Looking for Bear Page 5

  “Wait and see. I’ll be back in a minute.” Cassie vanished along the landing, and Ben lay down on his bed, put his chin in his hands and sighed. Just when everything had been going so well. School had been all right again today, but that had been because of the bear, and his drawing. What if it all stopped working when Dave and Les weren’t there to tell him he was an artist?

  Ben had a horrible feeling that everything would be the way it was before, and the bear’s page in his book would be like James had said – just colouring.

  Cassie had crept back downstairs with a bag of screws, a hammer and a large tin of paint. She hid them under her bed. Her plan was to keep stealing things until Les and Dave ran out of tools and couldn’t finish the loft room.

  Ben wasn’t convinced this was going to work – the builders had about six hammers each, he’d seen them. And they were always putting them down and leaving them in places. They probably wouldn’t even notice that any were gone.

  By the next afternoon, Cassie had started to agree with him. The space under her bed was full, and Dave and Les hadn’t mentioned that any tools were missing. She’d even got a cordless drill under there.

  Ben was curled silently into the corner of his bed, not drawing, or making Lego. He didn’t feel like it.

  The front doorbell rang, and Cassie jumped up, hurtling down the stairs to get there first.

  Ben wondered vaguely who it was. Cassie seemed to be arguing with them, and now Dad was hurrying down the stairs to join in.

  At last the front door slammed shut, and Cassie raced into their room and banged their door shut too.

  Ben sat up worriedly. He could hear Dad thumping up the stairs after her. “What did you do? Why’s Dad cross?”

  Cassie sat on the edge of her bed, her arms folded and a stubborn look on her face. “I told the man with the new floorboards to go away. That he’d got the wrong house.”

  Ben stared at her. “Why?”

  “So Dave and Les couldn’t finish, of course, stupid!”

  “What on earth were you doing?” Dad shouted as he shoved the door open. “I’ve just had to apologize to the poor man! I had to practically beg him to let us keep those boards. What sort of silly, irresponsible game was that, Cassie?”

  Cassie looked at him, and sniffed, and let a couple of tears run down her cheeks. She was a very clever crier, but Ben thought she actually meant it this time.

  “Don’t do that.” Dad sighed. “Look, you must have had a reason.”

  There was a tiny silence, and then Cassie whispered, “We don’t want them to go.”

  “Who? The builders?” Dad crouched down in front of her. “Why not? You want this to be your own bedroom, don’t you?” He frowned. “Are you worried about not having Ben to share with any more? Will you be lonely?”

  Cassie shook her head. “Course not. I’ll have my bears.” She gulped. “But we need Dave and Les. They talk to us. They tell us pirate stories, and then Ben draws them. And they look at Ben’s pictures. You don’t.”

  Dad’s face seemed to sag a little. He turned round to look at Ben. “I look at them,” he said, rather quietly.

  Ben shrugged. “You’ve been really busy…”

  “Ben thinks those boys at school will be horrible to him again,” Cassie called from half under her bed, where she was pulling out screwdrivers, and a hammer drill, and a pile of paintbrushes. “Do you know, I don’t think Dave and Les even noticed I took all these.”

  “What boys?” Dad rubbed his hands over his head, stretching his eyebrows up in the way he did when he was worried. “What’s been happening? Ben, you never said about any of this!”

  “I tried…” Ben muttered. “I asked you about football. You said I was useless, just like everybody at school does.”

  “I didn’t!” Dad sounded horrified. “I’d never say that!”

  “You said I’d never be any good at football, and I should just stick to running.” Ben hunched his shoulders, not looking at Dad, but Dad crouched down in front of him and put a hand on his knee. “Ben, I’m really sorry. I can’t have been listening properly. I never wanted to upset you. I just meant…”

  “It’s all right, Dad,” Ben said dully. “I know I’m useless. I don’t care. I don’t want to play any more, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re much better at drawing anyway,” Cassie told him loyally. “Claudia wants you to draw her too, please. In a pirate dress, like mine, but you have to make hers not as nice. But I told her she’d have to queue up till next week, at least. Everyone wants Ben to draw them, Dad. He’s famous.”

  “I won’t be any more. Not when the builders go.” Ben turned and stared hopelessly out of the window. “They were the ones who said I was good.”

  Cassie shook her head. “No. All my friends say you’re famous now, Ben. And the bear’s still there. You’ll still be able to draw him.”

  Ben shrugged, and glanced out into the garden again. “Maybe.” He knew the bear had been there before Dave and Les came, but he couldn’t help thinking that they were the ones who’d made him see. What if the bear never came back?

  “What bear? What are you two talking about?” Dad said, looking confused.

  “Look, come and see. Come on, Ben.” Cassie grabbed his hands and tried to pull. “Show him.”

  “Please, Ben,” Dad agreed, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t ever know what’s going on if you don’t tell me.”

  “You’re supposed to see!” Ben said suddenly. “You weren’t ever looking! I shouldn’t need to tell you!”

  Dad swallowed, and then nodded slowly. “You’re right. And I am sorry. But please can you tell me now?”

  Ben got up and followed them downstairs. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Dad to see the picture stuck up on the greenhouse glass. Dad was fussy about the greenhouse; he always said it wasn’t for playing in. “You don’t have to come and see,” he said suddenly, halfway down the stairs, looking panicked. “It doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

  Dad looked up at him, shaking his head. “Yes, it does matter.” His face was hurt, and Ben didn’t want to be the one making him look like that.

  “All right!” he said hurriedly, jumping a couple of steps. “But don’t be cross.”

  Dad shook his head, and they walked out into the garden, Cassie pulling Dad by the hand and Dad with his arm round Ben’s shoulders, until they came to the greenhouse.

  Cassie shoved the door open and peered in cautiously. “He isn’t here,” she called back to Ben.

  “What if he followed Dave and Les?” Ben gulped.

  “No. I don’t think he’ll go just because they do.” Cassie shook her head. “He was always here, wasn’t he? They only told us about him.”

  “Who was?” Dad asked, sounding bewildered.

  Ben leaned over and pulled back the leaves so Dad could see the picture. “There’s a bear that lives in here. Like one of these bears. Seeing him gave me the idea to draw this, and loads of people at school liked it. No one’s ever liked my drawings before. I fed him all those sausage rolls that were in the fridge,” he added. “Sorry.”

  “It’s a brilliant drawing.” Dad went closer, admiring the football strips, and the way the ball was stuck on the striker’s claws. “It’s really funny too. You’re getting so good. But – a bear?” Dad looked at them doubtfully.

  “Yes.” Cassie nodded firmly. “An orangey one. Not too big. It comes in through this hole, look.” She lifted the leaves so Dad could see the big missing pane of glass.

  Dad leaned over, staring out of the hole, and then he looked at Ben. “I’m glad I didn’t get a new sheet of glass, then. Does the bear sleep on that compost bag? Would I ever see him, do you think?”

  Ben breathed in sharply, some of the tight feeling inside him easing away. “You might,” he agreed cautiously. “Maybe. If you were lucky.”<
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  “You’ll see us again, you know.” Les stroked Cassie’s hair and leaned over to try to look at her, but she had her face buried in his fleece.

  “We won’t!” Cassie wailed, her voice muffled. “You’re not coming back. Dad said so. Everything’s finished.”

  “We’ll come back if anything goes wrong,” Dave explained. “Which isn’t to say you’re to go round hitting things with that hammer you nicked off me, Cassie.”

  “We’ll be coming back to fetch all the tools you’ve got hidden all over the place,” Les said, shaking his head. “I’ll be on another job, looking for my best screwdriver, and it’ll be hidden in your airing cupboard.”

  Cassie looked up, shaking her curls out of her eyes. Her face was red, and sticky with tears. “I gave them back! All of them, I really did.”

  “The airing cupboard?” Dad looked worried. “I didn’t know you had them in there as well.”

  “It’s all right.” Dave nudged him. “We saw her doing it,” he said quietly. “We got them all out again.”

  “But I didn’t just mean you’d see us here, anyway,” Les explained. “I moor up along the canal, here and there. You’ll see me going past. And Dave comes along for a ride on the boat every so often. You get your dad to bring you down past the canal for a walk now and then. If you see Midnight, you can come and have a cup of tea with us. And an aniseed ball,” he added, grinning at Ben. “Actually, I’ve got something for you.” He handed Ben a small white paper bag. “To go in your secret cupboard,” he whispered. “You can eat them while you’re drawing. And some rhubarb and custards for you, Cassie.”

  “Thanks,” Ben whispered, but Cassie only sniffed.

  “Keep an eye out for the bear too,” Dave put in. “He’s good luck, that bear.”

  Ben nodded, his hand wrapped tightly in Dad’s. Dad hadn’t seen the bear yet, but Ben knew he wanted to, which was what mattered. “Bye,” he said. “We’ll watch out for you on the canal. We’ll see you.”

  Dave and Les waved as they got into the truck, and then they drove away, the cement mixer wobbling a bit in the back.

  Cassie trailed back inside, and Ben looked down the empty street, feeling flat.

  “You could draw…” Dad suggested hesitantly. “Something about them going. You could even give it to them. We could post it to Dave. Or wait till we saw Les on his boat.”

  Ben nodded, wondering what he might draw. A pirate ship sailing away, maybe? With him and Cassie marooned on a desert island? He smiled to himself. With a bear balanced in the top of a palm tree, all worried and wobbly.

  “Dad, will you come and chat to me while I draw?” he asked hopefully. “Can we have hot chocolate? I bet that’s what would make Cassie feel better.”

  Cassie suddenly appeared in the doorway. “With marshmallows.”

  Dad nodded, leading Ben inside. “Mm-hm. And I’ve got an idea. You go and start your drawing, and I’ll show you.”

  Ben lay on the top of his new cabin bed, colouring the dark sea in ripples. The pirate ship looked black and sad, but somehow the Ben and Cassie on the island didn’t seem too miserable being left behind. The bear looked as though it was going to fall out of the palm tree any minute, though.

  “Hot chocolate,” Dad said, coming carefully up the stairs with a tray. “Well. Some. There’s six marshmallows in it, so I don’t think there’s room for much actual chocolate. Cassie said six was the right number.”

  Cassie was watching Ben smugly through the steam wisping off her mug. Marshmallows were her favourite.

  “What was your idea?” Ben asked, slurping carefully on a bit of hot marshmallow.

  “Bear-watching.” Dad craned his neck to peer out of the long window in Ben’s sloping ceiling. “You said when you saw him before it was late afternoon, just as it was starting to get dark. It’s about that time now. And I reckon, if we all sit on top of your bed, we can see the trees and the greenhouse out of this window. Maybe we’ll see him coming across the garden.” He glanced sideways at Ben. “I did leave him a cold sausage left over from last night’s tea. I put it down for him when I watered the pumpkins.”

  Ben nodded, smiling. “It’s just the right time,” he agreed. “But you have to promise not to spill hot chocolate on my bed,” he told Cassie warningly as she started up his bunkbed ladder, and she rolled her eyes and sniffed at him. But she was careful as she settled down at the end of the bed.

  They sipped the chocolate, admiring Ben’s drawing, and watching the shadows pool together across the garden as it grew darker.

  “I don’t think he’s coming,” Cassie said crossly. “Can we watch TV?”

  “I suppose so.” Dad sighed. But Ben gripped his hand.

  “Look,” he whispered. “Cassie, by the fence!”

  They leaned forward, watching a dark shadow lumbering across the garden, weaving in and out of the shadows of the trees, until it slipped behind the greenhouse.

  “He’s gone to eat that sausage,” Ben said, leaning against Dad’s arm.

  Dad nodded. “Good thing I left him something.” He wrapped his arm round Ben, and then stretched. “I suppose I should go and cook some dinner. What are you going to do?”

  “Finish my drawing,” Ben told him, pulling the tin of pencils out from under his pillow. “I hadn’t got the bear quite right. But I can see where I went wrong now. I really want to finish it.”

  Dad nodded as he angled his long legs down the ladder and lifted Cassie down after him.

  “Keep watching. And keep drawing. We want to see too.”

  Purring rumbled through the sleepy sunshine, and Alfie yawned again. It was a warm September Sunday afternoon, and he was full of lunch, and apples, and a squashed bar of chocolate that he’d forgotten was in the back pocket of his jeans. He settled himself more comfortably against the trunk of the apple tree and leaned his arm against the thick branch that jutted out in just the right place. Penguin, who was draped across the same branch like a fat furry rug, leaned forward a little and licked Alfie’s elbow lovingly.

  “Don’t fall off,” Alfie murmured woozily. But it was a silly thing to say. Penguin never fell. He didn’t look as though he was in the best shape for climbing trees – one would think his stomach would get in the way, particularly for jumping. But Penguin had perfect balance, good even for a cat. Alfie smiled to himself as he remembered trying to persuade Penguin to walk along the washing line during the summer holidays. Penguin had refused, even for smoky bacon crisps, his favourite. (Although he had stolen the crisps off the table later.) Alfie had been convinced that Penguin would be a fabulous tightrope artist. They should try again. Perhaps it was the lack of circus music and Big Top atmosphere that had put him off. Maybe a costume… Alfie looked at Penguin thoughtfully. He wondered how easy it would be to get hold of a cat-shaped leotard.

  Penguin opened one yellowish-golden eye a slit and stared sternly at Alfie, as though warning him that attempts to dress him in a sequinned cloak would result in severe scratches. But he didn’t stop purring.

  “OK,” Alfie murmured. “But I bet it would be good for your tummy.”

  Penguin ignored that. He didn't have any problems with the size of his stomach.

  Penguin hadn’t always been enormous. When Alfie had first found him, sitting on the front doorstep on the way home from school two years before, he had been very skinny indeed, and not much more than a kitten. Alfie was pretty sure he’d been a stray for a while, and that was why he loved food so much – he’d never been quite sure where the next meal was coming from.

  Mum and Dad hadn’t been at all sure about keeping the thin little black and white kitten, but Alfie had begged and begged. He had agreed to putting up posters, just in case someone else was looking for their lost cat, and he’d stood anxiously next to Mum as she had phoned all the vets in the local phonebook. But no one had turned up to claim the skinny k
itten (who was already less skinny, after a couple of days of Alfie-sized meals). After two weeks, Mum and Dad had given in, and Alfie had announced the secret he’d been saving up.

  The cat was called Penguin.

  Dad had tried to explain that it was ridiculous to call a cat that. He wasn’t a penguin.

  Alfie said he knew that quite well, thank you. The cat just looked like one. And it was true. Penguin had sleek black fur – getting sleeker by the day – and a shining white shirt front. When Alfie had spent his birthday money from Gran on a glow-in-the-dark orange collar, Penguin was a dead ringer for his namesake. When Alfie phoned Gran to tell her what he’d spent the money on, he had got a little parcel back with a silvery tag engraved with his phone number on one side and Penguin on the other. Gran liked cats. And even Dad could not argue now there was a collar with his name on.

  Alfie sometimes wondered what would have happened if Penguin had chosen someone else’s step to sit on that day. Where would he be now? It was impossible to imagine not having him there. Penguin was his best friend. Alfie had lots of friends at school, but he never talked to them as much as he talked to Penguin. Penguin was an excellent listener, and he always purred in all the right places. Once, when Alfie was telling him about being kept in at lunch time by Mrs Haynes, the Year Two teacher he had never got on with, Penguin had coughed up a hairball all over the kitchen floor. Which just proved that he understood exactly what Alfie had been talking about.

  Alfie liked Penguin plump. He thought it made him look even more penguin-like. But at his last check-up, the vet had suggested politely that Penguin ought to go on a diet, and Mum had bought a bag of special diet cat food. It did not look pleasant. Alfie hated the smell of the tins Penguin usually had, and forked it quickly into his bowl with his nose stuffed in the crook of his elbow. But at least the tinned stuff was meaty. Like something a proper cat might want to eat, after a hard day’s prowling around after mice and birds. The diet version looked like rabbit poo.