Paws, page 4
“Oh no.”
I clamp my back teeth together. Phil says Ned and I can go into his front garden to get our balls back any time, but I can’t get into his back garden because he has big locked wooden gates, and I know he’s not home because his white Toyota and his wife Kuku’s silver Toyota aren’t on the drive.
Kevin is staring at the fence, his tail not wagging any more. He turns and looks at me, and then at the fence, jerking his head back and forth. I grind my teeth a bit harder and he lets out a small bark.
“But I can’t get it,” I explain.
And then I remember that I have another ball inside, hidden in my closet. It’s not mine, it’s Ned’s – I took it from him when I was ten after he stole my computer mouse and wouldn’t give it back.
I smile, imagining Dad saying, “Good remembering,” and Mum grinning.
“Right, wait here, Kevin,” I say, but he’s nibbling on his back leg now and not looking at me. I tiptoe-run up to the white-speckled porch, which looks silver in spots and burns the soles of my feet, and I swing open the screen door and rush to my bedroom. My blinds are pulled down, which means Ned must have come back in, so I pull the cord, sending them straight back up. They make a juddering, swishing sound as they climb and I pause, listening to make sure Ned doesn’t come in and close them again.
I do not like it when he comes in my room.
Ned’s door is shut, his “Ned’s Man Cave” sign hanging lopsided on the front, and I can’t hear any noises coming from inside. He must have his big black headphones on.
Clinks and chinks of plates and the sound of Mum humming come from the kitchen, which means she’s cooking – ham, egg and chips tonight.
I’m safe.
I plop down on my bed and grab my notebook, the green robot one, and a pencil from the bedside table, and I open it to the half-finished sketch of Dennis. He’s lying on his back asleep, with his floppy white and brown face hanging off to the side, his gums and teeth exposed. I think it’s Dennis’s favourite position because he’s always lying like that. He only gets up to greet people when they come in the front door – sometimes – and when there’s food around. He doesn’t even like to go out for a walk. But I love him anyway.
I think I love all dogs.
Adjusting the pencil in my fingers, I start lightly flicking the tip across Dennis’s legs to show his fur. When I’m finished on that I shade darker in places to show the brown patches on his face. Some people say bulldogs are ugly, but that’s mean because no dogs are ugly.
Angel told me to bring my notebook in and show her my new sketches, but I can only do that when I’ve used all the pages. She said she can’t wait to see them.
It takes a few more minutes until I’m happy with this sketch of Dennis. I nibble the already chewed and dented end of the pencil as I admire the picture, looking to see if I can make any improvements.
I turn the page – only one more to fill and then it’s done. I glance over to my bookshelves, the four Dog Hero graphic novels Mum bought me that I haven’t looked at yet, and at the forty-two other filled notebooks of sketches, which take up two and a half shelves.
I haven’t always sketched my dogs. I used to draw OrbsWorld games and robots quite a lot, and also cars, but now I only draw dogs. Dennis is harder to draw than Kevin because I look at Kevin a lot more than Dennis, and when I shut my eyes I can picture him exactly as he is in real life.
My eyes open really wide.
I suddenly remember why I came into my bedroom. My insides feel like they’re flipping over.
I forgot about Kevin.
“Kevin!”
I throw my notebook on the bed and hop up. I rip open my closet door and feel around at the back and bottom among all the jigsaw boxes and board games.
Got it. I pull out Ned’s pink tennis ball.
Without shutting my closet door I dart from my room, down the hall, and charge back outside.
“Kevin!” I call, stepping onto the grass. “I have the other ball.”
Kevin doesn’t come, so I call him again, and wander around our small front garden looking for him. I even go through the side gate and out into the narrow paved back garden where Dad cooks on the barbecue and Mum sits and reads, but Kevin’s definitely not here.
I don’t like it out here because there are often big spiders making webs.
My tummy swirls as I run back to the front garden, my eyes searching everywhere, my voice calling over and over for Kevin.
My heart is loud in my ears and I can’t hear anything else apart from my shouts.
“Kevin!”
Again and again and again.
But Kevin doesn’t come. He’s gone.
The screen door bangs open and Mum runs out, the Guide Dogs tea towel that I bought with my birthday money when I was nine flapping in her hand. It matches the colours of her blue shorts and white vest.
“What on earth?” she says, her face frowning and sweaty, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. “What are you shouting about?”
“Kevin,” I shout. “I can’t find Kevin.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine and my cheeks and neck and chest hurt.
I stare up the street at all the houses, my eyes seeking out any sign of Kevin’s white fur. All the sounds around me are unnaturally loud, hammering at my eardrums: Mum’s flip-flops slapping the ground as she dashes back inside, the screen door squeaking open and then smashing closed, the squawking birds, and my booming heartbeat.
My chest squeezes and feels funny.
I can’t lose Kevin. Can’t can’t can’t!
I used to watch Animal Rescue on TV, about dogs who go missing and wander the streets and get hit by cars or never find their owners, but I stopped because it made me too sad. I couldn’t stop thinking about all those poor dogs.
This can’t happen to Kevin.
But Kevin wears a blue collar, a paw print-shaped tag attached with both the vet’s and Mum’s mobile phone numbers scratched into it. Someone will call us if they find him.
The front door opens again, followed by the sounds of footsteps coming closer, and then Mum’s hand is on my shoulder, lightly resting there, and I don’t shake it off. “Here, put your flip-flops on,” she says softly. At the bottom of my vision I see her toss my dark blue flip-flops to the ground and I slide my feet, one by one, onto the soft fabric.
And then I hear Ned’s voice. “Don’t cry, Al, Kevin won’t go far.”
I nod, and Ned’s fingertips wipe gently at my cheeks, and that’s when I realise I’ve been crying. I inhale a shuddering breath and whisper, “I can’t lose Kevin,” which is the only thought in my head.
“Well, let’s go find him then,” Ned replies. He pats my back and all three of us, side by side like how I leave my shoes, walk forwards, stepping out from the front garden and onto the stones of the road.
We turn left and pass Phil’s garden, which has a white picket fence across the front. Behind the fence are flowering bushes and perfect green grass – much greener and brighter than ours, which is dusty and brown in patches. Mum says Phil and Kuku can have a garden like that because their children are all grown up and have left home, and neither Mum nor Dad are green-fingered, which means they aren’t very good at growing plants.
Mum and Ned call for Kevin too, and we’re all looking, craning our necks and ducking our heads to see over and between the fence panels and behind the bushes and on either side of the house.
Kevin isn’t there.
I hear a sob come from my chest and my bottom lip is quivering. The greens and browns and blues, and the houses and the roofs, and everything else is blurry behind my tears.
Ned pats my back again, and I snivel and sniff and wipe my eyes.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. Kevin won’t go far because he loves you too much,” Ned says.
I nod. Mum says Kevin was put on the earth just for me and that she’s never seen a dog love a human so much. But now Kevin isn’t here so maybe she’s wrong.
The end of Cantering Court, where our house and Phil’s and Derek’s are, is shaped like a saucepan. We’re following the curve of the kerb, coming to the end of Phil’s property. I hear the sounds of that yapping dog filter through the air again, a little louder this time. I remember hearing it as we practised, Kevin’s ears pricking forwards and his tail freezing every time, distracting him.
We walk past number nine, the blue Volkswagen still not there. The grey driveway that takes up most of the front garden is glistening in the sunshine, as if there are a million jewels embedded within it. This house is the smallest on the street, single storey like all the others, but with only the front door and one big window, and no fence at the front.
“Call for him, Alex,” Mum says. “He’ll most likely respond to your voice.”
But I don’t call out, because I’m listening hard and I’m looking even harder. Kevin isn’t anywhere out the front of number nine, so I peer along the thin strip of gravel down the side of the house. I can just about see into the back garden, even the green back fence. It’s paved there, like my back garden.
The yapping dog is louder here and it’s nonstop now. Yap yap yap! I think the dog is inside Derek’s new house. As we walk past I try to look inside the big window, but I don’t see a dog in there, though it’s hard because I can mainly just see our reflections. I try to look past Mum and Ned either side of me, the same height as each other, and me in the middle, but it’s no use.
My eyes stay fixed on the house, my ears blocking out Mum and Ned’s shouts, focusing on the barking dog.
And then I hear a different bark. One I know.
Kevin.
“That’s him!” I squeal. “I hear him!”
“Where? Where did it come from?” Mum asks, scuffing to a stop.
I listen again, harder, concentrating. Yap yap yap! But it’s not Kevin’s bark this time. I wander a few steps forwards until I’m almost at the end of number nine’s garden, and this time I peer down the other side of the house, where white and brown gravel makes a narrow path all the way to the back.
And Kevin barks again.
“Kevin!” I shout. “KEVIN!”
My stomach swirls, and my skin feels fizzy and my breathing gets fast.
Yap yap yap!
“Kevin, come here!”
And suddenly Kevin’s head appears, peering around the brick wall at the back of the house, ears forwards. He barks once at me and then disappears again.
Yap yap yap!
“THERE HE IS!”
I’m about to run around the back of the house when I hear a car engine and I freeze. I spin to face the top of Cantering Court, where I see the blue Volkswagen swing around the corner and crawl towards us.
Mum says something but her words won’t go in my brain, and then she grabs my shoulder and pulls me backwards until we’re all standing outside Phil’s house again. My eyes don’t leave the car. It pulls onto the driveway very slowly, nothing like the way Dad parks his truck on ours. The Volkswagen rises with the kerb, front wheels then back wheels, and then it stops and the engine sputters as it cools down.
Three doors open at once. Out steps Mindy with her dark blue schoolbag in her arms, still wearing her school uniform. On the other side of the car are Derek and his mum. Mindy smiles at me and then peeks over at Ned, flicking her white hair back over one shoulder.
The car doors shut almost all at the same time, making a loud bang, which jolts me, then Derek’s mum comes around the back of the car, hooking a bag over her shoulder. It’s a shiny bag that matches her high-heeled shoes and her black shirt and trousers.
Derek is behind her, still in his Jessops Lake uniform, and he lifts his hand and waves. “Hi Alex,” he says through his lopsided smile.
But I’m still listening to the yap yap yap inside the house so I can’t reply.
“Is everything okay?” Derek’s mum says. Her accent isn’t Australian.
Mum steps forwards and Ned steps back, behind me.
“I’m so sorry,” Mum starts, extending her right hand to Derek’s mum. “I’m Kim, from number seven.” She lets out a strange snort-laugh. “You must find it strange that we’re all here outside your house.” She snort-laughs again. “My son” – she puts her hand on my head, flattening down my hair – “Alex, has lost his dog and–”
“He’s in your back garden!” I blurt, pointing at their house.
“He’ll be saying hello to Vinnie probably,” Mindy says with a giggle, rolling her blue eyes and then peering over my head at Ned again.
Derek’s mum takes Mum’s hand and shakes it once. “Wilma,” she says, then holds up a set of jingling keys. “Well, why don’t you come inside and we can let the dogs meet properly,” she says, smiling at me. Her smile is just like Derek’s, all on one side. “But you must excuse the boxes. We are not unpacking everything yet.”
I glance at Derek. “You have a dog?”
“Yeah, Vinnie. He’s a Jack Russell.”
Jack Russells are good dogs, small and friendly and fun. I peer again at Derek’s house, eager to see Kevin.
Wilma’s heels clip on the driveway to the front door, which she unlocks. Mindy follows, and so does Mum, but Ned stays behind me. Derek tilts his head towards his house.
“Come on,” he says to me. “Vinnie will love meeting you.”
I feel excited to meet Vinnie too. But most of all I’m excited to see Kevin.
Kevin’s on the paved patio out the back. He leaps up at the glass kitchen doors on the outside, and Vinnie leaps up at the doors on the inside. Vinnie’s still yapping, and it’s high-pitched and fast, yap yap yap. It hurts my ears a bit as it echoes around the white kitchen, but I don’t mind too much and it makes me smile and laugh. My smile gets even bigger as I watch Kevin. He’s here, safe, and he looks funny, like he’s on a trampoline.
“Alex!” Mum calls, but I keep watching Kevin, hands patting my thighs, pat pat pat.
“Alex!” Mum’s voice is a bit louder this time so I turn and see her standing with Wilma, Mindy and Derek by the front door, beckoning me back. “Come and take off your shoes.” She points at the floor next to her.
When I walked through the front door I spotted Kevin straight away and I ran, my flip-flops flap flapping on the white tiles.
I look down at my feet and then up at Wilma, afraid that she will tell me off. I don’t like being told off.
“It’s okay, Alex,” Wilma says, striding into the kitchen, still in her heels. Mindy is right behind her, also still in her shoes. Wilma unhooks her bag from her shoulder and puts it on the black speckled counter. “We are not posh here.” She turns to Mum and Ned. “Come through,” she tells them, and they wander in, Ned behind Mum, his hands buried in his shorts pockets.
My tummy feels lighter now that I can see Wilma and Mindy in their shoes. Something wet pokes at my shin and I look down to see Vinnie sniffing me, his little white and brown tail sticking up and wagging from side to side. I crouch down and stroke his head. His fur isn’t as soft as Kevin’s; it feels prickly and smooth all at once. He’s the same colours as Dennis, but smaller and skinnier and his snout is pointier – and he has a proper long tail instead of a stubby one. Also, Vinnie is funny and is definitely smiling at me.
Derek squats beside me. Vinnie’s tail wags even faster and he leaps into Derek’s lap. Derek falls back onto his bottom and Vinnie climbs up onto his chest, licking and nibbling Derek’s ears while he laughs and tells Vinnie to stop.
I like Vinnie.
I look back at Kevin, who’s still outside but sitting now, ears forwards, head tilted, watching us with his tiny black nose pressed against the glass. “Awww,” I say.
“Shall I let your dog inside?” Wilma asks, her hand already on the silver door handle.
I stand and nod. “Yes, please.” She opens the door.
Kevin springs over the doorstep and winds around my legs once, then he and Vinnie immediately make a circle with their bodies, Kevin sniffing at Vinnie’s bottom and Vinnie sniffing at Kevin’s, and they move around and around until my eyes go dizzy and I have to look away.
“Oh, they are just the cutest together,” Mindy says, sitting down on a stool at the kitchen counter and crossing her legs.
Mindy is right. Kevin and Vinnie are so cute, but now they’ve stopped circling and sniffing and instead they’re swiping paws at each other and making growling sounds.
I step back and frown, holding onto the edge of the kitchen counter. “Are they fighting?” I ask.
“No, I think they’re playing. I think they like each other,” Wilma says, her blue eyes bright and smiley.
I study Vinnie and Kevin again as they scramble from side to side, low on their front legs, bottoms raised and tails wagging, and then they jump at each other, growling and pawing again. I think Wilma is right. Kevin looks like he’s having fun, like he does when we play tug of war or when I throw his ball, so I smile again but don’t let go of the counter, not yet.
Derek climbs to his feet and then I notice that he’s not wearing his Jessops Lake uniform any more. “Would you like a drink, Alex?” he asks.
“When did you change your clothes?” I ask, my eyes growing wide when I see the big red O above the zig-zagging W on his white T-shirt – the OrbsWorld OW.
“I like to change out of my uniform as soon as I get home.” He shrugs and then points to the fridge. “Did you want a drink?”
I put a finger to my chin and think about my mouth and my throat. They feel dry and scratchy, so I nod. “Just water . . . ”
“Please,” Mum’s voice adds.
“Please,” I repeat.
“Coming right up!” Derek says. He skips past me and opens one of the glossy white cupboards.
“Good idea, Derek!” Wilma says, clapping her hands together, which makes me startle and grip the counter a bit harder. “We should have a cup of tea. Kim, do you have time?”
“I’d love one,” Mum replies.
