‘What’s Eric been up to?’ she said. ‘His hands were filthy!’
And Roy said ‘Er… well.’ww
12
Farmer Wants Wife
Eric was almost home, when, at the corner of Clay Street and Apollo Road, he met Joan Spooner again. She was still on her bike, still on the pavement, and posting a letter in a letter-box.
‘Hello, Eric!’
‘Hello,’ said Eric. ‘Can’t stop!’ And he didn’t.
Joan called after him, ‘Where’s Roy?’
‘Who wants to know?’ said Eric. ‘He’s your boyfriend, I bet!’
‘No, he isn’t.’
‘You love him!’ Eric was hurrying backwards up the road.
‘He’s got a dog!’ shouted Joan. ‘Says it’s yours!’
‘A what?’
‘A dog!’
As the gap between them increased, so did the noise.
‘Who has?’
‘He has!’
‘Y’what?’
‘You heard!’
A woman with a baby scowled somewhat as she got caught in the middle. So did the baby. Then Eric reached his front gate and fell silent. Emily was in the garden riding her tricycle. His gran was there, cutting a few roses. Most importantly, however, his mum was standing in the doorway with a cup of tea in her hand and a questioning look on her face.
‘Hello, Eric!’ said his gran. And Emily rang her bell for him. And his mum said, ‘You’re late. Where’s your socks?’
‘Hello, Gran!’ said Eric. ‘In my bag, well, er…’ he lowered his voice, ‘one of’em.’
Emily left her tricycle and began tugging at her gran’s dress. ‘Want to whisper.’
She whispered, after which her gran said, ‘She wants to do her S.O.N.G. for Eric’
Mrs Banks continued to observe her son. He looked ill-at-ease. ‘Is that T-shirt wet?’
‘A little bit – what song?’ He grabbed Emily and swung her round. ‘A song for me, lovely!’ Whereupon Emily (having immediately forgiven him for guessing it was a song) sang her song, although in fact her gran sang much of it. It was ‘The Farmer Wants a Wife’ or, in Emily’s version, ‘Farmer Wants Wife’. She had learnt it that morning at playschool and practised it in the afternoon at her gran’s. Eric, meanwhile, sat on the step and demonstrated a keen interest in his sister, while hoping his mum might take a less than keen interest in him. She didn’t.
‘Eric, Roy hasn’t got a dog, has he?’
Eric didn’t hesitate. ‘A dog? – no!’
‘Only I think I saw him in the High Street with one.’
‘Oh, that dog!’ Eric did his best not to appear furtive. ‘That wasn’t Roy’s. It sort of… followed us.’
‘Us? I didn’t see you.’
‘Ah!’ said Eric.
Then his gran said ‘Sh! This is the best bit.’ And Emily, tunelessly but with much feeling, sang:
‘Nurse wants dog,
Nurse wants dog,
E… I… E… I
Nurse wants dog.’
And his gran said, ‘She wants one.’
‘I know,’ said Eric.
‘I’ve told your mum. She had a dog when she was two.’
Mrs Banks sipped her tea. ‘That dog with Roy looked a bit like the one that got in the house,’ she said.
Just then Mr Banks, in his postman’s uniform, appeared at the gate. Emily was all for starting her performance again for his benefit. ‘Want to whisper,’ she said.
But Mrs Banks had other ideas. ‘Come on, Charles -we’ll be late.’
And he said, ‘Right!’ and went inside.
At this point Eric remembered his parents were going out and his gran was babysitting. He stood up and gave Emily a round of applause. She strutted a little and ran into the back garden.
His mum said, ‘Let’s see those hands!’
Reluctantly, Eric held them out. They didn’t seem too bad to him. He’d spat on them and rubbed them on his jeans all the way from Roy’s.
His gran also had a look. ‘Like toads’ backs!’ she said.
Luckily, after that, what with the tea, and the getting ready to go out, and his gran being there, Eric avoided most of the trouble he might otherwise have expected. When his mum and dad left, he read a book and watched TV with his gran; it was raining outside. Emily made beds. She had a bag of cloth scraps and made beds for her dolls and teddies all over the room. She made beds for bits of Lego and lumps of Plasticine too, come to that.
After a while Eric lowered his book and stared unseeingly at the TV screen. He was thinking about the business of being a dog: how long would it go on? And shrinking: perhaps he should weigh himself next time, if there was a next time. He was thinking -
‘Penny for them,’ said his gran. And then, ‘Cup of tea?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Eric. He watched his gran go out into the kitchen. He listened to the kettle being filled and the gas popping on. He looked down at Emily. She was making a bed in one of her dad’ slippers and singing quietly to herself.
‘Dickory, dickory,’ Emily glanced up, caught Eric looking at her, and smiled, ‘ .. dog!’
13
Conversations
When Eric and Roy met on the paper-round next morning – it was Saturday – they had much to talk about.
In Freeth Street Roy said, ‘What I want to know is, what was it like?’
‘Being a dog?’
‘No: changing.’
Eric thought for a moment. ‘Scary!’ he said.
Roy pushed a paper through a letter-box and felt an impatient hand pulling it from the other side. ‘What could you see?’ he said.
‘Nothing. I had my eyes shut.’
In Fisher Road Roy said, ‘I’ve been thinking – you must have shrunk, y’know.’
‘I thought of that,’ said Eric.
‘So, where does the rest of you go?’
‘That’s what I wondered.’ Eric leapt a low wall to deliver a paper.
Roy said, ‘We could’ve weighed you; took your pawprints!’ And he said, ‘Listen – next time, if we cut a bit of your fur off, we could –’
‘No,’ said Eric.
‘Only a bit!’
‘No!’
In Stone Street they met up with the mastiff again, barking as usual and rattling its chain.
‘Can you tell what he’s saying?’ said Roy.
‘He’s saying, shove off!’ said Eric.
‘No, I mean, can you understand other dogs when you’re one?’
And Eric, reluctant to confess that he couldn’t, said, ‘Sort of.’
Later, still in Stone Street, the subject turned to mums: ‘My mum found crumbs where you’d been eating,’ said Roy, and after that to Emily, and Emily’s gran’s idea that if she wanted a dog she should have one. That’d be good,’ said Roy. And he thought, ‘Two dogs – great!’ And he said, ‘If she did have one, it’d be your brother, y’know – think of that.’
In Vicarage Road they talked about Hopper and were glad it wasn’t a school day, and codes, and not asking questions with either/or in them. Eric complained (as he had done before in Roy’s room) about Roy giving the game away to Joan Spooner. Roy drew Eric’s attention to the heavy responsibility (and heavy bags) he had been saddled with.
In Seymour Avenue Eric said, ‘The German for dog is “hund”,’ which didn’t interest Roy much; and, ‘ “Dog” backwards spells “God”,’ which did.
Roy, in fact, was much struck by this notion. ‘Hey, yes!’ He kicked a cigarette packet into the gutter. ‘Perhaps that’s it – like reincantation, y’mean.’
‘Carnation,’ said Eric.
‘Or a miracle!’ said Roy.
When the round was finished, Eric went back to the shop to collect his wages. When he came out, Roy said, ‘One year in a dog’s life’s supposed to be seven in a human’s, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Eric. He handed Roy his share of the money.
‘Thanks,’ said Roy. ‘So y’see, what I’ve worked o
ut is, if you were a ten-year-old dog, you’d really be seventy.’
‘That doesn’t sound right.’
‘Yes it does,’ said Roy. ‘No wonder you wouldn’t run about.’
On the way home, Roy tentatively raised one last question. It had been in his mind – off and on – ever since Eric had turned back into a boy. ‘Listen, Eric,’ he fiddled with his cap, ‘I’ve been thinking,’ and tried to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice, ‘when might you change again?’
‘Dunno,’ said Eric.
‘Only I was wondering, perhaps if you thought hard about it, you might sort of… make it happen.’
At that moment a man stepped out onto the pavement farther up the road and shouted, ‘Roy!’ It was his dad.
Roy looked at his watch and began to run. ‘I’ve got to go!’
‘Right,’ said Eric.
‘Listen, don’t forget, if you do change -’
‘I know,’ said Eric: ‘come round.’
Roy ran backwards up the road. ‘And don’t forget, if you do come round –’
‘I know,’ said Eric, and cupped his hands to his mouth: ‘Howl!’
14
Mongrel
Eric and Roy didn’t see each other again until Monday morning, although Roy did try to get to Eric’s on Sunday morning, but was prevented by his mum. On Saturday Roy was away all day at his grandparents’ house. Sunday, it rained.
On Monday, on the way to school, Roy showed Eric some foreign coins his grandad had given him. When Kenny Biggs joined them, he showed him, too. Kenny, however, was interested in other things. ‘What happened to that dog?’
At this point Roy couldn’t resist the urge to be mysterious. After all, where was the fun in having a secret, if nobody knew you had it? ‘Hard to say,’ he said. And later, That’d be telling!’ And later still, ‘Sorry, Kenny – it’s a secret.’
Eric, of course, didn’t approve of Roy’s behaviour, but apart from the odd nudge there was little he could do.
Then, as they neared the school gates, the subject turned inevitably to Hopper. ‘I don’t think he really missed you,’ said Kenny; ‘too busy batting.’
And Roy said, ‘Y’know, when you think about it, we’ve got the fourth years on us, and the second years have got us on them, and the first years have got the second years on them.’
‘And the infants have got the first years,’ said Eric. ‘And the playschool kids have got the infants!’
‘And the babies have got everybody!’ Kenny said.
During assembly Mr Blocker sang a hymn, read a prayer, and complained about litter. He also presented a number of swimming badges and made an announcement about Sports Day, due to take place on the coming Saturday.
There was a buzz of excitement when Sports Day was mentioned. Under cover of it – or so he thought -Roy said, ‘Let’s go to the library at playtime, and look at dog books.’
‘That’s what I was going to say,’ said Eric.
And Mrs Jessop said, ‘Roy!’
For the first part of the morning Class Three had a maths lesson with Mr Cork. He had drawn a large graph on the marker-board. It was based on a survey of children’s names in the school, which some of the girls had done. According to this survey there were eleven Traceys and eight Garys. At the other extreme there was one Shane, one Angelita and one Eric.
Eric pretended to be pleased to be the only Eric, but privately rather envied the more numerous Michaels and Jonathans.
Roy (there were two Roys) said, ‘If they’d called you Robin, you’d have been Robin Banks – think of that!’
At playtime Eric and Roy avoided the teacher on duty and sneaked into the library. From their previous work on dogs, they knew exactly where to look. Roy was interested in reading about Norfolk terriers. He especially wanted to see a picture of one. Eric’s interest was more general.Now that he absolutely knew he’d turned into a dog – and not once, but twice – he increasingly wanted to find out why. The urge was scientific. He didn’t know yet how to proceed, but dog books seemed as good a starting point as any.
Unfortunately, each boy had barely laid hands on the book of his choice when Mr Blocker, with a cup of tea in one hand and a starting pistol in the other, entered the library.
‘You boys!’ he said.
‘Sir!’ said Eric.
‘What are you up to?’
‘Studying, Sir,’ said Eric.
‘Dog books,’ said Roy, and held his up as proof.
Mr Blocker, however, was an experienced head.
He prided himself he knew what studying was, and what fooling around was, too. He waved his pistol at them and told them to leave.
At dinner time Eric and Roy found places on Joan and Alison’s table. Alison wanted to hear more about Roy’s dog – or was it Eric’s? – that Joan had told her about. Roy dropped a couple of hints and Eric gave him a kick under the table.
Alison said, ‘I heard of a dog once that put a bone in your bed, if it liked you.’
‘I heard of one that howled if you stroked the cat,’ said Joan.
After dinner Eric and Roy avoided the dinner ladies and sneaked into the infant library. Eric found a Ladybird book on dogs. Roy got waylaid a little with a book called Where’s Spot?. It was about a puppy. You had to lift the flap on each page to find where it was hiding. Roy thoroughly enjoyed it.
Suddenly, a man’s face with a cigarette in it appeared at the window. It was Mr Moody, the caretaker. He knocked on the window and gestured for them to leave. He mouthed a single word through the glass: ‘Out!’
In the afternoon Class Three had a drama lesson with Mr Cork. Joan and Alison asked Eric and Roy to be in their play.
‘Joan wants you to be in our play,’ said Alison.
‘No, she wants you to,’ said Joan.
‘What’s it about?’ said Eric.
‘It’s called “The Mad Professor’s Daughter”,’ said Joan. ‘It’s about this girl who comes to a school, and she’s dressed all in black, and she asks the other girls to go home with her.’
‘Any eating in it?’ said Roy. He’d been in a play once, about a picnic. There had been real sandwiches and real pop.
‘No,’ said Joan. ‘Anyway, these girls go with this girl, you see, and her father – he’s the mad professor – he drugs them and chains them up in his dungeon.’
‘Where’d you get the idea from?’ said Roy.
‘Alison made it up,’ said Joan.
‘No, you did,’ said Alison.
‘Who’s going to be the daughter?’ said Eric.
‘Me!’ said Alison and Joan.
At the end of the day Eric and Roy made one more effort to further their education and look at library books. This time, for a while, they were successful. Roy, in fact, soon found what he was looking for: a picture of a Norfolk terrier. ‘Hey, Eric - look at this!’ But Eric was intent on his own book and did not reply.
Roy said, ‘This dog’s different from you, y’know. Your ears were flappier, and you had more fur. You’re not a Norfolk terrier.’ He considered the matter for a moment. ‘Sorry, Eric – you’re a mongrel!’
Just then Mrs Jessop entered the library. She had her coat on and was carrying a handbag and a briefcase.
Eric leapt to his feet and improvised an alibi. ‘We’re doing a dog project, Miss!’
‘An advanced dog project,’ said Roy.
But Mrs Jessop was not impressed. She had a quick look round the library to see what they were really up to, and told them to go home.
Out in the street Roy said, ‘Y’know, this is a dog project, when you think about it.’ And he said, ‘We could find out more about dogs than even the books know. You could interview ‘em!’
Eric said, ‘Don’t you call me a mongrel!’
On the way home Eric and Roy arranged to go to the Tat Bank Library after tea. There’d be dog books there all right, and no interference.
When he arrived home and entered the kitchen, Eric found his mum sitting
at the table reading a paper.
‘Seen my library ticket, Mum?’ he said.
‘Sitting-room sideboard,’ said Mrs Banks, without looking up, ‘top drawer, right.’
Eric left the room and returned shortly after. Mrs Banks continued to read. ‘What are you going to the library for?’
‘Dog books,’ said Eric, and immediately regretted his words.
‘Dog books?’ Mrs Banks lowered her paper and looked closely at Eric. He had the feeling she was trying to read him. She saidr ‘Is Roy going?’
‘Yes,’ said Eric.
‘In this weather – to a library?’
‘Yes. It’s a sort of… project.’
Mrs Banks continued to scrutinize her son. ‘Hmm!’ she said.
When they reached the library, Eric and Roy headed straight for the dog books in the children’s section.
‘Here’s a good ‘un,’ said Roy, almost before he’d taken it from the shelf: ‘Wild Dogs and Working Dogs.’
‘I’m having this,’ said Eric: ‘A Closer Look at Dogs.’
Roy said, ‘This one’s got careers for dogs in it. Hey, we could find you a job!’
‘It says here,’ said Eric, ‘ “A St Bernard is a hundred times heavier than a chihuahua”.’
‘I could’ve told you that,’ said Roy. Then he said, ‘You could be a guide dog – a guard dog!’
‘ “The Greeks believed there was a dog with three heads”,’ said Eric.
‘A gun dog!’ said Roy.
Half an hour later Eric and Roy emerged from the library and stood squinting in the bright sunlight. Each was carrying three books, the maximum allowed. Eric had one of his open. ‘It says here,’ he said.
‘Hello, Miss!’ shouted Roy.
Eric looked up, just in time to see Mrs Jessop go riding by on her bicycle.
‘Hello boys!’ Mrs Jessop, for her part, had time to notice the armfuls of books Eric and Roy were carrying, and the library they were leaving. As she turned the corner, she felt a twinge of guilt. They really were doing a project!
Eric and Roy watched her go. Then Eric said, ‘It says here: “The dog is essentially an animal of the chase: enduring, patient, intelligent and fleet of foot”.’ He smiled and stuck out his chest. ‘That’s me!’
Woof! Page 6