The Last Family in England

by Matt Haig

  But now I was ready. I had to tell him before it was too late.

  ‘OK, boy. Nearly there.’

  As soon as we got there I knew something was wrong. Adam noticed it too and said: ‘Oh, Prince, where’s your friend?’

  I sniffed the ground. Not a trace.

  Perhaps he was late. But Henry, late? It wasn’t possible. He always made sure he was taken to the park on time. And Mick never let him down.

  I scanned the park for movement. Nothing. I listened for his voice.

  Nothing.

  I ran around the park, from flowerbed to flowerbed, my nose continuously to the ground. Still nothing. I went, with ascending dread, over to the bushes where Joyce had been murdered. Joyce was no longer there, but my body stuttered in shock at the memory of her violated body. But no sign of Henry.

  ‘Henry?’ I barked. ‘Henry?’

  The park had never seemed so empty. I looked over to his house, on the other side of the road. The narrow door showed no sign of opening. I looked towards the trees. Something moved.

  I ran over but realised straight away that it wasn’t Henry. It wasn’t even my species. It was a squirrel.

  ‘Have you seen a dog?’ I asked him, out of breath. ‘A Labrador.’

  ‘I’m staring right at one,’ he said, as he climbed his way safely above dog height.

  ‘No. Golden coat. Bit taller than me. Bit older, too. Grey whiskers.’

  ‘Dogs are here all the time,’ the squirrel said unhelpfully. ‘There’s been quite a few so far this morning.’

  ‘But have you seen one matching that description?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’ The squirrel shuffled further up the tree towards the first branch.

  ‘Listen,’ I said, following his path from underneath. ‘I need to find him. This is very important, if you’ve seen him, please could you let me know.’

  ‘Hey, you listen, dogface. Not my species, not my problem.’

  My last and only hope was the dark wasteland behind the trees, beyond the smell-heap. Of course, this was always going to be a long shot but I still had to try. I sniffed amid the empty bottles, carrier bags, and the small weird things which stink of human sex. I picked up a scent I recognised. Dog scent, but not Henry.

  ‘Get back to your flowerbeds, you fuck.’

  ‘L-Lear,’ I stammered. ‘How are you?’ I looked around, to see if I was in view of Adam. I wasn’t.

  ‘How am I? I’ve got two fucking Labradors trying to frame me for murder. How the fuck do you think I am?’

  ‘Look, about that. We had no right to –’ I caught a glimpse of Lear’s master, in the far corner of the park, walking his lopsided walk, with his head pointed towards the ground. ‘We had no right to say those things. It was probably all a big mistake.’

  ‘The biggest mistake of your lives,’ he said. And then a terrible thought came to me. No, not a thought, an image. A mental vision of Henry dead on the ground, lying in Lear’s shadow.

  ‘Have you smelt Henry this morning? You know, my friend?’ I asked, trying to conceal my anxiety. ‘Only, I really need to talk to him and he’s always here at this time.’

  ‘I haven’t smelt him,’ Lear told me. ‘But if I had, he would fucking know about it.’

  ‘The truth is, I’m worried about him. The last time I saw him he wasn’t himself. I’m frightened he’s done something stupid.’

  Lear sniffed me incredulously. ‘My heart bleeds.’

  He was then called away by his master. And I remember thinking, wouldn’t his master have spotted him, if he had gone into the bushes to attack Joyce? Wouldn’t he have called him away?

  When Lear had left the park I went back over to the bushes where Joyce had lived and died. I instinctively felt that wherever Henry was now, this crime scene would hold the key. I looked at the damaged twigs, and the leaves on the ground which must have fallen in the struggle. I remembered vividly the wound on her neck It had displayed a clear ferocity, but was also smaller than you would expect if Lear had been the attacker. I sniffed the ground for more information. Henry had been certain the rain had washed away all the scent-trails, but it was possible he could have missed something. However, as I started to sniff Adam called my name. As I pulled back I caught sight of something on one of the broken twigs. It was fur from another dog, interwoven with Joyce’s own. I focused hard, and my legs nearly buckled when I realised the colour. The fur was golden, like Henry’s.

  I needed to speak to him. To Henry. But where was he?

  ‘Come on, boy, let’s go home.’ Adam was close behind, so I reversed quickly out of the bushes.

  Then, on our walk back, we passed Henry’s house. There was something different about it, but it took a while to realise exactly what it was. The curtains were all closed. I felt the house was hiding something, something which would explain Henry’s absence.

  As soon as I was out of the park, I started to bark in a final, desperate attempt to call Henry.

  ‘Quiet, Prince, quiet,’ Adam pleaded.

  I carried on barking, calling Henry’s name, until we reached the end of the street and I realised it was no good.

  I had to comfort myself with the belief he would be there the next day, and that he would be able to explain everything. In the meantime, I was not to lose faith. The Pact was still going to be enough to protect the Family.

  bag

  That night, we went on a different walk. We were headed for the park but Adam had timed it wrong. Emily was there, watching as Falstaff tore his way around the flowerbeds. Adam, who hadn’t seen her since he had sex with her by the tree, was still not ready to talk to her. So instead of crossing the road we kept a safe distance and travelled into new territory, walking through dark and empty streets. After we had been walking for some time, Adam sat down on a bench, but didn’t unclip me. He just sat there, listening to distant traffic.

  I could smell from the ground that this was not Labrador territory. In fact, the most obvious scent was that of human piss. The only dog-trace I could detect at all was, ominously, Springer spaniel. I sniffed again, to check it wasn’t Falstaff. To my relief, it wasn’t.

  Footsteps. Someone was coming. We turned to see a man walking fast across the street.

  ‘Spare a bit of change, mate,’ the man asked, holding out a white paper cup.

  ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got any,’ Adam said, as anxiety and pity mingled in the air.

  ‘Lying cunt.’

  When the man had gone, Adam started to lead me back home. As we walked past the park, he turned to look for Emily. She had gone.

  We walked past Henry’s house. The curtains were still shut, but I was not worried. I would see him tomorrow.

  But as I turned the corner, I could smell Henry in front of us.

  ‘Steady, Prince,’ Adam said, as he was yanked forward. And then, seeing Mick: ‘All right there.’

  The scent had been misleading. Henry wasn’t with him. In his place was a plastic carrier bag, clinking an indifferent hello.

  ‘I think Prince missed his friend this morning,’ Adam continued.

  ‘Oh,’ Mick said. And then, after a weird silence, he added: ‘He’s dead.’

  My tail stopped.

  ‘Dead?’ said Adam. ‘Oh no.’

  I felt myself sinking, into the ground.

  ‘Yes . . . Yesterday. Door was open. Ran straight out into the road. Next thing we know, dead. Hit by a car.’

  Ran straight out into the road? It didn’t make sense. Henry wouldn’t do that, not unless moving out into the road was a way of protecting Mick. My mind was not capable of thinking of a situation where getting run over could help protect our masters. But still, it must have been true. Henry was not here.

  I sniffed Mick’s trousers, inhaling Henry back to life.

  ‘Oh, how terrible.’

  I looked out, into the road, at the speeding black tyres.

  ‘Anyway. I better . . . go.’ Mick’s voice was shaky and urgent at the same
time. I sniffed again, trying to gain further information.

  ‘No, Prince, come away. Mick, I’m sorry.’

  After that, I couldn’t hear anything. As Henry’s scent became lost amid the car fumes, I knew that nothing would ever be the same again. I knew then, for the first time, what life really meant.

  It meant chaos. And pain.

  back

  I was devastated by the news of Henry’s death. But alongside an overwhelming feeling of grief, there was also a fear of the unknown. Without Henry to advise me, I would have to interpret the Pact for myself.

  As far as I could tell, both Simon and Emily remained a threat to the Family. With regard to Simon, things were very serious indeed. Every time Kate returned from work she brought the Simon-smells with her, although I was still unsure of their mutual secret.

  Of course, Kate wasn’t happy that Simon and Adam continued to run together, three times a week, but what could she say? And anyway, whatever she was worried about Simon saying, was never said, just as Adam could never have hinted at his feelings for Emily. Feelings which, despite the fumbled tree-side encounter, I was sure were still strong. After all, why not break off the contact completely? Why take the risk of seeing Simon all the time if he was planning to hide from Emily for ever? Surely she would eventually say something?

  Although he had avoided her immediately afterwards, I knew it would not be for long. I knew that, so long as he continued to see Simon, he would also need to get things straight with Emily. So the evening I detected anxiety smells around his legs, I knew we were going back to the park.

  damage

  When he got there, and saw her sitting on the bench, the scent of anxiety turned again to desire, but I knew he wasn’t going to do anything stupid. Not this time.

  They just sat there, initially in silence, their heads craned back looking at the sky.

  ‘It’s a beautiful night,’ said Emily after some time. ‘All those stars.’

  ‘Yes. Beautiful.’ Adam dropped his head towards her, perhaps preferring the night’s reflection in her eyes.

  ‘What do you see, what do you see when you look at the sky? What do you think?’

  Adam looked back up and considered Emily’s question. ‘I, uh, don’t know.’ His mouth made a clicking sound. ‘I know this sounds strange but I suppose, when it’s clear like this, I see damage.’

  Emily looked at Adam and made a puzzled face. ‘Damage?’

  ‘I suppose so. When I look at stars I think of the collisions that caused them to happen. You know, the Big Bang. I mean, something caused that Bang in the first place, didn’t it? The stars, they’re beautiful and everything but, at the end of the day, they’re just debris, aren’t they, and, in some cases, debris which isn’t even there any more. So, when I look up and think about it, that is what I see. An accident scene. Damage. I saw a programme on TV about it a few weeks ago. Had all these top scientists on, and that is basically what they were saying. That everything – the earth, you, me, the dogs, this park, the stars, the whole universe – it all started because of a phenomenal collision between two physical forces. So the universe, it didn’t start from nothing, it started from things, worlds, which were already there. We’re just, you know, the aftermath. Part of the damage itself.’

  ‘Oh,’ Emily said. ‘Right.’

  Then Falstaff charged over. ‘Waah-hey, madwag!’

  ‘Waah-hey,’ I said wearily.

  ‘How long have they got?’ said Falstaff.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your Family, before they fall apart?’

  ‘They’re not going to fall apart.’

  ‘Of course they’re not, madwag. ’Course they’re not.’ And with that Falstaff was off, galloping over towards the smell-heap. He doesn’t know anything, I told myself. He’s just winding me up.

  But even so, as I turned my concentration back to Adam and Emily, I felt an undeniable sense of nausea.

  ‘About the other night,’ Adam was saying. ‘It shouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Emily said. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘It wasn’t?’

  ‘No. There was a lot of cosmic energy around. You know with the moon being in Jupiter. You’re Gemini. I’m Cancer. We couldn’t help it.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘We couldn’t really control ourselves.’

  ‘No, we couldn’t. But, um, in future I think we should try to. I mean, you’re a very attractive woman, but it’s not right. I’ve got a wife, a family, and you’ve got Simon.’

  ‘And Falstaff,’ she giggled.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Falstaff! My dog!’

  ‘Oh yes. Um, of course. But as I said, I don’t think it’s right.’

  More giggling. ‘You are funny!’ she said. ‘So serious!’

  ‘So shall we just say that it never happened?’

  ‘Of course it didn’t happen! You are funny!’

  Although confused, Adam allowed himself a slight smile of relief as he clipped on my lead. ‘Anyway, I’d better go.’

  ‘OK, see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes, see . . .’ Adam stopped, remembered. ‘Actually, no. We’ve got a weekend away planned. We’ll be off by then.’

  Emily went quiet. ‘Oh,’ she said, her voice now sad. ‘Have fun.’

  suicide

  The scent of the Family was still hanging heavy in the air when Hal ventured downstairs to phone his best friend, Jamie. The bad influence. I sat in the hall and watched him, one hand gloved in his boxer shorts, as he struggled to make excuses.

  ‘No. I can’t. No way on earth. They’re coming back tomorrow, it’s more than my life’s worth . . . I’ve got to look after the dog . . . there are smoke alarms everywhere . . . I’ve got too much revision . . . every object in this house is breakable . . . the neighbours complain if I cough too loudly let alone invite half the town around for a party . . . I’m seriously, seriously ill.’

  He looked at me, desperate for something more convincing, I wagged my way over, to offer moral support, but it was no good. The next thing he said was: ‘Well OK, but no more than ten people.’

  Lying outstretched on the floor, listening to Hal’s telephone conversation, was Lapsang. When the conversation was over she looked at me with her upside-down eyes and said: ‘Good luck.’

  ‘Are you not staying?’

  She rolled onto her front. ‘Sweetie, are you mad? Why on earth would I want to stay for a teenage party?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe there will be lots of nice warm laps.’

  ‘Believe me, if I stayed it would be suicide. I know about teenage parties, darling, and I know that cats don’t survive them in one piece. They either get a firework strapped to their tail or they are made to jump from a very large height, just to see if they can make it. So, no thanks.’ She stood up and walked past me, down the hallway, her tail brushing against my chin. ‘In fact, I am going to leave right now, just to be safe.’

  ‘Laps–’ But, before I had time to object, I was watching Lapsang disappear out of the cat-flap and then I was left alone, with Hal, and the very real threat of a teenage invasion.

  stairs

  The doorbell rang mid-afternoon.

  I barked my warning but could do little to prevent Hal from opening the door.

  ‘Who are you?’ he asked the very tall, shaven-headed boy standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said a familiar voice. ‘He’s with me.’ It was Jamie, thrusting forward a bottle of clear liquid. ‘Get that down you.’

  ‘But –’

  Jamie cupped his hand around Hal’s ear and whispered something about Laura Shepherd, the girl of Hal’s dreams and object of his conversations with the mirror. When he had finished whispering Hal stood back against the radiator in blank submission as Jamie leant his spiky head out the door and whistled down the street. Moments later, the invasion began. Teenagers of every description, armed with bottles and cans, were treading their w
ay through the door. I sniffed as many as I could but there was too much information to keep track of.

  Within no time at all, every room of the house was occupied. Music started from various locations. Drinks were being drunk, straight out of the bottles. Everyone was laughing.

  Everyone apart from Hal. He sat alone, upstairs on his bed, the bottle of clear liquid in his hand. He looked at me, unscrewed the top, and started to gulp the liquid back. He grimaced, pulled the bottle away, coughed. He held the bottle out towards me.

  ‘Want some?’ Then he too was laughing.

  This was not good.

  I went back downstairs. A boy and girl were on the living-room sofa, sticking their tongues into each other’s mouths. Next to them, the tall boy with the shaven head was placing a strange-smelling substance onto pieces of white paper. He rolled the white paper and licked it and rolled it again, to create a tube. Some kind of cigarette. Although he had been laughing he now looked very serious. He twisted and tore off the end of the tube, placed it in his mouth and set it alight.

  ‘This tune’s the bollocks,’ he said, taking the tube out of his mouth and pointing it towards the stereo.

  Someone else said, ‘Yeah, it’s wicked,’ and started to flick their hands into the air, in rhythm with the music.

  The tall boy leant forward and grabbed my collar. ‘I think he wants some,’ he said. He then placed the other end of the white tube in his mouth, the end he had set alight, and moved close to my face.

  The next thing I knew the strange-smelling smoke was in my eyes and going up my nose. Teenage laughter clattered in my brain. The tall boy pulled back as I started to cough.

  I felt weak as the room started to spin around me. Everything blurred. I tried to stand up on my hind legs and walk out of the doorway, but it kept sliding away to my right. I hit my shoulder. The laughter intensified. This was worse than the smell-heap. I was starting to smell things which weren’t even there – horrible things, dead things.

  I tried again for the doorway and this time just made it. I wanted to go and see Hal but it was impossible. I stood at the bottom of the stairs and realised they went on for ever. I saw a flickering presence, standing at the top, looking down at me. It was Henry. I closed my eyes but when I opened them he was still there.