Somebody's Doodle

by Nikki Attree

  When they wake up Gizmo is shaking again, but as before he warms up and calms down when Jack gives him a cuddle. The Lad leaves them snoozing in his room, while he sits down to write a ransom note to send with the dirty dog pictures:

  Elizabeth (see, we know your name, as well as where you live) ...

  We have your dogs: Doodle and Gizmo. They are being kept locked up in a shed day and night. As you see from the photos - they aren’t exactly enjoying it. But we haven’t even started on them yet.

  If you want to see them again, it’s going to cost you £200,000. We know all about the film business, and we know that you can get the money easily.

  We’ll be in touch soon, to tell you where to leave the money.

  Don’t contact the police, or you’ll never see the dogs again.

  Jack prints out the ransom note, and shows it to Harry along with the photos. His partner is impressed, but he still thinks that they could have done better by showing a bit of blood. In his experience a bit of blood never goes amiss when you’re trying to frighten someone.

  They drive to Pauline’s house and tell her that the job’s on. They want her to get the granny disguise on again and deliver another ransom note to a house in Hampstead. As before she takes some persuading to put on the “grotty old biddy gear”, but she’s eventually won over with a promise that she’ll be earning more money this time.

  They give her the address of Elizabeth’s house and she puts the envelope in her bag, telling them that she’s going to the pub and that she’ll deliver it when she gets back, “cos there’s no way that my mates are gonna see me dressed like a fekin zombie!”

  * * *

  Next day, Jack takes the dogs to the park as usual. They are getting used to this new routine now, but Doodle is wondering how long it will be before they leave for Tenerife. "When are we going to the airport? I thought you said we were going to fly to your ‘paradise island’” she woofs to Gizmo.

  "Don’t ask me, I’ve got no doggone idea” he replies. “It looks like these humans aren’t planning to take us to Catwick any time soon."

  “But we need to finish the film, or else all that work will go down the drain and I’ll never get my Oscar.”

  “Life’s a bitch, eh?” Gizmo woofs, stoic as always.

  Doodle isn’t amused. She tries another approach: “anyway, I thought that’s where your humans live. Aren’t you missing your home?"

  “Yes, of course I miss them. This one: Jack, he’s OK though. He takes us for plenty of walks, and I must admit: I did enjoy that romp in the mud. We do don’t see much mud on The Reef. But yes, I do miss running on the beach, digging big holes in the sand, and I really miss the sunshine. It’s always so grey and miserable here. Anyway, can’t complain - we’re getting enough to eat, and here we are on the way to the park again. How about you - do you miss your humans?"

  Doodle realises that she hasn’t given them much thought: "well, I’m not sure ...”

  “What about when you thought you heard her voice? You pricked up your ears then.”

  “Yes, that’s right. I did, didn’t I ... but you know what Gizmo, I think that’s just because we’ve been trained to respond to our humans’ voices. If you ask me whether my humans are nicer than this one, I’m not sure. Mine were good to me when I was a pup, but then the younger one got bored with me when I grew out of the puppy phase. Maybe cos I wasn’t as cute anymore?”

  Doodle looks at Gizmo with a hangdog expression. He does the dog version of a shrug, and she continues woofing sadly: “after I had my accident on the carpet, I wasn’t allowed in Miranda’s room any more. She used to spend all her time in there, so I got very lonely.” Gizmo is starting to feel a bit sorry for her now, and he gives her face a little lick.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Giz - my humans were never really cruel to me. They looked after me OK, but it was like they sort-of forgot about me. They used to leave me alone in the house all day, and I was so bored. There was a cleaner, but she hates dogs (“cos they mess up a clean house”); and there was a girl who used to take me out for like five minutes - hardly enough time for a pee. Some days she didn’t come at all.”

  They are nearly at the park now, and Gizmo is straining at his lead as he starts to sniff wet grass, trees, and other dogs. Again Jack would love to let him off the lead to run free, but he daren’t. “I’m sorry mate. One day maybe.”

  He looks at Doodle, and thinks she’s looking a bit downcast, so he gives her a cuddle and picks up a stick for her. She looks at him, and woofs to Gizmo: “this human is definitely nicer to me than my mistress. I’ve never had so many walks, or cuddles, since I was a pup. If it weren't for his scumbag friend, I wouldn’t mind staying here."

  Gizmo agrees. “Yes, the other human is a pain. I don’t think he likes us much. In fact, I think he might want to harm us. I reckon that he wants to keep us prisoners. I don’t know why, but I reckon if you want to finish the film, and if I want to see my home again, we’re going to have to escape.”

  Doodle looks at him in amazement. The idea of running away from humans that are supposed to be looking after her has simply never occurred to her before. But then, why not? It’s not a new idea for Gizmo though. As readers of ‘Nobody’s Poodle’ already know, he had to do just that to survive, and he spent quite a while simply surviving on the streets.

  “We’d need some help though” he woofs to her, as he tugs at his lead.

  A lady with a Yorkshire terrier walks past, smiles at them, and says “good morning” to Jack. The three dogs go into a huddle, sniff butts, and tangle leads. While Jack and the lady are sorting out the leads Gizmo woofs to the Yorkie: “hi mate. We need your help. No time to explain the whole story, but we’ve been dognapped, and we’re being held prisoner. Can you get your human to alert the police?”

  Basil, the Yorkie, is nonplussed. “I wish I could help dude, but you know how it is with humans, they’re too stupid to understand woof-speak. I’ve been trying to get mine to listen to me all my life. Look I’ll show you what I mean ...”

  With that he starts woofing manically, alternately barking at the Labradoodles and then to his mistress. “Look at these two hounds, they need your help!” he woof-shouts, pointing at them with his nose in the air. “Call the police! Call the RSPCA! They’ve been stolen and they’re being held captive!”

  He gets increasingly agitated, ending up jumping up and down on the spot as if he was on a pogo stick. To the humans it just sounds like a crazy cartoon Yorkie yapping at a couple of other dogs, but it does have an effect on his owner. She looks more closely at the Labradoodles, intrigued that they’ve had such an effect on her normally docile little Basil.

  “You know, he’s never done that before. I wonder what he’s trying to tell me?” she says to Jack, gazing at Doodle and Gizmo. “They’re certainly beautiful dogs you’ve got there. Doodles aren’t they? And so nice that you’ve got two to keep each other company. Do you breed them? Are they brother and sister?”

  Jack is feeling increasingly alarmed by the commotion, and by her questions. Some of the other dog walkers are looking at them and laughing. He’s already saying goodbye and dragging the dogs away, but the woman hasn’t finished: “I’m sure I’ve seen them on TV somewhere. Are they famous? Maybe Basil recognises them. Now where was it? Have they been on ‘SuperVet’? Or was it that series about the dog refuge?”

  “No, no, d-d-definitely not” he stutters, panicking as he tries to pull the dogs away. “They’re not even my dogs. No, I mean, umm ... I’m just looking after them for a f-f-friend.”

  He’s sweating now, as he hurries off dragging the dogs along behind him. “That’s the last time we come here” he thinks. “We’ll have to find somewhere else to go for walkies.”

  Basil is still barking loudly. “See I told you it wouldn’t do any good” he woofs to them as he too is being dragged away.

  “What a strange man” his mistress thinks to herself. “I could have sworn that I’ve seen those dogs on TV. Per
haps he’s fed up with them being recognised and he wants to keep a low profile. Anyway, it’s time for our lunch, isn’t it Basil?”

  Jack hurries home. It’s lunchtime for them as well. After they’ve eaten, it’s time for a siesta. “Yep, I could get used to this routine” thinks Doodle as she curls up with Gizmo on Jack’s bed.

  * * *

  Later that day Annie calls, and they arrange to meet after work in the ‘Bucket of Blood’. Jack has mentioned that it’s his local, but he’s not that keen to meet her there. According to him it’s a “den of thieves”, but that description only intrigues her. Situated in the High Street, just down the road from Annie’s office, it’s actually local for both of them and she’s been meaning to check it out. Jack does everything he can to dissuade her, but the more seedy he makes the pub sound, the more interested she is. He’s quite worried about who they might meet in there, but at least it’s Harry’s night to visit his mum, so there shouldn’t be any risk of bumping into him - perish the thought!

  Jack walks into the pub, and nods nervously to a couple of the regulars. Annie is already seated at one of the rickety tables, receiving a combination of suspicious glances and leers from the locals. Jack greets her with a kiss on the cheeks, and a compliment: “you’re looking fantastic this evening.” She’s dressed seductively but elegantly, a rare combination in the Bucket. The looks they are getting now are more of envy, tinged with suspicion.

  Jack goes up to the bar. Rosie, the exuberantly endowed barmaid, greets him warmly: “watcha cock! ‘Ow they ‘anging?”

  Jack blushes. Rosie has, of course, been Harry’s main target for the past few months, but whenever Jack has been drinking there with his partner, she hasn’t disguised the fact that she’s much more interested in him. This hasn’t made things between them any easier.

  As he pays for the drinks, she looks over at Annie and asks him: “she your bird then? Nice! Shame though. I thought you might rescue me from your ugly mate’s clutches.” Jack smiles shyly, shrugs, and blushes as he takes the drinks back to their table.

  “I can see that you’re well liked in here” Annie says, giggling, as he plonks her drink on the beer-stained mat. They chat for a while, sniggering at the decor, and exchanging wry comments:

  “Just look at this carpet, it’s got big slodges of paint all over it. It looks like whoever did the decorating must have been pretty ancient. His body obviously gave up, and he kicked the bucket!”

  “Apparently they serve food here, and you can eat dirt cheap ... but who wants to eat dirt?”

  “Yep, this place has got so little atmosphere, it ought to be on the moon!”

  Against Jack’s advice, Annie visits the ladies and returns with a horror story of filthy floors, taps with no water, non-flushing loos, no toilet paper or towels ...

  “You should see the gents” he counters. “It makes the Black Hole of Calcutta look like a showroom for luxury bathroom fittings. The condom machine dates back to the Middle Ages, and the contents passed their sell-by date some time the previous century. Nobody even bothers to break into it anymore. Mind you, the regulars don’t need birth control, they have their personalities for that!”

  They’re both laughing now and Jack is feeling happier about being there with her, but just as he’s starting to relax the door swings open and Harry and his mum stagger in, both clearly worse for wear.

  Pauline is dressed in her leopard-skin leggings, a pink miniskirt, and a spandex boob tube.

  Jack’s mood plummets, but it could be worse. “At least she’s not wearing the sober granny disguise” he thinks. “This way Annie will know that she’s completely loco. Rather the devil you know, than mutton dressed as lamb.” He pretends to drop something and dives under the table, but it’s no good, they’ve already spotted him and are making their way unsteadily towards them.

  “Hi mate” Jack says to his partner. “Didn’t expect to see you in here this evening.”

  “Yeah, well, me and ma decided to do a pub crawl, and I jus ‘ad to show ‘er the local boozer.”

  Jack turns to Annie, who has been studying Pauline’s outfit with barely concealed amusement, and introduces them: “Annie, this is Harry Smith, my business partner, and I believe this is his mother?” he says, turning to Pauline.

  “What the feck d’ya mean: ‘believe’?” she yells, slurring the words badly, dribbling slightly, and swaying from side to side.

  There’s a nervous pause. Jack gets some chairs for them before they both keel over, and hurriedly introduces “my good friend: Annie Capello.”

  "Hi babe" Harry says, leering at her. “Not bad” he stage-whispers to Jack. Then to Annie again: “watch out for this lad, ‘e’s what I’d call a bit ov a smoov operator.”

  Annie laughs politely. “Yes, I know what you mean, but hopefully I can handle him.”

  Harry sniggers at her unintended double entendre.Then he turns to Jack: "them feckin dogs keep barking when I’m tryin to ‘ave a kip. Can't we tape their mouths up or somefin?”

  Jack kicks Harry underneath the table and glares at him. Annie looks shocked. He reassures her: "don't worry, Harry is just having a laugh. He’s a barrel of laughs actually, and he’s definitely a dog lover.” He smiles at Annie, and glares at Harry.

  Pauline chortles at the idea of her son being a dog lover: “yeah, he loves the little bleeders pissin and crappin all over the place, so ‘e takes ‘em down my allotment to ‘elp with the diggin ...”

  Jack butts in before she can dig any deeper holes: “you remember I mentioned that I’ve been dog-sitting Harry’s dogs recently? Taking them to the park and stuff ...” This is directed at Annie, but he hopes that Harry will get the message. "That's right, you did” Annie replies, “and you also said something about wanting to start a new career working with dogs.”

  This is news to his partner: “wots this about a career, Jack? You mean besides being a theivin ...” Jack stamps on Harry's foot, and interrupts before he has time to complete the sentence: “yes, Harry’s dogs are so much fun they got me thinking that maybe one day I could do a course as a trainer.” Harry snorts in derision. Annie feels the tension between them, and tries to defuse it with polite conversation: “so, Harry, what breed are your dogs?”

  Harry doesn’t do polite conversation: “feckin noisy, curly white mutts” he spits out testily.

  Jack is starting to panic now: "I think you need to get some glasses, mate. They’re definitely not white. One’s got black patches, like a Jack Russell, and the other’s more a golden colour."

  He needs to divert Harry before he puts his foot in any further: “OK mate, let’s get everyone a drink. It must be my round.” Harry’s mouth drops open, and before any more sounds can come out of it, Jack grabs his arm and yanks him to his feet. “We’ll go to the bar and get them in. You can give me a hand, mate. I’m sure these lovely ladies won’t mind being left alone for a moment. Same again Annie?” Annie shrugs, “and what about you?” he says, turning to Pauline.

  Harry’s mum has slumped so low in her chair that’s she’s only visible from the neck up, but she sits bolt upright at the offer of a free drink. “Well, since you’re buying, I fink I’ll ‘ave one of them cock tails. Do they do a ‘Slow Screw Against The Wall’ in ‘ere?” she says, collapsing in fits of raucous laughter, and sliding back under the table. Her boob tube snags on the table, exposing several more inches of sagging flesh, but preventing her from disappearing completely.

  Jack maneuvers Harry towards the bar, leaving the “ladies” to their own devices. Annie turns to Pauline and compliments her on her “unusually stylish outfit. Sort of sixties ironic, isn’t it?”

  Pauline looks at her suspiciously: “what’s that dear? Somefink about me gear? You sayin that I look old?”

  “No, no, quite the opposite in fact.”

  “You’re not a social worker are yer? Or one of them ‘ousing officers?”

  Annie laughs: “no, definitely not.”

  “Cos they’ve been ma
kin my life ‘ell like, and I’m goin to clobber the next one that comes round and tries to kick me out of me ‘ome.”

  “Yes, that must be awful. So where do you live, mrs Smith?”

  “Me? I live in ‘Olloway Road, just round the corner from me ‘ome from 'ome - the nick.”

  “Oh I see, so you work in the prison?”

  Pauline is convulsed by another laughing fit at this suggestion. “Ha fekin ha! That’s a good one. ‘Arry will love that. No dear, I don’t work there, I just spend a lot of time there ...”

  Before she can elaborate further, the men return with their drinks. “They didn’t ‘ave none of them fancy cocktails” Harry says to his mum. “I asked Rosie if she could give me a ‘Slow Screw Against The Wall’ and she slapped me. Fekin ‘urt actually.” He rubs his face ruefully. “So, anyway, I got ya anuver pint like”.

  He plonks a pint of lager down in front of Pauline, and within seconds it’s been drained. She burbs loudly, hitches up her miniskirt, and staggers to her feet. “Where’s the lavs dear?” she says to Annie. “I’ve ad twelve pints tonight like, and I need a wee.”

  Annie shudders at the memory of the public conveniences. “I wouldn’t go in there if I was you.” Pauline laughs. She’s not one to be put off with “a bit of a wiff. Can’t be as bad as the bogs in ‘Olloway nick. Them’s wot I’d call a real shithouse.” She disappears into the toilets.

  Ten minutes later she still hasn’t reappeared, and Annie has to go in and rescue her. She finds Pauline slumped in a cubicle, snoring loudly after having thrown up. She wakes her up, gets her to her feet, puts her arm around her, and Pauline manages to make it back to the table.

  “I think you better take your mum home, mate” Jack says to Harry.