I saw him take a deep breath. Then he led us inside, one by one.
‘Oh my GOD!’
FlapflapflapflapflutterflutterflutterScreeeeeech!
‘Get it off! Get it off me!’
‘AARGH!’
‘What the HELL is THAT?’
‘Jesus!’
Hell had been unleashed, and we were in the middle of it. Things squawked and screeched at me from branches, flapping about beneath the corrugated plastic roof. There were living things everywhere; creatures, birds, things crawling over my feet. Rabbits, ferrets, cats and an earless Jack Russell terrier brutally shagging a wig. Everywhere you looked were scruffy, eyeless or legless animals: a furry, flappy, feathery nightmare.
‘Shut the door, quick!’ a voice shouted, and Corey dived behind us to bang it shut.
All the way to Cloud, I’d held on to one hope – that Fallon Hayes might not be home. That we could just ask Rosie if she’d seen Mort, commiserate with Corey when she hadn’t, then walk back to the pub on the main road and call a cab back into town. But the curt instruction had come from a girl – a long-legged, green-eyed girl with slightly buck teeth, a platinum blonde confusion of hair, and thick make-up. She had once been my best friend.
I took a deep breath. ‘Hi, Fallon.’
‘Was it strange, being back there again?’
That’s the weird thing. It was like the last four years hadn’t happened.
‘Oh, it’s you guys!’ she said, stroking a trembling white rabbit. ‘Hi, Ella!’
‘Yeah, hi.’ I nudged away a teacup Chihuahua in a sailor suit that was trying to piss on my trainers. ‘How are you, Fallon?’
She was smiling. A genuine smile, full of joy. She still had the same riot of freckles, like a leaf blower had blasted them to the four corners of her face. I hadn’t expected her to be quite so happy to see us.
‘I haven’t seen you for ages!’ The rabbit wriggled in her arms but she held it steady. ‘Wow – you got cute, Max!’ Max laughed and rubbed his mouth. ‘And Corey! This is brilliant! Zane’s not with you, is he?’
Max rose to the challenge of answering that one. ‘No. We don’t see him any more.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It’s almost like the old times, isn’t it?
‘It was only four years ago,’ said Corey.
The joy disappeared from her face as quickly as it had arrived. I knew she was thinking about the funeral – the last time she’d seen us. ‘How are you, Max? How’s your mum?’
‘OK, thanks. Well, she has her days – you know. Dad’s cool, though.’
‘And, Corey, how’s your nan and granddad? Have you still got all your Harry Potter stuff? How’s baby Voldemort?’
I cut in at that point. ‘Actually, Mort’s the reason we’re here. He’s gone missing, and we were wondering if you’d seen him?’
I flapped away a rogue canary, nudging Corey. ‘Has he got a collar on, Corey?’
‘Yeah, a blue one. It’s brand new,’ he said, stepping behind me, cheeks so red I thought his head might explode. I’d forgotten he’d had a crush on Fallon four years ago. By the look of him, it had resurfaced.
‘No, I would have recognised Voldy.’
‘Mort,’ Corey corrected.
‘Actually, we haven’t seen any gingers lately,’ she pondered. ‘We had one come in with one eye. That was gingerish. You can have one of the tortoiseshells. Got loads of them.’
‘No,’ said Corey. ‘His collar says “Malinowski” and it’s got my number on it.’
‘Can’t you just take that one?’ said Max, pointing to a scrawny black cat licking its backside on an upturned bucket.
‘You can’t have Esmerelda,’ said Fallon. ‘She’s ours. Mum might have some more on the truck that she’s picked up this morning, but she’s not back yet. She shouldn’t be too long though, if you want to wait?’
Max and Corey failed to answer – they were both in a trance, looking at her bottom as she bent
