Холли Вебб - A Cat Called Penguin

There was no answering mew, and he stood up, shaking his head. “Let’s go next door. Then we’re on the way to the allotments. And the people next door but one have got a shed. It’s worth a look.”

The Morrises’ side fence was worryingly solid, with no useful loose boards or holes underneath. But they did have a small plum tree that Alfie could shove Grace into, and she could haul him up after her. Then they sat there, wobbling, and peering down into the little wooded patch on the other side of the fence. It was a sort of tiny nature reserve that belonged to the council, with a pond in it that school took them to every so often to do pond dipping. Pond dipping was mostly just an excuse for flicking slime at the girls, as far as Alfie and Oliver and most of their friends were concerned. Last time Asha had shoved Oliver back when he put something disgusting down her wellies, and he’d actually fallen in the pond. Year Two (they’d been Year Two then) had been banned from pond dipping after that.

Alfie frowned down at the ground, which seemed a long way away. “I think we just have to jump.”

Grace nodded. “Those ferny things look quite soft.”

“They’re nettles,” Alfie told her, leaning down for a closer look.

“No! This bit.”

“Oh. OK, yeah. Maybe. Shall I jump then?”

Grace nodded, and settled herself in the tree as though she was preparing to watch something funny.

It actually wasn’t that far down, and Alfie almost missed the nettles. Not quite, but almost. He sucked his hand. “Aim this way,” he pointed, looking up at Grace in the tree.

Grace edged out away from the tree and perched herself on the edge of the fence, holding on to a branch. Then she jumped with a yell, landing spreadeagled in the middle of the ferns and gasping with laughter.

“Are you all right?” Alfie asked, helping her up. But she was all right enough to be giggling, too much to say anything.

“Your dress is covered in stuff,” he told her, but Grace only shrugged. She took a deep, shaky breath, and sighed.

“That was funny.”

“Are you really all right?” Alfie eyed her doubtfully. “You look sort of weird.”

Grace nodded, and stopped looking at him. “I just want to find Penguin,” she muttered. “I can do something about that. I can’t help Gran.”

“Is she really ill?” Alfie asked.

Grace nodded. “She has been for ages, I think. We didn’t know. Mum had a massive row with her years ago. I’ve hardly even met her before. She sent presents, really nice ones. And she’d phone at Christmas and stuff, but I never knew what to say. Last time she phoned she told Mum how ill she was, and Mum came to see her. Then she came back and told me we were moving!”

Alfie shook his head. “Just like that?”

Grace nodded bitterly. “Right at the end of the summer holidays. I didn’t even get to start the new term or say goodbye at school. Only to my two best friends.”

Alfie swallowed. He couldn’t imagine it. “Let’s go this way,” he muttered, pulling her arm gently. “Are you staying?” he asked, as they set off, wading through the bracken.

Grace shrugged. “Mum says so. But, if Gran’s really ill – really badly ill, I mean…” She trailed off.

“Mm. You could go home again.” Alfie flushed scarlet as soon as he said it, wishing he hadn’t.

Grace nodded. “It’s really bad that I think that, isn’t it?” she asked miserably.

“I don’t think it is.” Alfie looked back at her as she tracked him through the waist-high leaves. “You’ve only known her about a week, haven’t you?”

Grace nodded. “But she is my grandma,” she pointed out. “I feel horrible that I’m more worried about your cat than her.”

Alfie shrugged. “Well, it’s like you said. You can’t do anything about her, but you can help me find Penguin. Once we’ve found him, I’ll help you worry about her, if you like.”

Grace smiled. “All right. We should call him.”

They called and called. There were strange rustles, and leaves shook here and there, but it was only birds, and a dirty, skinny fox that shot across the faint path in front of them and made Grace shriek.

Alfie patted her. “You don’t need to be scared of them. They’re a pain, Mum says. They just tip the bins over and eat the rubbish.” But his heart was thumping fast too.

“Gran likes them,” Grace said, her voice still a little shaky with surprise. “She knows loads about animals, really funny things sometimes. Foxes used to hide out in her garden. One of her notes said so. She leaves notes for herself everywhere,” she added. “She says her memory’s going and she doesn’t want to forget anything. She’s got notebooks in every room, and little sticky notes all over the place. It’s weird.” She paused for a minute, as though she wasn’t sure whether or not to go on. Then she started again all in a rush. “Lots of them are about me. She’s written my name inside the front cover of all the books, so she doesn’t forget what it is.”

“Oh.” Alfie nodded, not sure what to say. “She still calls me Lucy a lot, though. That’s my mum’s name.” She looked around, shaking her head as if she didn’t want to think about it any more. “He isn’t here, is he? Where shall we go now?”

Alfie looked thoughtfully through the trees. “The allotments. I reckon he goes there for bits of people’s sandwiches. He could have got shut in somewhere.” He carefully didn’t mention the road between the wood and the allotments. That was something he didn’t want to think about.

Grace looked at it as they came out of the little gate, but she didn’t say anything either. They just waited, looking carefully both ways. Alfie wasn’t allowed to cross roads on his own, and he suspected Grace wasn’t either. But they’d broken enough rules that afternoon not to care.

The allotments weren’t that busy on a weekday afternoon – most people had gone home to think about dinner, Alfie guessed, inwardly thanking Grace for her sneaky lasagne plan. He hoped Mum hadn’t spotted they’d gone yet. If they didn’t find Penguin soon they’d have to go back, but they could go the street way, which would be quicker, and sneak back down the side path so Mum didn’t notice.

“Lots of sheds,” Grace said thoughtfully, looking around the tidy little plots.

Alfie nodded. “And I bet they’re all locked. We’ll just have to shout for him, see what happens.”

Treading cautiously around a row of tall green things – he had no idea what they were – Alfie pressed his nose up against the window of a small, slightly tumbledown shed and peered in. All he could see were greyish, shadowy shapes. He banged on the glass. “Penguin? Penguin!”

He was sure Penguin would have answered if he’d been there. All that happened was an old lady digging on another plot looked round at them. Alfie sighed. He’d been really hoping. But it was silly to think that Penguin would be in the very first shed. They couldn’t just give up.

“She’s going to come and tell us off in a minute,” Grace predicted. “Let’s go and look at some more. Quickly!”

The shed on the next plot was even more battered. The roof was half covered in a green tarpaulin where the proper roofing had worn away, and there were boards half hanging off in places. Alfie felt a little less anxious going up to this one – it didn’t look as though anyone was going to complain about him damaging it. He put his hands up against the glass, which was striped with Sellotape, and called, “Penguin?” as he peered in.

There was a scuffling noise, and then a frantic mew – frantic, but tired, as though the cat inside had been calling for ages, and had given up.