Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
A Secret
Barney Willow
To Be a Cat
Rissa Fairweather
Barney’s Totally Terrible Birthday Timetable
Miss Whipmire’s Pen Pot
A Tiny, Tiny Moment in Time
The Wish
The Infinite Tiredness
Barney’s Dream
Some Facts about Dad by Barney Willow
The Hairs
Waking Up
The Jump
The No-Hoper
Best Friend(ly Giant)
D. I. E.
The Barney-Who-Wasn’t-Barney
Cat Pancake
The Bus
Cat On The Run
The Unknowable Miss Whipmire
A Strange Discovery
Sardines
Poor Polly
Inside the Filing Cabinet
The Heroic Return of the Author
History
Rissa’s Decision
The Howling Miaow
The Voices in the Dark
A Bad Feeling
Rissa Gets a Shock
A Whisper
A City of Books
The Cattery
Over The Hill From Weird
Princess Piglet’s Pink and Pretty Perfectly Perfect Princess Party (and Other Forms of Torture)
Miss Whipmire’s Visitor
A Bit about Pumpkin
An Accurate Description
The Warney Pillow
Toilet Trouble
63 Sycamore Terrace
Miss Whipmire’s Idea of Fun
The Water
The Barge
Carrot Cake
I am Barney
Rissa Realizes
The Terrorcat (and the Stillness of Things)
A Heavy Truth
Hiding in the Bush
A Small Circle of Believability (or, the Wish He Wished He’d Never Wished)
Human Things
The Wind in a Wish’s Sails
The (Almost Completely) Happy Ending
The Bit After the End in Which the Author Has to Have the Last Word
About the Author
Also by Matt Haig
Copyright
About the Book
Life couldn’t get any worse for twelve-year-old Barney Willow.
He’s weedy, with sticky-out ears. Evil bully Gavin Needle and horrible headteacher-from-hell Miss Whipmire both seem determined to make his existence a complete and utter misery. Mum doesn’t seem to care, not that she’s around very often. Worst of all, Dad has been missing for almost a year – and there’s no sign of him ever coming home.
Barney just wants to escape. To find another life, where his problems would simply disappear … To be a cat, for example. A quiet, lazy, pampered, snoozing-by-the-fire cat. Things would be so much easier – right?
Barney’s about to discover just how wrong he is …
An imaginative, exciting and darkly funny story from the winner of the Nestle Children’s Book Prize and the Blue Peter Book Award.
For the humans Andrea, Lucas and Pearl. And for the cats I have known, and wanted to be – Lapsang, Typhoo, Professor Higgins, Sprite, Angus, Poppy and, of course, Maurice.
Be careful what you wish for
– Old saying, said by miserable people everywhere
A Secret
HERE IS A secret I shouldn’t really tell you, but I will because I just can’t help it. It’s too big. Too good. OK, sit down, get ready, brace yourself, have some emergency chocolate handy. Squeeze a big cushion. Here it is:
Cats are magic.
That’s right.
Cats. They’re magic.
They have powers you and I can only dream of having.
But even as I tell you this I can see what you are thinking. You’re thinking, No, they don’t. Cats are just cute little pets who sleep next to radiators all day long.
To which I would say – That’s just what they want you to think. And now you’re thinking, These are just words in a story written by some author with a boring name, and authors aren’t to be trusted one bit because they tell lies for a living.
And you’re a little bit right.
But stories aren’t always lies. They are things stored in all our imaginations – hence the name stories – and it is the author’s job to point them out. And some of the things we imagine are more true than the facts we learn in maths; it’s just a different kind of truth to 76 – 15 = 61.
So yes, every cat who ever prowled the earth is capable of doing some very special things. Such as:
1. The ability to understand a thousand different animal languages (including gerbil, antelope and the ridiculously complicated goldfish).
2. Fence-balancing.
3. The capability of napping anywhere – laps, kitchen floors, on top of TVs when the theme tune to the news is blaring at full volume.
4. Smelling sardines from two miles away.
5. Purring. (Trust me, that is magic.)
6. The capacity, via their whiskers, to sense approaching dogs.
7. *****-******* ***-*** *************.
Let’s stop here, at number seven. OK, one to six seem quite ordinary. You might know that cats do some of these things, even if you’ve never understood it as magic before. But if you see magic often enough it starts to look normal. And don’t get me wrong, this is by no means the end of the list. Indeed, the list is so long that it would fill ten whole books the size of this one, and your eyes would be bleeding by the time you got to 9,080,652: ‘Radiator radar’.
But number seven is a good place to stop. This seventh power is the most important one, at least for the tale I am about to tell you. (Although, if you want to read a book about radiator-detecting felines I highly recommend A. B. Crumb’s exceptional Warmpaws, which is by far the best of its type.)
Also, you might be wondering what *****-******* ***-*** ************* actually is. Well, we’ll get to that. Don’t be too greedy. You can have enough secrets in one chapter, you know. The truth is, number seven is quite a big deal. I had to put asterisks instead of the actual letters because I’ve got to be careful how I tell you this. If I just came out with it right now you’d either not believe me or you’d have too much understanding all at once and you wouldn’t understand the hidden dangers.
So don’t worry, I’ll tell you about it in good time. What I will say is that those humans who get to experience it come to understand its terrible and often deadly effects and certainly never look at a cat in the same way again. One of those poor souls was an unfortunate boy called Barney Willow, and he’s waiting for you on the very next page.
Barney Willow
BARNEY WASN’T THE happiest boy in the world, but he wasn’t the unhappiest, either. There was a boy in New Zealand called Dirk Drudge who was even unhappier following a lightning strike and a nasty accident involving a poisonous spider and a toilet, but this isn’t his story. Anyway, Barney lived with his mum in Blandford, Blandfordshire, which is such a boring place you definitely won’t have heard of it.
Looks-wise, Barney was about your height but with a few more freckles. His ears stuck out a bit, as though his head was a portable unit which required handles on either side. He also had slightly curly hair which never did as it was told, and the kind of face old ladies liked to pinch a little too hard, for some reason, as if he was five, not about to turn twelve. These same old ladies often used to ask him, ‘Are you lost?’ when he wasn’t. He just had that look about him.
Barney’s best – OK, only – friend, Rissa, was a girl, but they were on such good terms he never brought up the subje
ct.
His parents were divorced.
‘It wouldn’t have been fair on you, Barney,’ his mum used to say, ‘if we’d stayed together arguing like cats and dogs.’
But that’s not the horrible part. In fact, I’m going to go now and let the story tell you all that stuff. It’s just too emotional for an author sometimes.
The horrible part was this: two hundred and eleven days ago (Barney was counting) his dad disappeared altogether. He’d never seen him since, except in dreams.
Indeed, Barney dreamed about his dad a lot.
He was dreaming about him right now.
They were at a pizza restaurant, just him and Dad, exactly like they’d been the last time he’d seen him.
‘This is nice pizza,’ his dad said.
‘Dad, I don’t want to talk about the pizza. I want to talk about you.’
‘Really nice pizza.’
But then a giant tongue came down from the ceiling, flicking the table and the pizzas over, and rubbing its roughness against Barney’s face.
And then Barney woke up. Vaguely remembered it was his birthday.
‘No, Guster, get off!’
Guster was his dog. A King Charles spaniel whom his dad had found at a rescue centre, and who had given Barney absolutely no hint of his plan to wake him up every morning by jumping on his bed and licking his whole face until it was sticky with dog saliva.
‘Guster, please! I’m still asleep!’
Of course, this wasn’t true. It was just wishful thinking. But Barney spent his whole life wishful thinking, which was his trouble, as you’ll soon find out.
Today was his twelfth birthday, but that wasn’t something he was too excited about. After all, this was the first birthday he’d had without his dad being there.
If that wasn’t bad enough it was also the first birthday he’d had at his rubbish new school. And school meant Miss Whipmire, the head teacher from hell. He didn’t know if that was her exact address, but it definitely shared the same postcode. Anyway, Miss Whipmire was horrible. And she hated every single pupil at Blandford High. ‘I see my job as a gardener,’ she’d once said in assembly. ‘And you are the weeds. My job is to cut you down and pull you up and make everything as quiet and perfect as it would be if the school had no horrible children in it.’ But while Miss Whipmire didn’t like any child, she seemed to hate Barney even more than the others.
Only last week he had got into trouble when he and Gavin Needle had been sent to her office.
Gavin Needle had stuck a drawing pin on Barney’s seat, and he had sat down and yelped in pain. Their geography teacher had told them both to go to Miss Whipmire’s office. But when they got there Miss Whipmire sent Gavin back to class and concentrated all her evilness on Barney. If it had been anyone else’s behind that had been pin-punctured then Miss Whipmire would have delighted in the opportunity to humiliate Gavin (or ‘Weedle’, as she called him), but not when that behind belonged to Barney.
Which meant Gavin was free to carry on sticking drawing pins on Barney’s chair. Or, if he had no drawing pins, just pulling back the chair seconds before Barney sat down. Oh yes, Gavin had read the ‘Chair Torture’ chapter in The Bully’s Handbook at least a hundred times.
So, between Miss Whipmire and Gavin Needle, Barney didn’t want to think about what lay in store today. He just wanted to keep his eyes closed and pretend it was still night-time. Which was hard, given that his face was being licked by a rough, wet tongue.
Barney pulled the duvet over his head but even that didn’t stop the spaniel, whose narrow nose and long tongue nuzzled into the darkness to find him.
And then, as every morning, his mum urged him out of bed.
‘Come on, Barney! I know it’s your birthday but it’s time to get up. I’m going to be late for the library!’
So Barney got out of bed, watched his mum whirling about at her normal hyper-speed. Then he washed, brushed and dressed everything that needed to be washed, brushed and dressed, and went downstairs.
In the hallway Guster nudged against his knees. Barney looked down and saw his dog’s brown floppy ears and rather proud, upturned nose.
‘All right, boy. Walkies.’
To Be a Cat
‘IF YOU REALLY want a dog, you must be prepared to look after it,’ Barney’s mum had told him before they had brought Guster home from the dog rescue centre five years ago. ‘And that means walking it twice a day.’
To be honest, Barney didn’t mind taking Guster for walks. It was often the nicest bit of the day, especially when the weather was behaving itself. Today, though, it began to rain as Barney sat on the park bench waiting for Guster to do his business. Harsh, heavy rain which blatantly ignored the fact that Barney hadn’t brought an umbrella.
‘Some birthday,’ Barney mumbled as he clipped the lead back onto Guster’s collar.
He knew he was feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn’t help it.
On his way home, he passed a house on Friary Road with an old, silver-haired cat sitting in the window, snug and smug in the warmth. To be a cat, he thought to himself. That would be an easy life.
No school.
No Gavin Needle.
No need to be woken before seven in the morning.
Total freedom. And, unlike dogs, you don’t even have to go out in the rain.
As he was thinking all this the cat turned towards him, and Barney realized it was the same cat he often saw staring out at him from this house. The cat only had one eye. Its other eye socket was stitched up with a white thread so thick Barney could see it from the street.
Guster saw the cat too, yanked hard on the lead and began yapping.
‘Come on, Guster, stop being stupid. You’re not fooling anyone.’
Just before arriving home Barney bumped into the postman. ‘Anything for number seventeen?’ he asked.
The postman had a look through the bundles of post. ‘Oh yes. Yes, there is.’
And Barney took the envelopes and quickly shuffled through them. A birthday card from Aunt Celia was there amid the brown-enveloped bills, but there was nothing from his dad. He knew it was unlikely, and it was stupid to expect anything, to hope for a glimpse of that handwriting he knew as well as his own. But if his dad was still alive Barney had been sure that his birthday was the most likely day he’d make contact.
But no. Nothing.
‘Oh, more bills,’ sighed his mum, receiving the bundle from her son.
‘Never mind, Mum,’ said Barney, trying to sound convincing.
His mum pecked him on the cheek, in fast-forward, then shot out the door. ‘I’ll be late tonight,’ she said. ‘There’s a meeting. I’ll be back around sevenish. But there’s some salad in the fridge if you get hungry.’
Salad?!
On his birthday!
You know, he wasn’t expecting a ten-course meal followed by a hot-air balloon ride, or anything, but maybe he’d expected a little bit more than a night on his own eating lettuce and doing his homework.
He watched his mum get into the Mini and couldn’t help feeling she wasn’t really a person any more. She was just a blur, always on the move and only stopping every now and then for a sigh.
She drove away.
And Barney stood on the doorstep, watching the rain and wishing his dad was there.
‘Oi, cheer up, Willow, you’re only twelve,’ came a voice. ‘No reason to start looking like an adult already.’
The voice was Rissa Fairweather’s. Barney looked up and saw his best friend standing there, tall and grinning, and with an umbrella spotted like a leopard.
‘Hi, Rissa,’ he said, smiling for the first time that morning.
Rissa Fairweather
‘MADE IT MYSELF,’ said Rissa, handing Barney a birthday card. ‘You know, gets a bit boring sometimes on the barge on a cloudy night.’
Oh, yes, dear readers. I should tell you – and I must break my promise and interrupt again (I’m not good with promises, they make me itchy) ??
? that Barney’s best friend was a little bit unusual. She really did live on a barge. And she didn’t have a TV. She had a telescope instead, and spent most of her nights watching the sky, looking for star constellations (until he met Rissa, Barney thought Orion’s Belt was an item of clothing).
You might think that such a girl would get picked on at school. No TV. Strange hobby. Lives on a boat. Hair like a pirate. And at least a foot taller than any other person in her year.
But no.
Unlike Barney, for whom Gavin Needle and his friends made life a daily torment, Rissa was one hundred per cent bully-proof. Do you want to know her secret? She genuinely didn’t care what people said about her. In fact, she quite enjoyed it if people called her names. It made her feel shiny inside.
On her first day at Blandford she’d had a few people shout ‘Weirdo’ and ‘Barge girl’ in her direction, but that just made her smile. She always thought of something her mum said: ‘If people pick on you, they see something inside you that they are scared of. Something special, which they might not have, which shines out of you like a jewel.’
If anyone ever did pick on her, Rissa always imagined a shining emerald getting another polish. Or, if she was really bothered about something, she’d say the word ‘marmalade’ (her favourite food).
It might sound silly, but that’s what her dad had suggested, and it worked for her.
Anyway, I’m rambling.
You are wondering what all this has to do with magic cats, aren’t you? I can see it in your face.
Well, you’ll get to that in a minute. Or a hundred minutes. It depends how fast you read. But right now let’s go back to the tale and learn more about Barney’s totally terrible birthday at school. In fact, let’s grab a timetable. Hasta luego.
Barney’s Totally Terrible Birthday Timetable
8.30 a.m.–9 a.m.
Barney walked with Rissa to school. He got splashed by the school bus. Everyone on the bus looked out of the window and laughed at him, including Gavin Needle, who shouted, ‘Mind the puddle!’ and laughed as if he’d just told The Best Joke Ever.