There's a Hamster in my Pocket (7 page)

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.

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.

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