by Matt Haig
Scenes of domesticity followed. Images of a young, novice Labrador nervously reciting the Pact as a newborn baby entered the home. He was clearly in over his head, and feeling the weight of his growing responsibility.
‘. . . Just when dogs seem to have everything as they want it, they run into trouble. When there’s competition, such as with a baby, the dog becomes distressed . . .’
The doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Daddy,’ Kate told me. ‘Must have forgot his keys.’ She lifted my head off her knee and went to answer it. The man on the TV continued: ‘. . . The dog’s true happiness lies in being able to recognise his place . . .’
Once Kate had managed to open the door (the door knob was still causing problems), she gasped. Well, it was half-gasp, half-word. The word was ‘Simon’. I clambered off the settee, shot out of the room – banging my shoulder against the door – and hurtled down the hallway, past the recently patched-up staircase, towards them.
‘Hello, Prince,’ he said, as if I didn’t know what he was up to. Which of course, I didn’t. At least, not fully.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Kate.
‘I am here to see you,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘As always.’
‘But I’ve told you,’ her voice was an urgent whisper, ‘not the house. Not here. If you need to speak to me come to the shop. But we’ve been through everything anyway. There’s nothing left to say.’
So my nose hadn’t deceived me. She had been seeing Simon.
‘We’ve got a lot of –’ He waited as I barked my warning and then, realising I wasn’t going to stop, he tried again, only louder. ‘We’ve still got a lot of things to sort out.’
‘I’ve said a hundred times: we can’t talk here.’
An old woman wheeling a shopping basket across the street looked over so I decided to stop barking.
‘Why not?’
‘Because Adam will be back any minute.’
‘Good. I want to speak to him too.’
‘Speak to him?’
‘Yes. I want to ask him if he fancies going abseiling this weekend.’
‘Abseiling? Ab-seiling? Simon, what’s going on? What are you up to?’
A good question. What was going on? The facts were still foggy. I sensed there had been something between them, years ago. But was there something between them now, aside from a growling Labrador? She had brought Simon’s scent into the house on a number of occasions, but did that really prove anything? Simon was still interested in Kate. Of course he was, or why was he there, on the doorstep? But what exactly was he up to? If he wanted Kate, he wanted to destroy the Family, as he could hardly have one without the other. Kate. Destruction. They came as a package.
‘Why, Kate, you suspicious little minx. What on earth could I possibly be up to?’
I tried to sniff for further information but was thwarted by the front-garden flower smells.
‘Just let it go,’ Kate pleaded, eventually.
There was a pause, during which the man on the TV could be heard: ‘What other species has this incredible hold over us . . . ?’
Simon held her gaze. ‘But that’s just it, Kate, isn’t it? That’s just it. I can’t let go. I’ve got to take responsibility for what happened and that is what I’ve come back to do.’
I looked up at Simon’s face, trying to predict. To protect. How much did he know about Emily and Adam? His mouth fell open, about to speak. His tongue hesitated behind his upper teeth, as his eyes travelled downwards over her body. But whatever he wanted to say, wasn’t said. He clearly had a better moment in mind. Instead, he told her what he had told her before: ‘You really are a beautiful woman, Kate.’
And then he stepped backwards, towards the gate. Smiling mischievously, either at a memory or at some planned future occurrence. It was hard to tell.
And then he was gone. And Kate was left, weak-legged and struggling for air.
I had definitely missed something.
Oh yes, I definitely had.
ropes
After a certain point, human life rarely surprised me. A species so irrevocably detached from nature, I reasoned to myself, would inevitably have to impose its own set of challenges. Of all these challenges though, nothing struck me as more odd than the desire to hang over the side of a cliff-edge on a piece of rope.
‘There’s nothing quite like it,’ Simon had explained to Adam when he returned the next day. ‘It’s just this intense feeling you get in your balls when you’ve abseiled halfway down the rock face.’
Of course, Adam was not overly enthused by the prospect and believed, as always, that he could question his way out of the situation. ‘Don’t you have to be qualified? Don’t you need to have an instructor present? Don’t you need to be part of a large team?’
‘Listen, Adam, it was only a suggestion. I understand completamente if you’re not up to it. I mean, I’ve been doing it for years now, used to be a group of us who would go down to Kent. But I still get nervous sometimes, before going over the edge. It’s just whether or not you can handle the nerves or crack. That’s why I like it, I suppose; it separates the men from the boys. But, as I’ve said, no pressure. It’s just that I was planning to go on Saturday-week, to Malham Cove in the Dales, and I’ll need a companion.’
Adam puffed his cheeks and blew slowly. This was a decision based on many things. This was about the need to prove himself. This was about Simon. About the competition which clearly existed between the two men. This was about Emily. This was also, in a strange way, about Kate. Ultimately though, in Adam’s mind, this was about balls. About intense feeling.
He looked at me, almost as if he thought I could provide a way out. I used all my mental powers to try and make it OK. It seemed to work. ‘Would I be, um, able to take Prince?’ he asked.
Simon laughed. ‘Of course, my man, he can have a go himself if he wants. I’d take our dog, he loves being out in the wild, but the trouble is he’s just too damn hard to keep under control.’
‘Yeah, OK, sounds good,’ Adam lied. ‘Saturday, yeah, er, of course. I’d love to. You’ll have to show me the ropes.’ He smiled, realising he had made a joke. ‘The ropes.’
‘Yes, Adam. That’s good. The ropes. I’ll have to remember that one.’
clouds
Before Saturday and before Adam could experience any intense feeling, things got serious. Kate was arriving home from work later and later, and the Simon-smell she carried was getting stronger. She was paying less attention to Grandma Margaret, who was still lost in memories of her dead husband.
Charlotte was OK, but only just. She was still very quiet, and was clearly finding it awkward the way everyone was being so kind to her.
‘I’m all right,’ she kept on saying. ‘Hon-est-ly.’
But if anything else were to happen, or was to be uncovered, it could destroy her. And as for Hal, well, it was difficult to tell. As prediction equalled protection, I only had one choice. I had to find more information. The Adam and Emily situation had for the moment resolved itself. Both had agreed that they should pretend it never happened. With Simon and Kate, however, I needed outside help.
I needed Falstaff.
He had said, on more than one occasion, that he knew everything and I wanted to see if he was right.
So, two days before Simon and Adam’s planned excursion, I decided to risk leaving my sentry post beside the bench and head over to the wild, overgrown area surrounding the smell-heap.
‘Waah-hey, madwag, you crazy old bastard. How the hell are you this fine summer’s evening?’ said Falstaff, in between head-diving into the smell-heap.
‘I’m not too –’ I waited for his head to re-emerge – ‘I’m not too good.’
‘Oh, I see, madwag, I see. Looking for a little pick-me-up, something to blunt the edges. Something to make you forget about your day job. Well go on, be my guest.’ He nudged his head sideways, towards the smell-heap.
My stomach shifted, pushing toward my throat. ‘No, really,
Falstaff. I’m OK. You’re a Springer, or as good as, I’m a Labrador. Let’s just leave it at that. I just wondered if we could talk.’
He wheezed his way over, sniffed me, then said: ‘A fine summer’s evening.’ It was, I had to admit, but I had other things on my mind.
‘Listen, Falstaff. You know when you said you knew everything, I wanted to know what you meant, I –’
‘Have you ever chased a squirrel, madwag?’ His eyes, sparkling with mischief, looked past me towards the middle-distance.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing like it, madwag, nothing at all. Running after those bouncing furry tails. It’s what fine summer evenings were made for.’
‘It’s about Simon. I need more information.’
Again, he evaded me. ‘Look, over there.’
‘Falstaff –’
‘Over there by the bushes. You see them? Two of the little buggers.’
I half-turned to see, at the periphery of my vision, two squirrels engaged in fidgety conversation. ‘Yes, but, Falstaff –’
‘Walk with me,’ he said, in the hushed, dog-on-a-mission tone beloved by adolescent pups less than an eighth his age. And so, as often happened in Falstaff’s presence, I found myself doing something I would never normally do. Something which was explicitly outlawed by the Pact. I was stalking a squirrel. But at the same time, I continued to stalk the truth.
‘I need your help,’ I whispered, as we trod through the head-high grass. ‘The Family I have sought all my life to protect is now in grave danger. I need to save them, but to do that I need to find out more about Simon.’
Falstaff paused, squinted his eyes. A midge-cloud surrounded his head. I am not sure if he had even heard me; he was certainly acting like he hadn’t.
‘OK, madwag, you see the one on the right. That’s yours. I’ll take the other little bugger.’
‘But, Falstaff –’
‘Let’s get to work.’ He was already ahead of me, moving in for the kill. I looked around, then followed. If I wanted information, I had little choice. The moment we stepped out of the long grass, the squirrels noticed us and darted towards the trees. But I had no intention of catching my squirrel. I am not, in any case, one of nature’s athletes. I was just trying my best to please Falstaff.
‘There, madwag!’ he said. ‘Up there.’
I placed my front paws on the trunk and barked aimlessly up towards where I imagined the squirrel must be, while keeping an eye on my companion.
‘No, madwag!’ he chuckled. ‘You are barking up the wrong tree!’
But I didn’t care. All this meant was that I might now be able to get some sense out of him, before Adam and Emily came to take us home.
‘Now can we talk?’ I asked, as we headed slowly back towards the smell-heap. Falstaff didn’t respond, so I decided to continue. ‘It’s about my Family, they could be in serious trouble. And I believe Simon has something to do with it.’
Falstaff sighed. ‘Tell me, Prince, why does all this matter so much to you?’
I was surprised. Not by the question, but by the fact that he had, for the first time since we met, called me by my proper name. His voice had changed too. He was speaking softly, without even a trace of ridicule.
‘It matters because –’ I hesitated.
‘Duty over all. Prediction equals protection. Yada yada yada. I know all about it. Always have. You know in London it’s not seen as such a big thing, it really isn’t. The thing with city dogs, madw–’ he cut himself short, ‘is that they tend to be less gullible. Even the Labradors.’
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. ‘They follow the Pact though . . .’ I swallowed hard. ‘. . . I mean, don’t they?’
‘They do, Prince. They do. Well, most of them. In the big parks you come across some deserters and drop-outs who will tell you everything. But even those who follow the Pact seem to have a, how should I put it, a looser interpretation. They do what they can to protect the Family, but they don’t lose any sleep if things fall apart. Because, believe me, in London, that would mean there’s a hell of a lot of sleepless Labradors.’
Although Falstaff’s manner had changed, I was well aware that what he was saying could simply be another evasion tactic.
‘But you don’t understand,’ I explained. ‘We are in control. If a Family falls apart, the Labrador is to blame. And if we fail, we lose our Eternal Reward.’
This last statement returned Falstaff to his familiar self. ‘Eternal Reward, madwag? Little happy Labradors floating on little fluffy clouds. Hmm, no. I don’t buy it. No other dogs there at all, only those that follow the Pact? And no humans. I mean, think about it. It doesn’t make sense. And I have to say it, madwag, you don’t seem that in control to me . . .’ He stopped, acknowledging the hurt in my eyes.
‘Look,’ I said, slowly. ‘I have to protect the Family. I do not care about my Eternal Reward. Not really. I have to save them because –’ For the first time, I was forced to express my true feelings. And now it was my voice which changed. It was steady, I was no longer concerned with impressing Falstaff, or anybody else. But while I was speaking the truth, I couldn’t help but feel that I was listening to someone else. That someone was telling me what I, in fact, was saying. ‘Because I love them. And because I know, deep inside, they love each other more than anything in the world. I can see what you’re thinking. I am a sentimental Labrador, I do not know what I am talking about. I should be out sniffing smell-heaps and chasing squirrels. I should lighten up. Life’s a bitch and then you die. Get used to it. But the thing is, the thing is, I can’t get used to it. I really can’t. I watch the Family every day from my basket and I understand them completely. I understand that they want a happy ending, that they want to keep it together. They also believe that they can make it happen. Despite their separate lives, jobs, desires and all the outside danger. You see, you may joke about the Pact. But without a coherent set of rules, without the power to believe in something, things fall apart. And I can’t let that happen . . . because . . . because I am the Family. When they’re happy, I’m happy. When they feel pain, I feel that too. When I found Charlotte on the bathroom floor, after swallowing all those pills –’
‘Charlotte?’ Falstaff suddenly appeared interested in what I was saying.
‘She’s the youngest child. A short while ago she tried to kill herself. It was terrible. I feel responsible for her. She used to be angry all the time because nothing made sense, but now she is starting to find her way. If anything happened to the Family, she would feel the most pain. I don’t know if she’d be able to come back from it, I really don’t.’
‘Listen, Prince. There is nothing you can do –’
I studied him closely. ‘I am not talking about the Labrador Pact. Not any more. I want to protect the Family, regardless. I need you to help me. If you knew Charlotte, I know you would.’
Falstaff thought hard. Some sort of internal struggle seemed to be going on behind his dark, half-Springer eyes.
‘I knew Charlotte,’ he said eventually, although it took even longer for the words to gain meaning. ‘When I lived here before, with Simon.’
Two cars sped past the park wall, exchanging angry honks. The noise seemed to be coming from another world.
The Falstaff who now faced me was a complete stranger. He looked sad, guilty even. What the hell was he talking about? I wanted the old Falstaff back. All of a sudden, I didn’t want the information I had asked for. I wanted to bury my head in the smell-heap and breathe in its smells until I lost the power of rational thought. I wanted to run wild. I wanted to not care.
‘Listen, Falstaff –’
‘Your woman . . . Kate . . . she used to bring the baby over for Simon to see. She had to. She had no choice. If she hadn’t, Simon would have told Adam.’ He paused, realising he had told me too much. And yet, at the same time, still too little.
‘Told Adam?’
‘Prince, I’m sorry, I should have told you before. I just wanted
you to forget about the Family. I knew how much pain it would cause you. You see, there’s nothing you can do, mad– Prince, nothing at all.’
‘About what?’
He closed his eyes and said: ‘About the fact that Simon is Charlotte’s father.’
breathe
The park tilted, causing me to lose my balance. I could hardly breathe, and somewhere in the distance squirrels were laughing. Things were going dark.
mistakes
I found it difficult to speak. After a short silence, Falstaff went on: ‘He tells me things, when Emily is asleep. He thinks I don’t understand. But he has come back for her. For both of them. For Charlotte and her mother. He wants a Family of his own and Emily is unable to have children. At least, with him. When Charlotte was a baby, he was not ready. He wanted to see her, that was all. And then he ran away, with me, to London. But now he has come back. He is ignoring Emily and so she is trying to make him jealous. But her plan isn’t working. Simon is pleased, he wanted all this to happen. He is waiting for the right moment. To tell Adam about Charlotte. And then, once he has done that, he will tell Kate about Adam and Emily.’
I stared at Falstaff as the news settled in my mind.
‘He knows about that?’
‘She wanted him to know. Why did she choose the park to make her move? And anyway, she has told him. I’m sorry, madwag, but now you must know the truth. The Family you have tried your hardest to protect is about to fall apart and it is not your fault. There is nothing you can do. Mistakes were made before you even came along. Face it, the Springers have a point. Their mistakes, madwag. Their mistakes. None of this is to do with you. You’re just the pet Labrador who sits in the corner of the room, watching it all happen. The rest of us realised that a long time ago. We are nothing. We are breathing ornaments. We sell toilet tissues and dreams of Family life. We might as well try to enjoy ourselves in the process.’
He paused, sniffed my ear. ‘I’ll tell you my theory: human Families are destined to fail. They want too much. They talk too much. They are built on lies which may or may not be dug up, but either way, they fail. Well, why shouldn’t we lie too? Why shouldn’t we just pretend that nothing matters? Why . . .’