Then on that fateful day, Zoe came home from school to find that Gingernut was dead. And with him, Zoe’s dreams of animal-training stardom died too.
So, reader, after that little journey back in time, we’re back at the start, and ready to get on with the story.
Don’t turn back to the beginning though, that would be really stupid and you would go round and round in circles reading the same few pages. No, move on to the next page, and I will continue with the story. Quickly. Stop reading this and move on. Now!
Zoe was sitting on her bed listening through the wall to her dad and stepmother arguing.
“No!” replied Dad.
“Give it ’ere ya useless git! I’ll bung it in de bin!”
Zoe often sat on her bed in her too-small pyjamas, listening through the paper-thin wall to her father and stepmother arguing way past her bedtime. Tonight they were of course shouting and screaming about Gingernut, who had died that day.
As they lived in a flat on the 37th floor of a dilapidated council block (which leaned heavily and should have been demolished decades ago), the family didn’t have a garden. There was an old adventure playground in the central concrete square shared by all the blocks in the estate. However, the local gang made it too dangerous to venture near.
“Wot you lookin’ at?” Tina Trotts would shout at anyone passing by. Tina was the local bully, and her gang of teenage hoodlums ruled the estate. She was only fourteen but she could make a grown man cry, and often did. Every day she would flob on Zoe’s head from the flats as the little girl walked to school. And every day Tina would laugh, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.
If the family had owned an allotment or even the smallest patch of grass anywhere on the estate they could call their own, Zoe would have dug a little grave with a spoon, lowered her little friend into the hole and made a headstone with a lolly stick.
Gingernut,
Much loved Hamster,
Expert breakdancer,
And sometime bodypopper.
Sadly missed by his owner and friend Zoe,
RIP2
But of course they didn’t have a garden. No one did. Instead, Zoe had wrapped her hamster carefully in a page from her History exercise book. When her dad finally returned home from the pub, Zoe gave him the precious little package.
My dad will know what to do with him, she thought.
But Zoe hadn’t reckoned on her horrible stepmother getting involved.
Unlike his new wife, Dad was tall and thin. If she was a bowling ball, he was the skittle, and of course bowling balls often knock over skittles.
So now Dad and Sheila were arguing in the kitchen about what to do with the little package Zoe had given to Dad. It was always awful hearing the two of them shouting at each other, but tonight was proving particularly unbearable.
“I suppose I could get the poor girl another hamster,” ventured Dad. “She was so good with it…”
Zoe’s face lit up for a moment.
“Are ya crazy?” sneered her stepmother. “Another ’amster! You are so useless, ya can’t even get a job to pay for one!”
“There are no jobs,” pleaded Dad.
“You’re just too lazy to get one. Ya useless git.”
“I could find a way, for Zoe. I love my girl so much. I could try to save up some of my benefit money—”
“Dat’s hardly enuff to keep me in prawn cocktail crisps, let alone feed a beast like dat.”
“We could feed it leftovers,” protested Dad.
“I am not havin’ another one of dose disgusting creatures in me flat!” said the woman.
“It’s not a disgusting creature. It’s a hamster!”
“’Amsters are no better dan rats,” Sheila continued. “Worse! I work all day on me ’ands and knees keepin’ dis flat spick and span.”
She does no such thing, thought Zoe. The flat is an absolute tip!
“And den the nasty little fing comes along and does its dirty business everywhere!” continued Sheila. “And while I am on the subject, your aim in de bog could be better!”
“Sorry.”
“Wot do ya do? Put a sprinkler on de end of it?”
“Keep your voice down, woman!”
The little girl was once again finding out the hard way that secretly listening to your parents talk could be a very dangerous game. You always ended up hearing things you wished you never had. Besides, Gingernut didn’t do his dirty business everywhere. Zoe always made sure she picked up any rogue droppings from his secret runs around her room with some loo paper and flushed them safely down the toilet.
“I’ll take the cage down the pawn shop then,” said Dad. “I might get a few quid for it.”
“I will take it down de pawn shop,” said his wife aggressively. “You’ll just spend the money down de pub.”
“But—”
“Now put de nasty little fing in de bin.”
“I promised Zoe I would give him a proper burial in the park. She loved Gingernut. Taught him tricks and everything.”
“Dey were pathetic. PATHETIC! A breakdancin’ ’amster?! Absolute rubbish!”
“That’s not fair!”
“And you’re not going out again tonight. I don’t trust ya. You’ll be back down de pub.”
“It’s shut now.”
“Knowing you, you’ll just wait outside until it opens tomorrow morning… Now come on, give it ’ere!”
Zoe heard the pedal bin open with the stamp of her stepmother’s chubby foot and the faint sound of a thud.
With tears streaming down her face, Zoe lay down in bed, and covered herself with her duvet. She turned to her right side. In the half-light she stared at the cage as she did every night.
It was agonising to see it empty. The little girl closed her eyes but couldn’t sleep. Her heart was aching, her brain was spinning. She was sad, she was angry, she was sad, she was angry, she was sad. She turned on to her left side. Maybe it would be easier to sleep facing the grimy wall rather than staring at the empty cage. She closed her eyes again, but all she could think about was Gingernut.
Not that it was easy to think, what with the noise coming from the neighbouring flat. Zoe didn’t know who lived there – people in the tower block weren’t exactly close – but most evenings she heard shouting. It seemed like a man screaming at his daughter, who would often cry, and Zoe felt sorry for her, whoever she was. However bad Zoe thought her life was, this girl’s sounded worse.
But Zoe blocked out the shouting, and soon fell asleep, dreaming of Gingernut, breakdancing