The birds were different here. There were noisy magpies and jackdaws, and the sky was full of grey and white seagulls who opened their orange beaks and dived around, screaming like police cars.
We met a woman who was hanging washing outside her caravan. She had chunky brown elbows and a reassuring laugh, and eyes that sparkled like those of an angel. She made a fuss of John, and of me.
‘Eee – isn’t he bonny? I love cats.’ She came right up to Ellen and put her wrinkled face close to mine. We touched noses. Sue-next-door, I thought, only she had a different name – Pam. Pam-next-door. A good person to escape to, I decided. All the way round I was checking out escape routes and possible hiding places; holes in the hedge, boxes under caravans and perches in trees.
‘Where does the campsite owner live?’ Ellen asked.
Pam pointed to a gap in the hedge where the wide path curved into the next field.‘Through there and up the slope to the far end. He’s got a big house with a garden. But watch that dog. It’s OK with me, but it’s a bit iffy with strangers.’
‘Is it loose?’ asked Ellen.
‘No. It’s shut in the garden,’ said Pam. ‘But sometimes it escapes and Nick can’t control it – it’s bigger than he is. Oh I laugh when I see him trying to take it for a walk. Like a cart horse it is, great big feet it’s got.’
I didn’t understand everything Pam was saying, but I got the word dog, and began to feel uneasy. I tensed as Ellen carried me towards the house. In the wall was a black iron gate with curly patterns. I fixed my eyes on the garden beyond. I could smell it, and sense it. That dog.
‘What’s the matter, Solomon?’ asked Ellen, holding me tighter.
‘Big dog, Mummy – look,’ squealed John as the dog appeared behind the gate. It didn’t bark. It just loomed.
I did a dreadful thing. In my struggle to get away, I scratched Ellen’s bare shoulder. Then I was flying across the grass, back the way we had come, faster than I’d ever run before, leaving the dog barking behind me. Out in a vast space with nowhere to hide, I pelted through the gap in the hedge. Which was our caravan? I didn’t know. The only option was to plunge into the undergrowth.
Cornish hedges are made of stone and it was easy to crawl up inside through the brambles and nettles and then into the twiggy cover of a hawthorn tree, which was growing out of the wall. It was an awkward, prickly climb, but I went deep into its branches and sat there listening to my fast beating heart. In the distance the dog was still barking, and John was screaming. From my hiding place I watched Ellen carrying him back down the path, talking to him in her quiet way.
Spending the day sitting in a prickly tree didn’t appeal to me. Everything went quiet, and I considered my options. First I tasted one of the red berries that hung there, and it was disgusting. A cat could get hungry and uncomfortable stuck up here all day. I longed for the lovely home we had left, and I was full of sadness.
Ellen was calling me, and banging our cat food dish with a spoon, like she always did when she wanted to get our attention. Eventually I wormed my way down and crawled on my belly along the base of the wall, following a tunnel that some other creature had conveniently made through the long grasses. When I finally reached the caravan, the door was open and I bounded in with my tail up again.
Jessica was back and she was setting up a place for herself inside the cupboard under the seats. She’d already got a dead mouse in there, and one of Ellen’s socks, and a Dairylea cheese portion. She was pleased to see me for once.
‘Poof,’ she said when I told her about the dog. ‘I can sort him out. Don’t be such a wimp, Solomon.’
‘You haven’t seen how big he is,’ I said.
‘Poof,’ Jessica yawned contemptuously. ‘Dogs are nothing to me.’
We spread ourselves out on the sunny windowsill to sleep. It wasn’t peaceful in the caravan with John bouncing on and off the seats and throwing his toys around. Joe was on the steps drilling holes in the door, fitting a puss flap for us, and Ellen was getting more and more stressed as she tried to unpack boxes. I looked guiltily at the red scratches on her shoulder. She’d forgiven me, but I still felt bad. And Jessica had called me a wimp.
Soon Joe was shouting at John, and getting angry with the caravan door. He’d made a hole in it, and taken the new puss flap out of its box, only to find it didn’t fit.
I watched him tensely as he struggled with it. Then he flung it under the caravan.
‘Useless rubbish,’ he complained, and threw his whole toolbox outside. It clattered onto the grass, screws and nails bouncing everywhere.
Jessica disappeared into her cupboard, and John ran to Ellen, clinging round her legs. Ellen’s face went tight. I knew she didn’t dare to speak at times like this. Anything she said, even kind things, would send Joe into a frenzy. Trapped on the windowsill, I half closed my eyes and pretended to be a Buddha, setting an example of how to be peaceful.