Eric and Roy stayed on the bank for another ten minutes. During this time Roy bundled up his comics and put them in his bag, read the label on his bottle of ketchup, finished the sherbet dip and watched a couple of races. (He was in no hurry to get changed for his own; the relays were the last events.) Eric watched the races, too. He also gave more thought to his situation without thinking of anything new. At one point he resisted the urge to scratch himself with a back leg.
Then at three o’clock something happened. A rather gruff voice came out over the public address. ‘We have a message here about a missing child.’ The voice belonged to Mr Hodge. ‘It’s a little girl – three years old – dressed in a … what?’ Someone, it appeared, was giving him the details. ‘A Bo-Peep costume.’
Immediately Eric leapt to his feet.
‘Her name is Emily and she was last seen a few minutes ago in the … where? The toddlers’ playground.’
Roy leapt to his feet, too. ‘Did y’hear that?’
‘Woof!’ said Eric. He was already scrambling down the bank.
‘Anyone seeing this child, please bring her to the announcer’s table. Thank you.’
The toddlers’ playground was a patch of grass with the pavilion on one side and the refreshment area on the other. It contained a climbing frame, a wooden slide, two little bikes, three pedal cars, a Wendy house, and some large building blocks – all borrowed for the day from the Tividale Nursery. A teacher from the nursery was there to keep an eye on things, helped by a couple of older girls from the comprehensive.
When Eric – closely followed by Roy – arrived, he found a considerable crush of people. Most of them were on their way to get a cup of tea, or on their way from having had one. In the playground a number of small children were … playing; one of them was Malky Biggs. Eric trotted forward and, almost without thinking, began to sniff around. He could smell grass, and warm wood, and tea. He could smell the nursery teacher’s perfume, although she’d left to join the search for Emily.
Roy crouched beside him. ‘How’re we doing, Eric? Found anything?’
Eric made no reply, but continued to follow his nose. He could smell doughnuts and cigarette smoke. Eric had read about dogs and their sense of smell: how they could pick up the trail of a fox or a convict, or a truffle, even. At the time he hadn’t really understood how it was done. Now he was beginning to find out. He could smell suntan oil and privet.
Then, as he approached the wooden slide, one of the comprehensive girls spotted him. She frowned and said – to Roy – ‘No dogs!’
‘Right!’ said Roy. ‘I’ll get him.’
Eric heard all this and ignored it. He could smell cloth, and warm wood again, and … he gave a sudden bark of triumph, Emilyl
Emily’s smell was a mixture of her mother’s talc (that Emily loved to use), her grandma’s kitchen floor polish, Emily’s plastic sandals, Emily’s feet and … Emily! (Everyone, he now remembered reading, had his own personal smell – like fingerprints.)
‘Nearly got him!’ said Roy, in answer to more frowns from the comprehensive girls. But Eric was picking up speed and looking anything but got. Nose first – like a small brown Hoover – he skimmed across the grass. The pattern of Emily’s trail led this way and that. She had played on everything, it seemed.
When Eric had read about dogs following trails, the thing that had puzzled him (and Roy) most was: how did the dog know which end of the trail was which? However, now that he was required to do it himself, it proved to be no problem at all. Emily’s trail was like a dotted line drawn on the ground. It faded in the direction she’d come from, and was stronger in the direction she’d gone. Nor did Eric have trouble with the other trails – Malky’s, for instance – which criss-crossed Emily’s. The more he followed hers, the more tuned in he was to it (like a radio signal), and the less interference he got from other ‘stations’.
Emily’s trail, as it turned out, was short. It led out of the toddlers’ playground, past the pavilion, twice round the unattended Punch and Judy tent, back towards the pavilion, up onto the pavilion steps, down again, up again, down again, and – finally – behind the pavilion. During this time Roy kept as close to Eric as he could. He tried to give the appearance of being in charge. Now and then he got funny looks from passers-by.
The path at the side of the pavilion was narrow and hemmed in by two cricket-pitch rollers and an enormous mower. There was a machine for marking white lines, the powerful smell of which temporarily threw Eric off the scent and made him sneeze. Fortunately, by this time he hardly needed a scent. He blinked – his eyes were watering – continued down the path and turned a corner.
Eric now found himself in a small triangular space fenced in on two sides with the back of the pavilion making the third. This space contained a pile of wooden stakes and some coils of rope. It also contained Emily and a huge bull-mastiff.
The mastiff was looking fiercely (or so it seemed to Eric) at Emily. Emily was looking benignly at the mastiff. Worse still, she was approaching it with both hands out as though she meant to cuddle it. Eric didn’t hesitate. He gave a brave bark – and leapt to the rescue.
18
See Him Off!
Eric had no real plan in mind except to put himself between Emily and the mastiff. (It was the same one he’d had trouble with before, from Stone Street.) However, the moment he did this, events moved rapidly and carried him along. The mastiff, though caught off guard, took a step forward and snarled. Eric stood his ground. (Roy clutched his bag and looked for something to throw.) Eric felt the fur rising along his back (for a second he thought he was changing again). A growl developed in his throat.
Emily said, ‘Two dogs!’
Roy said, ‘See him off, Eric!’
Eric said,’Woof!’
Whereupon – unbelievably – the mastiff gave a sudden terror-stricken howl, turned tail, cleared the back fence with a tremendous jump, and disappeared.
In the silence which followed, Eric could hear the distant clatter of teacups, the sharp bang of the starter’s pistol, the crowd cheering. He felt greatly puzzled, but elated, too. He had to check himself from advancing on the fence and barking through it.
Roy’s first thought was that Eric must have said something to the mastiff. (He still believed that Eric could communicate with other dogs.) He was also, of course, bowled over with admiration. However, his final theory (developed later) was that the mastiff may have sensed – by smell, for instance, or a ‘foreign accent’ in Eric’s barking – that here was no ordinary dog. Here was a zombie dog, perhaps, or a vampire dog – a body-snatcher dog! That’d be enough to scare a Dobermann Pinscher even!
Emily, meanwhile, was unperturbed. Having seen one dog depart, she simply transferred her interest, not to say affection, to the next. This one was more her size, anyway.
Roy said, ‘Did y’see that bit of chain hanging from his collar? He’s broken loose, I bet!’
‘Woof!’said Eric.
Over her shoulder, and with all her attention fixed on Eric, Emily said, ‘Hello, Roy!’ She crouched and patted Eric on the head. He, for his part, felt a sudden urge to lick his little sister’s face, and did so. She tasted of make-up (her red Bo-Peep cheeks) and banana yoghurt. Emily was charmed. She kissed him back (on the nose) and peered closely into his face. ‘Nice dog,’ she said. And then, ‘Eric?’
‘Eric’s not here!’ said Roy, intervening sharply. He had the uncomfortable feeling Emily was onto something. ‘Come on, let’s have an ice-cream, and find y’mum.’
Roy certainly had a way with small children; he understood them, too, as the casual mention of icecream showed. Emily was hooked: ‘Or a lolly!’ she said.
So Roy took Emily’s hand and led her, via the refreshment area (where lollies and ice-cream were also sold), to the announcer’s table. Eric followed at a distance; he wasn’t keen to meet his mum. Emily, though intent on her lolly, kept swivelling round to see if he was there.
Then Mr Hodge made an anno
uncement saying Emily was safe and sound. Shortly after, a hot and flustered Mrs Banks came rushing up. She was out of breath and encumbered by a home-made shepherd’s crook. ‘Oh, Emily, where’ve you been? Did you find her, Roy? You are good! Where’s Eric?’ Mrs Banks gave Emily a cuddle and a telling-off.
‘He’s, er… still looking – we split up,’ said Roy.
‘I only left her for a minute,’ said Mrs Banks, turning to Mr Hodge.
‘Two dogs!’ said Emily.
‘Little Bo-Peep lost herself,’ said Mr Hodge.
‘A big dog and a little dog!’ Emily said.
Then, even more hot and flustered, and encumbered by a home-made sheep on wheels, Emily’s gran came rushing up. ‘Oh, Emily!’
Mr Hodge offered his chair and gratefully Emily’s gran sat down. She fanned herself with a programme. ‘Look at her,’ she said, nodding at Emily. ‘She’s not bothered.’
Emily remained engrossed in her lolly. ‘A big dog and a little dog,’ she said.
‘Yes, dear,’ said her gran.
And Emily said, ‘I want one.’
Now Emily’s gran spotted Roy. He was trying to sneak off. ‘Hello, Roy – where’s Eric?’
‘I only left her for a minute,’ said Mrs Banks. And then, ‘Yes – where is Eric? Can’t face me, I’ll bet!’
‘I’ll find him for you,’ said Roy, continuing to back away.
‘Tell him I’d like a word,’ said Mrs Banks.
‘Right!’ said Roy.
‘And Roy?’
‘Yes?’
‘One more thing: what’s Eric wearing?’
‘Wearing?’
‘Yes. As far as I can tell, he’s running round with nothing on.’
Then Roy experienced the guilty feeling he sometimes had with his own mum, made worse on this occasion by the fact that he himself was innocent. ‘Wearing … I can’t remember.’ At which point, out of range of further questioning, he turned and fled.
Eric had watched all this (and heard most of it) from his hiding place a short way off, under the tombola table. His mother’s comment reminded him, if he needed reminding, of the trouble he was in and the risks he ran. He had another, more urgent, problem, too: thirst. He was panting so hard he sounded like a piece of wood being sawn up.
As Roy went by, Eric slipped out and followed him. After they’d gone a few yards, Roy stopped and bent down. ‘Y’did great, Eric!’ he said. ‘Hey, you’re looking thirsty.’
‘Get me a drink, then,’ thought Eric.
‘You want a drink?’
‘Woof!’
‘Right,’ said Roy. ‘Let’s see what we can do.’ He turned once more in the direction of the refreshment area. ‘Perhaps we can find you a saucer or something.’
Meanwhile, out on the track, Mr Moody – using twice the words he was accustomed to use – was starting a race. ‘Ready, steady …’ He held the pistol aloft – bang!
Elsewhere, Hopper – watched by most of the large Hopper family – was behaving himself in the high jump. Mr Hodge was making an announcement about the Boys’ Brigade band. Overhead a few clouds had gathered and a plane was flying by.
Eric and Roy had almost reached the refreshment area, when suddenly Eric felt a wobbly sensation in his legs. He remembered the last time this had happened, in Roy’s room, just before … ‘Oh, no!’ He remembered reading about dogs and earthquakes. They often ran away minutes before it happened. They knew it was coming. He knew it was coming. ‘I’m changing back!’
Desperately – there were people everywhere – Eric looked for a place to hide. He felt like Cinderella at twelve o’clock. He’d never make it to the long grass, that was for sure. Then, up ahead, he caught sight of the Punch and Judy tent. It was still unattended, though a scattering of hopeful infants sat waiting for the show. ‘That’ll do,’ he thought, and thereafter instantly shot past Roy like a whippet, burrowed frantically at the back of the tent, wriggled under – and disappeared.
Roy’s first reaction, having witnessed this, was to hope no one else had. When he was sure they hadn’t, he casually approached the tent, bent down and pretended to search in his bag. ‘Eric, come out of there!’ Roy spoke from the side of his mouth, in his usual classroom manner. There was no reply. He said, ‘Anyway, what’s it like?’ (forgetting that Eric couldn’t tell him), ‘I’ve always wondered.’
What it was like, of course, was the inside of a tall, brightly coloured tent. The little curtain at the top, where the puppets appeared, was drawn. The light was green and turquoise and red, where the sun shone through the canvas material. The puppets themselves dangled upside down from a row of hooks on a piece of wood waist-high at the front of the tent. There was a small wooden box for the puppeteer to stand on. Eric, however, was in no condition to notice any of this, or tell Roy about it. He was otherwise engaged in changing back into a boy. Also his eyes were shut.
Roy, meanwhile, was becoming impatient. ‘Come on, Eric, I thought you were thirsty!’ And suspicious, too. ‘What’re you doing in there?’
Still there was no answer. Roy shuffled sideways and put his ear to the tent: nothing. Then, just as he was wondering what else to do, a hand appeared under the bottom edge, and a voice – Eric’s – said, ‘Lend me y’kit, Roy.’
19
The Jigsaw Theory
Eric became a boy again in the Punch and Judy tent at 3.35 p.m. The timetable after that was as follows:
3.40 Eric emerged and was caught in the act by Mrs Jessop, who had ‘something to say’.
3.45 Eric got his drink, but was too late to take part in the long jump.
3.53 Hopper won the high jump but broke the cane.
4.00 Joan and Alison created a problem in the girls’ three-legged race. Having qualified for the final with different partners, they now expected to run together.
4.10 The clouds grew darker and a light drizzle began to fall. Emily came joint fourth in a speeded-up fancy-dress parade and won a set of felt pens.
4.12 Roy ran in the relay. Mr Blocker had ‘something to say’ about his lack of kit. He refused Roy permission to run in his hat.
4.20 A roll of thunder was heard.
4.24 Raleigh was declared the overall winning house, and a provisional P.T.A. profit of £263.00 was announced.
4.30 The rain fell more heavily. Eric and Roy set off for home.
On the way they took shelter once or twice in shop doorways when the rain fell even more heavily. Among other things they discussed Roy’s ‘zombie dog’ theory, whether Emily had really recognized Eric when he was a dog, the contents of a chemist’s window (‘Bags that diabetic chocolate!’) and, finally, in Clay Street, Eric’s alibi.
Eric said, ‘Y’see, what they’ll think is, I left the back door open and the TV on, went out without my clothes or kit, and let a dog get in! How can I explain that?’
‘Say you forgot,’ said Roy. He flicked the rain from his hat. ‘Or did it for a bet or something.’
‘Did what for a bet?’
‘Anything – all of it. That’s what I’d say.’
Of course, from one point of view, Eric’s best alibi would have been the truth. At least that way there’d be no need to make anything up, or risk of forgetting what he’d already said. Unfortunately, it was a bit late for the truth, in Eric’s opinion. Besides, his mum and dad would never believe him. They’d think he was making the truth up.
So Eric arrived home and, in due course, told his story. He’d done it for a dare, he said. Roy had come round … he’d put Roy’s kit on … Roy had run off with his apple … Eric had chased him up the road. Then later, Roy had lost his watch … and they’d looked for it… and by that time … Eric rambled on, surprising even himself with his own inventiveness. His mum, however, was less impressed. ‘That’s the biggest rigmarole I ever heard,’ she said. ‘What happened really?’
Eric’s punishments – when they finally came — were a telling-off from his mum, and a long speech from his dad about dogs getting in who c
ould easily have been burglars (‘A gorilla could get in!’ Emily said), and TV sets blowing up, and the danger of wearing other people’s clothes. He was sent to bed early on Saturday, kept in on Sunday and scrutinized more closely than ever by his mum for much of the following week.
When Eric and Roy met on the paper-round on Monday, Roy said, ‘What did they say?’
Eric told him.
Then Roy revealed that he’d had a telling-off for lending his kit. Then he said, ‘Listen, I saw Kenny yesterday; his cousin had a video. Guess what it was?’
‘What?’
‘ “Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde”!’
‘Never heard of it.’
‘Nor me,’ said Roy. ‘But Kenny says it’s about this man – this scientist – who drinks this stuff and turns into this other man.’
‘What stuff?’
‘I don’t know, a potion or something. So, anyway, I’ve been thinking - perhaps that’s it.’
But Eric was unconvinced. He hadn’t drunk many potions lately, he said.
Later, on the way to school, Eric told Roy about an idea he’d had, or rather was beginning to have. It had occurred to him first on Sunday morning while he was eating his breakfast, part of which was a boiled egg. ‘I was thinking: eggs turn into chickens, don’t they? And nobody says that’s strange. And chrysalises turn into butterflies -’
‘And tadpoles into frogs,’ said Roy.
‘Yes … and all that – and yet a boy turns into a dog and that’s strange.’
‘Well, it is strange,’ said Roy.
They crossed the road and entered the front playground. A game of mass football was in progress; fourth years against the rest.
Eric said, ‘I don’t know, I mean, you could say everything’s strange.’
‘Or nothing is,’ said Roy.
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