He had been waiting to meet the boy’s brothers and sisters, but realized now that Tom was all on his own, and—like him—without a mother. Where the mother had gone was a mystery, for her scent was everywhere.
The lodger occupied the middle floor, and he was followed by a smell of engine oil and grease. Spider had glimpsed the fish, twirling in a bowl—and it didn’t interest him. What interested him more than anything was his new master’s bedroom, which was up another flight of stairs at the top of the house. It was a tent-like triangle, high in the roof space, where fresh air circulated all the time because of a skylight that wouldn’t close. There were no curtains, so you could see the clouds by day and the stars by night. The carpet was covered in toys and clothes, so the first thing the dog had done was build a nest right in the middle of Tom’s bed, using both pillows and the duvet. He could lie in the warm, looking out at the rest of the furniture.
There was a table which supported a very old computer and vast piles of folders. Pens were strewn everywhere, along with pencils, felt tips and poster paints, for Tom liked drawing, and the walls were covered in startling pictures of rockets and bombs. There was a bookcase, too, and the shelves were bending under the weight of the books. It was jammed against a wardrobe that was almost bursting with jeans, T-shirts and too-big sweaters, everything scented with Tom’s unique mixture of smells.
The only thing that was hung up neatly was a black blazer edged in a thin red stripe. On the front was a gold badge in the shape of a lion, and a serious-looking tie was looped over the shoulders. It had a forbidding, funereal look.
“Don’t,” said Tom.
He had followed Spider’s gaze, and the dog noticed an alarmingly serious edge to his voice.
“Are you going to chew things?” he said. “I know dogs do, but if you chew any of my school stuff, we’re dead. Both of us. That’s ‘uniform’, that is, and it cost us a fortune. In fact…”
He pushed the wardrobe door closed, and wedged it shut with a slipper.
“There. Let’s forget about it.”
He rubbed Spider’s head.
“We go back next week. There’s been a holiday, but school starts again soon—and I won’t be taking you.”
Spider blinked thoughtfully, and licked Tom’s thumb.
“You’d hate it, anyway—it’s scary. You’re going to stay in the garden because Dad will be sleeping. You’ll have access to the kitchen, too. Phil’s at college, so he comes and goes. What we need to do, though, is sort out all the basics. You seem a pretty good dog to me—I mean, you do what you’re told already. But you need wide open spaces, don’t you? And that means the lead.”
Spider licked each one of Tom’s fingers then, and started to bite them.
Tom laughed, and played with his ears.
“You’re such a monster,” he said. “Dad thinks you ought to be sleeping downstairs, and I suppose you should, really. But the way I look at it is that you’re only young, and you’re not used to being on your own yet—how could you be? So for the first week or two, while we’re adjusting, I’m going smuggle you up here. We can protect each other, OK? But we’ve got to be careful. No barking, unless there’s a real emergency. And there won’t be.”
The very next morning, Tom produced a collar.
It was blue, with two metal rings. One held a tag on which various numbers were engraved, and the other was shaped to receive the clip of a strong leather leash. Spider wore it with pride, and Tom led him down the hallway to the front door. When he opened it, the dog realized that the moment had come: the outside world was before him again, and it was so different from the garden. He darted on to the pavement, tripping over his own paws. Tom laughed, and restrained him as firmly as he dared. The next moment, they were making their way down the street together, past doors of every colour. There were cars, nose to tail, and so many poles and posts that the dog was soon dizzy. They went past a boarded-up shop, and a house enveloped in the scent of exotic spices. Crossing the road, Tom turned into an alleyway which became a labyrinth of paths and passages. Spider forged ahead, determined to lose himself, and before long they came to a pair of tall metal gates.
“OK,” said Tom. “This is the park.”
They were both out of breath and panting.
“Sit.”
Spider was astonished. The gates were open, inviting him into a vast expanse of the greenest grass he’d ever seen, and yet Tom’s hand was pressing at his haunches. He twisted, and tried to run.
“No, Spider! No.” Tom pushed him down again. “Sit down, please. We’re doing this together. We’re learning to be patient.”
The dog sat down, wondering why they had to rest. Tom had a firm hold of his collar, and he couldn’t resist pulling away again. He ducked, and got a paw over Tom’s arm, and he was about to squirm his way to freedom when he was showered in gravel. A bicycle had skidded to a halt, just missing them both.
“Wow,” said a voice. “Tommy Lipman.”
Spider bounded forward, and Tom was jerked off balance so that he ended up on the ground, his feet entangled in the lead. The bicycle came closer still, its grinning rider staring down at the confusion.
“What have you got there?” he asked, laughing. “My God, Lipman—where did you get that?”
“Hi, Rob,” said Tom. “What are you doing?”
“None of your business.”
“You don’t live round here.”
“I’m seeing friends, Lipman. You wouldn’t understand that because you don’t have any. Seriously, though, what is that thing?”
“He’s my new dog.”
“No way,” said Rob. “You can’t call that thing a dog! Look at its mouth, man. Is it a boy or a girl? Or doesn’t it know?”
“He’s a boy.”
“Really? You’ve checked, have you?”
Rob was still smiling, but Spider sensed Tom’s unease.
“Check again, Lipman!” cried the boy. “You get a bit confused about gender, don’t you? And we’re still not sure what you are yet. Hey, don’t walk away, buddy—I’m talking to you.”
“We’re busy, Rob. See you next week.”
“Oh, Lipman, you’re so asking for it.”
“Goodbye, Rob.”
“I’ll see you soon. You can’t get away from us, you know: we’ll be waiting.”
Spider was totally bewildered. Tom had started to run, and the boy on the bike was following. He was shouting questions, too, but Tom wasn’t answering—he was trying to sort out the lead, which had become knotted again. Suddenly, Spider was free, for the end that had been looped round his master’s wrist flipped on to the grass.
The dog bounded sideways as a bolt of energy burst inside him. Tom went to hold him back, but it was so easy to dodge, and Spider was off like a rocket, racing over the grass in an unstoppable sprint. If Tom’s friend was still with them, Spider didn’t hear him. He was curving to the right, with Tom in hot pursuit. In the distance he’d spied a speck of grey, and he knew just what it was: another dog was in the park.
Tom yelled his name, so Spider raced back, swerving out of his reach. He tripped over his lead, and somersaulted neatly back on to his feet, galloping towards his new playmate. They veered off, side by side, towards a distant hedge, and slipped straight through it. Tom’s cries grew faint and disappeared altogether under the splashing of a brook. Spider was paddling for the first time in his life, feeling mud between his toes and water on his fur—he didn’t notice when his companion left him.
He clambered up a bank into thick brambles. Rich smells poured from a tunnel that something wild had bored into the undergrowth. Spider plunged into it, for this was so much better than the garden he was used to. He was soon lost in a maze. When he emerged, minutes later, he found himself in a whole new area of woodland, and now there were pine needles under his paws.
He trotted into a clearing, hoping Tom was keeping up. But there was no sign or scent of him, so he ran back eagerly. The park was some way behind, b
ut he sensed the way, for there was a path ahead which led to gates and a road—he could see a line of parked cars identical to the ones he’d passed earlier. When he trotted along beside them, the street looked very like the one he lived in—but there was no boarded-up shop, and he noticed there were sets of iron railings which were unfamiliar.
Spider sat down.
He wondered if Tom would come the other way and meet him further along. He set off again, full of hope, but the only human being he could see was someone pushing a pram. At last, Spider saw a boy, and broke into a run—but he soon saw that it wasn’t Tom, or his friend the cyclist. He slowed again, and was immediately distracted by a telegraph pole. Having snuffled around that, he realized it would be best to retrace his steps. The problem was, he wasn’t sure which direction that meant, so he turned, and turned again. The pram was coming closer, its wheels rumbling. Spider backed away, and that’s when he heard the awful howl of a siren—it was a wave of sound accompanied by flashing lights and squealing tyres. An engine backfired, loud as a gunshot, and Spider bolted.
All the driver saw was a blur of black and white.
He stamped on his brakes, and lost control at once. Somebody screamed, but the noise was lost in a rending screech of metal, and an explosion of glass. Spider knew he was dead: his short life flashed in front of his eyes, with a quick vision of Tom, followed by his bed in the attic room. He glimpsed the silver cat he’d once stared at, but the back end of the van was now swinging towards him and he could do nothing but cringe in terror.
Somehow, the back wheel came to a juddering, steaming halt a few centimetres from his nose.
The driver gazed down through the broken window, open-mouthed.
Spider backed away.
A hand grabbed his collar, and he twisted round, hoping with all his heart that it would be Tom. It wasn’t: a woman had stepped into the road, and he was caught. She was pulling at his tag, and more people were gathering round, looking down at him with grave faces. Instinct told him he was in serious trouble.
It was Phil who came to collect him.
When they got home, Tom was waiting, and Spider just managed to get his paws up and lick the boy’s face. The boy tried to hold on to him, but they were separated at once. Spider smelled the unsettling scent of fear, and it dawned on him that it was Tom who was going to be punished. He crept up the stairs to the bedroom he loved, and that was when the shouting started.
Tom’s dad was furious. How had the boy dropped the lead? Why had they even gone to the park, and why couldn’t Tom be trusted with the simplest thing? The dog got on to the bed, trembling, and curled up on the duvet as the shouting got louder. The boy’s voice was shaking as he tried to reply.
Phil said something, but Tom’s dad was talking about money and debt and the need to show responsibility, especially now, when things were harder than they’d ever been.
Tom started to sob, and Spider lay there, panting in fear.
“Wow,” said a voice.
The dog whined miserably, and looked up.
“Oh my word, little dog. What have you done?”
Spider whined again. He looked all around the bedroom, for he’d been certain he was alone. That was when the skylight creaked, and he heard a soft, self-satisfied chuckle. He knew at once who’d spoken: a tiny black spider was dangling from the ceiling where the window frame was broken, and as he watched, it lowered itself to a few centimetres above his head. He saw the eyes he remembered so well: Thread had found him again, and was soon right on his nose.
“Good to see you,” it said quietly. “What have you been up to, eh? Something bad, by the sound of it. Something stupid?”
“I don’t know what happened.”
“Don’t you?”
“No.”
“I think you do. I can tell truth from lies, you know—and you’re not being honest.”
“Look, it wasn’t my fault,” said Spider. “I got lost, and I panicked! I just… ran for it.”
“Where did you go?”
“Through a wood and out, into a road, and—”
“Into the road, eh? Ah, that’s your nature, you see.”
“Is it?”
“You’re out of control. You’re what’s called a ‘bad dog’.”
“I’m not bad! I just didn’t think about it, Thread. I was looking for home and I got confused.”
“Where’s home, though? You’re an unwanted mongrel, don’t forget. This isn’t your home.”
“It is. I think it is.”
“It was, perhaps. But you’re on trial, remember? What they really wanted was a cat.”
Spider stood up, and found that he was barking.
“No,” he said. “They did not want a cat—or Tom didn’t. And they wouldn’t do anything hasty. I mean, OK, I’ve just caused a problem, but…”
“What?”
Spider blinked and shook his head. He became aware of his protruding tooth and tried to close his mouth properly, turning a complete circle on the bed.
“Oh my goodness,” he said. “This is dreadful.”
“It’s the end, I’d say. It’s a disaster.”
“I am to blame.”
“You certainly are.”
“Tom’s going to be held responsible, isn’t he? For the damage, I mean.”
“Was there much?”
“There was glass everywhere! And bashed-in cars…”
Spider closed his eyes as he remembered how the van had been spun round and smashed. He shook himself harder, and the spider clung to his fur, laughing.
“Look,” said the dog. “You’re not helping me, Thread. Why are you even here? Did you follow me?”
“You didn’t notice?”
“No!”
“Ah, so you’re thick-skinned and insensitive, too. I had second thoughts, buddy—just as you were leaving. I jumped on to your back, and here I am. That window up there is perfect, so I’ve landed on my feet, so to speak.”
“You’re going to stay there?”
“Why not?”
“You can’t just move in! This is Tom’s bedroom.”
“Mine, too, dog. I’ve made myself comfortable, and the food’s been good so far. Tell me what happened, though—what made you bolt?”
Spider stared at the little spider, and its eyes gazed back into his own. He flopped down on to his side, and told the whole, sad story from beginning to end. He talked about the park, and the strange boy on the bike. He described the grey dog, and the tunnels, and when he finally got to the carnage in the road he realized that, once again, Thread was laughing.
“What?” said Spider. “What’s so funny?”
“I’m thinking about Tom. How old is he?”
“Eleven.”
“Yes. And he’s out of control—like you.”
Spider rolled over suddenly, rubbing his head hard on the nearest pillow.
“Get off me, Thread! That boy’s done nothing wrong!”
“Oh, come on, dog,” cried the spider, shifting to Spider’s ear. “He’s a total disaster. Look at this room, for a start. You can tell a lot by the habitat, and that kid is plain uncivilized. The whole house is a tip, to be honest—not that it bothers me, because I thrive on mess. But I’d say this family is unstable—where’s the mother?”
“I don’t know. I’ve wondered that too.”
“There’s a photograph on the shelf. It’s been turned to the wall, so what’s happening there? And why is she calling him every day?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t listen! I keep my ears open, and I can tell you something: she calls him every day, and he won’t even speak to her. This is a dysfunctional family, from top to bottom. Get out while you can—you’re better off as a stray.”
Spider let out a short, agonized whine. “No! Where would I go?”
“Somewhere else. They’ll be calling the dogs’ home any minute, and you don’t want to end up there.”
“A dogs’ home? What’
s a dogs’ home?”
“It’s a kind of prison. The pets go in, but they don’t often come out.”
“That’s not possible! Tom likes me, Thread. He loves me—”
“But Dad’s the big boss, isn’t he?”
“Maybe, but—”
“He’s got a short fuse, too, and he won’t be listening to the kid. You just pray you don’t end up in a river, because I’ve seen that happen, too. A brick round your neck, and you’re stuck in a sack. One big splash, and down you go. You could even face the lab if they decide to sell you.”
Spider blinked.
“You know what the lab is?” said Thread quietly.
“No.”
“Boy, oh boy, you’re green. Welcome to the world, dog—you’re going to have to learn about it. A lab is a laboratory, and they’re the worst of the worst. I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve spoken to bugs that have been inside them, and they tell me the whole story—it’s another place for rejects like you. Lines of animals, chained up in cages. That’s when the white coats come by, and you have to stand there and take it. Shampoo in the eyes, electric shocks… Cigarette smoke! Crikey, they force it down your lungs till your fur drops out—that gives you cancer, and they sit there making notes. Dog after dog, so I’m told—hundreds of them—all puffing away with their paws wired together.”
“That’s impossible—”
“It’s reality, friend, so don’t shoot the messenger. I told you when we met: I’m the truth teller. You want fairy tales? Find a book, and learn to read.”
“No,” said Spider. “I’m not listening any more. Tom wouldn’t send me away—we’ve bonded.”
The spider laughed again, and wound itself upwards.
“I’d make a run for it, puppy dog. I can hear footsteps, so you’d better make your mind up. Fight or flight, those are the options. That’s nature, and creatures like you—”
“It’s Tom! He’s coming.”
“With the brick, I’ll bet. Get ready—”
“No! And I’m never running off again. Ever!”