Dog Gone

by Carole Poustie

  I sat on the step of the fire truck, just below the driver’s cabin. The hot chocolate tasted good and the mug felt warm in my hands. Gran and Molly sat either side of me, and Dad squatted down in front, resting his hands on my knees. His dark blue eyes smiled as they looked into mine. He’d obviously just got up, because his shiny black hair stuck out at all angles. I wondered when he’d arrived at Gran’s.

  I felt the hot chocolate warming my insides as it slid down my throat. Nobody spoke as I drank. They watched me blow across the frothy top and take little sips. It was as if the chocolate was a magical potion, and they were waiting to see if I’d turn into a frog. I didn’t mind them watching me. And even though no one speaking was kind of weird, it was okay. I felt safe.

  As soon as I finished the last mouthful, Gran took my mug and passed it to Dad, then put her arms around me. Her coat smelled of mothballs, but she felt soft and warm. Quietly, she said, ‘The ambulance officer wants to check you over before they take Brody to hospital, love. Come into the kitchen where it’s warm. I’ve lit the wood fire.’

  The firemen were packing the ropes and harness back into the truck. The ambulance was parked just behind it. I caught a glimpse of Brody in the back, just before an ambulance officer closed the doors.

  ‘Can I say goodbye to Brody first?’ I asked, as Gran helped me to my feet and led me in the direction of the house.

  ‘Can’t see why not,’ said Gran. ‘Go on, then.’

  As I walked over to the ambulance, I was surprised at how wobbly my legs felt. I had to concentrate to walk in a straight line.

  ‘How you doing, mate?’ asked the ambulance officer. ‘Come to see your friend, have you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I didn’t mind him calling Brody my friend. I watched as he swung the rear door open again. Sitting next to Brody was the other ambulance officer. Brody was hooked up to a plastic tube and his leg was in a large, white splint.

  ‘How’s your leg now, Brody?’

  ‘Not so bad, I s’pose,’ he replied. ‘They say I’ll have to have an operation to set it.’

  ‘They’ll look after you.’

  ‘Come and visit me?’

  ‘You bet. I’ll bring the joke book.’

  Brody groaned as the ambulance officer clunked the door closed again and turned me in the direction of the house. ‘Come on, young man – let’s check you out.’

  I lay in bed and stared at the wall. Gran hadn’t quite closed the curtains, and a small patch of light appeared and disappeared next to the wardrobe, as clouds passed in front of the sun and moved on again. I didn’t feel sleepy, but Gran and Dad had insisted I have a rest in my room until lunchtime. I heard the murmur of their voices coming from the kitchen.

  My head was spinning with everything that had happened. Gran had said that even though I’d had a nasty experience, I still had a lot of explaining to do. When I got up, I’d be facing the judge and jury, now that Dad was here, too.

  I got out my journal and wrote the day’s Lucky poem. It had been going round in my head in the well. When Brody had fallen asleep, I’d also tried to make the time pass quicker by thinking about all of Lucky’s funny ways.

  Day 11 - Picnic Lunch

  We’re at the park

  Lucky and me

  I’m teaching him

  to walk without his lead

  some people are

  on a rug in the sun

  a boy has a remote control plane

  it whizzes over my head

  and I watch for a minute

  then there’s a scream

  the people on the rug

  are yelling

  and chasing after Lucky

  he runs past

  with their whole chicken

  Now that Dad was here, he could come with me to visit Nelly Arnott. Dad would be able to convince her to give Lucky up if she’d kidnapped him. And if she didn’t have Lucky, Dad would be able to convince the police to do a door-to-door search. Lucky couldn’t have just disappeared into thin air.

  I didn’t want to spoil the time with Dad, so I decided I wouldn’t mention anything about the ghost. I didn’t want him worrying about me. He’d think I’d gone crazy. Now I only had to work out what to tell Gran and Dad about being found in Miss Beech’s office, then all my problems would be solved.

  A face appeared at the door. ‘Hungry?’ asked Gran, twirling a tea towel in the air.

  ‘A bit – what’s for lunch, Gran?’ I had my fingers crossed it was Gran’s shepherd’s pie, my absolute favourite. Mum never had time to cook home-made stuff. Our meals at home usually came out of a packet or tin.

  ‘Shepherd’s pie, of course,’ she said, stepping into my room. ‘But I thought you might’ve had a sleep.’

  ‘Nah, I told you I wasn’t tired, Gran.’ I put my slippers on and slid under her arm. She tucked it around me, then draped the tea towel over my head so I couldn’t see.

  ‘Come on, your Dad’s got a surprise for you and the pie’s getting cold. Think you can find it by following your nose?’ Gran tickled me under my arm all the way into the kitchen.

  Chapter 22

  ‘That’s a stupid idea! And it’s not even a surprise!’ Molly’s voice echoed down the hallway and seemed to blast into the kitchen just before she did.

  Dad was right behind. As he came in and slumped onto the chair next to Gran, he looked like a balloon with a slow leak. You could literally see him deflating – his shoulders drooping, his chin dropping to his chest and the shine fading from his eyes. ‘I thought you two would enjoy paddling the canoe. You always used to when you were little,’ he said.

  ‘Well, we’re not little anymore! Haven’t you noticed?’ Molly sat in the remaining chair, which was between Dad and me, and swept her plate and cutlery away from his. She practically knocked me off my chair as she stood up. She slid her own chair as far from Dad’s as she could, and thumped down again. ‘No, well I don’t suppose you could have noticed, when you live in Sydney and we live in Melbourne.’

  ‘Molly – that’s enough,’ said Gran, serving the shepherd’s pie and spilling peas all over the table.

  ‘It’d do you good to get some fresh air and exercise,’ persisted Dad, ‘and anyway, I’ve spent an hour dusting it off and getting it ready.’

  ‘No way! I’m not sitting in a canoe with you.’ Molly slid to the very edge of her chair and almost sat in my lap.

  ‘I want to go, Dad,’ I said, moving my chair along a bit.

  ‘Traitor!’ Molly stood up and glared down at me. ‘How could you want to be with him after what he’s done to Mum – leaving her like that and going to live in Sydney?’

  ‘Molly!’ said Gran, standing up and resting her hands on the table.

  ‘It’s all right, Maggie,’ said Dad, ‘if she wants to get it off her chest, let her.’

  Molly didn’t need to be asked twice. ‘You don’t care about me and Ish. You hardly ever ring us up like you said you would and you didn’t even remember my birthday! All you care about is your stupid new job. Now Mum has to go to work every day and she never has time to help me with my homework because she’s always doing the washing or something, and it’s all your fault! I hate you!’ Molly pushed her plate into the middle of the table and ran out of the kitchen and down the hall to her room. She slammed the door so loudly the windows rattled.

  Lunch should have been delicious, but Molly ruined it. Nobody really felt hungry after her performance. Dad went down to try and coax her out. By the time he came back, his pie had gone cold. I noticed Gran only ate half of hers and I could only manage about the same. The only good part about it was neither Dad nor Gran brought up the topic of Miss Beech’s office.

  While I’d been stuck in my room, Dad had been out in the shed getting the cobwebs off Grandpa’s old canoe. It now sat on Gran’s car. When Dad finally gave up on changing Molly’s mind, the two of us piled in and headed off to the river.

  Gran stood in the driveway, waving. ‘Be careful, you two,’ she called
after us, ‘we’ve had enough drama in this family!’

  We chugged off at top speed, which, in Gran’s car – a Hillman Minx, built in the Stone Age – was 40 kilometres an hour. It always amazed me that it could still run.

  We pulled in to a quiet spot by the river and Dad had the canoe in the water before I’d even finished doing up my life jacket. He let me sit in the back, so I could practise steering. We headed upstream first, so we could paddle with the current on our way back.

  It was so peaceful out on the river. For the first ten minutes or so, Dad and I hardly spoke. I think we were both enjoying the sound of the paddles plopping into the water, and the occasional call of a galah or parrot. Every now and again he’d tell me to paddle on the other side, or do bigger sweeps like the shape of a letter ‘j’, until pretty soon I’d got the hang of it, and I was steering the canoe by myself.

  Every so often I’d stop paddling to rest my arms. Dad would take over and do all the work. I watched his arms pull the paddle through the water as if it was no effort at all. They were so strong, and his back so straight. Every now and again the clouds would break up and his black hair shone in the sunlight.

  I watched him from behind, noticing everything about him – the shape of his shoulders, his ears, the side of his face when he turned to look at something. I tried to keep the picture of him, like this, in my head, so I could remember it when he’d gone.

  Then suddenly I asked, ‘Dad, can I come and live with you in Sydney?’

  He didn’t answer.

  Had he heard me? The sound of the paddles faded into nothing and the only thing I could hear was the answer I’d heard in my imagination so many times before. I’d had this conversation with Dad hundreds of times, mostly as I lay in bed at night, waiting to go off to sleep. It varied a bit, the way he’d say it, the words he’d pick, but the answer was always the same. Yes, son. Of course you can live with me in Sydney. We’ll talk Mum into it.

  He seemed to be paddling faster, stronger. He was sitting up straighter. I knew my paddling wasn’t making a scrap of difference now, but I kept going anyway.

  I waited for him to answer.

  Maybe he’d been practising too, and he wanted to find just the right words to tell me that I could live with him.

  I waited. And I waited some more.

  Then I couldn’t wait any longer.

  ‘Dad? Did you hear me? Can I live with you in Sydney?’

  ‘No, son.’

  Chapter 23

  The Star Hotel’s dining room reminded me of a scene from an old movie. Everywhere you looked, you saw dark-coloured wood; and the yellowing walls needed a fresh coat of paint. It smelled old, too, as if the smell of every bacon and egg breakfast for the last hundred years had seeped into the furniture and carpet.

  It wasn’t such a bad smell, really. And I was looking forward to my bacon and eggs. Dad was treating me to breakfast at the hotel he was staying at in Mount Selview. He’d moved in last night, even though I’d begged him to sleep in my room at Gran’s. I wouldn’t have minded sleeping on the floor at all. But he’d said that Gran and Molly needed some breathing space and, besides, he loved old hotels. They had a great feel to them.

  As I waited for him to serve our bacon and eggs with sausages from the breakfast buffet, I tried not to think about what he’d said in the canoe. Last night I’d cried myself to sleep.

  He came back with a glass of orange juice and sat down. ‘Few more minutes. Just waiting for the toast.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Dad, why can’t I live with you in Sydney?’

  ‘Ish, I’ve already told you, mate. For lots of reasons.’

  ‘Name some.’

  ‘For a start, you’d miss all your friends and you’d be pretty lonely. Sometimes I don’t get home from work until around ten o’clock at night. And if something goes wrong with the machines, I don’t get home at all.’

  ‘I can look after myself, Dad. I’m not little anymore.’

  ‘I know, son. You’re growing up so fast. But still, mate, you’d get pretty bored after a while. And you couldn’t have Lucky. The apartment that the hospital’s provided has a no-pets policy.’

  ‘I mightn’t have Lucky, anyway, if we don’t find him.’

  ‘He’ll turn up, Ish. How about we visit the pound then go and have another chat with the police after you’ve visited your mate in the hospital?’

  ‘Yeah, all right. But couldn’t I at least come and live with you for a while? Like a few months?’

  ‘It’s only a one-bedroom apartment. It’s not big enough for two. If you want, you could live with me for a while when I come back down to Melbourne.’

  ‘But, Dad, that’s ages away. I want to live with you now.’

  ‘I’ve already told you, mate, it just wouldn’t work with the job I’ve got at the moment. Besides, you’d miss your Mum and Molly too much.’

  ‘Well, what about if I miss you too much?’

  Dad went quiet and swirled the last mouthful of orange juice around his glass. When he looked up his eyes were full of sadness. ‘It’s just the way it is, Ish. You know I love you. I miss you, too.’ He stood up. ‘That toast will be cooked by now.’

  ‘It’s just the way it is, Ish,’ I muttered under my breath. ‘Well, it’s not the way I want it.’

  As he walked away from the table I glared at his back.

  At least he hadn’t mentioned Miss Beech. The subject briefly came up at the dinner table last night, but Dad and Gran hadn’t asked too many questions. I think me falling down the well, Molly refusing to talk to Dad, and us getting another phone call from Sylvia, about Mum, took the spotlight off me. Phew!

  Mum, we found out, had fallen off a camel on the first day she’d arrived in Mongolia. She’d broken some bones and had concussion. Although she’d improved, they still didn’t know when she’d be well enough to fly home. Poor Mum.

  Dad came back with the biggest plate of bacon and eggs with sausages I’ve ever seen.

  ‘There – that’ll make a man out of you,’ he said, sliding it in front of me. ‘And it should make up for last night’s tucker.’

  ‘How am I going to get through all this?’

  I noticed his own plate was piled even higher. ‘You’ll manage,’ he said, ‘and it’ll give you plenty of energy for a hike along the river and a bit of a fish when we’ve checked out the police and the pound. Come on, eat up and I’ll take you to the hospital to visit that new friend of yours. You can sign his leg plaster.’

  Dad dropped me off at the nurses’ station and said he’d be back in an hour or so. He had a few phone calls to make and some things to get at the shops.

  I thought about Lucky. At least Dad was here, now, to help me find him.

  A nurse told me where to find Brody, and I gave Dad a wave as he headed back to the entrance. As I walked in the direction of Brody’s room, a boy about my age came towards me, wheeling a stand with a drip attached to it. He had a bandage around his head. A woman, probably his mum, was holding his arm to help him walk. It made me think of Mum. I wished I could visit her.

  I glanced in the rooms I passed, trying not to be too much of a stickybeak. I wondered if this was the sort of hospital Mum was in. I wondered if she was in a room by herself or if she had to share with other patients. I wondered if she’d learned to speak any Mongolian and how she managed to ask for things. I wondered if she could walk or whether she could only lie down in bed.

  I felt nervous as I walked down the corridor towards Brody’s room. I tried to think of what I’d talk to him about. Would he be chatty if he wasn’t in as much pain? I’d forgotten to bring the joke book in all the excitement of having breakfast with Dad.

  I rounded the corner and saw the room number the nurse had given me. I could hear voices coming from inside. As I got closer, I could see two beds in the room. One was empty and the other one had two visitors, who stood with their backs to me on either side of it. I could see two legs lying on the bed, one of them in plaster.
Laughter spilled out of the room.

  I took another step then stopped dead in my tracks. I recognised the voices. It was the boys who had ambushed me at the river. I could only see the backs of their heads, but I knew it was them.

  I started to back-track, but it was too late. One of the boys turned around and saw me.

  ‘Well, look who we have here, Brody. You’ve got a visitor.’

  The other boy turned around and stepped to the side. All three gaped at me. I stepped into the room and half smiled at Brody.

  ‘What are you doing here, fish boy?’ said the other one, his gape turning into a glare.

  I waited for Brody to come to my rescue.

  ‘You gotta nerve comin’ here,’ said the first one, ‘after what you’ve done.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I looked at him, then at Brody, waiting for him to speak up.

  ‘If it wasn’t for you, Brody wouldn’t be in this prison with a broken leg, would he?’ the first boy continued.

  ‘I don’t understa –’

  ‘If you’ve come to apologise, I wouldn’t waste your breath,’ interrupted Brody. He gave me such a hateful look, I took a step back.

  ‘Apologise for what?’

  ‘You’re unbelievable,’ said the first boy. He took a step towards me, bringing his fists up in front of his chest. ‘I’d say pushing someone down a well was a good enough reason, don’t you think, Jacko?’ He looked across at the other boy, who also stepped forward.

  ‘Yeah, I’d say so,’ agreed Jacko.

  ‘What are they talking about, Brody? Tell them the truth.’ I noticed Brody had looked away.

  ‘There’s nothing much to tell,’ Brody said, his eyes flicking from me to the window.

  I wanted to run out of the room and find Dad, but I turned my back and walked out as casually as I could. I wasn’t going to let Brody or his sicko mates think they’d upset me. I couldn’t believe Brody would be so mean. And I’d believed him when he’d promised to help look for Lucky.

  I headed back to the front entrance of the hospital. How could Brody speak to me like that after all we’d been through in the well? After trusting me enough to tell me all that stuff about his Mum? After being so scared together at the bottom of that dark hole in the ground?