by Rachel Ward
Queenie was standing in the doorway of the launderette, her face pale and drawn. ‘Oh, Bea, it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’
‘There’s no sign of her between here and work. Did you ring the police?’ said Bea.
‘Yes. They didn’t sound very interested. Just said they’d log the call and tell their officers to keep a lookout.’
‘Nothing else?’
‘No, she said there used to be council dog wardens but they all got cut.’
‘Okay, we’ll have to do it, then. We’ll have to find her.’
‘We can tweet about it,’ said Jill. ‘Spread the word.’
‘Oh, good idea,’ said Bea. She got out her phone again and quickly posted an appeal with a photo of Goldie. Despite only having the dog for a few days, she already had dozens of photographs.
‘I only thought I was going to be a couple of minutes, Bea. I should never have left her.’
No, thought Bea, you shouldn’t have. But there was no point saying it out loud. ‘Let’s just concentrate on finding her, Mum. I’m going to go out looking again. Are you staying here?’
‘If she has got loose,’ said Jill, ‘she might have gone home.’
‘Yes,’ said Bea. ‘We should check there. Mum, can you get there by yourself?’
Queenie was ashen. She was scratching at her wrists, making deep red marks. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think I can.’
Bea bit her tongue. Shouting at her would make everything worse. ‘Okay, let’s get you home. Quickly.’
She thanked Jill and bundled Queenie out of the shop.
‘I bet that’s where she is,’ said Queenie. ‘She’ll be waiting by the back door.’
‘Let’s hope so.’
Bea was looking across the rec again and scanning the street as they walked. Her heart lifted a little when they got close to number twenty-three, and she saw that the gate was open. They usually left it closed. Had Goldie nudged it with her nose? Could she really be waiting for them?
But no. Goldie wasn’t in the front garden and when they went round to the back, that was empty too.
Bea unlocked the door. Arthur immediately started winding himself round their legs, miaowing, and Queenie dissolved.
‘I’m sorry, Arthur,’ she said through her tears. ‘She’s gone. Your friend’s gone.’
‘Mum, I’m going to text all my contacts, get them looking too, then I’m going out again.’ Bea started jabbing at her phone. When the text had gone, she checked Twitter. Fifteen retweets already. She felt a flutter of optimism. If everyone helped, surely they’d find her soon.
‘But where will you look?’ said Queenie, sniffing hard.
‘Round the streets, round the rec. If she’s wandered, she won’t have gone far.’
‘Bea,’ said Queenie, dabbing at her face with a tissue. ‘I don’t know how she could have got loose, I really don’t. Do you think someone’s taken her?’
Yes, thought Bea. Yes, I really think they have. ‘I don’t know. I hope not. But I’ve had a thought. You know Jill said she might have come home?’
‘Yes?’
‘I need to check the bungalows properly. See if she’s gone back to Charles’s. Maybe she’s just missing him.’
Queenie’s face lit up. ‘I bet that’s it, Bea. You go and look there. Ring me if there’s any news.’
‘I will.’
‘Promise?’
‘Of course.’
As Bea left the house, she felt convinced they were clutching at straws. Who were they kidding? Goldie couldn’t undo knots. Besides, she was the sort of dog that would stay put even if she wasn’t tied up. But Bea couldn’t just sit and wait. She had to do something, and so she gathered her bag to her side and set off running across the rec again.
33
There was a group of boys in crumpled uniforms on scooters and bikes near the youth shelter. Bea recognised them as the little gang that had tried to frighten her at Halloween. She’d managed to shame them into walking her safely home that time. Now, she took a deep breath and crossed the grass to the little island of concrete.
‘All right, boys?’ she said.
They looked at her with studied lack of interest. ‘All right.’
‘Have you seen a golden retriever in the park? With someone or on its own.’
‘Nope.’
‘Okay, if you do, can you let me know? Or ring the police or something.’ Bea set off across the grass towards the bungalows, then stopped and turned around. ‘Isn’t Ken Thompson with you? He’s one of your mates, isn’t he?’
Unmasking Ken and threatening to tell Ant about his behaviour had been the key to getting the boys to calm down when they’d been harassing her.
The boys shuffled their feet.
‘Do you know where he is?’ she asked.
‘We don’t hang out with him any more,’ one of the boys piped up. ‘He’s scum, isn’t he? Him and his family.’
‘Well,’ said Bea, ‘that’s a bit harsh . . .’
‘We don’t want people like them round here.’
This sounded to Bea like the sort of thing directly repeated from a parent. Normally, she would have tried to reason with them, make them look at things from another angle, but today wasn’t the day and now wasn’t the time.
‘No. Right,’ she said. ‘Do you know who he hangs around with now?’
‘No. Sorry.’
Bea left them and headed towards the top end of the rec, looking left and right as she went, hoping for a glimpse of a sturdy body or a swishy tail.
Please, God, let her be at Charles’ house.
When she got there the terrace of little houses all presented blank faces to the world. No signs of life, even at the house where she’d seen the man earlier. From a way off she could see that Charles’ front garden was empty. She followed the edge of the property. There was a wide alley at the back of the terrace, giving access to the small, rectangular back gardens on one side, bordered by low wooden fences, and a row of garages on the other. Bea walked into the alley, examining the backs of the houses.
Some of the gardens were concreted over, just a place to keep the bins. Others were lovingly tended, even in January perfect oases of grass and shrub and pot plant.
Charles’ garden was neat and functional. By the back wall, there was a bench seat covered with a green plastic sheet. A water bowl sat on the concrete next to it and Bea felt a sharp pang of guilt as she pictured Charles and Goldie together in sunnier times. How could she ever tell him that they’d lost his dog? It was unforgivable. It would break his heart. The guilt intensified as she wondered if Charles had a mobile phone with him. What if he was on social media right now, seeing photos of Goldie flash up? If Goldie didn’t turn up soon, Bea would have to go and tell him. She couldn’t risk him hearing from someone else.
The yard was plainly, gut-wrenchingly empty. Goldie had not found her way here. She wasn’t waiting for Charles. With a heavy heart, Bea walked further along the row, not quite ready to give up.
She took a couple of paces and was aware of the camera on the next house along moving on its hinge. She shivered a little at the thought of that large man inside the house. Was he operating the camera, watching her? ‘No dogs here. Not in my garden.’
She pulled the collar of her coat up a bit further and walked along the row. At the next house the curtains at the back windows were all closed. The garden was a paved yard, with a large brick-built shed in it. Even in daylight, the windows of the shed were dark, like they’d got blackout blinds up or were even painted out. Bea went closer, leaning over the fence. It gave her the creeps. Then she remembered, Kevin, the photographer, and his ‘studio’ behind his mum’s bungalow. This must be it.
Bea shivered again. What a sad, strange terrace this was. She walked back to the front of the row and something caught her eye. A curtain was moving at one of the windows, and Bea could see a face looking out. It was partly obscured by the reflection of the darkening sky in the glass, but Bea ca
ught a wisp of white hair before whoever it was drew back. It must be Kevin’s mum, the woman she’d met before, looking lost outside her own house.
On impulse, Bea opened the little gate and walked up to the house. She knocked on the door and then bent down and shouted, ‘Hello?’ through the letterbox.
There was no response and Bea was about to leave when she heard a sort of scrabbling behind the front door. It opened inwards a few inches and the woman peered out across the chain which prevented the door opening further.
‘Hello,’ said Bea. ‘Mrs McKey, is it? My name’s Bea. I’m looking for a lost dog. You’ll know her. It’s Goldie. She normally lives two doors down with Charles, but I’ve been looking after her. Have you seen her?’
The woman’s skin was almost as pale as her hair. She looked washed out, faded and frail. ‘You’re looking for a dog?’
‘Goldie, a golden retriever.’
‘Have you found my cat?’
The sands of the conversation seemed to be shifting beneath her feet.
‘No,’ she said, patiently. ‘I’m looking for a dog.’ Bea checked her watch. It was starting to get dark. She really needed to get on with her search while there was still a little light left.
‘He doesn’t normally miss his dinner. It’s been days now. He must be very hungry.’
‘It’s a girl, the dog. Goldie, from down the road. I’ve got a photo, if that helps.’ Bea showed the woman the picture of Goldie she used as her screensaver.
‘No, not a dog, dear. And Mr McKey isn’t a girl. He’s a very naughty boy. And he’s very late for his dinner.’
‘Mr McKey? Do you mean your husband?’
‘My cat. Mr McKey. I do miss him. Kevin said he’s probably been run over. He’s never liked animals. Pulled the legs off spiders when he was little.’ Her lower lip wobbled a bit and her pale eyes became watery.
‘I’m sorry about your cat,’ said Bea, and in the back of her mind she could sense some cogs whirring. ‘Have you reported him missing?’
‘They didn’t want to know,’ she said.
‘They?’
‘The police, dear. They sent me away.’
It couldn’t be, could it? thought Bea. ‘Mrs McKey, what colour is your cat?’
The woman looked at her, eyes brimming with tears. ‘He’s white. Pure white,’ she said. ‘He’s a very handsome chap.’
34
‘Mrs McKey,’ said Bea. ‘I know where your cat is.’
‘You’ve found him?’
‘Yes. He’s safe and sound. I’ve got to look for my dog right now, but I could bring him back to you in a couple of hours.’
‘Oh no, dear, I don’t open the door after dark. My Kevin’s told me not to.’
Bea looked up at the sky. The colour was leaching out of it already. It would be dark in less than half an hour. Her chances of finding Goldie were slipping away.
‘I’ll bring him at the weekend, then. He’s fine, though.’
‘I do my shopping tomorrow. Kevin takes me to the big Asda. They do a nice coffee there.’
‘Shall I leave it until Sunday, then?’
‘Why have you got him?’
‘I found him. He was . . .lost.’
Her face darkened. ‘Did you take him?’
‘No! I rescued him. Honestly, I’ll bring him back to you as soon as I can.’ Bea wanted to get away now, but she wasn’t convinced Mrs McKey didn’t think she was the catnapper. Whatever. She needed to use the last of the light to look for Goldie. ‘I’ve got to go now, but I’ll be back.’
Her phone was constantly buzzing with notifications –retweets, texts, messages coming in all the time. It was running out of juice, though, so she quickly scrolled through everything to see if there was any concrete news on Goldie. There wasn’t, but people were offering to help her search and soon she was joined by two of the Musketeers, Georgia and Beth, as well as Jay and Ant. Jay brought his housemate with him, another student called Grace, who looked like a supermodel.
‘I’m so sorry, Bea. It’s just awful,’ said Beth.
‘Do you think she’s run off?’ said Georgia.
‘She may have done. It’s worth looking around in case she’s outside and lost.’
‘Of course! Not how I thought I’d spend my last evening before going back to uni, but I don’t mind at all,’ said Beth.
‘Me neither,’ said Georgia.
‘Which one do you go to?’ said Grace.
‘Oh, we’re at different ones. I’m at Exeter and Beth is at Aberystwyth.’
‘Oh, nice. What are you studying?’ said Jay.
And they were off – courses, lecturers, placements, house-sharing, general larks, loans and debts. As they warmed to their subject, they formed a sort of circle, leaving Ant and Bea on the outside.
Bea looked at Ant. ‘It’s like Happy Hour in the students’ union,’ she said, miserably.
He pulled a sympathetic face and put an arm round her shoulder, ‘Bloody students,’ he whispered. ‘Told you, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah, you did. It’s nice of them to help, though.’
‘The more the merrier. We’ll find her, Bea,’ said Ant. ‘We’ll find her.’ Then he took his arm away and clapped his hands, causing the others to look round. ‘Right! How are we gonna do this?’
They split up into pairs and searched in various directions, meeting up at the top end of the rec after forty-five minutes, as agreed.
‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack. All the gardens and alleys and that,’ said Ant. ‘It’s chuffing freezing as well. I reckon we should stop.’
‘But what if she’s out there? She’ll freeze.’
‘If she is out here, she’ll have found somewhere to curl up by now,’ said Jay. ‘Animals know what to do to protect themselves. Ant’s right, Bea. Do you want to come back for that curry?’
‘No, I can’t leave Queenie on her own tonight.’
‘All right.’ They were across the road from the Jubilee. ‘Might go for a little warm-up in there. What do you reckon, girls? You coming, Ant?’
Ant checked his watch. ‘Nah, I’ve got a date,’ he said. ‘Keep in touch, yeah?’
‘My phone’s completely out,’ said Bea. ‘I’ll go home and charge it.’
They went their separate ways.
Queenie was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, nursing a cold cup of tea. ‘Any luck?’ she said.
Bea shook her head sadly, and plugged in her phone. When it had gathered enough charge to switch on, she worked her way through her notifications and then scrolled back through the text that she thought had come from Dean. She typed a reply – HAVE YOU GOT MY DOG? – then sent it.
The reply didn’t come through until after she’d had a bath.
KEEP QUIET OR YOU’LL NEVER SEE HER AGAIN.
Shit, she thought. Dean’s got her, or someone has. She felt herself growing cold. The hope that Goldie had just wandered off and would be found by someone and returned had gone now. She rang Ant’s number. It took him a while to pick up.
‘Yeah? Bea?’
‘I’ve had another text. They’ve got her. The people that have been threatening me. They’ve got Goldie.’
‘Okay. Keep calm. Do they want money?’
‘No, they’re just saying keep quiet.’
‘So that’s it, Bea. Like we agreed. Keep your head down. If we don’t cause any trouble, she’ll be okay.’
‘Do you reckon? Don’t you think I should tell the police?’
‘Bea, what are they going to do? We don’t know who it is, do we? They don’t want money or nothing, so just do as they say.’
In the background, Bea could hear a woman’s voice. ‘Who is it?’ And Ant replying, ‘Just a minute. I’m nearly done.’
Bea cringed. She’d interrupted his date with Ayesha. ‘Sorry, mate, I’ll let you . . .get on,’ she said, awkwardly.
‘It’s all right. You in tomorrow?’
‘No.’
‘Ah, okay, ju
st have a quiet day, then. Get some sleep. I bet you’re—’
‘Night, Ant.’ She cut the call, embarrassed and a little bit humiliated. She thought of Ant and Ayesha snuggling up somewhere, and Jay and all his acolytes – her friends – having a laugh in the pub, and the ball of misery that had started when she heard that Goldie was missing grew until it felt like a physical thing inside her, pressing outwards.
She and Queenie tried watching TV but neither of their hearts were in it. Queenie seemed numb – almost beside herself with worry. Bea couldn’t bring herself to tell her that Goldie was kidnapped. She knew it would make her mum feel worse. They both went upstairs before nine.
Arthur was curled up on Bea’s bed.
‘Budge over,’ she said, as she wriggled under the duvet and tried to shift him across with her legs.
He gave her a bad-tempered look, but then uncurled and padded up the bed towards her, gently butting her hand with his head.
This was the friendliest he’d ever been. She tickled him tentatively behind the ears and his head and her hands entered a sort of dance, and Arthur narrowed his eyes with pleasure. And then she remembered that he, too, was going. He had a home, after all, and an owner who missed him. The ball of misery was in her throat now, making it difficult to swallow. It was pressing at her tear ducts, and without any reason not to, she gave in to it, and let herself have a little cry.
Ant looked at his phone. ‘Hmm, she’s rung off.’
‘She all right?’ Ayesha shifted a little on the sofa and snuggled her face against Ant’s hand which was resting on her shoulder. There was a loud beat thudding through the house from the bedroom above them.
‘Nah, she sounded rattled. She’s had a text message – someone’s taken her dog and they’re threatening to kill it, if Bea doesn’t keep quiet.’
‘That’s awful! There’s some sick people in the world, aren’t there?’
‘Yeah. Tell me about it.’ Ant put his phone down, drew Ayesha closer and kissed the top of her head. ‘Hope you don’t mind staying in,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I need to keep an eye on Ken. He gave me a proper fright yesterday.’