You Won't Believe This Read online

  ‘Where’s my stinky brother?’ she said, texting.

  ‘Friend’s house.’

  ‘Great.’ TEXT. TEXT. ‘I’ll get his steak, then.’ PING!

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I don’t think there’s going to be—’

  PING! Juni wasn’t listening. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she said, pulling her chair out with one hand. TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. PING! TEXT. Stephan and I didn’t know so couldn’t answer, so she shouted, ‘MUM? Where’s DAD?’ TEXT. PING!

  There was quite a lot of crossness in Juni’s voice and I thought I knew why. My Uncle Chris used to work all the time in this big glass building (not a greenhouse, one with computers in). He was never home for anything. He’d promised to change, though, so where was he?

  ‘Well?’ Juni demanded, as Auntie Mill came through. TEXT. TEXT. PING! PING! PING!

  ‘Look, love—’ Auntie Mill winced, and stared at the side of Juni’s bowed head. ‘Daddy had to take a little trip.’

  TEXT. ‘Typical.’ TEXT. PING! ‘And he’s not my “daddy”, he’s my dad.’ TEXT. PING! TEXT. ‘How little?’

  ‘Well …’

  TEXT. ‘I mean, is he getting back soon?’ TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. ‘Or not till after supper?’

  ‘Neither. He’s in …’

  ‘His –’ TEXT – ‘office?’

  ‘No. America.’

  ‘What?’ Finally, and with great effort, Juni did rip her eyes from her phone.

  ‘New York, to be absolutely precise.’

  ‘But he doesn’t do that any more!’ PING!

  ‘I know, love. But some investors got in touch. Look, he’s just not here. But it’s only one night.’

  ‘That’s not the point!’ PING! PING! ‘My maths is due tomorrow!’

  ‘I can help you with that.’

  ‘You? I might as well ask the goldfish.’

  ‘I beg your par—’

  ‘Or Cymbeline.’

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Well, maybe you won’t have to.’ Auntie Mill sighed, turning to the magazines. I noticed then that she had an iPad in her hand, which she put on top of the stack.

  ‘Your dad said he’d be here,’ she muttered. ‘And he’s going to be. Sort of.’

  PING!

  Auntie Mill started fiddling with the iPad. Juni started arguing with her again but then stopped – but not to answer any of the pings. Mum had come in with a tray. On it were three serving bowls, which Juni and I stared at as Mum set them down on the table.

  ‘What,’ Juni said, ‘is that?’

  Now, I don’t often side with Juni, but I have to admit that I too wanted to know the answer to this question. You see, in the bowl that was nearest to me was what I can only describe as shiny brown sludge. The next bowl was pretty similar except that the sludge in that one was yellow. The third bowl also had sludge in, though that was green.

  With bits in.

  ‘Supper,’ Mum said.

  Juni shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It. Is. Not.’

  ‘It is! Dhal! Sort of curry. First time I’ve made it. That’s split pea dhal with ginger, and that’s lentil dhal, and that’s paneer.’

  ‘Pan—?’

  ‘Cheese. Indian cheese.’

  ‘That is not cheese.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ asked Mum.

  ‘That,’ Juni insisted, ‘is vomit.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘From three different people by the looks of it, because vomit from only one person looks the same. Why are you putting vomit on the table, Auntie Janet? And, Mum?!’ She turned to Auntie Mill, who was now waving at the iPad. ‘Why can’t I smell steak cooking?’

  PING!!!

  ‘!!MUM!!’

  The volume of that shout from Juni finally got Auntie Mill’s attention and she turned to her daughter. ‘Steak?’ she said.

  ‘It’s Thursday.’

  ‘But Stephan’s a vegetarian.’

  ‘Why do I care what Stephan is?!’

  ‘Because he is our guest, darling.’

  ‘So? And why is he, anyway?’

  ‘Auntie Janet wanted us to meet him properly. We’ll do steak another—’

  ‘Are you a complete imbecile?’ Juni hissed. ‘Or just a partial one? Steak has to be on Thursday to replenish my depleted protein stocks after fencing! And anyway, I’m not putting something in my body that looks like it just came out of someone else’s!!’

  ‘Juniper,’ Mum hissed. ‘Don’t be so rude!’

  ‘What? You can’t tell me off.’ PING!

  ‘Well, someone should,’ said Mum.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Auntie Mill, flashing round to Mum. ‘It’s up to me to discipline her.’

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ Mum said. (PING! PING!) ‘The way she speaks to people! If she ever does actually speak to people, instead of just spending all day –’ PING! PING! PING! PING! PING! PING! – ‘OH! If she were my daughter I’d—’

  ‘Hello, everyone!’ came a cheerful voice from the head of the table.

  That stopped Mum and Auntie Mill. We all looked round but there was no explanation – until Auntie Mill’s iPad came alive.

  ‘Uncle Chris!’ I shouted.

  My Uncle Chris was on the screen, squinting into the camera. (It explained why Auntie Mill needed the Internet.) He had a napkin tucked in his shirt and behind him I could just make out tables and chairs with people at them. Wherever he was, it was noisy.

  ‘Cymbo!’ he answered, before looking round. ‘Are you there? Groovy. Oh, there’s lot’s of you.’

  ‘This is Stephan,’ I said. ‘Though normally only on Fridays.’

  ‘Right. Welcome, Stephan. I think we’ve actually met, haven’t we? Sorry I can’t be there.’ Uncle Chris held out his hand. Stephan did the same and they did a mid-air virtual shake. Then Uncle Chris turned to Juni.

  ‘Pickle!’

  ‘I’VE TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL ME THAT!’

  ‘Sorry. And sorry not to be there. But this’ll do, won’t it?’

  ‘No! Especially given what Auntie Janet has just served …’

  ‘Are you read-eee?’ said Uncle Chris, who didn’t seem to be aware of what Juni was trying to say.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes, Pickle – sorry, not Pickle. Didn’t think I’d let you down, did you? Can you see where I am?’ He moved to the side and we got a better view of all the chairs and tables.

  ‘Is that a restaurant, Uncle Chris?’

  ‘Not just any, Cymbo. It’s Big Al’s New York Super-Steak! Best in the Five Boroughs. I’ve got the thirty-five-day matured grass-fed Irish rib-eye. It’s à point and I’m ready to replenish my protein stocks. LET’S DO THIS!’

  With that, Uncle Chris moved his hand up to the camera and a big silver fork came into view. On it was the juiciest, most succulent chunk of food I have EVER seen. If that was à point, I wanted some. Could you do pizza like that? I was about to ask but Uncle Chris’s mouth came right up to the camera and the steak went in. And he chewed, after which he swooned like he was going dizzy! He nearly fell off his chair before moving back up to the camera.

  ‘Incredible! Oh boy. But how’s yours, Pick— Juni-bug? Well? How is it, darling?’

  PING!

  I cannot accurately describe the dialogue after that. There was too much shouting. Juni was loudest with:

  ‘SO not FAIR!’

  ‘How COULD you, Dad?!’ and

  ‘SPIT THAT OUT RIGHT NOW!!!’

  as Stephan tried to say it was his fault and Mum and Auntie Mill just screamed at each other, about 1. parenting strategies, 2. ingratitude, and 3. intruding into other people’s lives. (PING!) Uncle Chris (just his face) sat on the pile of magazines with his fork in his hand looking bewildered, while I watched it all in awe.

  Until I felt something.

  And it was weird. A weird something was happening (weirdly) at my feet.

  And then my legs.

  And then my stomach.

  And then my chest.

  A weird something that nobody noticed but me, until Uncle Chris noticed it (from New York). His expression changed from bliss to panic, and then from panic to horror as he jabbed his fork at the screen. ‘RAT!’ he shouted.

  THERE’S A RAT IN THE HOUSE, I TELL YOU!’

  ‘A rat?’ said Juni. ‘Did he say “rat”?’

  Everyone peered at the screen, trying to see what Uncle Chris was talking about.

  But to my complete amazement, Kit-Kat the Nearly-Hamster had scampered up my legs and chest and was now sitting on my shoulder. And no one was looking at me.

  How did he get there? Had he snuck through a gap from next door? Did he want to play Subbuteo again? I was about to ask him but first I had to get him out of sight. Fortunately no one was paying attention to me, still, so I shoved Kit-Kat down under the table, scrabbling in my pocket for one of the dried peas that were still in there. I wanted to put Kit-Kat up my jumper but one of the peas fell on the floor and he leapt down after it.

  Meanwhile, Uncle Chris (in New York) was waving his arms about. And then Kit-Kat’s ball control let him down! Instead of grabbing the pea, as I’d expected, he accidentally kicked it. It flew across the floor like a Harry Kane volley and he scurried after it, stopping to nibble it – in open sight! He then looked back at me, clearly wanting another. As quick as I could, I threw him one, trying to tempt him back towards me, but I was nervous and it went skidding past him. He turned and dived on it, still wide open in the middle of the floor as Uncle Chris bellowed:

  ‘RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT! It was attacking Cymbo!’

  The first person to react to this new information was Mum, who didn’t turn and try to protect her only son from this sudden danger. OH NO! Nor did she look around for any proof of what Uncle Chris was saying. Instead she just screamed, even louder than he’d done, so loud in fact that Auntie Mill stopped screaming. And then Mum jumped right up on to Stephan, using him as a kind of step as she launched herself on to the table – or not the table, quite. Instead of landing on that, Mum landed on the bowl of yellow dhal stuff, which sent the dhal flying through the air. And Juni deserves a lot of credit here because it really did look a lot like vomit now. And it looked even more like vomit when it stopped flying through the air and landed on Juni’s T-shirt.

  And her face.

  And in her hair.

  And you don’t have to have seen Doctor Who to imagine what she looked like then.

  So now it was Juni’s turn to scream, yellow sludge dripping down her cheeks and hair. She was almost as loud as Mum, while Uncle Chris kept shouting, waving his arms and pointing at Kit-Kat, surely about to give away his location. Fortunately, though, Mum’s manic treading made everything on the table wobble, and just as Uncle Chris was about to tell everyone where Kit-Kat was, his iPad tumbled head first off the pile of magazines and landed in the brown dhal. Auntie Mill dived forward to rescue him but Mum was still spinning about, during which she stepped in the green dhal—

  But please don’t worry! That didn’t land on Juni too.

  It landed on Stephan.

  During all this chaos I took the chance to throw another pea to Kit-Kat, this time aiming right out into the hall so he’d disappear from sight. He scampered after it and out of the room, with me following to make sure he didn’t come back in again.

  Which is when I saw it.

  I hadn’t spotted it before, but as I picked Kit-Kat up and stared into his naughty little face I noticed a rubber band. One of those thin ones. It went right round his tummy, something I couldn’t understand – until I slid it over his head.

  And a little piece of folded paper fell into my palm.

  And opened.

  ‘It’s Nanai,’ the note said.

  There was nothing else on the note.

  Just those words.

  I stared at them, all quiet and still inside – wondering whether Kit-Kat had written them. I was actually quite willing to believe that he could have done but – no – it was definitely Veronique’s handwriting. She must have sent Kit-Kat over from her house next door. But Nanai? What had happened? Was it her breathing again? Or …? I swallowed, not even able to finish my thought.

  Instead I turned to the wall of sound behind me and then back to Kit-Kat, covering him up with my jumper. Then I stared at Auntie Mill’s front door. I didn’t want to open it. I wanted to go back into the living room.

  But Veronique was my friend, wasn’t she?

  I didn’t hesitate – I opened the front door.

  It was cold outside. And dark, though it didn’t stay that way for long. As soon as I moved, a light came on, something that didn’t surprise me because Uncle Chris had put motion sensors and CCTV in last year after a burglar had tried to get in. It was startling, though, and scarier somehow than the dark had been was a long black shape in front of me that made me jump – until I realised it was my own shadow.

  I followed it up to the road, intending to go to Veronique’s door, though she might not have told her dad I was coming. So instead I turned back again, my shadow first seeming to shrink as I edged round the side of the house, then ducking in behind me like it was afraid. It stayed there as I emerged on to Auntie Mill’s patio, where I glanced back in through the glass doors.

  Mum and Juni were both on the table now, while Stephan was wiping dhal off his jacket and Auntie Mill was wiping it off her iPad, which meant that no one was looking out the window. Taking advantage of that, I hurried off down the lawn, their treehouse looming out of the darkness like it was going to jump on me.

  When it didn’t, I turned left and pushed my way through the bushes until I came to the secret hole that Veronique had shown me in the summer. You had to pull back a plank, which I did, though my hand connected with something slimy. A slug! After throwing that off, I got on my hands and knees and crawled through, emerging at the side of Nanai’s cabin.

  What would I do? What could I possibly say to Veronique if …? I swallowed, thinking about something else that I knew about grandparents. Yes, they were great. Yes, they gave you sweets and pound coins.

  But they couldn’t go on doing that forever.

  That thought nearly made me go back. I could tell Veronique I never got the note. Whatever Kit-Kat said, I could just deny it. I shook my head, though, and pushed on, intending to walk up their garden to their back door. But I stopped.

  Nanai’s light was on, a rectangle of yellow spread out in front of her cabin like a corner flag.

  Not really thinking, I forced myself round to the front and stared in through the door, wondering what I’d see. A stretcher? Some ambulance people crowding round it?

  No.

  Nanai was in the cabin. But she was just in her chair, like normal, talking to Veronique and her dad. It was like someone had popped a giant balloon inside me. I closed my eyes, feeling really stupid about what I’d been imagining, and took a few deep breaths. Then I pushed the cabin door open and stood on the threshold, Veronique and her dad turning towards me, though Nanai didn’t.

  ‘Hello,’ I said. ‘How was hospital? Did they sort your breathing out?’

  Nanai didn’t answer. Or move. She didn’t call me the famous Cymbeline or ask what I had to say about Jacky Chapman (or his helicopter). That was a bit weird and I glanced around, not able to spot anything actually wrong to explain what Veronique’s note had meant. Nanai’s photographs were still on the walls, the same three on the little table beside her chair. The only difference I could see was Nanai herself, who for the first time didn’t have her glasses on. They were on a chain round her neck.

  I turned to Veronique and took Kit-Kat out of my jumper. ‘Here,’ I said. ‘He’s better than email.’

  I thought that might make Veronique smile, but it didn’t. Veronique just took Kit-Kat from me and turned back to Nanai, which is when I did notice something different: the atmosphere. It was heavy. Serious, like in class after someone has REALLY been told off. And Veronique herself looked even more worried than she had at my house. This was something I couldn’t understand because Nanai was right there. But her dad looked worried too.

  ‘What is it?’ I said.

  Veronique bit her lip. And then she pointed at Nanai, like she had at Marcus Breen when he put a worm inside her clarinet.

  ‘It’s her,’ she said.

  ‘Her?’ What could Nanai have done? ‘Hasn’t she given you any pound coins recently?’

  Veronique sighed. ‘No. It’s not that.’

  ‘Won’t she play football, then? You should, Nanai, you’ve got real potential.’

  ‘Cymbeline, listen.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Nanai’s not eating.’

  ‘Join the club,’ I said, pulling the door shut and moving further into the room. ‘Neither are we. Our dinner just puked itself up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. What’s that, Veronique?’

  I was talking about the plate on Nanai’s side table, which the photographs had been obscuring. A small jumble of green beans sat next to a ploughed field of mashed potato, the ridges all crispy, mince oozing up here and there like lava. It wasn’t quite Uncle Chris’s steak, but it was still very tempting, especially as I could suddenly smell it – which made me realise that I was starving.

  ‘Her dinner.’

  ‘And she won’t eat it?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘That’s the thing. She won’t tell us.’

  I turned to Nanai. ‘Is it the tiny bits of carrot? I so get that. It’s such a mean trick, but you can pick them out.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Veronique insisted. ‘She likes it that way.’

  ‘Really? Then what’s the problem? I’ll have it if you like.’

  ‘But we want Nanai to eat it.’

  ‘Oh. Well, isn’t that up to her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Veronique sighed. ‘But …’

  ‘I mean, she’s an adult, after all. She’s about as adult as you can get and still be a person.’ I turned to the very old lady in the chair. ‘Aren’t you, Nanai?’

  ‘We know that.’

  ‘Well, then. I thought it was only kids who had to eat things they don’t want. What’s the point of growing up if you still have to do that? Would you like a bit of our dhal stuff instead, Nanai? I could probably scrape some off Juni for you?’