She blanked out the car ride home. It was like a film she had seen too many times. Mum’s lines went something like, ‘You always make it worse by getting his hopes up,’ and Dad’s character always said, ‘But people get well faster if they believe they will.’ Tiffany was the silent extra no-one ever noticed.
She found proper solitude in her room. It didn’t last.
‘Tiffany,’ Mum called, ‘your kitty is curled up on your clean laundry. Sort it, please.’
Cat and clothes were piled on a kitchen chair. The prophet Muhammad, she knew, had once cut off part of his cloak rather than disturb a sleeping cat. Resigning herself to a less blessed life, she nudged Rufus aside and took the slightly hairy laundry upstairs. Her mood sank lower when she saw her black ballet leotard. Thursday was coming round again. She couldn’t fake a sore toe for the third week in a row. It had taken only a few lessons to unmask ballet as evil. Once she had loved watching ballerinas flit around on television. Now she hated it the way chickens must hate watching eagles. She was too tall, she was too clumsy; her pirouette resembled an out-of-control shopping trolley.
And then she remembered something worse. She had PE tomorrow.
‘Mummy. I think I’ve got a cold coming,’ she sniffed. Mum was preparing dinner.
‘Oh, shame. Do you think you’ll be well enough for school?’
‘’Spect so.’ Tiffany nodded bravely. ‘I don’t think I should do gym though. Can you write me a note?’
‘I don’t hear you sneezing.’ Dad had materialised in the doorway.
‘It’s just a tickle in my throat right now.’
‘A tickle. But it’ll be worse tomorrow?’
‘Yes.’
‘I see.’
Mum already had pen and paper in hand. ‘Who’s it to? Mrs Farmer?’
‘Miss Fuller.’
‘So, let me get this clear.’ Dad stroked his chin. ‘Your little brother is fighting muscular dystrophy on one side and pneumonia on the other, while you are laid low by a sniffle that isn’t even detectable to the outside world... oh, fine, fine, whatever.’ He retreated before Mum’s stare into the safety of the lounge. Mum scribbled the note defiantly and handed it over.
‘Best play it safe,’ she said. ‘After all, you don’t want to have to miss ballet again.’
Ugh. It was like rolling a boulder uphill. ‘Don’t I?’
‘You like ballet!’ Mum tweaked her nose.
Tiffany flinched. ‘I don’t. It’s embarrassing. And I wish you wouldn’t do that.’
‘What’s got into you?’
‘It’s just horrible. My joints don’t even bend right.’
Dad’s low whistle drifted in from the lounge. ‘Funny how these discoveries always come to light after the money’s been spent.’
‘Well.’ Mum mixed gravy in a jug. ‘You should go. Thursdays are Mummy and Daddy time, remember.’
‘Mother! I’m not a baby.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart. It’s not that we want to get rid of you. But we do have a lot on our plate these days. If we know you’re having fun doing something of your own, we can catch our breath once a week. Do you see?’
‘You want to get rid of me.’
Something boiled over on the stove. Mum rushed to it, blowing and mopping.
‘It’s just a Thursday thing, Tiffany,’ she sighed through the steam. ‘Is it so much to ask?’
Tiffany stalked out of the kitchen. ‘I am not doing ballet.’
The local paper crumpled beneath her on the bed. She scoured the Classified columns in rising despair. A watercolour painting club? She might fancy trying that, but none of them met on a Thursday. Girl Guides? Get lost. Junior Fitness Club? PE by another name. And kickboxing was right out. Her annoyance gave way to misery. She was too much of a weed even to give her parents one evening alone. Maybe she could develop an illness herself and get packed off to hospital. No. That was a horrible thing to think.
She turned the page. Hmm, Tae Kwon Do... was that the paper-folding one? She wouldn’t risk it. Tiffany kicked her pillow in frustration.
A ginger missile launched from the top of the wardrobe and splashed down on the duvet by her head. Rufus looked peeved at being granted such a soft landing. Startled only for a second, Tiffany hugged him to her. Here was a real gymnast, martial artist, ballet dancer, you name it. He could have done any class he liked (well, maybe not the painting club). Sad, she gazed into his amber eyes. It seemed that the only talent she had was loving her cat.
She glanced down at the newspaper. There was tiny advert in the corner that she hadn’t noticed before. It was shaped like a pyramid.
Cat Kin
Explore your feline spirit
Cat lovers and the curious all welcome
That sounded more like it! Not a stupid PE lesson. A proper club. People like her talking about their pets, sharing tips, swapping pictures maybe. She did wonder why the meeting place was Clissold Leisure Centre, but only for a moment. It was probably just a good place to hire a room.
Rufus was testing his claws on the newspaper. She tore out the ad before he could.
Welcome
to BookAndReader! 
It wasn't patronising like some writing for children can be.
Thanks! Riches most unlikely and fame the same (I will be keeping the day job!) but obviously I'm pretty delighted as it has been a long slog. It was roughly 13 years ago that I submitted my first attempt at a novel to a publisher; five different books and literally countless submissions and rejection letters later, the brick wall eventually budges just a tiny bit. Though I try not to think of all the things I might have had time for if I hadn't been so obstinate... 