by Linda Coggin
Then I hear a new noise. Fizz. Sizzle. Splutter. Seethe. Sigh. The van starts to bump and veer into the center of the road.
“Blast!” says the driver. “We’ve got a flat! Why do you always get a flat when it’s wet?”
He pulls to the side of the road and turns off the engine.
“I’ve got a jack in the back,” he says, and I hear him coming around to the rear door. I’m ready. I know there will only be a second before his frame fills the gap left when he opens the door. Click. The handle turns and I fly out. Launching myself into the gray space. I hit the road at a run. I’m not hanging around to be caught again. I can hear the woman cry out and the man say, “Aw, let him go. He makes too much noise.”
And I race back the way we’ve come.
“Pip! Pip!” I’m shouting. “It’s me! Ray!” I am tearing along, ignoring the rabbits that scuttle back into the hedgerow and the crow pecking at something dead in the road. And there in the distance is a little figure riding through the puddles and it’s my dear Pip. When he sees me he drops his bike and I run toward him and he runs toward me and we’re in each other’s arms.
“I thought I’d never see you again, Ray.” He covers me in kisses and wipes his nose. I look at him and I see he’s been crying.
We are on top of a hill now and looking down on the town where Pip’s dad lives. People are turning their lights on and shafts of smoke are rising from the chimneys. I can see quite well at night, better than when I was Daisy. I can make out each building. I can see people in the road. I can see dogs out on walks. I can see a television set flickering in an upstairs room.
“It’s too late to try now,” says Pip. “We should find somewhere to sleep. I think we’d better stay out here and ride down into town in the morning. Come on. There are some bushes over there we can crawl under.”
“I’ll keep you warm, Pip,” I tell him, and we make our camp under the bush and I turn around and around for him to make sure there are no snakes hiding and to make it really comfy for him. We eat the remains of Marjorie’s sandwiches and the last little bone-biscuit.
We have a restless night. I think Pip has a nightmare, because he’s talking in his sleep and making groaning noises. I lick his nose to reassure him that everything is all right.
When we get down to the town in the morning, we see some bathrooms by the beach and Pip goes in and washes and brushes his hair and teeth. Marjorie has washed his clothes, and in spite of a night sleeping outside, I think Pip looks really presentable and I feel proud of him. Farther into town we see a newspaper boy outside a shop and Pip asks him where Fielding Road is. I smile at the boy, in case he thinks I’m going to tug on his pants.
We are climbing up a hill again. Fielding Road is a little like Marjorie’s road, and I wonder why Pip’s dad bothered to move. Perhaps it’s something to do with his work, I think.
“Look, Ray!” says Pip excitedly. “That must be it! The one with the mauve trim and the blue door. It looks like the nicest house on the whole street, doesn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say positively. “It’s a pretty color, isn’t it?”
I wonder what Pip is going to do. I’m all for marching straight up and getting it over with. But Pip seems to think otherwise.
“I’m going to wait a bit. See what he looks like.”
You know what he looks like. He looks like his picture, I think. But I don’t say anything.
We hide the bike behind some bushes farther up the road and stand on the other side of the street behind a parked car. We wait. We wait a long time. I’ve seen signs of life, curtains and windows opening. I think I see a child’s face at a window, but I’m not sure. Then the door opens and a man steps out.
“That’s him!” whispers Pip.
I don’t think it looks like him at all. His hair isn’t that dark color it was in the photo and he doesn’t seem to have much of it. Still, he looks nice and that’s all that counts.
“Well, go on! Aren’t you going to say something?”
“Come on, Ray. Let’s follow him. I’m not ready to talk to him yet. He’s not expecting us.”
The man doesn’t seem to have a dog, much to my relief, and he sets off down the hill. He doesn’t dawdle and I imagine he has a busy office to get to.
Pip and I follow behind him.
Eventually he turns onto a small street that leads into a busier part of town. The streets are narrower and packed with interesting-looking stores. Lots of places selling books, musical instruments, and Indian crafts. The man stops outside a brightly painted store. Pip looks with interest in the window of the bookshop next door.
The man talks to a girl inside the store as he opens the door.
“Thanks for opening up, Maisie. Sam was sick and I wanted to let Viv sleep in a bit. She was up with him most of the night.”
Through the glass a pretty girl with a pile of pink hair smiles at him.
“That’s OK. Is he better now?”
The man shuts the door behind him.
After a while, a delicious smell begins to waft out from the store, and as the street begins to fill up, several people open the door and go in. We creep closer to have a look. It is the most beautifully decorated door, with black-and-white stripes, and above it are the words CAFÉ ZOO.
We stand outside for a good twenty minutes, stepping aside every time someone enters.
“What shall we do?” says Pip. “I feel too nervous to go in, and I’ve only got fifty cents.” But before I can answer him the girl with the pink hair comes to the door.
“Phil says do you want to come in? You can bring your dog if you want.”
“Yes, please!” I bark, and wag my tail at her. I’m going to give a good impression so that Pip’s father likes me and asks me to stay. Pip hesitates, but I go straight into the café. Maisie strokes my neck.
“Aren’t you lovely?” she says. “Phil always keeps a bowl of water down for dogs, don’t you, Phil?”
The man we followed down the road nods and smiles.
“What can I get you?” he says to Pip.
A new family! I want him to say, but Pip has become awkward and stutters.
“Uh — w-what can I have for fifty cents?”
“Chocolate brownie and a glass of apple juice sound good to you?”
Pip nods, standing still as if he’s glued to the floorboards.
“I’ll bring it over to you if you want to go and sit by the window,” says Maisie.
The café walls are lined with pictures and paintings of animals, and the tables and chairs have been painted like leopards and tigers and zebras, with spots and stripes. I feel quite at home here. It is warm and I’m enjoying listening to the hum of voices, the coffee machine gurgling on the counter, and Phil or Maisie calling, “Who ordered the Spanish omelet?” or “Hot chocolate, anyone?”
I am lying under the table out of the way, watching Pip’s feet tapping up and down. He’s nervous and excited, and I wonder when he’s going to say something. He makes his brownie last what seems like hours. I wonder what’s going through his mind. How’s he going to break the news to Phil that he is his son? And what will Phil say? He’s already got a son, called Sam, he said. How weird will this be? All these things might be going through Pip’s mind. What’s going through my mind is whether or not someone will give me something to eat, and the smell of the person who has been at this table before. It’s a beachcombing sort of smell. It makes me think of sitting under the pier with Pip, eating our hot dog and fries. Because I can smell fries too. My paws feel sweaty. I realize I’m more nervous than I thought.
The café is busy all morning. People discuss things. Laugh. Exclaim. And it’s very loud listening to a lot of people crunching and swallowing their food. There is a gradual changeover from breakfast to lunch, and then it becomes even more busy, with a small line beginning to form outside. Maisie comes over with a cloth and wipes the table. She smiles at Pip.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Pip s
hakes his head.
“Would you mind if we take your table, then? We’re a bit short at the moment.”
Pip jumps up immediately.
“Uh . . . sorry,” he mumbles, and I also leap to my feet. Is he going to do it now? In front of all these people? But Pip just says “Thank you” to Phil, who lifts a hand in acknowledgment, and we push past the little line and out into the street.
Then Pip starts to run. He’s running and skipping and I’m running and skipping and jumping too. “What’s going on, Pip?” I say.
“I’ve got to get some money so that I can go back into the café,” he says. “Otherwise I don’t know how to see him.”
I think Pip’s silly. Not that I don’t love him — I do. But really, all he has to do is go back to the café, maybe when it’s a bit quieter, and tell his dad who he is.
“Or we can follow him home again,” I say hopefully.
We walk around the town. It’s pretty similar to the last one. I think these seaside places were all built by the same person. We find the library. This is obviously where Pip is happiest. And where Pip is happiest, so am I. There is a cardboard box to the side of the building with tattered paperbacks in it. Pip rummages through and produces one. He sits on the steps and reads. I know my job. I lie down, my head on my paws. I follow each passerby with my eyes. If only I could juggle or eat fire or do something impressive.
For some time there is nothing in Pip’s hat. Then a young man tosses a few coins in. I am waiting for the librarian to come down the steps and ask us to move. But no one disturbs us. A little farther along, a guy is selling a newspaper.
“Spare Change News, madam? Spare Change News, sir?” I’m happy to see he doesn’t have a dog. I’m wondering now, since I can’t juggle, if Pip ought to be selling something.
A clock somewhere strikes four and I’ve had to shut my eyes. I didn’t get much sleep under the bush and all the excitement has tired me out. I open them again when I hear a coin land in Pip’s hat. I look up. It’s the girl with the pink hair from the café.
She smiles at Pip and stops to stroke my head. I can smell coffee and cakes.
“Hello again!” she says.
“Oh, hi!” says Pip.
“You came into the café, didn’t you?”
Pip nods.
“I did an early shift today, so Phil’s let me go home early. It’s nice there, isn’t it? Phil’s a friend of my mom’s and he offered me the job when he first opened up. Did you like the brownie? My mom makes them.”
Pip nods and grins at her. I think he likes Maisie. And so do I. She looks kind and has a little silver stud in her nose and chatty earrings.
“What’s he like, Phil?” asks Pip, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, he’s a great guy. He’s so generous and friendly.”
“What time does the café close?”
“He closes around six. On Saturdays Mom comes and helps him and we open for supper. It’s even busier then. You’re new around here, aren’t you? Where are you living?”
Pip looks awkward and shrugs.
“There’s a youth hostel around the corner if you’re looking for somewhere. Go back past the café, cross the main road, and it’s the other side of town. I’ve gotta go. See ya!”
“See ya!” says Pip.
The streetlights are coming on, but everything seems rather dull now that Maisie’s gone. Pip picks up his hat, pockets the money, and says to me, “Come on, let’s find somewhere to stay. I’ll talk to Dad tomorrow.”
The café looks as if it’s quieting down as we go back past, and Pip and I can’t resist a quick look inside. Phil is chatting to a table of customers.
It takes us ages to find the youth hostel, and when we get there the man behind the desk says, “No dogs!”
He doesn’t even say sorry!
I know Pip won’t leave me, so there’s no point in trying to persuade him to stay. Besides, I don’t want anyone else to take me home, thinking I’m a stray. It says quite clearly that I’m not. PIP and RAY. PIP and RAY, it says on my tag. So hands off !
The café is closed when we walk past, but Phil is sitting at a table on his own, doing his accounts. This is it. This is it. Pip’s going to do something. I just know it. We’ve got nowhere to stay and we might as well take our chance. But he just stands by the window, looking in. Well, I’m going to do something, then, I decide. I go to the door, jump up against it, and bark.
“Let us in!”
I can see Phil lift his head and then shake it. He goes back to his paperwork.
I try again. This time he notices Pip and gets up and unlocks the door.
“We’re closed, I’m afraid,” he says.
“Are you . . . Are you Phillip Seagrove?” Pip asks. I thought we knew he was Phillip Seagrove.
“Yes?” he answers inquiringly.
“I’m Pip Henderson.”
Pip Henderson!
I thought he was Phillip Seagrove too. He told that farmer . . . And then it dawns on me how stupid I am. Of course. He just told the farmer the first name that popped into his head. And his head has been full of his dad.
Phil looks as if he ought to know who Pip Henderson is but can’t quite recall.
Pip takes the photo out of his pocket and shows it to him. “This is you. Isn’t it?”
Phil takes the picture and puts on his glasses.
“Yes! Where did you get this?”
“My mom gave it to me.”
“Your mom? Who’s your mom?”
“Janie. Janie Henderson . . .”
I can hear Pip faltering. Please don’t give up now, I think. You’ve gotten this far. You’ve got to keep going.
“Janie Henderson! Your mom! My goodness, how is she? I haven’t seen her in years! Where’s she living now?”
“Mom’s dead.”
Phil’s face sort of creases up.
“Oh, no,” he says. “That’s awful. How? How did she die?”
“Cancer.”
And as he says that word Pip’s shoulders begin to shake, and I look up and see two large tears rolling down his face and now his whole body is shaking and he is crying.
Phil puts his hand on Pip’s shoulder. And then a strange look comes over his face. It is a mixture of concern and curiosity and fear.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, guiding Pip into the café. “Come on in and sit down for a moment and you can tell me all about her.”
I sit under the table. For a moment, till Pip stops crying, nothing is said. I lick his ankle so he knows I’m still here and give him an encouraging whimper.
I peek out and see Phil, standing by the counter, the curious look still on his face.
“How old are you?” Phil asks.
“Fourteen.”
And then there is a long silence and I can hear everyone’s hearts beating in their chests, including mine, and I hear Phil whisper under his breath, “Oh, my God!” and then he pulls back a chair and sits down at the table.
Then I listen to them talking.
Talk. Talk.
Pip tells his dad things and Phil tells Pip things and they talk.
Talk. Talk. And now I’m thinking of Pip’s mom. Janie. Janie. Jane. Now there’s a familiar name. Who was Jane? And for some odd reason the picture of a crown pops into my head. But I can’t think why.
I hear Phil call home and speak to his wife.
“I’m going to be a bit late back. Something extraordinary has happened. I’ll tell you about it later. Is Sam all right?”
Then Phil’s on the phone again. “Maisie? Can I have a word with your mom? No, it’s not about the brownies. It’s a lot more important than that!”
About twenty minutes later, a woman who looks like Maisie, but without the pink hair or the stud in the nose, gently knocks on the door.
“Sal!” Phil says. “Thanks for coming. I want you to meet someone special.”
He puts his arm around Pip’s shoulders.
“This is my — uh — son. P
ip!”
My son Pip! I feel all warm and glowing. I want him to be my dad too.
I don’t know Sal, but I can tell she’s surprised.
“Does Viv know?” she says. “About Pip?” she adds, in case there might be some confusion.
“Well, yes . . . no . . . I haven’t told her yet. It’ll be a bit of a surprise. I didn’t know, you see — about Pip. And so I need to talk everything through with her.”
He hesitates for a moment.
“So — can you help me? I can’t just walk in with Pip and say, ‘This is my son.’ Could you take him back with you tonight, so he has somewhere to stay? Then I’ll have a chance to talk things over with Viv. I know this is a lot to ask. . . .”
Sal hesitates for a moment. Then says, “Yes — I can do that. Have you had any supper yet, Pip?”
Pip shakes his head. “Can Ray come too?”
“Who’s Ray?”
“My dog, of course.”
And I poke my head out from underneath the table and Sal laughs.
“Oh, yes!” she says, smiling for the first time. “He can certainly come.”
“I’m a she,” I tell her.
I’m glad that Sal is fine about me spending the night with Pip. I know he needs me more than ever tonight.
I’ve never slept on a bed as a dog before! It is so comfy, and I curl up in the crook of Pip’s knees and he puts his hand on my head and whispers good night to me and I wonder if this will be our last night together because I have no idea what Viv will say.
In the morning, Maisie goes off to work at Café Zoo, and Pip and I hang around the kitchen while Sal cooks us breakfast. They are vegetarians, but she still manages a good breakfast. Grilled tomatoes, fried mushrooms, eggs, and vegetarian sausages. Because she wasn’t expecting a dog to stay, there aren’t any bone-shaped biscuits, so I get a couple of the sausages. Really, they are pretty good, considering that they don’t have any meat in them.
The phone rings around nine o’clock and I hear Sal saying, “Yes. Yes. Really? Good. Yes. Yes. I’ll do that. Good. OK. Bye!”
She turns to Pip.
“Phillip says he’s going to shut the café early today and you can stay here while he works, as he’s still sorting some stuff out. I’m supposed to take you there later on today.”