Alex, the Dog and the Unopenable Door

by Ross Montgomery

  ‘The horn,’ he said. ‘I need to give it to Jeremy.’

  ‘Is there something wrong with your head?’ Mike snapped. ‘Get in there now before I pull your arms off!’

  Alex bristled.

  ‘Well, officer,’ he said carefully, ‘if I don’t give him the French horn then he’ll spend the next hour beating me to a pulp. You’ll have to wait here while he does. And who knows who might walk past here in that time?’

  The policemen stared at him.

  ‘And furthermore …’ said Alex.

  ‘He’s messing with our minds, Mike,’ said Officer Duncan nervously.

  ‘Give him the bleeding horn,’ Officer Mike gasped. He glared at Alex. ‘But listen closely, midget. Every minute extra you’re in there, I’ll take off one of your fingers. After that, I’ll move on to your little toes. And just in case you even think of escaping, don’t forget – you’re twenty miles away from the nearest town. We’ll catch you. And when we do, you can forget about ever running anywhere ever again. Get it?’

  Alex nodded, grabbed the case and stepped through the door. The room was much the same as he had left it. As usual, the air smelled of unwashed T-shirts, and as usual the curtains were closed. Jeremy was lying on his bed, as usual, listening to a band called Pig Destroyer while kicking the radiator, as usual. He appeared to have already worked his way through a family-sized multipack of NikNaks. As usual. He didn’t seem to have noticed Alex come in.

  Alex silently lowered the case to the floor, and tiptoed to his wardrobe. Jeremy had apparently also spent the morning vandalising Alex’s ‘Best of Crufts’ poster. Alex ignored it, and with careful hands inched open the doors.

  A tidal wave of dog books and magazines crashed to the floor. Alex silently cursed. Jeremy immediately sat up.

  ‘Hey!’ he bellowed. ‘Where do you think you’ve been, Mary?’

  He thundered towards Alex in a tornado of empty crisp packets and NikNak crumbs.

  ‘Jeremy!’ said Alex nervously. ‘Er … how are you?’

  ‘The bus is outside, you plank!’ Jeremy cried.

  He jabbed his finger out the window. A bus was parked outside the school gates. The side of it was emblazoned with the words Conduct Yourselves, written across waves of rainbow-coloured sheet music.

  ‘They’ve been waiting for twenty minutes!’ Jeremy bellowed. ‘I’m supposed to be on the way to the concert right now to entertain my adoring fans, and here I am, waiting for some amateur to bring me my horn!’

  Alex pointed calmly at the case beside them.

  ‘It’s on the floor,’ he said. ‘I … had to talk to some people. Sorry it took so long.’

  Alex turned away, and started quietly picking up the dog books from the floor. Jeremy’s watery pig-eyes darted around, struggling to take it all in.

  ‘Going somewhere, Mary?’ he grunted.

  Alex kept tidying. ‘I’m going home, Jeremy.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ said Jeremy bluntly.

  Alex stopped, and looked over his shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ he said.

  ‘You’ve made me late for my concert,’ Jeremy muttered menacingly. ‘And I’m going to make you pay for it.’

  Jeremy was significantly bigger than Alex in pretty much every aspect. Alex sighed. Normally, he’d just let this happen. Any kind of protest just made the consequences even more prolonged and even more humiliating. But quite frankly, he had two bigger things to worry about waiting outside the bedroom door, and ten little things on his hands and feet that he felt strongly attached to. He calmly pushed Jeremy’s hand away. The boy’s face fell in disbelief. Alex looked up.

  ‘Sorry, Jeremy,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.’

  Within seconds Jeremy had him dangling up against the wardrobe by his tie.

  ‘You trying to be funny, Mary?’ he growled, bearing in on him. His breath stank of spicy crisps. ‘Don’t you know how many beatings answering back gets you? And what’s this?’

  Jeremy suddenly stuffed his hand into Alex’s pocket and brought out the muffin, squashed to a patty inside the clingfilm. He held it up to Alex’s face.

  ‘Keeping treats from me!’ he guffawed. ‘Well, we can’t have that! Looks like I’m going to have to beat you up even harder, and eat your muffin while I do it!’

  Alex struggled against his grip, his eyes darting to the closed door. ‘Jeremy, please,’ he gasped. ‘I have to go! It’s urgent!’

  Jeremy snorted. ‘Urgent? Going back to see your mental dad, are you?’

  Alex froze against the wardrobe.

  ‘What did you say?’ he whispered.

  Jeremy sneered.

  ‘Yeah, that’s right,’ he said, holding him even closer. ‘My dad told me all about your dad. Said he thought he was really big business back in the day – Alex J. Jennings, Mr Head of Expeditions, bragging on how he’d be the first to find out what was in the middle of the Forbidden Land. Not so big now, is he?’

  He sniggered, and started peeling the clingfilm off the muffin.

  ‘Makes sense,’ he said. ‘Only you could have such a loser for a dad. Is it true he thinks he’s a dog?’

  ‘Don’t you dare’, Alex seethed, his eyes flashing with rage, ‘talk about my father with your fat, dirty mouth.’

  Jeremy’s grin dropped. He looked like someone had just shot him. Then his lip started trembling, and his eyes thinned to slits. He heaved Alex off the wardrobe, and thrust him towards the hatch door that lay on the wall between the beds.

  ‘No!’ Alex cried desperately. ‘Not the rubbish chute!’

  The chutes led from each dorm to the skips below, where rumour had it the rubbish was collected by the cooks every night and made into the next day’s lunchtime carbonara. Alex knew this was only a rumour as Jeremy had thrown him down the rubbish chute twice now, and no one had turned up till the morning except for a family of wild foxes.

  ‘Bad idea, Mary!’ Jeremy wailed, flinging open the hatch door. From inside came the stench of rotting garbage. ‘I hope you enjoy your day in the skip! You might as well consider it your new bedroom. Because from now on I’m going to make sure that not one day passes in Cloisters without you getting beaten to a pulp by every boy in school!’

  ‘Jeremy, no!’

  But there was no stopping him. In one move Jeremy had shovelled the entire muffin into his mouth, and raised Alex above his head, ready to thrust him down the stinking hatch.

  ‘So long, Mary!’ he cried in a spray of seedy crumbs. ‘Enjoy your new life!’

  Alex screwed his eyes shut and prepared himself for the drop.

  Nothing happened.

  Alex looked down nervously. Jeremy was standing stock still, holding him up. His throat was making a sound like a sink gurgling.

  ‘Jeremy?’ he asked.

  Then Jeremy’s arms began to tremble. They trembled more and more, until all of a sudden they wilted completely and he dropped Alex to the floor. Alex gazed on in shock. Jeremy was staggering backwards, clutching at his throat. His face was turning bright red.

  ‘Oh crikey,’ Alex muttered.

  ‘The muffin!’ Jeremy squealed, his face getting redder and redder. ‘It doesn’t have linseeds in it, does it?’

  ‘What’s linseed?’ said Alex.

  ‘I’m allergic to linseeds!’ Jeremy cried. ‘Quick! I need injections!’

  Jeremy’s head had now swelled to the size of a football, and his tongue was dangling out his mouth like a packet of raw bacon. Hives were bubbling up across his face and arms and legs. He swayed briefly on his feet, his eyes rolling around in his head, until he keeled over backwards and hit the floor like a cow. Alex leaped up and ran to the bedroom door.

  ‘Wait there!’ he cried. ‘I’ll get the …’

  He suddenly stopped, and pricked up his ears. A car horn was repeatedly honking outside. Alex turned round. Out the window, he could still make out the bus in the distance. It was waiting for Jeremy.

  Alex l
ooked down at Jeremy. He looked at the bus outside. He looked at the battered French horn case. Then he looked at the rubbish chute.

  He smiled.

  He turned back to the bedroom door.

  He locked it.

  By the time the Headmaster had arrived with the keys the policemen had already started booting the door in.

  ‘Stop it!’ Matthew gasped. ‘There’s no need for that, I’ve got the keys …’

  ‘No time!’ cried Officer Mike. ‘I’m going to barge in!’

  He stepped back and took a deep breath.

  ‘Please don’t do that,’ said Matthew desperately.

  ‘This is your last chance, Alex!’ Officer Mike shouted, ignoring him. ‘Open the door right now!’

  There was no response. Officer Mike steadied himself on the wall.

  ‘Very well!’ he cried. ‘If you’re behind the door, I suggest you move!’

  Matthew stepped forward. ‘Officers, please …’

  The policeman charged. In a great crack of wood the door was ripped clean off its hinges, and Officer Mike tumbled inside. Officer Duncan flew in after him. Matthew sighed and followed them in.

  Officer Mike was lying on top of the door, groaning in pain. Officer Duncan stood assessing the situation. Neither Alex nor the horn case was anywhere to be seen. Jeremy Butterworth was flubbering around on the floor like the queen of all maggots. The rubbish hatch was open. Out the window, a distant bus could be seen shutting its doors and pulling away from the school. Officer Duncan’s eyes moved from Jeremy to the window, to the rubbish hatch, to Jeremy, to the window again, to the rubbish hatch, and finally settled back on Jeremy, his fat tongue slumping and slobbering on the carpet. Officer Duncan’s eyes widened with horror.

  ‘My God,’ he said. ‘He ate him.’

  5

  The rubber doors of the bus closed with a hiss. Alex stood on the stairwell beside the driver, gasping for breath, smeared with baked-bean juice and bits of orange peel. The bus lurched forwards, and they drove off. Alex stared outside as the school gates slowly slipped away. He laughed. He had made it.

  ‘Hey!’ someone suddenly shouted behind him.

  Alex flipped round. The bus was filled with what seemed like a hundred screaming children and as many instruments, all of which were being practised on at the same time. A young woman was pushing her way through the mob to the front of the bus, waving her clipboard at him. Even in the din of trumpets and cellos and bass drums and bagpipes, her voice stood out like an air-raid siren.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she shrieked, her eyes pained with stress. ‘You were supposed to be at the gates twenty minutes ago!’

  Alex panicked. ‘Er … I … er …’

  ‘Butterworth,’ she sighed miserably, running through the list in front of her. She had the look of someone flinging sea water out of a sinking boat with both hands. ‘Here we are – Butterworth, Jeremy Mary. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alex, nodding furiously. He did a double take. ‘I’m sorry, did you say Jeremy Mary Butterworth?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the woman. ‘That’s your name, isn’t it?’

  ‘Er … yes,’ said Alex, dumbfounded. ‘Yes, I guess it is.’

  She glowered at him. ‘Well, Jeremy Mary Butterworth, we’ll be lucky to make it in time now you’ve made us twenty minutes late …’

  Alex fumbled. ‘I’m really sorry. I, er … I couldn’t find my trumpet.’

  ‘Your trumpet?’ the woman said.

  Alex held up the battered case in his hands.

  ‘You told us you play French horn,’ said the woman.

  ‘That’s what I meant,’ said Alex quickly, dropping the case. ‘The French horn-trumpet. That’s what we call it here.’

  ‘And what’s that smell …?’ she asked, screwing up her nose suspiciously.

  ‘No idea,’ Alex muttered.

  ‘What’s that?’

  She pointed at his jumper. Alex looked down. Half an old grapefruit was squashed flat on his chest. The woman stared at him.

  ‘… Are you covered in old food?’ she said.

  Alex thought about the best possible answer.

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  The woman was silent for a moment. It was as if she was trying to read his face. Suddenly her eyes softened.

  ‘Of course,’ she said soothingly, kneeling down to him. ‘Of course you are. Hey, I’m not here to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. You go right ahead and cover yourself in food scraps if you want.’

  ‘What?’ said Alex.

  The woman smiled, and offered her hand.

  ‘I’m Steph,’ she said warmly. ‘I organise the concerts held by Conduct Yourselves for extremely sensitive and psychopathically violent children just like you.’

  ‘Sensitive?’ said Alex. ‘Violent?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, pointing at the rioting bus behind them. ‘All the children here have an addiction to violent behaviour. But they’re really good kids, just like you, and use classical music as an outlet for their violent emotions. Here, have a T-shirt.’

  She thrust a T-shirt into his hands. Alex looked at it in dismay. The logo was a boy squashing a smaller boy’s head between a giant pair of cymbals. Underneath it read Conduct Yourselves: Don’t Fly Off The Handel.

  ‘Welcome to the family, Jeremy,’ said Steph. ‘We really appreciate you stepping in at the last minute. Some idiot ran over our regular performer with a bicycle this morning.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Alex, his eyes darting out the windows. ‘Er, where exactly is this bus going to …?’

  ‘Come on!’ Steph said, grabbing his hand. ‘Let me introduce you to Noah. He’s going to be your Bus Buddy for this trip.’

  She turned to a boy sitting on his own by the window, a triangle clutched in his hands. He had ‘Noah’ shaved into both eyebrows.

  ‘Noah had a hard time fitting in when he first joined us,’ said Steph gently. ‘But he’s really opened up since finding his new place as Second Triangle.’ She pushed Alex forward. ‘Noah, this is your new Bus Buddy! What do we say to new friends?’

  ‘Touch my triangle and I’ll kill you!’ cried Noah.

  ‘Noah!’ Steph snapped. ‘For the last time, no one wants to take your triangle. Don’t worry about him, Jeremy. Noah’s really a big softie. Aren’t you, Noah?’

  ‘I don’t think Noah wants me to sit next to him,’ Alex whispered. Noah was now punching his own hands.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Steph laughed, ripping a nametag off her clipboard and slapping it on Alex’s chest. ‘Be nice, you two!’

  She dashed away before Alex had a chance to protest any further. Alex stood in the aisle, his heart thumping. He looked back at Noah, still punching his own hands. There was no way he was staying here any longer. He stole a glance out the window. The police were nowhere to be seen. Empty fields stretched out either side of the bus. Now was his chance. He had to get out of here, before it was too late, and go …

  Alex stopped. Go where?

  Well, he wasn’t going home, that was for sure. Not now his own mother was prepared to hand him over to Kyte and the policemen. He couldn’t go back to the school. And he couldn’t stay with his friends, because Alex didn’t have any. Except for the dogs, of course, but then they weren’t even his. And dogs wouldn’t be much help to him now. Alex was completely alone. There was only one other person he knew in the whole entire world who wasn’t a dog, and who didn’t hate him, and who wouldn’t betray him, and that was …

  ‘Dad,’ said Alex quietly.

  His heart sank. It had been almost two years since he had last seen his father in the hospital. They hadn’t spoken since. And now he was finally out of the coma, he had walked straight back into the hands of Kyte, who was going to do who knows what to him. And there was nothing Alex could do about it.

  Alex fought against the desire to cry, and turned back round to the bus. There was something he could do about it. He could make sure that he got away, even if his father coul
dn’t. All he had to do was keep his head low – try and fit in. So long as he didn’t stand out, he could be off the bus and ten miles away before anyone even knew he had gone. He turned back to Noah and put his hands in his pockets. He had been bullied by enough kids to know how they were supposed to act.

  ‘So Noah, bro,’ he said. ‘We’re Bus Buddies. That’s, like, really cool.’

  ‘You’re looking at my triangle,’ growled Noah.

  ‘Totally,’ said Alex, nodding. ‘I really get that.’

  ‘Red dots,’ said Noah quietly. ‘I’m seeing the red dots again.’

  ‘No way!’ said Alex. ‘That’s so cool. Well, see you at rehearsals!’

  He scampered off to the back of the bus and threw himself down onto an empty seat, closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a total success. Being cool was really easy.

  ‘That’s quite a jumper you have there,’ came a voice.

  Alex opened his eyes and looked up. A girl was leaning over the headrest in front of him.

  Quick, Alex, said a voice in his head. Say something cool.

  ‘My mum made it,’ said Alex.

  Great work, Alex, said the voice.

  The girl was undeterred. ‘Is your middle name really Mary?’

  ‘Er … pardon?’

  ‘It says Mary on your nametag.’

  She pointed to his chest. Alex nodded.

  ‘Yes it is. I mean, yeah.’

  ‘Mary is a girl’s name,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah, totally.’

  ‘And you’re covered in bits of old food.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alex. ‘Totally.’

  They looked at each other for a moment. The girl scrambled over the headrest and dropped into the seat next to him.

  ‘I’m Martha,’ she said. ‘I play French horn.’

  ‘Er, me too,’ said Alex. ‘Bro.’

  Martha beamed. ‘Hey! You’re the one they got to replace Tania! I’m Second Horn.’

  ‘Great!’ said Alex, nodding. ‘So cool!’

  The girl looked at him incredulously.

  ‘Er, not really,’ she said. ‘I used to be Second Horn, until Tania came along. And now I’m playing all the bits under you, even though you’ve never played with us before. Didn’t you know that?’