Jazz and I always had a laugh at our sleepovers – especially when they were round at hers. Her mum was so cool – she let us watch loads of DVDs and have midnight feasts. Sometimes if Aleisha was in she’d paint our nails for us and do our hair in funky styles. She’s the only person who’s ever been able to make my hair look cool.

This time, however, I was not too keen on doing any of that stuff or staying up late as I was worried that it would mean Jazz would still be awake when Kaboodle arrived. So when we’d finished watching Jazz’s favourite DVD, Summer School Dance Camp sung all the songs, done all the dance routines and eaten our way through four packets of popcorn, two packets of marshmallows and one tube of prawn cocktail Zingles crisps, I stretched and yawned in an overenthusiastic kind of way and said, ‘Oh boy, you know, I’m soooooo tired. Shall we go to bed now?’

‘What?’ cried Jazz. ‘But we haven’t watched the extra scenes yet or seen the interview with Zeb Acorn.’

Zeb is the lead actor in Summer School Dance Camp and Jazz’s all-time hugest lurve-crush and she’s going to marry him, once she’s figured out how to actually get to meet him.

‘I know, but we’ve watched this film fifty zillion times before, and I’m really, really tired,’ I yawned again. ‘I’ve had a big week.’

Jazz pursed her lips. ‘So sorry you’re finding everything so bor-ing,’ she huffed. ‘I thought you’d want to do stuff to take your mind off your dad and Ms P and . . .’ She caught sight of me staring at her in disbelief. ‘Sorry . I didn’t mean to talk about that. You’re probably right. I’m tired too. It is eleven already.’

I smiled. ‘Thanks, Jazz.’ Part of me felt a bit guilty that Jazz was trying to be nice, when the real reason for getting to bed earlier than usual was that I wanted her out of the way.

We called out goodnight to Jazz’s mum and dad who were downstairs watching telly, and then got comfy on the bunk beds. As a treat, Jazz let me sleep on the top. ‘You need cheering up,’ she said.

The top bunk was definitely the best, probably because it felt like my bed at home. A lso there were these wicked fairy lights that Jazz had wound around the top of the bunk and down the sides, so even when all the house lights were off, her room was still lit up with a warm glow. It was comforting and cosy. Sometimes we snuggled up together on the top bunk until we started drifting off and talking nonsense and then I would climb out and go to sleep on the bottom bunk. But tonight, we got into our own beds and Jazz talked up to me through the bluish-purply glow.

‘Bertie?’ she said tentatively .

‘Hmm?’

‘Don’t shout at me, but I’ve been wondering, would it really be so bad if your dad and Ms P get together?’ she asked.

‘Wha—?!’

‘Just listen a minute,’ Jazz interrupted. ‘I know she’s a bit bonkers and everything, but she’s not actually mean or evil, is she? And if she makes your dad smile, that can only be a good thing, can’t it?’

‘No. It won’t work,’ I said simply. Jazz stayed quiet, but her silence was full of doubt. ‘It won’t!’ I repeated more loudly. ‘I won’t let it. What if they got really serious about each other? If Dad’s going to find a new partner, I ought to have a say in it – whoever he ends up with will be my MUM, Jazz! He can’t just go and fall in love with whoever he likes. Are you really saying you wouldn’t care who your dad ended up with if your mum died?’

‘I’m not sure it works like that,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I think you’re getting it a bit out of proportion. This is only their first date – if that’s what it is,’ she added hastily.

I thumped back on to my pillow with my hands behind my head and went into major-sulk-mode. Why wasn’t Jazz taking this seriously? How could my best mate not be on my side? I angrily waited for her to apologize. To say something – anything – to make me feel better.

But all I heard was a light snoring.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep at all. My heart was banging in my throat, and my head was fizzing with worries about what Kaboodle would have to report when he finally turned up. I was trying to dream up a scenario where I could find out something terrible about Pinkella’s past and engineer a way for Dad to stumble across it, and then Pinkella would be so embarrassed she’d have to move away. But then I wouldn’t see Kaboodle again . . . My brain was whirring round and round, with no solution in sight, and I was about to get up and go and fetch a glass of water when there was a scratching at the window and a yowling, mewling noise.

Kaboodle!

I scrambled down from the top bunk and managed to bang my knee on the way. The ladder knocked against the side of the bed and made a noise like a hammer against rock in the silence of the sleeping house.

‘Don’t make me eat the peas!’ said Jazz, sitting up in bed and staring at me with scarily zombielike open eyes.

Freaky! She had never talked in her sleep before! I stuffed my hand into my mouth to stop myself from laughing, and then whispered, ‘It’s OK, Jazz. Go back to sleep.’

Thankfully she did, so I crept over to the window and let a very bedraggled and unhappy kitten into the room. His fur was spiky and matted against his tiny skinny body and his whiskers were drooping. He shook each paw delicately and disgustedly as he crossed the windowsill and I realized that he was dripping wet.

‘Kaboodle! Are you all right? What’s happened to you?’ I tried to pick him up and comfort him, but of course he didn’t want that. He gave himself a shake and then set about washing his ears slowly, as if to cover up his embarrassment at arriving in such a state.

‘Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?’ I persisted, fetching my flannel from my overnight bag. I made as if to wipe him down, but he gently backed away from me, opened his mouth and gave a huge yawn, showing off all his needle-sharp teeth and his small pink tongue.

‘I had a bit of an accident while doing your dirty work,’ he said, sounding as if the whole thing left him bored to tears. He set about grooming his back so that he didn’t have to catch my eye.

‘Oh, come on, Kaboodle!’ I cried. ‘What happened?’

Kaboodle sat up straight and fixed me with his round yellow eyes. ‘Promise you won’t laugh,’ he said.

‘Promise,’ I said. With his permission I picked him up and we climbed to the top bunk and snuggled down together. It wasn’t the greatest of kitty snuggles, what with his fur being wet and everything, but my heart still fluttered happily having that little cat all to myself again.

Kaboodle’s voice settled into a low purr as he quietly explained what had happened.

‘I thought I would get a good view into the room from the tree outside your bedroom window,’ he explained. ‘Unfortunately . . . ’ He stopped purring and gave an embarrassed sort of cough. ‘I – er – aimed rather too high.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

Kaboodle flattened his ears impatiently. ‘I couldn’t see properly when I was at the same level as the kitchen, which is where they were, so I thought I would climb further up and look down on them instead. The trouble is, the best branches we re a little higher than I thought . . . ’

I smirked. ‘You got stuck,’ I said.

‘Excuse me,’ said Kaboodle irritably. ‘You promised you wouldn’t laugh.’

I bit the insides of my cheeks and nodded.

‘So, I got stuck,’ Kaboodle went on in a tight-lipped way, ‘and I, well, I suppose I panicked. In fact, I cried out for help, if you must know.’ he added.

‘And?’ I prompted, digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands.

‘Ms P heard me, of course,’ he said, gritting his teeth. ‘She would recognize my voice from a mile away. She came out, flapping and wailing and protesting that I would never be able to get down. Nonsense, naturally. We felines always get out of scrapes of our own accord in the end – it just takes a little time. A nyway, Ms P got your father to come out and try to save me – all well and good, except, of course, your father is about as much use as a kipper in a kettle when it comes to saving anyone. He doesn’t like heights, does he? So he wasn’t about to climb up a ladder and try and get me the conventional way. Oh no. Especially as apparently it was “too dark” for that. He decided it would be a good idea to go to the upstairs window, lean out and tie a length of rope to the branch I was hanging from, because apparently it would be simple for me to walk to the edge of the branch and in through the open window.’

‘Sounds brilliant,’ I said.

‘Yes, he’s quite the genius, isn’the, your dad?’ asked Kaboodle, his voice drenched in sarcasm. ‘And I’m sure his amazing brainwave would have worked too, except that Ms P distracted him, didn’t she? She was frightened your father was about to fall out of the upstairs window, so she made a lunge for his legs and yelled to him not to lean out too far. He promptly lost his footing and let go of the rope; the branch pinged back, and I went flying over the wall, crashed into the washing that your next-door neighbour had stupidly left out overnight and ended up in the fish pond with a pair of outsized lacy knickers wrapped around my head,’ Kaboodle ended grumpily.

As Kaboodle’s description reached its conclusion, I bit down on my lip and tried hard to focus on breathing, so that the tidal wave of laughter forcing its way up inside me would not explode and wake Jazz. But as soon as Kaboodle mentioned the word ‘knickers’, I lost control and couldn’t hold it in any longer. I collapsed into hysterics, clutching my sides and hooting until I couldn’t breathe.

‘Oh! Oh! That is just too hilarious!’ I eventually managed to squawk.

There was a thump from under me as I realized too late that Jazz was stirring.

Kaboodle shot me a look of pure disgust and leaped back on to the windowsill.

‘Hey, come back!’ I hissed. ‘What about Dad? Did you see what he and Ms P were up to?’

Kaboodle was already halfway out of the top window, his front paws gripping on to the opening, his back legs dangling and scrabbling to get himself free. He glanced back at me and spat, ‘As if I’m going to tell you now! I don’t appreciate being laughed at, you know.’

‘Hey, what’s up?’ came a blurry voice from below.

‘It’s nothing,’ I said quietly. ‘I just had a nightmare. I’m OK now . Go back to sleep.’

‘You had a nightmare?’ Kaboodle sneered, as he finally managed to get a grip and flipped himself out of the top of the window. ‘The nightmare’s only just begun, my dear,’ he mewed as he disappeared from sight.

What did that mean?

‘Don’t go!’ I called.

Too late. He’d gone.

Suddenly Jazz was out of bed and peering at the window in the gloom. ‘I heard a noise. Did you hear a noise? What if it’s a burglar?’

‘A cat burglar more like,’ I muttered.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Really, it’s nothing, Jazz. I told you – I had a nightmare. I couldn’t sleep so I went over to the window to look at the moon and stuff.’

Jazz was still only half awake, luckily for me, so she padded back to her bed and mumbled something about it being freezing. Within seconds snoring wafted up again from the bunk below. I crept down the ladder again and tiptoed over to the window. ‘Kaboodle?’ I whispered.

Nothing.

I tried again, but I didn’t want to risk waking Jazz, so I couldn’t raise my voice enough to make myself heard.

I sadly turned from the window and started back to bed, when I heard a tiny mew from behind one curtain and Kaboodle stuck his head out.

‘Thank goodness!’ I whispered, turning round. ‘I thought you’d left.’

‘Oh, sorry? Did you want to talk to me? I thought I was only good for a bit of fun – an hilarious event to be LAUGHED at,’ Kaboodle spat.

I bit back a hasty retort. I didn’t want to start another argument.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ Then, because I really needed to get back to the matter in hand, ‘So, where were we?’

Kaboodle purred to acknowledge my apology.

I let him walk into my arms and carried him gently back to bed. We snuggled into the comfy position we’d been in before and Kaboodle quietly said, ‘I’m afraid you are not going to like this, Bertie, so please don’t get cross with me like you did last time.’

I gulped. My throat was dry. I wished I had got that glass of water after all. ‘OK,’ I muttered.

Kaboodle’s tail twitched and he looked up at me, fixing me with those deep pools of honey. ‘I’m sorry, Bertie, but I think you were definitely right to be worried.’

My eyes prickled and I swallowed hard.

Kaboodle went on hastily. ‘And I think it’s serious – I heard them talking about spending more time together and how important it was to “see this thing through”.’

‘Who said that?’ I rasped.

‘Your dad. He said once he’d started something he liked to see it through to its conclusion and that he needed Ms P’s commitment, one hundred per cent.’

I blinked hard. Commitment! This was bad. Seriously bad.

Kaboodle went on, ‘Then she said that he was absolutely wonderful and the answer to all her dreams, and he said, “No, no Fenella, it’s you who are the wonderful one”—’

‘Stop,’ I croaked. My hands were clammy.

Kaboodle licked me gently. ‘You don’t want me to tell you any more?’ he asked.

‘There’s more?’ I asked.

‘Well, your dad did say, “Fenella, I don’t know how to thank you. Meeting you has changed my life. Nothing so exciting has happened to me in years.”’

I stared at him in silence. Well, what on earth was there to say?