Lady

  So my life passed on, day after day. We would wake up each morning where he’d passed out the night before – among the bins behind a row of shops, or in an old car park, or a shop doorway or a building site. We travelled around from place to place – Northenden, Withington, Didsbury, Ladybarn, sometimes around the town centre, Rusholme, all around south Manchester. By the evening he was senseless with drink, but he always managed to make it to somewhere that would keep the rain off our heads, and made sure we had some cardboard or a bit of old blanket to rest on. Each morning he woke up slowly, sipping carefully at his Special Brew to try and make sure as much of it stayed down as possible, until he was able to face the day. Then we would be off to make our living.

  Over the next week he taught me to say various other words and phrases as the money rattled into the dog bowl. ‘Sausages,’ worked well – it had everyone in roars of laughter, although it made me hungrier than ever having to say that delicious word over and over again. One man actually dropped sausages into the bowl as a joke, which pleased me no end but it made Terry cross, because it was his joke and the man was stealing it.

  After lunch, the drinking would begin in earnest. Sometimes we hung around with other tramps and alcoholics, but my Terry was a jealous Terry, and mostly we stayed on our own. He often talked to me as he drank away the afternoons, just as he must once have talked to Fella and Mitch and who knows how many others? There were endless stories about the countless children’s homes he’d been in and out of and the lives he’d destroyed with his terrible gift. He’d been married once. Oh yes – had a job packing in a warehouse, a wife, a small pretty girl, to hear him, who gave him a daughter he loved to death.

  ‘But I was jealous,’ he told me. ‘Jealous as hell of both of them, and I turned them both into bitches one day just because her dinner came before mine. She was only two. They ran off together into the streets behind my house and I never saw them again, although I went out every night with a bowl of meat and called and wept for them to come back to me. Everyone goes away, Lady. And you will too, eh, girl? When poor old Terry becomes too boring for you to bear any more …’

  And I licked his face and made silly promises, but we both knew what he said was true. How could any relationship work when one partner was so full of booze so much of the time? If only he could give up the drink, dry out, get his life together. Then perhaps he could help me become myself again and – who knows? Who knows what would have happened between us? I loved him. I’d have done anything for him. I tried to tell him, and I think he understood what I meant. But I was like a hundred other girls, who like to think they can change the man they love – the man who is ruining your life day by day – into something worthwhile. What you see is what you get. That’s what you fell in love with in the first place, you silly bitch. Why expect him to turn into something decent?

  ‘Don’t look at me like that!’ he used to say. He always drank more when I was in that mood, until his conscience went back to sleep and he was as happy as an insect on a leaf.

  Well, what could I do? I loved him and waited for the day when he would find the love in him, or the generosity, or whatever it took to turn me back into Sandra Francy. But I was determined to keep my memories of her alive. I spent hours practising growling and barking human words to myself – the names of my family and friends, catchphrases from my favourite programmes on the telly, things we used to eat for dinner – anything to try and keep my memory alive.

  And night after night, Fella and Mitch would come to visit me and try to entice me away from my master to run with the pack. I was tempted. A night out with the dogs! Oh, there were so many promises, so many temptations. Leftovers licked out of spilled wheelie bins! Rats, mice, a fox startled out of the railway cutting! And cats! Oh, to kill a cat! To taste her hot blood! I tried not to let Fella see how excited I was by the thought. It was a lust in me, to taste cat blood. It was right there in my spine and my bark and my blood. Mitch disapproved. He thought we should be above all that. A fox – that was fair game. There were plenty of foxes trotting about the night-time gardens and parks, hunting for scraps in the bins, or for slugs and worms in newly dug gardens. But cats were just scum as far as he was concerned, not worth hunting – something only the dregs would put an effort into killing.

  I was ashamed and frightened by my strange desires, and I refused to leave my master’s side.

  Mitch understood, and encouraged me sometimes to think I might get back to what I was, but Fella was infuriated. ‘You’re a dog, you need a pack. You’ve chosen Terry and Terry is a shite pack member to be with. Come with me. I’ll show you what pack life is all about,’ he growled. Then he winked – a disgusting thing to watch a dog do – and under my fur I could feel myself blushing. I held out, though – I held out for ages. I only gave in when I had no choice.

  six

  Dogs don’t count the days. The pavements were warming up and the hedges were scented with baby mice and fledglings trying out their wings. There was the smell of young rabbits all over Southern Cemetery when I was – well. I’ll tell you.

  It was morning. Terry and me were by the flowershop on Copson Street, begging as usual, but I was restless. I kept running up and down the pavement and sniffing at poles instead of sitting on the blanket at Terry’s feet, getting in the dough. Somehow, saying ‘Cheers, mate,’ ‘Thanks,’ and ‘Sausages!’ just wasn’t doing it for me that morning. Terry kept calling me back, and I did my best, but after a few minutes I’d be whining and running up and down again. In the end he had to tie me up to the bench. I was all over the place. I was forgetting everything. Was it sausages, or thank you, or cheers, mate! Or just a good old bark?

  ‘You need more exercise, I suppose,’ muttered Terry to himself. He never took me for a walk. All we did each day was walk from place to place, up and down the streets, and round and round, looking for places to sit, eat, sleep and piss. I kept thinking of Ed, who I used to keep in the house all day. It must have driven him mad!

  The air that day was full of dogs. I could smell them everywhere, and every time I caught a whiff I was up, sniffing the air, pulling at the string, barking and yelping like a silly pup.

  ‘What, do you want to escape? Do you want to get put down?’ said Terry sternly. He knew what was going on – he must have seen it loads of times before. But even though it was only dogs and not bitches who were making me pull away, I still hadn’t picked up on what was happening to me.

  And the dogs were noticing me. Well, the ones that mattered anyway. You see dogs everywhere, you’d think there’d be loads to choose from, but you’d be amazed. Half of them are bitches and half the rest of them have had their balls cut off. But there were still some about. There was this big black Alsatian went past, and as soon as he saw me he was dragging his owner towards me. He didn’t just want to sniff. He was well fit. His owner was a pale, skinny-looking bloke with bad skin and a smell of mint and bones on his breath. He had to drag him back with both hands until he stood on his hind legs. He barked at me and I barked back. He kept looking over his shoulder as he was pulled away down the road. His eyes were empty of any sense but I didn’t care. He smelled so good! – I was practically drooling as he disappeared round the corner. Then there was this scatty brown-and-white mongrel, and it was the same thing with him. Barking, pulling at the lead. Couldn’t take his eyes off me! He wasn’t as good-looking as the big Alsatian, and he smelled of cheese and cheap meat, but in the mood I was in, anything in fur would have done.

  Ten minutes later the Alsatian came back and this time he was alone. His lead trailed behind him like a piece of torn wool. He bounded right up, great tail swinging, head back, eyes on me, smelling of sex. I called out to him – ‘Who are you?’ but he didn’t have a word in him. He was just a dog – but what a dog! Strong thick tail, high proud head, upright neck, black, black eyes. He made me tremble, he was so beautiful, but at the same time he terrified the life out of me, and I lay on my belly on the ground, licking my lips and gri
nning, while he tried to dig his nose under my tail.

  Terry was terrified. ‘Go away! Bad dog! Off, off!’ he squeaked. He grabbed hold of my collar and tried to drag me away, then he tried to push my back down to make me sit, and I almost snapped at him, he irritated me so much.

  The Alsatian’s boss came running up to us, grabbed the lead and dragged him off. We were both twisting and barking, trying to wriggle free. Terry was furious. He lifted his hand and began beating me on my back, just in front of my tail, shouting,

  ‘Leave him, leave him, leave him!’ I whined and looked up at him in amazement. Terry, hitting me? What for? ‘We’re earning our money, you silly tart,’ he growled. But even before he’d finished I’d forgotten that he ever struck me, and I was twisting about to get free again.

  The Alsatian disappeared off behind the shoppers, choking on his chain. ‘Get her off the street, you idiot!’ yelled his owner over his shoulder.

  ‘Where to? Where bloody to?’ yelled Terry after him. He had nowhere to take me; the street was all he had. Across the road another dog was barking and whining, trying to drag his owner towards me and Terry decided enough was enough. He twisted the string round his hand, undid the knot on the bench leg and set off up the road, dragging me behind him.

  I was stinking with desire: the air was full of the scents of fine dogs. Something had to happen. Terry was livid – he hadn’t had his drink and we hadn’t earned much. He kept stopping and bringing the string down across my back in fury.

  ‘You stupid little bitch! Bad dog, bad dog!’ he yelled. People were watching us. The string was thin, the blows stung only slightly through my fur, but I cringed and crouched in shame. He hurt my neck tugging me up the road.

  We staggered down to Burton Road and headed up to East Didsbury. I don’t know where Terry was trying to take me. Where in a city like this are there no dogs? Then – well, it had to happen. Half way down Burton Road, I got a scent – Fella and Mitch! Oooh, yes …! I knew they couldn’t smell me yet, because we were downwind, but it was just a matter of time. And oh, they stank, they stank of wild dog and raw meat and piss and sex sex sex! As we turned the corner on to Cavendish Road, I swear I could scent the exact second that they caught the first whiff of who I was and what I wanted. I began whining and pawing the ground, and I think Terry knew what was coming because he stood up straight, holding me on a tight rope and peering around him, trying to see which way they’d come.

  I could hear Fella barking long before he came into sight. ‘You sniffy, licky, shaggy little bitch!’ he yelled. Terry tried to hide. He dodged into a shop but they chucked him out. All the time I was pulling and he was getting more and more angry. He was scaring the life out of me with his curses and his blows, but he had that string wrapped tightly in his hand and he wasn’t letting go. He dodged down a side street, breaking into a shuffling run, but of course he was no match for the dogs. He’d just dived into an alleyway to make his last stand when they burst together over the wall like angels.

  ‘You are beautiful!’ gasped Mitch.

  ‘Bitch on heat! Bitch on heat!’ barked Fella. He hit the ground and jumped back up straight at Terry, who let go of the lead and fell backwards to the ground with the big grey lurcher over him. I was free! I didn’t even pause to look at him. I had both dogs sniffing under my tail, running round to lick my mouth, whining and grinning at me. We stood for a minute in the garden, greeting and testing each other, while Terry crawled backwards, cringing. Then we turned and ran, ran, ran like the wind – ran like there was no tomorrow, and you know what? There was no tomorrow, not for a bitch like me with two fine dogs on her tail, and the whole city to play with.

  ‘The Southern Cemetery,’ barked Mitch, bouncing along by my side, his little legs going like pistons.

  ‘But not you,’ growled Fella. ‘Back off! Back off!’ he yelled. He leaned across and snapped at the smaller dog’s neck. At once, Mitch fell back.

  ‘Come with me!’ he begged me, but I didn’t care. Not about him! It was Fella I wanted. You should have seen him, with his ragged grey fur and his black eyes and his long mouth! I wanted his nose under my tail, I wanted his tongue, I wanted his belly on my back.

  ‘With me, with me, Lady,’ Mitch whined. But we were gone. Not far, though – I kept stopping. I couldn’t wait! The Southern Cemetery was so far away.

  ‘Here, here, here, now, now, now!’ I whined.

  ‘In the road?’ Fella laughed.

  ‘Anywhere. Who cares!’ I barked.

  ‘We’ll get stuck,’ he barked. ‘You’ll see. Come on – do as I say, you’ll see why!’

  ‘Me! Me – I’ll do it anywhere with you, you gorgeous bitch!’ shouted Mitch, and I was ready, I’d have done it with him, I’d have done it with next door’s cat I was so horned up. But Fella bullied and begged and chased me across the main road and along the verges, and through the hedges around the cemetery. We ran into the graves. We were in the modern part, there were people walking along the gravel paths, planting little flowers and filling vases and praying, but we had no time for them. I have a memory like a photoflash of a woman on her knees with rubber gloves on and a trowel in her hand, of people’s faces turned towards us as they walked along the neat graves.

  ‘Shoo! Shoo!’ said the woman on her knees. Mitch was standing nearby watching us jealously. Fella and I ran round each other in circles a few times, then he got behind me and was up, on and in. And – oh! Wow wow wow WOW! …

  Is that scent rabbit?

  You know what? I was a virgin twice – once as a girl and once as a dog. How many people can say that?

  The first time I had sex was with Simon. We were making plans about it for ages – where and when and what contraception and so on. Me and Annie were going to do it as close together as possible. There was a bit of a thing about who would get there first, but the big thing was, we had to do it before we were sixteen. To be a virgin at sixteen – that was the pits as far as we were concerned. It’s like, waiting for permission – like your dad’s standing at the end of the bed with a stop watch. ‘OK, she’s coming up for sixteen … 5, 4, 3, 2 … wait for it … 1! Go!’ I mean, it’s like it’s not even your own body when someone else tells you when, know what I mean?

  We were planning on doing it properly in a big double bed, but the only double beds we had available belonged to our parents and who wants to christen your sex life in your parents’ bed? Sniffing your dad’s armpits on the sheets? Ugh! No thanks. On the other hand I didn’t want to do it in the back of a car or have a knee trembler up against a tree or anything like that.

  Me and Annie spent ages talking about it. Actually, I spent much longer talking about it with Annie than I did with Simon. He had this really annoying idea that it was all my decision. I mean, not like he didn’t want to do it, but, like, everything had to be the way I wanted it, like it was going to be some terrible ordeal for me that had to be made as comfortable as possible.

  ‘It’s like I’m losing something and you’re getting something,’ I said.

  ‘No it isn’t!’ he insisted. But it was.

  ‘It isn’t like you’re taking advantage of me or anything,’ I told him.

  ‘I know, I know, I’m not saying that. Ha, ha! You know me – I just want to get it,’ he joked. He was always turning things into jokes when he didn’t know what was going on. It didn’t half irritate me. I think it was an old-fashioned, sexist way of thinking – as if he was doing something to me, not with me. Like I was his victim, or he was the doctor or something like that. He was being a right bloody little gentleman about it. All he could think about was what I wanted, and making it all right for me, and he couldn’t put two thoughts together about how he wanted it to be for him.

  In the end we got fed up waiting. Not me and Simon, me and Annie. We thought of all sorts of places. On holiday, in the countryside, in the open, with the sun out on our bare skin – but what if someone came along? I kept imagining people hiding in the bushes watching us. I was shy
, I wanted to be hidden away. And in the end, you know what? There was nowhere right. You don’t have anywhere that’s your own when you’re fifteen.

  We were still putting it off when my sixteenth birthday was only a month or so away. I remember thinking that at this rate, I was going to turn into the dreaded sixteen-year-old virgin unless I ended up shagging Simon on the living room floor while my mum was watching EastEnders. And then, out of the blue, Annie announced that her boyfriend’s parents were going away and leaving him alone in the house for the weekend.

  ‘This is it,’ she squeaked, and I was furious because she was going to get there first. I was the one who did things first! I was the one who always dived in without thinking about it and just did them, while she was still making plans.

  ‘I’m not diving in, I have made plans, we’ve been talking about it for ages. I’m just taking advantage of the right opportunity,’ she told me, which was true. It was my fault for waiting until everything was just right. That’s one thing I’ve learned – don’t wait for it to be perfect or you’ll wait forever. I mean, you can’t be spontaneous and get everything right, can you? In fact, sometimes you can’t even get anything right, if you’re me, anyway. Getting it right – that’s not the point. So I got carried away a couple of nights later when me and Simon were babysitting for his mum and dad. We got the cushions off the settee and laid them on the floor and did it there and then, without even turning the telly off. It was Stars in their Eyes. It hurt both of us, I was lying there underneath going, ‘Ow, ow,’ and he was on top of me going, ‘Ow, ow.’ It was dead quick. He came, and then it was all over and there we were lying on the floor holding one another. I thought, ‘There.’ Like, that’s that, then.

  Then I felt crushed and he got off me. He stood up over me, and I had this view of him above me, past his knob to his face sort of leering down at me, and that’s when I went. My spirits just plunged through the floor, and I turned over and stared at the carpet.