Dog Page 11

  The dream he wanted didn’t come, and the night was a dark one.

  The sun finally rose.

  Spider felt thirsty and sore, and his skin was prickling. Every joint felt stiff.

  He shook himself awake, and lifted his leg for a scratch. There was a pinching sensation, as if a needle were being pushed gently into his loin. Twisting himself right round, he managed to get his nose close to the irritation, and, raising his paw higher, he saw the tiniest insect he’d ever seen. It had wormed its way deep into his coat, but he could still make out a greyness. It seemed to have its head jammed out of sight, but even as he watched, the little creature shifted itself around and looked up guiltily. There was a tiny spot of blood on its face, and Spider knew at once that it was his own.

  “Sorry,” said the creature.

  The dog was too astonished to speak. He was looking into pale, watery eyes, and they gazed back at him under a pair of waving antennae. The body was slowly turning pink, and trembling with pleasure.

  “I’m topping up,” said the little insect apologetically. “We’ve all got to live, Spider—that’s what I say, and I just try to be discreet. In and out, that’s me—but this is a sensitive area, I’m aware of that.”

  The creature crawled a little higher and propelled itself upwards. It jumped high, landing elegantly on Spider’s nose. It burrowed forward, into his fur, and stared at him without blinking.

  “You’re a flea,” said Spider.

  “I am,” said the flea. “Through and through. You mustn’t feel badly about it. Sometimes I meet animals who think we’re a reflection on their personal hygiene, but that just isn’t the case. What I look for is good company, and that fox—bless her—she was as clean as they come.”

  “You really knew her?”

  “Oh, totally. We’d been together for a long time, Spider, and she did her best. You can say what you like about the chickens she killed, but nobody deserves an ending like hers. Nobody.”

  Spider swallowed, and sat down.

  The flea had clearly drunk deep, and was now cleaning its jaws.

  “You did everything you could,” it said. “You tried to save her, and that was brave.”

  “Where were you? Did you see the dogs chasing her?”

  “I was right on your shoulder. I’d made the changeover shortly before, when you were talking together. I heard the whole story about the little boy, and that’s when I transferred to the warmer heart. That’s what I do, you see—I’m temperature-sensitive. At least they were quick.”

  “What were?”

  “Jesse’s last moments.”

  “Were they quick? It took a long time, I thought.”

  “I don’t think so. She didn’t suffer too much, and she went down fighting. It’s hit you hard, friend—I can see that. You had an understanding, and she was an ally. She was right about Tom, too—spot on. You shouldn’t have left him, and you know it.”

  “What’s he doing now, I wonder?”

  “Looking for you.”

  “I doubt it. He’s probably glad I’ve gone.”

  The flea sighed. “You’re depressed. You’re more lost than you were as well. You need to find that town and sort things out.”

  “I need to find the school. I’m going to walk in and find Tom.”

  “It’s a good plan. So what we really need is a map, or a road sign.”

  Spider shook his head. “I can’t read. Can you?”

  “Not properly. I lived in a library for a while, so I can trace out a few letters, but I’m not saying I’m literate. What I suggest is that we head back the way you came and find an intersection. There’ll be a main road somewhere, and you can follow that.”

  “It’s a long way,” said the dog. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

  The flea pinched him gently. “Then we ought to get going.”

  “You said ‘we’.”

  “Why not?”

  “You want to come with me?”

  “I think we can help each other. We should work together, in honour of old Jesse.”

  “And your name?”

  “I’ve never had one. I’m not really the social kind—but I’d like to meet Tom.”

  “That’s what Jesse said. Tom would have absolutely loved her. I loved her.”

  “We both did. What you need right now, though, is breakfast. I don’t mean to be personal, but your blood’s a little bit thin at the moment, and that means low sugar. I’m going to come up on to your ear, OK? And if you need a good scratch, just let me know.”

  “I’ve never had a flea before. How irritating are you?”

  “I’m pretty discreet. But when you want me to leave, just say the word. I never take it personally.”

  “OK. Let’s go.”

  The allotment was still quiet.

  Spider trotted through it, and it wasn’t long before they both spotted a compost heap. Once he’d cleared away some grass cuttings Spider was able to salvage several bacon rinds and the remains of an egg. He washed them down with fresh rainwater, and immediately felt stronger.

  There was a faint mist rising around them, and the sky was rosy.

  “Did you see the picture on that lamp post?” asked the dog. “It was me and Tom.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Somewhere round here, but I’m confused.”

  “You and Tom on a lamp post? I must have been fast asleep.”

  “It was a kind of poster. It had letters and numbers, so if we found that again, maybe you could work out what all the words mean.”

  “I could try.”

  “Why haven’t I got any sense of direction? I have no idea where it was.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Some dogs have an inner compass, Spider, and some dogs don’t. The main thing is to be patient and methodical.”

  Two hours later, however, they still hadn’t found it.

  The village had come to life around them, and there were cars making their way slowly out of garages. They passed many poles and posts, but every one was bare, and Spider soon realized he was walking in circles. He couldn’t pick up any familiar smells, and the only landmark he really remembered was the duck pond. On the flea’s suggestion, they revisited it, and sat at the edge of the grass.

  One of the ducks made a rude gesture, and Spider turned his back.

  “We were definitely here,” said the flea. “You didn’t mark your territory, did you? Personal question, I know, but—”

  “I wasn’t in the mood.”

  “Sure.”

  “I was in shock, to be honest. I still am. And we’re getting nowhere.”

  “Ah, you’re impatient. You’re emotional, too—you keep getting hot. That doesn’t help, Spider. I understand your distress, but I suggest we calm ourselves down and work a little more systematically. Now, which side was the pond on when we first saw it?”

  “It was on my left.”

  “Which means you came from up there, by the petrol garage.”

  “But we’ve been there, haven’t we?”

  “No. We’ve been everywhere else, but we haven’t been there. Let’s take it slow—there’s absolutely no hurry.”

  Spider tried to keep calm. The flea was now at the tip of his ear, holding tight, so they both had a good view of their surroundings. They crossed the street, and found themselves on the edge of a housing estate.

  “Familiar?” asked the flea.

  “Yes.”

  “OK, but slow down. Let’s walk, OK? What’s that coming up on the left? A lamp post.”

  “It’s not the one.”

  “So keep going, and look at the next lamp post. By the blue car—do you see that one, over on the other side? That’s got something attached to it. Now, don’t get your hopes up…”

  “You’ve done it!” cried Spider. “It’s still there—I can see it!”

  The dog could stand it no longer. He dashed across the road and sprinted along the opposite pavement. Sure enough, it was the paper, sa
fe inside its plastic jacket. The tape had come loose, so the top corner was flapping, but there was Tom, smiling down at him, and his left arm was draped around Spider’s very own neck. The dog jumped up and rested his paws below it.

  The flea crawled forward, and peered at the photograph thoughtfully.

  “You really think that’s you?”

  “Of course it is.”

  “You’re sure? You must have been younger.”

  “So maybe I’ve grown. Maybe I’ve changed, but I’m telling you: that’s me, and that’s Tom, and we’re in the garden together. I never should have left! Now, what do the words say?”

  “Well, there’s a whole line of numbers, which could be anything. And the words, well… I’m just spelling them out, so give me a moment. You’ve got an ‘M’ for ‘mother’. You’ve got an ‘I’ for… something else. Then there are some of those snaky ones—what are they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Two of them, and another something… Then it’s another ‘M’ and another one I’ve never seen before—some kind of circle.”

  “So what does it spell?”

  “Alphabets are hard. Something beginning with ‘M’, but…”

  “What about ‘My’?”

  “‘My something’? It could be. My guess is that it’s someone’s name. ‘Miss’, perhaps. Or some kind of code, or just a pattern. How old is Tom?”

  “Eleven.”

  “Does he like drawing?”

  “He loves drawing.”

  “Could just be decoration, then. Why decorate a photograph, though, and strap it to a lamp post?”

  Spider wasn’t listening. He had noticed something, and the flea felt his temperature rise again.

  “I don’t believe it,” said the dog.

  “What?”

  “We’re in luck. You’ve brought me luck, flea. Look over there, on the other side of the road.”

  Spider whined—he couldn’t help himself. Jumping down from the lamp post, he took a few paces forward as the fur rose up along his spine.

  “That boy,” he said quietly. “I know him.”

  “Where?”

  “Coming out of the house—coming towards us. I recognize him, and look at what he’s wearing…”

  “He’s wearing uniform. He’s going to school, and—”

  “But look at it! It’s red and black, and it’s got the gold badge. It’s the boy on the bike: his name’s Rob.”

  “A friend of Tom’s?”

  “I wouldn’t say a friend, but he used to come to the park sometimes. What’s he doing here?”

  “It’s where he lives, I imagine—”

  “He’ll take us to Tom, then, won’t he?” yelped Spider. “If we just follow him, he’ll lead us to the right place. This is fate! Oh, flea, you’ve solved the problem!”

  “Spider, wait. He’s going to think it very strange if a stray dog tags after him. You’re sure you know him?”

  “It’s Robert Tayler, and he goes to the same school!”

  Spider was right.

  The boy had said goodbye to his mother, and was now moving briskly along the pavement, with a rucksack on his back. Suddenly, he broke into a run and, for a wonderful moment, the dog thought he was coming to greet him. He barked once, but the boy crossed the road and sprinted down the street, raising an arm as he ran. Spider turned and saw what he was chasing: a long, single-decker bus was moving down the street, one light flashing as it eased into a lay-by. Robert was racing towards it.

  Spider gave chase at once, tearing over to the opposite pavement. The bus stopped as he got to it, and its doors opened wide for a girl who was in just the same clothing as the boy.

  Spider ran round to the back, and saw that the bus was completely packed with children in identical outfits—there were no adults at all. Some were small, and some were big. Most were wearing earphones, staring into space, but one looked up, and seeing Spider, started to wave. Another boy saw him too and grinned. All Spider could think to do was bark. He barked and jumped up into the air, for Tom had to be among them somewhere. He dashed round to the front again, and some of the children were cheering now. He raced to the doors, but they closed against his nose, and the wheels were starting to turn.

  The bus pulled away, and Spider’s barking turned into a howl of anguish, for what could he do? He gave chase, running down the road as the vehicle gathered speed. The back window was full of heads, laughing and shouting. Hands were waving, but the bus was accelerating all the time, and soon Spider was racing flat out in a mad sprint he couldn’t possibly sustain.

  Seconds passed, and the houses came to an end. The bus was surging ahead, and the road joined a wider one that bent in a long curve. Another light started to flash, and Spider found himself among hooting traffic. A car skidded around him and he had no choice but to dive to the side. He watched as the bus joined the stream of traffic and disappeared out of sight.

  Pawing the ground, he let out a final howl and shook his head in disbelief. There was foam around his mouth and he was trembling.

  “Wow,” said the flea. “That was quite a ride.”

  “We lost him.”

  “We did.”

  “So close. So close! Are you OK?”

  “I’ve been sick, I’m afraid. That was terrifying, Spider. You can’t do that to me. I just need a moment… Sorry.”

  Spider felt the tiniest pinch in his ear, and he waited as the flea drank deep again. He stood up, aware that his paws were on fire.

  “Sorry,” said the flea at last. “If I’m empty I die.”

  “You help yourself.”

  “My word.”

  “What?”

  The flea belched quietly.

  “Your blood. It’s gone straight to my head. Why don’t you sit down? We need to keep calm and take stock.”

  The flea moved carefully down on to the dog’s nose, and the two creatures stared at the road.

  “I’ve had a thought,” said Spider.

  “Good. Take it easy, please. Step by step.”

  “I’m trying to be methodical,” said Spider. “And I’m remembering something: Tom didn’t get a bus in the mornings, so he can’t have been on that bus. He walked to school, you see. That means we must have lived close by—close to the school, because he walked to it.”

  “It makes sense. But who came out here to put the picture up on the lamp post?”

  “I don’t know. Do you think it’s possible that Tom’s looking for me?”

  “Of course he is, Spider. Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “Because he was angry! He could be angry still. Perhaps… What if he wants me caught and punished? I mean, what if Jesse was wrong, and Tom hasn’t forgiven me? That’s what the paper could mean: ‘Missing dog! Must be found!’”

  “To be punished?”

  “To be sent away. To be put in a home for bad dogs.”

  “No,” said the flea. “That doesn’t sound like the Tom you’ve described, Spider, and I don’t think you should jump to conclusions.

  What we have to do in situations like this is trust our instincts. That means finding the school, which was your first idea. If we’re lucky, we’ll run straight into your master and we can sort things out. That’s the mission, OK? And we keep it simple.”

  “We should follow the bus, then.”

  The flea nodded. “Yes. It’s shown us the way. But I need to say something now, Spider—and I don’t mean any disrespect, because I know you’re doing all the work and I’m just a passenger—but you’re going to get yourself killed.”

  “How?”

  “You’re going to get run over!” said the flea. “You’re not as good on the road as you need to be—and I’m worried. I was once on a badger who dashed around like you. He ended up under a truck, and it wasn’t pretty. You’ve got to keep calm, friend. You’ve got to use your head.”

  “I just want to find Tom,” said Spider softly. “That’s all I want, because I should never have left. Even if he hat
es me now and wants me dead. Even if I’ve been replaced and forgotten, I want to see him once more—if only to say sorry. I want to lick that hand and say a proper goodbye.”

  “Sure,” said the flea. “That’s called loyalty.”

  “Is it?”

  “I’ve never felt it myself, but I admire it in others.”

  Spider took a deep breath. He gazed at the cars and lorries heading for the town, and started walking.

  Tom’s day had started well.

  The posters were working: there had been two sightings of Spider so far, and he was quietly confident his dog was still in the area. A farmer had called the previous afternoon, and told him he’d seen a black and white mongrel, scavenging with a fox. Phil had taken Tom out there on his moped, and they’d scouted the lanes round about, and put up more notices. They would go out again that evening, to follow up the other report, which was from a woman in a nearby village. She’d phoned to complain: she’d seen a dog similar to the one in the photo worrying the ducks. Tom had to hope and pray Spider would stay where he was—the thought of him crossing roads by himself brought tears to the boy’s eyes.

  “You go to school,” said Phil. “As soon as you’re home, we’ll get out there.”

  “I want to go now.”

  “You can’t. And don’t tell your dad: what we’re doing is illegal. I’m not licensed for passengers, Tom.”

  “I know that. Thank you.”

  Phil paused.

  “I spoke to your mum as well,” he said. I told her what’s happening, and she—”

  “It’s none of her business. I’m not talking to her, Phil, and you can’t make me. If she’s unhappy about it, that’s fine—she deserves to be.”

  “You need to talk to her,” said Phil.

  “Why?”

  “Because… look at you. You’re like a bomb at the moment, and you’re going to explode. If you don’t talk to her, or to your dad—or to someone—”

  “What is there to say? I’m sick of talking.”

  “And the fight?”

  “What fight? It wasn’t a fight, I told you. It was rugby.”

  “Oh, come on! That’s not what the school said. Who’s the counsellor? What’s his name?”