Dog

  “It certainly is.”

  “We’re close to the sea. Did you know that? We could go there now if you wanted to. Are we fools, Spider?”

  “I really don’t know. Who are your friends?”

  “Oh, I have my followers,” she whispered. “They wanted to see you because I’d said so much about you. But aren’t you ever going to ask my name?”

  Spider nodded. “What is it?”

  “Guess.”

  “I can’t.”

  “No? Look at my fur, and think of poetry…”

  “Princess, perhaps?”

  There was a chorus of mewing, which the first cat silenced with a hiss.

  “No,” she said. “You’re charming, and you know it—but it’s not Princess.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ll give you a clue, if you like. I wouldn’t normally offer up my secrets, but listen to my riddle: I’m a creature of the dark that comes out at night.”

  “I don’t know—the stars?”

  “Bigger than that, Spider. What’s that big, shiny white thing?”

  “I thought of that when I first saw you. Moonlight? Is that your name?”

  The cat was nodding, and those listening rattled their claws. That was when Spider heard the tinkle of a tiny bell, and saw that his new friend wore a neat red collar. She padded towards him, and he thought how unattractive his own one was. He tried to conceal his projecting tooth, and suddenly she was beside him, pressing herself into the rough brickwork so they were shoulder to shoulder. Spider leant against her, feeling the warmth of her fur. For the first time he caught the scent of his companion, and he was utterly confused.

  “You might have been right,” he said quietly.

  “About what?”

  “There could be cat inside me. I’m a mongrel, after all: do you think it’s possible?”

  “Darling, it’s certain,” said Moonlight. “That must be why I needed to find you. As you say, you have the legs and head of an ugly mongrel-dog, but inside you have the soul of a cat. Why not?”

  “I don’t know. But I ought to be with Tom—”

  “Who’s Tom?”

  “Tom. My owner, my master—”

  “Oh, the little boy in the park! Nobody owns you, Spider.”

  “Tom does.”

  “Not true,” said Moonlight. “He thinks he owns you because of that evil chain. But how can a spirit like yours ever be owned or tamed? Don’t humble yourself!”

  “You’re owned yourself, though—by that lady.”

  “Which lady?”

  “In the place I was born. The old lady who looked after me—”

  “I told you, Spider: no. We are creatures of the night.”

  “So who looks after you?”

  “I look after myself, and I roam free.”

  The cat closed her eyes. She let her tail drift across her nose and moved her mouth close to Spider’s ear. He felt her whiskers on his cheek, and had to master an urge to grab her with his paws.

  “Listen to me,” she said softly. “To be owned is to be enslaved. Don’t waste your life on a heartless boy. Come with us, and see the world!”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that. Tom trusts me now. He goes to a school, Moonlight, but I don’t think he’s happy there. He gets tired—even tearful, sometimes.”

  “Boys stick together, Spider. They’re like wolves in a pack. They’re cruel and noisy—lazy, too. Why, that boy down there will only need you for a few more weeks—or a few months, perhaps—and what then? What then, when you’ve given him your heart? He’ll forget you and go his own wicked way. Oh, I shouldn’t be talking like this. I know I shouldn’t—what right do I have? I’m just a foolish cat, but I’ve learnt to trust my instincts, Spider. I don’t want a brave, noble heart like yours to get hurt. He will leave you, and suddenly you’ll be alone.”

  “But what would I do without him? How would I live?”

  The cat pushed her nose against Spider’s and purred.

  “With me,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Moonlight, you’re scaring me. Where would we go? How would we survive?”

  “We’d go wild! The earth would be our pillow, and the stars would cover us. We’d walk the open road and be as free as birds. Oh, I use houses—of course I do—but the day I have an owner is the day I’d swallow poison. Let me go.”

  Spider shook his head in dismay. “This is terrible,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “What am I? I thought I was a normal dog.”

  “You’re you, Spider. And it’s wrong of me—so terribly wrong, I just can’t bear it sometimes—to see a creature full of hope, squandering his life when he could run with cats! But now I’ve seen you. I’ve shown you off, so I must leave you to yourself.”

  “Moonlight, why?”

  “Promise me something, though, angel! Promise me you won’t forget this moment. Don’t speak! Let’s just listen to the night.”

  Spider sat absolutely still with his eyes tight shut.

  The cat pressed her cheek against his, and a minute passed.

  “Shall I see you again?” Moonlight whispered, nipping him gently.

  “I hope so. You know where I live.”

  “Then this isn’t goodbye. I shall return, sweet thing—and perhaps we shall make music.”

  With that, she turned away.

  Spider watched her leaping back up to the ridge. She padded swiftly through the other cats, and though Spider tried to follow, it was impossible. She turned and the whole pack looked at him, their eyes sparkling with a mixture of menace and fascination. Moonlight led them away, and they disappeared over the rooftops.

  Spider whined and forced himself to stay still. He saw them once more, with Moonlight at the front, a streak of silver racing along the roofline and arcing into the darkness. He gazed and whimpered, desperate to follow—but they didn’t reappear.

  The dog turned then, and licked his lips. He felt the tooth that protruded and looked at his black and white legs splayed out on the slates. His ears were in his eyes, and he had never felt more lopsided. Worst of all, he had no idea how he was going to get home without killing himself. He couldn’t see the skylight any more, and the whole town seemed to be spinning slowly beneath him. He had lost all sense of direction.

  Tom woke up early because he was cold.

  The first thing he noticed was that the weight he was used to, down at the end of the bed, was gone. It was a weight he’d come to love, for it pressed its heat into the crooks of his knees while it fought for extra space. The bed felt wrong without it. There was a cold breeze too, for the window above his head was gaping open. Tom’s bedroom had no radiator, so he was shivering.

  It made sense to get up and pull on a jersey, and that’s when he noticed the door was still closed. If the door was shut, Spider couldn’t have passed through it—and that meant his best friend must still be in the room. Tom saw at once that this wasn’t possible, for there were no hiding places. The idea that he had somehow jumped vertically upwards out of the skylight was ridiculous, so that meant, logically, that his dad (or Phil) had entered his room in the night without waking him and carried Spider away.

  He crept downstairs, listening for movement. The house was silent, and he had the very strong sense that it was Spider-less. He padded into the kitchen, and—sure enough—the basket was empty. The back door was closed, so Tom was forced to sit down at the table and face the fact that there was no explanation. He was now seriously worried. Ideally, he would have woken up his father and asked him what had happened. That was unwise, however, as his father had just got to bed and would be seriously cross if anyone disturbed him. Phil wouldn’t be down for a while, so he resigned himself to an impatient wait.

  Tom showered to get warm, and went back upstairs to get dressed. It was a schoolday, so that meant the usual too-big uniform. He had two white shirts, and they were both dirty. He pulled the cleaner one on,
tucking it in firmly. Without a belt his trousers would have fallen straight down to his ankles, and his blazer was more like an overcoat. His clownish appearance amused the other boys, who had mocked him all year without mercy. Even the tie felt ridiculous. Tom pulled the jersey back on and walked slowly down to the kitchen.

  The house had lost its soul.

  The phone rang at seven forty-five, as it did most mornings. He listened as the answerphone service cut in, inviting the caller to leave a message. The silence that followed was a long one, and he stood with his eyes closed. His mother spoke, softly, and after three words he turned the machine off.

  At ten past eight, the door opened.

  “Phil,” said Tom, “have you seen Spider?”

  “Of course not. And what are you doing here at this time? You should have left by now.”

  “I’m talking to you, about my dog.”

  “You’ll be late again.”

  “He’s gone missing, Phil. Someone’s taken him or he’s escaped.”

  Phil laughed. “Have you checked the garden?”

  “The door’s locked. How would he get out?”

  “I’ve no idea. You should’ve bought yourself a fish, mate, and kept it safe in a bowl. That dog’s causing nothing but trouble.”

  Tom bit his tongue and stifled a scream. Phil brought his idiotic goldfish up whenever he could, claiming it had a distinct personality. Tom despised the creature.

  “Look,” he said quietly. “You locked up last night. Did you lock all the doors?”

  “Of course.”

  “You forget sometimes.”

  “Rarely.”

  “So, if you definitely locked up, Spider couldn’t have got out. That means someone’s broken into my bedroom and taken him.”

  “Your dad, you mean? Why would your dad steal Spider?”

  “I don’t know. Because he doesn’t like him?”

  “Tom, he’s exhausted at the moment. He’s on shift work. The shift has changed—”

  “I know that. He was going on about it.”

  “So he’s not going to muck about stealing dogs. Why is Spider sleeping in your room anyway?”

  “He’s lonely.”

  “Really? You’re breaking the rules.”

  “He needs looking after, Phil. He’s missing his family.”

  “Really.”

  Phil was looking at the answerphone and its winking red light.

  “Has your mum phoned?” he said.

  “No.”

  “That’s a message. Is it her?”

  “Perhaps,” said Tom. “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

  “She just wants to speak to you, man—and you can’t keep avoiding it. You need to be brave, all right?”

  “I need to find Spider, Phil. That’s what I’m thinking about, and I haven’t got time for anything else.”

  “I’ll look for him, all right? You need to get going.”

  “Why? I hate the place—you know I do. I don’t want to go there, and… I don’t see why I should.”

  Phil sighed and sat down. He played with his keys for a moment, and Tom stared at the table.

  “I thought things were improving,” Phil said. “You told me it was getting better.”

  “Did I?” Tom snorted, and put his head in his hands.

  He felt a prickling in his nose, which signalled the onset of tears. He knew he wouldn’t cry, though, because he had crying under strict control. He pressed his teeth together and blinked: sure enough, the moment passed, and his eyes were dry. He didn’t normally get tearful in his own kitchen, and he was angry with himself.

  “What are they saying?” asked Phil.

  “Nothing. The usual.”

  “Then you need to talk to someone. Or your dad does.”

  “To say what? I’m at the wrong school, with the wrong people.”

  “And the scholarship?”

  “Stuff it.”

  “No. You have a tutor, don’t you?”

  “She’s useless.”

  “Then we’ll see the head of year, or the head. There is no way you should put up with any kind of crap.”

  “Why not?” said Tom. “I put up with yours.”

  He walked out of the room, leaving Phil standing in shocked silence.

  Tom climbed to the top of the house and packed the bag he should have packed the previous evening. He checked he had his homework and his diary and his pencil case, and at the last moment remembered it was PE, which meant he needed his kit, which hadn’t been washed—it was still screwed up in a carrier bag. He exchanged his jersey for the blazer, but even as he put his pen in the pocket he realized he’d been serious: he wasn’t going to school. He could not sit in a classroom while Spider was lost, so he would skip a day. Instead, he would scour the streets in every direction, walking till his smart new shoes fell to pieces. He would find his friend and bring him home.

  Phil was still in the kitchen, nursing a cup of tea.

  “Do I talk crap?” he said. “What did you say that for? I’m trying to help you, Tom. I can see you’re unhappy—me and your dad.”

  “I don’t need a counsellor, thanks.”

  “You miss your mum—”

  “Really?” interrupted Tom. “You’re quite a psychologist, and I’d love to hear more. But right now I’m going to find my dog.”

  He crossed the hall and pulled the front door open. A bundle of fur exploded at his feet, unfolding into a barking, yelping, licking machine. He was tipped backwards on to the carpet, where he lay in an ecstasy of relief. Spider was in his arms, and the warmth was back: everything in the world had righted itself in an instant. He hugged the dog tight to his chest and nuzzled him. Then he led him back to the kitchen and went to school.

  How had Spider found his way down from the rooftops?

  He’d never be able to explain, partly because he didn’t speak Tom’s language, but also because the details were confused in his mind.

  One set of slippery slates had looked very like another, and his journey over them had been a nightmare. He remembered that he’d got to a skylight window, only to find that it was the wrong one: he was on a different house entirely. That panicked him, and when he clambered back up to the ridge he was more confused than ever. He tried to do what Moonlight had done, but for him it was like walking a tightrope, and his paws were just too cumbersome. He ended up inching his way along on his belly, moving from chimney to chimney. At last, he found a house with a flat-roofed extension, and though he nearly impaled himself on some vicious spikes, he managed to get down on to a fire escape. There was a gate at the bottom and he had to risk skinning himself, forcing his way through a gap hardly wider than his nose. At one point he got stuck and had to rest for a few minutes, pinched at the hips. After some bone-crushing squirms, he was free, on pavement level at last, and he set about trotting round and round the houses hunting for a landmark.

  It was the house that smelt of spices which told him he was close. He moved on, past the boarded-up shop, and caught a whiff of petrol. Phil’s moped was by the kerb, outside the familiar yellow door, and though he scratched and whined, it dawned on him that he’d be better off waiting until the morning.

  He had sat there for hours, pondering Moonlight’s words. Was there cat in his blood? Was that why he’d been drawn to her, the first time he saw her? And was that why he sometimes felt restless? How could he ever abandon Tom? He wasn’t a slave.

  Cats are selfish, horrible things, he thought. That’s what Tom had said, but he hadn’t ever met Moonlight.

  Spider turned the encounter over in his mind, pondering her words. When the front door finally opened, it was a relief to stop thinking.

  “So what happened, exactly?” asked Thread. “You busted up my web and made the boy late for school. Full marks, Fido—you’re doing well.”

  “Was he late for school?”

  “Of course he was. I hear everything: the school phoned home and woke up his dad. You’ve done it again, you
see.”

  “I didn’t realize. Why do I cause so many problems? I don’t mean to, but they just keep happening.”

  “You know what I think? You’re in what’s called ‘an unsustainable relationship’. Do you know what that means?”

  Spider shook his head.

  “It means the honeymoon’s over, dog. There’s no credible future for the two of you, which is what I said at the start. The first time we met, I told you straight: the set-up is a bad one. You won’t get lies from a spider, Spider: we observe the world, and we tell it like it is. You’ll find plenty of so-called friends who’ll say how wonderful you are, but they’re flattering fools. I hear lies and deception every day.”

  “Who tells you lies?”

  “My visitors. Up here, in the web—they’re all full of it.”

  “I don’t understand you, Thread—I’m not sure I ever do. What visitors do you get?”

  “The bug fraternity. I’m talking about my little clients, OK? Those who check in long-term. You can meet them if you want—they’d be pleased to see a friendly face, even if it’s yours.”

  Spider stared, completely bewildered.

  “Use your head,” said Thread, chuckling. “How do spiders eat? And, by the way, why did you get called Spider?”

  “Because of my legs.”

  “Of which you have four.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “One at each corner, as is traditional for a quadrupedal dog. You’re the least spider-like animal I ever saw, but so be it. That boy’s got a lot of problems, so you can’t expect him to think rationally. Back to the matter in hand: how does a creature like me get to eat? It’s general knowledge.”

  “You catch things. In a web.”

  “In the web you put your paw through, yes. You want to meet the gang, then get on the wardrobe.”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t want to take any more risks.”

  “You managed it last night. You were up here in a flash when the cat waved her whiskers. What was all that about?”

  “She wanted to talk.”

  “Oh, I heard what she said.”

  “What she said to me was private, Thread—and very personal.”