Dog, Page 3

  Thread disappeared into the skylight above, and Spider found he was trembling all over. The fur on his back was sticking up as if he’d been electrocuted, and when Tom appeared in the doorway he found he was cowering. He moved back against the wall and lifted a paw.

  Tom stopped.

  “Oh, Spider,” he said.

  Spider hung his head. He couldn’t look up, for the boy’s voice was so full of tears, and his face was wet.

  “Spider,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  The dog waited, too confused to even whimper. He could hear the pain, and it dawned on him that this really was the end. Tom had already had enough—he’d been let down by the one he loved, and the experiment was over. He sat on the bed wearily, and looked at his pet.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said the boy. “Come here—come on. It was my mistake, OK? I should never have dropped the lead. I nearly got you killed, but I didn’t think. I just… It was that kid, Rob Tayler. I hate him, Spider. He was yelling at me—all the usual stuff—so I just got confused. And I… I let go.”

  Tom drew Spider into his arms.

  “I really thought I’d lost you, boy. I ran after you and… You’re the only dog I’ve ever owned. I didn’t know what I was doing, and Dad’s so angry because we’re broke again. We’re always, always broke, and he says he should never have got you, but I told him…”

  Spider managed a lick. He crept closer, and felt both Tom’s arms round his neck.

  “I love you, OK?” said the boy softly.

  He drew the dog on to his lap.

  “Dad says we should have got a cat, but that’s not true. Cats are selfish, horrible things—I hate them. We’re going to put this behind us and show him what an amazing, wonderful dog you are—because you are. He’ll see it one day, Spider. You’re the best, and we’ll show him.”

  From that day on, Spider tried extra hard.

  He would wake up early, and wait for Tom to come to life. School had started, so five mornings a week there was a careful ritual as the boy transformed himself. Spider gazed as he pulled on black trousers and a white shirt. The tie came next, intricately knotted and painstakingly adjusted. It was black, with red, diagonal bars. Over that went the sombre jacket, and Spider would watch as Tom buttoned it so the golden lion gleamed over his heart. Five minutes later, he’d comb his hair and pat Spider’s head. He’d leave the house, and the dog would trot off to the back garden.

  A fence had been erected halfway down to keep him safe, and he could move freely in and out of the kitchen. Phil appeared around lunchtime with food, and Spider combined sleep and exercise quite happily until Tom returned. Then up he went to the boy’s bedroom, his paws drumming joyfully, and Tom peeled the same uniform off to put it carefully back in the wardrobe. He then sat down at his desk, and only when he’d completed a full two hours of concentrated homework did he look up and smile.

  “Done,” he would say.

  Spider would be on his feet.

  “You ready, boy? Let’s hit the park.”

  When he heard those words, Spider would leap up in a corkscrew of pleasure. Ten minutes later they’d be through the gates, looking out at the expanse of grass.

  The dog did his best to obey Tom’s commands promptly, and they settled into a routine that seemed to make everybody happy. At first, disobeying an order made Tom laugh, but it soon led to frustration and repetition. It was easier, in the end, to sit when instructed, and come when called. “Heel!” was the most difficult thing, and they practised that for what seemed like hours. “Heel!” meant “Calm down! Go slow!”—and that was totally against Spider’s quick, bright nature.

  The park soon became a gloriously familiar place, as were the streets around it. They explored the woods a little, too, though Spider was always on the lead. Days turned to weeks, and finally the moment came: once again, he was to be given unlimited freedom. He understood that his collar would remain fixed to his neck. The lead, however, could be unhooked in a second. As Tom bent down and took hold, Spider knew he was facing the most important test of his life so far. He could feel the boy getting anxious.

  Suddenly, the lead was off—and Spider just managed not to run. The boy walked backwards slowly. He called Spider’s name, and Spider leapt forward, straight to him. This caused Tom a quite remarkable amount of pleasure and relief, so they did it again and again. It became a regular thing: they’d get to the park, and Spider found that once he’d performed that simple trick, he was trusted. The trust meant he could go where he wanted, so off he’d go to frisk with the other dogs—and he soon had dozens of friends.

  He was constantly astounded at the variety around him. There were creatures twice his size, but what intrigued him were the ones that were so tiny they looked like toys. There were bald dogs and hairy dogs, and a particularly nervous creature who looked just like a lamb. For a while, Spider was fascinated by an Alsatian who talked earnestly about his career in the police force. There was an old greyhound, too, who would totter unsteadily off the path, before standing absolutely still with her eyes closed. She talked so quietly that Spider had to put his ear close to her nose, and she’d whisper about her time on some racetrack. When he got back home he’d think about all he had heard, and wonder in his heart if he should be catching criminals, or competing in complicated sports before cheering crowds. Most animals liked to talk about themselves, he noticed, but if a dog ever said “So then, what are you?”, he was a little nervous about answering.

  “A pet,” he’d say.

  “I can see that. What kind, though?”

  “No kind, really. Just a pet.”

  *

  Tom seemed happy enough, and that was the important thing. They played with sticks, and they played with balls. The sun would be sinking, but they would always squeeze another few minutes out of the day to run, jump and wrestle. Tom would throw; Spider would catch. There was a wonderful balance, and a sense that the game might never end.

  “Find it, Spider! Fetch!”

  Wherever the object fell, Spider would be there. He’d tease Tom the way Tom teased him, but he’d always return things in the end and the boy would hurl them away again. Spider found that some nights he would dream of sticks and chase them in his sleep. More than once he’d wake up with his legs pumping, astonished that he wasn’t in the park at all. The duvet would be on the floor, and Tom would be curled on his side, thumb in mouth.

  The only complication was the boy on the bike, who often reappeared at weekends. Sometimes he came alone, and sometimes he had friends with him. What worried Spider was that his conversation always seemed to make Tom nervous.

  “Who cuts your hair, Lipman?” the boy said, on one occasion. “You’re as ugly as your dog.”

  “I do.”

  “That makes sense, then—saving money. I thought you were a little girl when I first saw you—and, oh, you’re running away again. We’re coming for you soon, you know: me and Marcus. We’re going to train you properly. Teach you some manners.”

  Spider began to feel like a bodyguard.

  Tom still smuggled him up to his room every night, and Spider would curl into the crook of his master’s knees, and, just occasionally, when he felt mischievous, he’d nibble at the boy’s toes. Tom, meanwhile, got into the habit of bringing him toys to chew. Spider’s near-death experience with the van receded further and further into the chasms of memory. One particular night, the boy was stroking him as usual, and Spider was leaning into the caress, waiting for the head scratch. It came at last, and went on for two of the nicest minutes of the day. He snuggled down, and Tom turned the light out. Minutes later, he was fast asleep, his heartbeat slowing until it thumped in the same, slow rhythm as Spider’s. The dog squirmed a little closer, enjoying the harmony, and was just about to settle properly when he made a grave mistake. He looked up at the skylight.

  Two eyes were staring through the glass, and they didn’t belong to Thread. Spider jolted to his feet and discovered that his tail was rigid.r />
  The eyes were luminous green.

  They didn’t blink and, as they came closer, he realized that he’d seen them before, weeks and weeks ago, when he’d lived in a box. He recognized the whiskers and the ears and the slim shoulders: it was the silver cat who’d perched on the window sill, and all he wanted was to chase her.

  She was on the roof, of course.

  Spider stared up helplessly, wondering if she was really flesh and blood—she appeared phosphorescent in the moonlight, and a gentle breeze stirred the fur all along her spine. Her ribcage tapered to a delicate waist, and her legs were long. Her eyes widened, and when she tilted her head gently to the right, the pupils flashed and changed colour.

  Spider felt a wild electricity and started to shake.

  Tom put out a hand, sleepily, to stroke and reassure him.

  “Stay,” he mumbled. Then he groaned, “No, sir. It’s in my locker…”

  Spider hardly heard him.

  The cat studied the dog and lifted her chin. Then she put up a paw and revealed sharp, even claws. Spider growled, for they were talons of polished steel, and they’d emerged with mechanical precision. She licked her nose with the neatest, cleanest, pinkest tongue he’d ever seen. The eyes were darkening to jet black, and as he whined again they turned to fiery amber.

  “Spider,” she said softly. “Is that really you?”

  Spider nodded. “Yes.”

  “Oh, forgive me. What must you think? Don’t speak, though…”

  The dog couldn’t have spoken even if he’d had something to say. He was panting and trying to swallow a mouthful of saliva.

  “You are Spider, aren’t you? The puppy I was once so close to, weeks ago? And this is… Oh my, this is forbidden, I know, but I had to find you, Spider. We need to talk…”

  Spider managed to reply, but it was a husky whimper. “You know my name?”

  “I saw you on that beastly leash. I heard you being called.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday. Today. Every day! Spider, don’t you remember me?”

  “Yes, of course!”

  “Oh, thank you. You don’t know what that means to me—to be noticed and remembered. But I should go, shouldn’t I? Dogs and cats, cats and dogs—there’s a certain… distance between us, and rightly so.”

  “You were in the garden, weren’t you? I wanted to chase you.”

  “Of course you did.”

  “I still do!”

  “Ah, you’re so natural, angel. It’s your nature, your… instinct.”

  “Did you follow me home? How did you find me?”

  “I followed my heart. I just wanted to see you one more time. I’m a wanderer, Spider—like you, perhaps, when you’re not on that dreadful leather string, dragged about like a slave. We’re chasing each other, it seems! But, no… No, my dear. I see your master needs you, and I should leave. Isn’t too late, though.”

  “Too late for what?”

  “To stop what’s so inevitable. Oh, when can we meet?”

  “Tomorrow,” said Spider. “I’ll be in the garden—”

  “Impossible, no.”

  “The park, then—late afternoon?”

  “I’ll be gone by morning, and… You must forget me. I’m a wild, crazy fool to even speak to you—to bare my heart—but… won’t you take pity on a lonely soul? Climb up, Spider! Will you do that for me? Now?”

  “How? I can’t really climb.”

  “I think you can. There’s a cat inside you somewhere. Isn’t there?”

  “Is there?”

  “You haven’t felt it, struggling within you?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “You have a cat’s tooth, you know—I can see it. And we share a soul, Spider, so why not try? Brave heart, we can only fail.”

  Spider slipped off the bed on to the floor. He heard Tom turn and moan quietly, so he licked the boy’s hand, then he stepped up on to the chair beside the desk.

  “I might be able to get a bit higher,” he said. “I could do that, possibly, if you could open the window more. Stay where you are—and mind the spider.”

  “What spider?”

  “There’s a web up there. Don’t break it.”

  Spider clambered up on to the desk and looked around for footholds. It wasn’t going to be easy, but a jump and scramble might do it, if he got his claws on the shelf above his head. He launched himself, and, amazingly, without dislodging anything at all, he forced his way up to the flat top of the wardrobe, where he found himself pressed beneath the ceiling. He pushed his snout to the window frame, and the cat backed off, gazing at him out of gemstone eyes.

  “Can you open it a bit wider?” hissed Spider. “If you can press down, the whole thing should swing.”

  The cat shook her head. “We’re fools, you know,” she said. “This isn’t wise.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Are we tempting fate? You’re strong, though. I can see it!”

  “I’m here now,” said Spider. “This is tricky, but I’ll give it a go…”

  He got a paw on to the glass and, sure enough, the whole skylight rotated downwards, leaving him a gap the width of his own body. He jumped again, knowing that if he paused to think about it he’d fall straight down on to the carpet. He floundered, and squeezed on to a slope of wet, chilly roof tiles. His paws slipped over them, but at least he was out. His back legs kicked out by instinct and he got some leverage from the edge of the frame. Thread’s webs caught his fur, and he thought of the little spider—how furious it would be!

  Twisting and pushing, Spider was up and free—and that was when he realized with horror that the roof was dangerously steep. Again, he scratched at the tiles, and again his claws skittered straight over them. The cat reversed quickly, watching with wide, passionate eyes. Spider slid downwards, away from her, and knew he was in real trouble. A new instinct saved him: he splayed himself out on all fours, and the friction of his fur acted as a painful brake. He stretched out absolutely flat and came to rest sideways, just above the gutter. Below was the abyss: a sheer drop to the hard, unforgiving pavement. He glimpsed Phil’s moped and felt his stomach turn over.

  The cat padded carefully down towards him and licked a paw.

  “That was heroic,” she purred. “That was catlike, Spider—catlike in its daring.”

  Spider blinked.

  “I think it was a mistake,” he said.

  His rear end was hanging in space, and he could feel it dragging the rest of him down. There was no way of getting back to the skylight, and he was about to fall.

  “You’re so bold,” said the cat. “No dog I’ve ever met has had such courage. I know what people say—that dogs are fearless and loyal by nature—but I’m afraid that’s rarely true. The dogs I’ve met are violent, selfish, shallow creatures—do you know what I mean?”

  “No,” said Spider. “I’m not sure of anything right now.”

  “Oh, you’re so honest!”

  “I mean, wait. I’m not sure I can stay like this—I really am about to fall off the roof.”

  “Please don’t!”

  “I don’t want to, but—”

  “Where shall we go? Where can we talk?”

  “Look, I need help.”

  “We should find somewhere warm.”

  “Could you steady me, perhaps? Can you reach my tail?”

  “I’m not strong, Spider—you can see that. I’ve always relied upon the strength of others. Oh, I can be quick, yes—but in many ways I’m just a helpless kitten, and the world is so cruel.”

  “I really do need help here. It’s urgent.”

  “Don’t leave me, Spider! What a waste it would be…”

  Spider was feeling sick: one leg was now floating in thin air. He managed to force his front paw on to the metal edge of the gutter and brought the leg that was adrift slowly back to safety. Then, by leaning heavily to one side, he was able to worm his way slowly upwards, like a slug. A television aerial was his target: i
f he could reach that, he could perch on its broad metal base.

  The cat watched, moving with him, just out of reach. She passed above, and Spider kept his eyes on hers.

  By the time he made it, he was panting and shivering.

  “You’re amazing,” said the cat.

  “I feel ill.”

  “You have cat in your blood, you see! That’s what I told everyone, and that’s what drew me to you. Let’s go up to the chimney stack—I’ll show you my domain.”

  “Seriously, I’m not sure I can. I’m heavier than you.”

  “Watch me.”

  The cat jumped, and in three quick leaps she was at the top of the roof, where the slates met the brickwork.

  Spider gulped and resisted the terrible urge to look down. He fixed his eyes on a narrow strip of lead: it was a seal against the weather, and he stepped on to it, knowing that any delay would be fatal. His paws found their grip, and he jumped and ran at the same time, claws scraping as his elbows and knees worked together. He kept his eyes on the chimney, and soon he was squeezing himself up into a flat, sheltered recess. For the first time, he felt secure enough to relax, and though he could feel his heart knocking against his ribcage, he was thrilled by his achievement. What alarmed him now, though, was that the cat he’d been following was actually one of many. There were two further down, and another three perched on the ridge. They were all watching Spider in silence, and as he gazed about him another sauntered close and winked at him.

  Had they all gathered for the view? It was spectacular, for the lines of houses criss-crossed under a vast cavern of stars. Spider could see the park, and just beyond it the tower of a church. There was a tangle of railway tracks behind, gleaming silver, and they seemed to pass under a long snake of road that rose to a huge, hurtling flyover where lights blazed in an unending stream. It was siphoning cars out into an unknown world: some were circling, while others darted like fish. There was a soft, constant roar. When Spider looked up again, he saw an aeroplane drifting towards the moon.

  “You see?” said his companion. “The world is wider than you thought.”