by Matt Haig
Charlotte had stomped her way upstairs as soon as she had got through the door, while Hal had headed for the kitchen to get himself a bowl of cereal. Grandma Margaret, well, I didn’t know where she was. She was everywhere, her thousand smells mingling with the complex fusion of dogshit and detergent.
And as for Adam, well, he just sat there. Watching Kate on her hands and knees. But after a series of lengthy sighs he decided to speak.
‘If you scrub any harder there’ll be a hole in the carpet.’
Kate sat back on her heels and the hand holding the cloth collapsed between her knees. ‘What’s happening to you?’ she asked him.
‘What do you mean what’s happening to me? I’m just offering a piece of advice. I would just suggest that you rub a bit more lightly.’
‘Why are you -’ Kate stopped as the door opened. It was Hal, crunching cereal. He looked down at the wet stain on the carpet, then up to both parents, before walking back out of the room.
Again, Kate addressed Adam. ‘Why are you acting like this? You’re so aggressive at the moment. And when you’re not you’re not even there at all.’ She broke off momentarily to resume the violent scrubbing. ‘I mean, the way you were with Charlotte. No wonder she’s so confused.’
‘Confused? Con-fused? Believe me there was nothing confused about her behaviour this evening.’
‘You were very hard on her.’
‘I had to be.’
‘Adam, she’s thir-teen. She’s still a little girl, I think you sometimes forget that.’
‘No. I don’t. In fact, that is my point entirely. She doesn’t know her own mind. She’d be pregnant in six months if we left her to it.’
‘So that’s what you’re doing, is it? You’re protecting her?’
‘Well, somebody has to.’
And with that, he grabbed my lead and took me to the park. We walked fast, too fast for me to translate the scent-trails on the ground, and I knew why.
He wanted to see Emily. He wanted to forget about the Family, and I still didn’t have the ability to stop him.
When we got to the park and saw the tall figure of Simon standing by the fence, dog-lead in hand, he was therefore disappointed.
‘Adam!’ Simon called. ‘My man.’
‘Oh Simon, hi.’
Simon, arching his head back, laughed, ‘Well you could at least pretend that you’re pleased to see me.’
‘Oh sorry. It’s just, well, been a long day.’
‘Oh?’ Simon asked, deliberately playing down his interest.
‘Teenagers.’
‘Oh. Teenagers. Right. Can’t help you with that one, not my speciality. Fast cars, maybe. Or the Eagles - well, up to Hotel California anyway. But teenagers, well, I haven’t really had much direct experience.’
Adam unclipped my lead, but I stayed in listening distance. Taking it all in.
‘It’s Charlotte.’
‘Charlotte?’
‘Our daughter.’
‘Oh yes, I met her at the barbecue.’
‘She’s growing up very fast.’
Simon said something else, but I didn’t quite hear what it was because I had just caught sight of Falstaff, on the other side of the park, making sexual advances towards a terrier half his height. The terrier’s owner was trying to pull Falstaff away, but with little success. The two dogs were within sniffing distance of Joyce’s dead body, but neither seemed to notice. A human must have found her and taken her away. Poor Joyce. I was about to head back over, to see if there were any more clues, when my attention switched back. I remembered what Henry had said. ‘The Family must come first.’
Simon was still talking: ‘. . . From where I’m standing you look as though you’ve got it all. The two point four children. The long-lasting marriage. The Volvo. Even the flaming Labrador. Look in the dictionary for Perfect Family and there’s a note which says: See Adam Hunter.’
Adam looked at Simon and said nothing. He just looked.
After a while, Simon carried on: ‘I suppose the real problem is I see someone like you, and I get jealous.’ I sniffed the air, but the only jealousy molecules I could detect were coming from Adam. ‘I mean, I know from the surface people could assume I’ve got quite a cushy ride. The big house. The soft-top. The nice salary. Living with a woman nearly half my age. But, you know what they say, all that glitters . . .’
‘Oh?’ Now it was Adam who was playing down his interest.
‘Well, take Emily.’
Adam looked behind him, worried she might be able to hear. ‘She -’
‘Oh, don’t worry. She’s off for two days on some aromatherapy course.’
‘Right.’
‘Well that’s just it really. We never see each other. I mean, when do you think we last had sex?’
Adam leaned back against the fence. ‘I don’t, um, know and I’m sure it’s not really my bus-’
‘Well, I’ll tell you. Three weeks ago. Three weeks. I mean, can you imagine?’
‘Three weeks,’ said Adam. ‘That’s a long time.’ But of course, the scent of jealousy only intensified.
‘I’m starting to know how he feels.’
‘Sorry? What?’
Simon gestured over to Falstaff, who was now frustratedly rubbing his body against the terrier’s master’s leg.
‘Emily won’t let me take him in for the chop.’
Adam noticed me, trotting towards him. ‘We had Prince done when we first got him, didn’t we, boy?’
I wagged my tail and tried my best to look completely unaware of what had just been said.
‘Perhaps that’s the answer. Perhaps I should book myself into the vet’s.’
Adam forced a momentary smile. ‘Perhaps we both should.’
There was a pause. Then Simon said: ‘Anyway, you up for running tomorrow?’
‘Yes of course.’
‘Thought we’d do a twelve-miler.’
‘No problem. Great. Yep, I’m up for that.’
Simon smiled, and made a sound at the back of his throat. The sound of suppressed laughter.
bully
The next morning, Henry and I lay next to one of the flowerbeds and looked over to the bushes where Joyce had been killed. Henry was convinced he had worked out who had killed her.
‘Who is the one dog, in this park, who is not only capable of physical violence, but actively boasts about it?’ he asked. But I didn’t need to respond. The answer was trotting heavily over the road towards the park.
‘It was definitely him, Prince,’ Henry said as we watched Lear’s master unclip his lead. ‘He was preying on the vulnerable. A dog without a master.’
So Joyce had been right. Lear really was a monster.
‘What shall we do?’ I asked Henry, still certain he held all the answers.
‘We must confront Lear.’
‘But should we try to find further evidence? Should we go to the bushes where she died and sniff some more?’
Henry spun his head towards me. For a moment he was another dog. Manic, angry. ‘I sniffed everywhere. There are no more clues. And we don’t need any more.’
‘But he’ll kill us.’
‘We have to tell him, Prince. This is our responsibility. As I have always taught you, our actions . . .’ He broke off. ‘Our actions . . .’ Again, he was unable to finish his sentence, so I did it for him.
‘Our actions are behind those of our masters.’
‘Yes, Prince. Exactly. And that applies to every dog, not just Labradors. If we stand back and do nothing, every human Family will be at risk. Including your own. Lear must know that we are onto him, or he will do it again. He’s a bully, and bullies like to act in secret.’
He was right. Of course he was. He was Henry. But still, as we waited for him to come over, out of sight of our masters, I wondered how badly Lear would react.
problem
Pretty badly, as it turned out.
‘Fuck off, you fucks.’
‘I’m afraid the evidence speaks for i
tself,’ said Henry. ‘Doesn’t it, Prince?’ Up until that point I had been doing my best to stay out of this confrontation by sniffing around the rosebushes.
‘Um . . . well . . .’ Both of them were looking at me, expecting opposite answers. ‘. . . It seems to be.’
Lear stepped closer towards me, blocking out the light. He spoke, saliva dripping from his black wet mouth. I cannot remember what he said. Even at the time I had no idea, so busy was I trying to keep my fear signals under control.
‘Listen,’ Henry interrupted, in his matter-of-fact voice. ‘The truth is what it is. You know what they say: the nose knows.’
That did it. That really hit the wrong button.
My eyes closed, with dread. When they re-opened Henry was clamped to the ground, his throat stuck between Lear’s jaws.
‘You’re right,’ I pleaded, as I watched the first specks of blood speckle Henry’s golden coat. ‘We don’t know anything. We’re sorry. Please, don’t hurt Henry, please. Please.’
All three of our owners must have heard because they were running over.
‘Lear! No!’
‘Henry!’
‘Prince!’
Lear’s master placed an unworried hand inside the dog’s mouth. ‘Come on Lear, get off!’ he shouted, before pulling him back.
Henry was left lying on the floor, his golden chest speckled with blood.
‘You should keep your dog under control,’ said Adam, with open anger. ‘He could have killed him.’
Mick, descending into an uncomfortable crouch to observe the damage, said nothing, just stroked the top of his Labrador’s head and released an audible hiss of air through his teeth.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked Henry.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he told me, as Adam and Lear’s master argued above us. ‘I’ll just get to my feet.’
‘You fucking fools. You don’t know a fucking thing about me,’ snarled Lear, choking on his collar.
‘I know a murderer when I smell one,’ said Henry, as I started to lick the blood off his chest.
Our masters were now pulling us away, out of the park.
Lear, already ahead of us, turned. ‘You don’t know fucking anything.’
But that was the problem.
Henry knew plenty. In fact, Henry knew a lot more than any of us could guess. Even me.
victims
I now realise that there is a fundamental difference between us and humans, and it is a difference which highlights why they need our help. The difference is this: whereas dogs can learn to suppress their instincts, for humans there is no hope.
They believe that science, technology and culture have placed them on a different plane from the rest of the animal world. They think that all their apparatus has somehow managed to protect them against their natural impulses. That when they cover their hairless bodies with clothes, when they paint their faces with make-up, and when they wash away and disguise their personal scent, they are able to suppress the primal urges which in fact guide their every move.
Of course, this vulnerability is what helps to make them so lovable. After all, how could we neglect a species which so appeals to our protective instinct? (A question which must, at some future stage, be put to the Springers.)
But it also leads to a dangerous repetition. As a species they make the same mistakes over and over and over, because of their attempts to detach themselves from the natural world. It doesn’t matter how many times they experience something, the lessons go unlearned. For example, they are unable to come to terms with death, no matter how often they are faced with it.
The same with sex. The more humans try to rationalise their desire, the more they become its victims.
This perceived need to control sex and death is most evident in their treatment of us, their dogs. When they send us to an early end, or take away our testicles, they are not (as the Springer propagandists would have us believe) trying to exert their power over us. Rather, they are trying to exert their power over the twin forces which map their lives. That is to say, in saving us from nature they are, in effect, trying to save themselves.
But still they remain trapped in a repetitive cycle - forever resisting, but unable to break free.
And so it was with Adam.
As far as I could smell, he had spent his entire life in a permanent state of resistance. The desires and impulses he felt were clearly destructive and could do damage to the Family, and he couldn’t understand why he would want to do things which would hurt those he loved. So he resisted. And he carried on resisting until the desires grew to such an extent they brought with them their own justification. And two days after the meeting with Simon in the park, he finally lost his will-power.
hearing
‘Charlotte, I’m going to take the dog for a walk,’ he called, from the kitchen.
No answer.
‘Charlotte?’ Adam went to the bottom of the stairs, leant forward on the wooden banister, and looked up towards Charlotte’s bedroom.
‘I’m taking the dog for a walk.’
This time Charlotte said something. Not a word exactly, but enough to let Adam know she had understood. Next, he went into the living room to tell Grandma Margaret.
‘Margaret, I’m just going to take Prince for a walk.’
She was twiddling with her hearing aid. ‘Sorry, dear?’
Adam lifted up the lead with one hand and pointed towards me with the other. Grandma Margaret smiled and nodded her head.
He spoke again, louder, making sure Grandma Margaret could see his lips. ‘Kate might come back from the supermarket at about nine. If she does, tell her I’ve left her and Hal some dinner in the oven. OK?’
Grandma Margaret smiled and nodded her head.
trousers
There was something in the air that night.
Or rather, there was everything in the air that night. We passed a Labrador, on our way to the park, who seemed to notice it too.
‘Duty over all.’
‘Duty over all.’
Our exchange was desperate, as if we sensed our protective powers had been weakened or even put on hold, by the intense forces carried on the wind. Forces perhaps unleashed by Joyce’s murder and which could affect everybody who entered the park. As Adam tugged me towards that destination, I couldn’t help thinking that it was already all over. That I had absolutely no control over what was about to happen.
Even so, when Adam unclipped my lead I stayed close at heel. I had to observe everything.
And yet now, the first thing that comes back isn’t Adam. Or Emily. It’s the park itself. The smell of burnt grass, the cracked flowerbeds, the carrier bags floating through space. And although it was about as late as usual, it had forgotten to cool or grow dark. It was that dangerous time of the year, when night-time almost disappears completely, sending established patterns into chaos.
Of course, Falstaff was in his element, huffing his fat body around the park with manic speed. Running, turning, going absolutely nowhere as quickly as possible. For once, it was easy to avoid him. He was moving too fast to notice anything, directed only by the same reckless summer forces which kept the carrier bags bobbing in the air.
The same forces which had kept Emily away from the park bench, kept her walking the path. When Adam joined her, they did not speak. They just carried on walking, lost in mutual thought.
I looked up at Adam, breathed his scent, and caught sight of what he was thinking. He was thinking dangerous thoughts. He was thinking about what it would be like to start again, to break free from the pack and run wild. He was thinking of what it would be like to have sex with Emily. But most of all, he was thinking about the unknown. Because whereas before it had been the unknown which had prevented him betraying the family, now he wanted not to know. He wanted to escape the predictable monotony of his existence, even for a moment. When he thought of Kate and her lifelong attempts to order everything, and keep everything neat and tidy, he wanted to go the other way. He w
anted chaos. He wanted to destroy. But he did not know if he had the courage.
And then, provoked by my nose nudging his knee, Adam experienced a moment of clarity. He seemed to be thinking: would I really be happy? Would starting again give me any better chance? The walking away, that would be easy, but the happiness? That would be far harder to achieve.
But, as I said, his resistance was weak.
When they were by the oak trees, out of view, Emily stopped, smiled.
‘Kiss me,’ she said.
Adam pretended not to understand.
‘I want you to kiss me.’
This time, he had no choice. She leant forward and kissed him, pushing him back against the trunk. I barked, I jumped up, I did anything I could to stop them, but nothing worked. They were in their own world.
Then, when Adam started to have choices, he made the wrong ones. He grabbed a breast, he forced her hand onto his groin. He carried on kissing, moving away from her mouth, towards her neck.
‘Fuck me,’ she said.
Again Adam pretended not to understand.
‘Fuck me.’
They grappled with clothes, they grappled with each other. They moved around, so Emily was against the tree. Adam pushed his trousers down, they fell halfway, hanging at his knees. Emily lifted her skirt. He guided himself inside her, as his fingers clawed her hairless skin.
But it was over before it happened.
‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said, after a short number of thrusts. Now it was Emily who pretended not to understand. ‘I’m sorry.’ After he had withdrawn, and placed his penis away, he wiped his hand on the tree and then pulled up his trousers.
It was still light.
The day was never going to end.
charlotte
Nothing else was said.
Nothing else could be.
We left Emily, and we left the park with yet another secret to cover up. We walked home and, as we walked, I knew something bad was about to happen. Something even worse.
The house looked different from outside. Different how, I can’t say. Just different. The bathroom light was on, but it wasn’t that. Wiser, perhaps. Yes, that was it. The house looked like it had learned something since we had left it and its new wisdom seemed to be crying out, into the street.