There Is No Dog

by Meg Rosoff

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the Eck, Daddy.’

  Hed closed his eyes, and his complexion darkened.

  She waited, perfectly composed, till the shroud of smoke around him receded. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything. You won him fair and square.’

  ‘Fine. In which case, the conversation is closed. I never want to think about that idiot creature ever again. My chef is making arrangements for a nice pink peppercorn sauce to go with him. Though how he’s supposed to know what sort of sauce is best for a creature he’s never tasted …’ Hed shrugged.

  ‘But do you remember when I mentioned something in lieu?’

  Hed’s expression was stony.

  ‘I didn’t want you to think that I’d dropped the idea.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it. At all. To be perfectly frank.’

  ‘Only …’

  Hed glowered.

  Estelle’s smile, small and amused, nonetheless had the power to turn blood to ice. ‘I am quite determined.’

  ‘Determined, eh?’ The look Hed aimed at his daughter contained more than a touch of menace. ‘Determination can be a wonderful thing. And also utterly, totally pointless. If you get my drift.’

  ‘Entirely, Daddy.’

  ‘Well, then. Conversation over.’

  Estelle stood and kissed him. ‘I think you mean, “To be continued”.’

  Hed did not smile back. Except later. Just a little. To himself.

  32

  ‘You’ll be glad to hear that my meeting with Lucy’s mother went well.’

  Eck looked up.

  ‘I think she liked me.’

  The little beast squinted, dubious.

  ‘Though I don’t suppose it matters, really. I’m God, she’s not. I don’t have to ask her anything. I’m just trying to do things the right way. Be polite. For Lucy’s sake. Actually, to be perfectly honest, I don’t give a damn if she approves or not.’

  ‘Eck?’ What about Lucy, he mused. I bet she cares.

  Bob looked glum.

  Though bursting with news about his new friend, Eck knew better than to share it. The effort of keeping the secret caused his nose to twitch.

  Bob looked away, feigning indifference. ‘You think Lucy’s amazing, don’t you?’

  Eck shrugged. He hadn’t seen enough of her to know. She clearly wasn’t as amazing as his friend.

  ‘And that we should be together forever?’ Bob’s eyes remained fixed on the window.

  Eck hesitated. Forever seemed a strange concept to apply to a human. Lucy would live longer than he, a doomed Eck – but still, she was human. What would happen when she grew old and died?

  And what about me, he wondered. Just a few weeks left. Will anyone miss me, or ever think of me when I’m dead? And does it matter? Will I even know?

  He tried not to think about such things, but when he did, it was as if an imponderably large black hole had gaped open in his stomach and he was falling into it.

  A shoe hit him in the temple and he yelped in pain.

  ‘Eck!’ He rubbed his head.

  ‘That’s what I thought too.’ But Bob didn’t appear cheered by this confirmation.

  Whenever Eck thought about the world after he was gone from it, he felt dizzy and full of terror. An eternity dead, while the rest of the world went about its business not thinking about him at all – how could that be? It seemed cruel to him, being put on Earth just long enough to comprehend the full horror of extinction.

  He’d tried to take the subject up with Bob. Why, he had asked, do I have to die?

  In his heart of hearts, he’d been hoping that Bob would answer with an explanation of how he’d made an exception for his special pet; how, despite everything, Eck would live on into eternity – rather like the dodo in the Natural History Museum, he thought, only livelier.

  But Bob hadn’t corrected him. He hadn’t laughed tolerantly and smacked him on the shoulder, and said, ‘Don’t be a dolt. Of course I’ll make sure you live forever, you daft Eck.’ He hadn’t even jabbed him in the ribs and reminded him about heaven or the afterlife. Bob had merely shrugged and turned back to the TV, and by the time he noticed Eck again it was obvious that he’d forgotten the question.

  So the answer to the question about whether he would have to die, Eck gathered, was yes. Yes, he would have to die; yes, he would be forgotten and the world would go on forever without him. With no mitigating circumstances to make the horror easier to swallow.

  It strained his relationship with Bob. Why did you bother creating me, he wanted to ask. Why bother giving me a brain and a realization of how miserable existence can be? Why did you invent creatures who die, and worse, who know they are going to die? What is the point of so unkind an act of creation?

  But Bob hated difficult questions, and Eck’s place in the household was tenuous enough already. For one thing, he ate too much. For another, he had an endless supply of questions. The funny thing was (only it didn’t seem so funny to him) that being filled with questions only somehow made him feel emptier.

  It didn’t help that Bob had already placed an order for a new pet.

  Mr B was somewhat kinder, making certain he had regular meals, and even giving him a pat once in a while. But no one seemed to take much of a serious interest. Dead Eck walking, that was him.

  He tried to keep out of trouble, and occasionally thought about running away, finding another place to spend his last days. But his courage always failed him. He was just an Eck, and not a particularly fine specimen of an Eck, if what Bob told him was true. Without Bob, he wouldn’t even have the dignity of being someone’s pet.

  ‘Nothing,’ Bob said to him on any number of occasions. ‘You are nothing.’

  In his heart of hearts, Eck believed that he was nothing, for wouldn’t God know about such matters?

  Being nothing made him sad.

  33

  ‘Lucy, darling. You know I hate to pry, but, really, the man – the boy – was insupportably rude.’ Worse than rude. ‘I’m not entirely sure how to describe it –’

  At the other end of the telephone, Lucy made an impatient sound. ‘Is there anything else? Because I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘Well, no … there’s nothing else, and I can understand perfectly that you don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to talk about it either, in point of fact. Only, he did come looking for me, hunting me down, if you must know. And he asked me for your hand in marriage … which you have to admit is a trifle odd.’

  Marriage? Lucy trembled. Marriage? Oh my God.

  ‘Lucy?’

  ‘Yes, I’m here.’

  ‘In this day and age, darling? Why approach me? He barely knows you, and he certainly doesn’t know me. And how did he know where to find me? You say you didn’t give him the address and, even if you had, he didn’t find me at home. I don’t like it, darling. It feels wrong.’

  ‘He asked permission to marry me. Some parents might consider that a nice thing.’

  Laura sighed. ‘It’s not what he asked, darling, it’s how.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that wanting to marry me makes him some sort of sociopath, Mother? A pervert? Do you want me to call the police, Mother?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Though Laura wondered if perhaps that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. ‘I’m only thinking of you.’

  ‘Look, Mother, if it makes you feel better, I’ll investigate, find out all about him. One of my friends knows his family,’ she lied.

  ‘Which friend?’

  ‘Oh for heaven’s sake,’ Lucy said, thinking of the skinny, rather unprepossessing boy of her dreams. ‘Are you suggesting that he’s dangerous?’

  Laura frowned. Odd, unpleasant, inappropriate, surreal? Yes. But dangerous?

  Yes.

  She could see him clearly now – the childish manner, the weird density of him, with something threatening und
erneath, something violent and peevish.

  ‘Goodbye, Mother.’ Lucy put down the phone. It was so typical of her mother to be suspicious of anyone who wasn’t part of her circle, anyone different from the ambitious, ordinary sons of her friends. He loves me. Why couldn’t she understand that?

  And yet … Lucy could not pretend to be free of doubt. She tried to push it out of her head. Was she the sort of girl who got what she wanted only to run away? He’d said he loved her. He’d said it.

  But who was he?

  Bob considered the encounter with Lucy’s mother. Their exchange of ideas had been a good start, he thought, though he’d much rather have reduced her to a thimbleful of ash.

  He trembled at the thought of Lucy; a bubble of happiness exploded in his chest. We, he thought. Lucy and me: together. He marvelled at the power of this human girl to make the terrible solitude of his life recede. This was what happiness felt like – this wondrous, miraculous alternative to dread.

  He needed to set the scene, to keep her love safe in a bottle, like a firefly.

  All of this thinking frustrated him. So much to organize. If only Mr B were a proper sort of helper, he could do it, take a few moments out of his frantic schedule of sick children or raped women or whatever his boo-hoo cause of the week happened to be.

  Bob rolled his eyes. Sick, starving, it was all the same. He couldn’t see what the big deal was. Any observer with half a brain knew that there’d always been an underclass – serfs, slaves, untouchables – and, furthermore, that they probably deserved their horrible fates. He hated that Mr B wasted all his time (valuable time the man could be spending on, like, hello, me?) fussing over the huddled masses like some pathetic old hermit granny do-gooder.

  He knocked at Lucy’s window. She came slowly and peered out into the grey incessant rain and the tide of water below her, uncertain, expecting no one. When she saw it was Bob, she smiled, but her greeting was guarded.

  ‘I’ve just stopped by … I just hoped … would you like to have a picnic with me?’

  Despite herself, Lucy giggled. ‘In this weather? Shall I wear a wetsuit?’

  The thought of Lucy in a wetsuit struck him speechless for a moment. ‘Um. That won’t be necessary. We’ll have sunshine by Saturday.’

  She laughed then. ‘Oh, really? What are you? Some kind of weatherman?’

  ‘Some kind,’ he mumbled.

  Her face became solemn once more. ‘So, a picnic. On a boat?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said firmly. ‘On a boat.’

  Lucy paused, considered her reservations, then pushed them aside. ‘OK, Mr Weatherman. A picnic on a boat it is. Shall I bring the picnic?’

  ‘Yes, perfect! I’ll bring the boat.’ Could she hear his exultation in the silence that followed? ‘OK. Well. See you Saturday, then.’

  Neither of them moved.

  ‘Look, Bob …’

  ‘Lucy …’

  They both stopped. The rain paused, droplets hovering uneasily in mid-air.

  ‘Lucy,’ he began, taking both her hands. ‘Lucy, I know we haven’t known each other long, but …’

  ‘Bob, I’m not sure …’

  ‘But I feel terrible when I’m not with you.’ He released her and ran one distraught hand through his hair. ‘I’d leave you alone if I could, but I can’t … I can’t breathe without you. I don’t think you understand how unhappy I’ve been.’

  When their eyes met, the charge nearly knocked her over. What was it about him? She didn’t even seem to have a choice; he needed her and so she needed him back. It was terrifying and exhilarating at once, like riding the crest of a gigantic wave.

  They stood together but apart, both trembling, and then slowly she stepped forward and laid her head against his shoulder. He tightened his arms round her and the grey afternoon peeled away, exposing a soft pink summer sky of extraordinary beauty, radiant with warm amber light. Bob was Midas, turning the world to gold; in his arms, Lucy glowed. As the moments passed, the space around them melted and blurred, and it became impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ Bob murmured, kissing her hair. ‘I’ll think of a way we can be together. I will.’

  And then he pulled back from her and smiled, and his smile sealed her in a lozenge of bright warmth.

  A little dazed, Lucy moved away. The pale oval of her face lingered, flickering for a few seconds after she closed the shutters and disappeared. Bob reached his hand out to grasp her, but touched only air.

  He stood motionless at the window for a long moment. It was late of course, but he was far too wound up to go home. Every particle of him fizzed with desire, with something greater than desire.

  He thought of Mr B and the usual dinner with the usual conversation. ‘You haven’t’, ‘you didn’t’, ‘you should have’. According to Mr B, he embodied all the deadly sins: indolence, lust, a refusal to clear up his room, crankiness (well, who wouldn’t be?), insubordination, dyslexia … how many was that? Normally he didn’t much care what Mr B thought of him, but today, this minute, bathed in the silvery shimmer of Lucy light, he couldn’t bear the thought of returning to his ordinary life.

  He found a boat and pushed off into the soft still radiant dusk.

  Demo version limitation

  Demo version limitation

  36

  Bob’s success in mortal-style seduction left him feeling triumphant – he paddled slowly through the night in his beautiful boat, light and powerful, keen as a laser.

  ‘Hello, my darling.’

  He shrieked and leapt over the side of the boat with a great splash.

  ‘So sorry, my sweet, did I startle you?’

  Climbing back aboard, he spluttered, ‘Yes. Now please go.’

  Mona put on her most engaging pout. ‘But I’ve only just arrived. And, look, you’ve got just enough wine left for a teensy little –’

  Dripping and furious, he snatched the bottle from her hand.

  ‘Never mind the drink, then.’ Mona’s smile looked strained. ‘Well, so! She certainly seems like a lovely girl. The hair, the smile, the whole …’ She indicated helplessly. ‘But if you’ll just …’

  Bob turned away. ‘Just what? Oh, I get it – you noticed that I’m a teensy bit less suicidal than usual and you’ve come to fix that?’

  Mona sighed. ‘The thing is, my darling – she’s mortal. Not her fault, obviously, but a problem nonetheless. Think about it. Thirty years from now, when she’s fifty-one and you’re … you’re the same as ever.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘OK, not thirty years. Forty years. Sixty. She’ll be a decrepit old mortal and you’ll be exactly the same as you are now. Nineteen? Twenty? I’m so terrible with birthdays.’ Mona peered at him, offering a small sympathetic smile. ‘It never works, my darling.’

  ‘I’ll make it work.’

  ‘Oh, but, my sweet, you won’t.’ She dipped her head in sympathy. ‘How many mortals have you been with? One? Ten?’

  He glared. ‘How many have you been with?’

  Mona smiled and averted her gaze. ‘Oh, heaven knows. I’ve lost count. I do like mortals, that’s true.’ When she turned back to him, her expression was serious. ‘But I’d never fall in love with one. Imagine the explaining you’d have to do. Think of the look on Lucy’s face when you tell her who you are.’

  Bob’s bravado dropped suddenly and his eyes filled with tears. His shoulders sagged. ‘You don’t want me to be happy.’

  His mother’s face was all tenderness. She placed an arm round him, drawing him close. ‘Of course I do, my darling. Of course I want you to be happy. But not like this. This won’t make you happy. And it won’t make her happy either. In actual fact, it will probably scare her to death.’

  Bob wanted to spend forever with Lucy – he did not want their relationship to end with the sort of mistakes he had made in the past
. He would not appear in her bedroom as a vast pawing bull, or a ten-foot eagle with scales. He did not want Mr B to dispose of her afterwards, when he tired of the game. So, he was immortal and she wasn’t … their relationship could still work. He’d make it work.

  For a moment he imagined himself her equal, with nothing between them but true love and a long peaceful future. Surely, as God, he could manage that?

  Mona watched him, the conflict on his face writ large. ‘Sweetheart?’

  Bob swung round and glared at her. ‘Go away.’

  ‘I know some very nice goddesses –’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Only, they’re really quite nice. And immortal.’

  ‘Great. So if I don’t like them I’m stuck with them hanging around forever.’

  Mona sighed deeply and Bob veered on to the offensive. ‘Do you think you have even the faintest clue about the sort of girl I’m attracted to? Don’t make me laugh.’ He laughed, bitterly.

  The thought of a girl chosen for him by his mother was, frankly, repulsive. He could see her exactly. She’d either be hideously prim or a good-time girl like his mother (which would be far, far worse). She’d be possessed of a too-eager smile, big white teeth and a thick cardigan. Or twelve heads and big leathery paws. Either way he felt sick. Whatever girl his mother might dig up for him was definitely not a girl he wanted to meet, much less spend the rest of his life with.

  ‘Darling,’ she began, and something in her tone made him pause. ‘I want you to be happy. I want it more than anything. And if I could pull some strings, or beg some higher power to allow you and Lucy to live happily ever after, I would. But it doesn’t work like that, my darling.’

  Bob stared at her. ‘But I love her.’

  ‘I know you do. I’m sorry.’ She embraced him and stroked his hair. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured.