Next morning, when the doorbell rang, and I saw the blurred pink-and-orange outline of Kylie’s head through the frosted glass, my first thought was, Great – the Fearless Band of Snake-Warriors is making an early start.
But the very instant I opened the door and saw Kylie’s face, I knew something was wrong. Badly wrong.
“Oh Yosser!” she howled, throwing herself into my arms, “there’s been an absolute, unmitigated disaster!”
“What on earth has happened?” I asked, but Kylie just kept hugging me, and sobbing on to my shoulder, and muttering Thunderball… Thunderball… Thunderball over and over again.
My stomach turned over. Somehow, even though the word thunderball meant nothing to me, I had an awful feeling I knew what the absolute, unmitigated disaster might be. I didn’t want to start guessing, though, in case it wasn’t.
I prised Kylie off my shoulder, took her arm very gently, like I do with Nani when her hip’s playing up, and led her upstairs to my bedroom. I eased her down on to the bed and patted her head; and at last she stopped crying, took a long, wet, quivering breath, and spoke.
“It’s Dad’s prize Angora ferret,” she said, very slowly and steadily, taking huge breaths in between each sentence. “Thunderball Silver the Third… the one that won Best in Class last year… the one who’s bookies’ favourite to win Best in Show this year…”
All the blood drained from my head. I’d been right. I knew what she was going to say next.
“When Dad went to check his cage this morning,” Kylie whispered, “he’d gone.”
Her eyes welled up with tears again and she stopped, sniffed, and rubbed her face with her sleeve.
“Dad’s just devastated,” she added, her voice muffled by sleeve and tears. Then she sat, staring blankly up in the direction of Sita, Snake-Queen of Speed, letting the rest of the tears plop down on to my duvet.
I couldn’t think of anything to say just then, so I waited till Kylie felt able to go on, and as I waited I saw, as clear as day in my mind’s eye, a big bush of white hair, a smelly, rippling trouser leg, and a wink you couldn’t put your finger on.
“The lock on his cage had been tampered with,” Kylie continued, her voice slightly stronger.
“He’s been stolen,” I said, and Kylie nodded.
“You bet your sweet life he’s been stolen,” she said. “And there’s no prizes for guessing who’s stolen him.”
We sat in numb silence for a while, both thinking vicious thoughts about Big Matt McBain.
“But Kylie,” I said after a bit, “I don’t understand what good it’d do Big Matt to steal your dad’s ferret. It’s not as though he can do anything with him, because everyone knows who he belongs to.”
Kylie gave me a pitying look. “You’ve no idea, Yosser,” she said with a wry smile. “It’s dog-eat-dog in the ferret world. If Big Matt’s got Thunderball, then Thunderball can’t win Best in Show, can he?”
I was about to tell Kylie that the Fearless Band of Snake-Warriors would stop at nothing to right this terrible wrong, when there was a little tap on the bedroom door. It opened a crack, and I saw the glint of Nani’s glasses.
“Yosser …may I come in?” she said.
“Sure,” I said, and shuffled along the bed. Nani sat between me and Kylie, looked us both up and down, and then gave us each a hug.
“Not so good today?” she said quietly, and Kylie and me shook our heads and smiled bravely. I hoped Nani would think we were just upset about not finding treasure, and wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. And, as it happened, she didn’t.
As it happened, she had something else on her mind. And it was going to turn what was already a Very Bad Day into the Worst Day In Living Memory …
“Your dad got a letter yesterday, Yosser,” she said solemnly. “He was home too late to tell you about it, and he and your mum had to go to the fruit market early this morning, so they gave it to me to give you.”
She pulled a piece of very thick, white, folded paper out of her sleeve and put it in my lap.
That Sunday must have been my day for being psychic, because I knew what the letter was about without even opening it. And, as I unfolded it, all the blood that had just newly gone back to my head drained away again.
At the top of the thick white paper, in big red letters, was ‘OUR LADY OF THE SORROWS’, and below it said:
Dear Mr and Mrs Farooq,
Re: Entrance exam, Yosser Farooq
I only read the first paragraph. I hadn’t the heart to read any more. Then I sat very still, staring at the letter as if it was a death warrant; and, somewhere, far, far away in the distance, I heard my own voice saying The entrance exam’s on Friday. I am doomed.
Which was the precise moment when the Worst Day In Living Memory began in earnest, and it led to the Worst Week in Living Memory.