Yeah, well. I could say that. I could say I thought that, but I knew at once. I think I knew already, sort of, and that’s why I jumped up, to have a look in the mirror. I didn’t think that reflection was anyone else’s but mine, not for one second. The dog was one of those scruffy black-and-white mongrel things with a stupid face and twitchy ears and it was me. It all fell into place – the way I’d run so fast, the smells, the way I bit the tramp, my mum and Adam getting so scared of me. It was obvious, but it was so crazy my mind was going bonkers trying to find ways of thinking it wasn’t true, because who wants to think that? Who could think that? How could it be true?
I barked in fright and the dog barked back, and I think I might have fainted then, because there I was on the floor rolling about, shaking my head and growling. Then I tried to stand up. I’d just known there was something funny about my posture. I made a real effort to get up on two legs but I fell straight down. I did it about three times, but I just fell down – one, two, three. Then I sat there trying to talk and listening to what was coming out of my mouth.
‘Wow! Wow! Wow!’ I said. ‘Wow! Wow-wow-wow-wow! Agrrrr.’ And that was it.
My door slammed with a violent thud that made my ears pop.
‘It’s trapped, it’s trapped, I’ve trapped it in Sandra’s room,’ shouted Adam triumphantly.
I went, ‘Ah!’ like you do when something stupid’s happened, and this time it sounded just like me because I wasn’t using my tongue.
‘Good boy!’ Mum was at the bottom of the stairs. I could hear her panting. I held my breath to hear what they were going to do next.
‘I’ll call the police,’ she said. ‘Jesus, it came right at me. If I hadn’t stunned it with the frying pan it would’ve had my throat out.’ My mum was babbling. Then she started shouting in rage. ‘How the hell did it get into the house? Whose is it, what’s it doing here in the first place?’ she yelled furiously. ‘God,’ she added, ‘I thought my heart was going to stop. Oh, God!’
‘It came up the stairs after me, it tried to get into my room.’ Adam was half in tears. Adam’s two years younger than me. I’d obviously terrified them, and despite myself I found myself going, Huf huf huf, which was as near as I could get to having a good laugh. I thought, That’ll show them!
‘What’ll they do to it?’ asked Adam.
‘Put it down, with any luck – it’s mad,’ said my mum.
I felt my jaw sag open. I was amazed at the way it did that, and I jumped up to the mirror again to have another look at myself, and I looked so funny – a scratty, hairy mongrel with pricked-up ears and its jaw hanging open in horror and surprise. I waggled my eyebrows at myself – you know what? I was hilarious! A dog that could pull faces! I was in such a state, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. For a moment I stood there pulling faces at myself and killing myself laughing. My mind was just jumping all over the place. One minute I was gibbering with fear and the next I was giggling at the sight of myself in the mirror, or because I’d scared my mum half to death!
I could have spent hours sitting there looking at myself, but I didn’t have time. I mean – it could really happen! They really would put me down. That’s what they did with stray dogs, wasn’t it? No one owned me. I was mad! A mad dog! My mum was going to get the police to put me down and she’d never even know that she’d had her own daughter murdered!
I had to get out. I had to have a plan. I began pacing up and down the floor. I sat down and scratched my ear and had an idea at the same time. It was this – I’d trick them. I shouted out.
‘Help! Mum, Adam! I’m trapped up here with the dog!’ Then I listened closely.
‘God, what a weird bark it’s got, horrible!’ That was Adam.
‘It moves all horribly, too, did you notice? Like it’s all wrong,’ said Mum and Adam went,
‘Yuk, yeah, like it’s all sort of like, all … wrong.’
‘It must have some sort of brain disease,’ said my mum, and that was so ironic, you know, because she was always saying that about me.
‘God, Sandra, what’s wrong with you? The way you carry on I wonder if you’re all right,’ she used to say. It was just typical – as soon as I have any problems she thinks I’m bonkers! Now I was a dog and she was still doing it.
I had to get out of there. I ran to the door and tried to open it but my hands still weren’t working. Well, what hands? Paws, paws, paws! I told myself. It was amazing, but I was already thinking to myself, You have paws, Sandra Francy, get used to it! Think paws! Think teeth! I knew I had to get used to what was happening or I’d never get out alive. I jumped up and grabbed the door handle with my mouth, and I could hear Adam screeching.
‘God, look, it’s at the handle!’
They both started screaming then, and Mum yelled, ‘Go up and hold the handle up so it can’t get out.’
‘No way!’ screamed Adam. ‘It’s too mad, I’m not going near it. The germs’ll come through the handle. Ahh, look, it’s coming!’ he howled. I could hear a clatter – Mum dropping the phone – and then they were both screaming as they ran out of the house. They needn’t have worried. I could turn the handle but I couldn’t pull the door towards me, it just kept banging onto my feet. I ran across the room, jumped up on to the bed and then the windowsill. Thank God! The window was half open. Half open – but on the first floor. It was miles down, but I had no choice. It was that or the vet. I’d scared Mum and Adam out of the house but they’d be on Jane’s or Pete and Silvia’s phone down the road. When they heard how scared she was, the police would come fast. But – it was such a long way down! I wasn’t sure I had the courage, not even to save my life.
As I looked down, next door’s cat Pansy strolled along under the wall. I could feel my ears pricking up. I thought, This is too good to miss! I had to whine under my breath to stop myself barking at her. That cat was going to get the surprise of her life.
I jumped right above her. I was coming down feet first right at her like an atomic attack and as I came I was barking furiously. That cat nearly shat itself! She jumped up, all her fur stood up like a cartoon. She was looking right, left, back, front, to and fro – she was whirling round like a firework, but she couldn’t work out where the dog was. Dogs come from all directions, but never from above. There was a glorious second when I thought I was going to get her, I was going to grab her in my mouth and taste her blood, but then she looked up and saw me. Wow! She howled like something in a horror film. She was in a horror film!
‘Dog attack, dog attack, dog in the air!’ I barked. Pansy shot off as if she had a sparkler up her fanny. I thought, Huf, huf huf, hurrah!
Then I landed. My springy doggy legs jerked down and up. I was back on my feet in seconds, limping. It hurt – but I’d done it! I’d saved my life and terrorised next door’s cat at the same time and I felt great.
Then I heard my mum out on the street, screaming and yelling at the neighbours. I’d wanted that cat so bad, I’d forgotten my life was in danger. Again! I kept forgetting things. The panic gripped me and I took off, me – I took off at the speed of light. I ran right by Mum, nearly knocking her off her feet. I thought, Serves you right, not even knowing who I am. Then I was round the corner and away, even though my joints were aching after the fall. I bombed down the road. A car screeched, I gasped in fear and ran onto the pavement. Then I stopped. Where to go? Round to Annie’s! I dashed up the road and stopped again. Forgot – I’m a dog! I went the other way – Wayne’s! But shit! I’m a dog, I’m a dog, I’m a dog. I had nowhere to go! Hide, hide, I thought, and I set off again, no idea in my head about who I was or what I was and where I belonged or where to go, except to run and run until my pads bled and my dry tongue beat the ground.
two
I ran and ran, but where does a dog go when she has no home? The streets passed like sideshows from an uninvented entertainment. Withington, Didsbury, Northenden – they all came and went, but none of them meant anything to me any more. I knew nothing. The shops were s
hadows. The window displays had no scent, no sound, no purpose. I was a dog; I didn’t even know what things meant.
My feelings were swinging violently from side to side. One minute I was filled with bursts of joy at the way my feet moved, at the wind on my face, the sights and sounds and the flocking of scents around me. You have no idea what your senses are if you’ve never been an animal. The thrill of the chase! That cat that I’d nearly caught. Oh, yes, there were still pleasures for me in this world. I promised myself one thing – that before I became myself again, I’d catch a cat and tear it to pieces and lap up the blood as it oozed on to the tarmac …
And then, in the next second I was filled with self disgust. Cat’s blood – ugh! Disgusting! I was a girl! How could I think such thoughts? You see, the change was still working. First my body, then my thoughts – now even my feelings and desires. How long would it be before I became a dog through and through? How long before I even forgot how to think? At moments like these I felt that my heart was breaking inside me as I ran. I told myself that I must never forget who I was. I’m a girl, I told myself. I’m a girl, I’m a girl, I’m a girl. Just remember, Sandra – you’re a girl.
At last my pads began to bleed. I could smell the blood before I saw it, and I turned round in amazement to see a line of bloody pawprints following on the pavement behind me. I was exhausted. I’d ended up on the road to Stockport, near the old allotments opposite the new entertainment centre by Parrs Wood School. It was as good as anywhere else. I limped across the road and found a hole in the fence to slip through. It had begun to drizzle hours ago, I hadn’t minded the wet but now at last the cold was getting to me and I wanted shelter. I soon found an abandoned shed with the door hanging half off. There was an old donkey jacket someone had left behind in a heap in a corner. I nosed it flat into a bed and curled up with my nose under my tail, breathing in my own comforting scent. I could feel my ears turning this way and that, following the noises that moved about in the twilight, like a radar set on top of my head. If anyone had seen me, they’d have thought I was just a dog lying down for a bit of a doze, but inside, I was breaking up.
It was just so typical of my mum not to recognise me. All right, I was a dog, but she was my mother. She should’ve known who I was even if I’d turned into a clod of earth. Just the thought of what she’d done made me twist about and growl and chew anxiously at the donkey jacket. Screaming in terror when I came into the house, when all I wanted was a hug! As if I’d ever hurt any of them! Ringing the police – trying to get me put down! It was unbelievable! I disgusted her so much she wanted me dead. My own mother! No wonder I felt so betrayed. No wonder I’d turned into a stupid, pointless dog.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. She never thinks of anyone else but herself and her precious baby Adam. She’s always stamping about the house, being busy, never has enough time for me, oh no – but she always finds plenty of time for Julie and Adam. I was just the one in the middle. If it was one of them who’d been turned into a dog she’d have known them soon enough. In fact, she didn’t just not love me – she didn’t even like me. She didn’t have the same interests or anything. I couldn’t talk to her about anything, boys or clothes or anything. She never went out with me to buy clothes or try out make-up, all that girly kind of stuff. To Mum, clothes are just something to keep you warm and as for make-up – I’m surprised she ever even bothered with make-up. She always says it makes her feel naked if she goes out without it. She doesn’t let anyone outside the family ever see her without her make-up on, but she still hates it. When we go to stay with people she always comes down first thing in the morning with her powder and lippy on, but that doesn’t mean she’s interested in it.
‘It’s a curse, really. Once you’ve started using it you feel ugly without it,’ she once told me, and when Elizabeth Arden stopped making her favourite colour she was in a foul mood for days, because she had to waste her time going to pick another one. I can spend hours in the shops, picking different colours. I could spend a fortune if I had one.
It amazes me sometimes that we’re related at all, because even though we look alike we have such different tastes. Whenever I bought some new clothes or tried out some new make-up, she’d just take one look and say, ‘Well, you and I have different tastes, don’t we?’ And that was just if she was in a good mood! If she was in a bad mood she’d curl her lip and make some tart remark.
‘I’d have thought you attract enough attention to yourself already,’ she used to say. I mean, how about that for a bit of confidence building towards your own daughter?
I bet if I’d been a boy she’d never have gone on to have a third baby. I was just someone who should have been someone else as far as she was concerned. In fact, I think in her heart she wishes she was a man as well. She behaves like one. I think she’s got a bit of Y chromosome in there, actually. Julie and me used to tease her about it.
‘Mum the man,’ we used to say. Julie used to say she was a man with tits. Just my luck – to have two men as parents, one of them disguised as a horrible ugly old bitch. She should never have been allowed to have children in the first place. Look at me, look how I’ve turned out. What am I? I’m a dog!
Maybe you think I’m just being bitter, but you can’t blame me. She just tried to kill me! It would’ve been different if my dad had been at home. Or Julie. Just my luck she left home a few months ago. If she’d been there she’d have known who I was. We’re good friends, me and my sister. We never got on all that well when we were small, but after she grew up she used to step in and help me out when Mum was being useless. Like the time when I had my first period.
Bloody Adam found out about it somehow. At the time I thought Mum had told him. You know – Sandra’s feeling a bit funny today because she’s having her first period. She always denied it, but in that case, how did he know? Anyway, he was completely obsessed about it, following me about the house asking me all sorts of personal questions.
‘How much blood is there?’ he wanted to know.
‘I don’t know, how should I know?’ I told him.
‘But you must know. It’s your body,’ he told me.
‘Well, I don’t know. It all gets soaked up. Anyway, it hasn’t finished yet.’
‘Well, how much so far? Go on. A tablespoonful? Two tablespoons? A pint?’
‘Get off!’ I yelled.
‘He’s just curious, there’s no need to shout,’ said Mum.
‘Well, you tell him how much blood you have,’ I told her.
‘I’m his mother,’ she said crisply, but I think she saw my point.
He was still at it when Julie came back from work. He wanted to know everything. I had the cramps really bad and he was leaning over me hissing, ‘Go on, tell me. What does it feel like? Where does it hurt?’ When Julie came into the sitting room she heard everything.
‘What’s this shit? You leave her alone!’ she yelled. She shoved him out of the way so hard he cracked his shin on the coffee table and howled loudly, so Mum could hear.
‘Julie! Stop that, leave him alone!’ yelled Mum, but Julie just ignored both of them.
‘Is it auntie? Your first time? How is it?’
‘It bloody hurts,’ I told her.
‘Have you had some pills?’
‘Mum said it was best not to.’
‘Come on, I’ve got some upstairs.’
I was really made up. Julie hardly ever invited me to her bedroom. We had to squeeze past Adam on the stairs.
Julie pushed him down. ‘Give her some space! Get out the way!’
‘He’s all right, I didn’t mind,’ I told her.
‘He’s a brat,’ said Julie.
She gave me some paracetamols, and then we sat down on her bed and had a real good girl talk about pads and tampons and how not to leak in bed and all those things you never talk about to anyone but someone like her, a girl, that you’re really close to. We both agreed that Mum was totally useless. It hardly affects her at all. She just charge
s about, same as ever. Even though she’s been having periods for the past fifty years or whatever, she still gets cross about having to deal with all the pads and things. She leaves them all over the house for everyone to see.
‘She even keeps them on the kitchen windowsill. What for? I mean!’ said Julie.
‘She probably changes them while she’s cooking,’ I said, and we both hissed with laughter.
We talked about everything that day. We told one another all these amazing stories we’d never told anyone before, ever. It was a great talk. I thought at the time it was about the best conversation I’d ever had. I thought of poor Adam lurking around the house on his own. He couldn’t join in. What did he have to add to a conversation like this? Nothing!
‘I bet boys don’t have this sort of talk, do they?’ I said.
‘No way!’ said Julie. ‘They can’t talk about anything. They’re too scared to even talk about their dicks in case it turns out they’ve got a small one.’
‘Do many of them have small ones?’ I asked her, and she said,
‘As far as I’m concerned, all of them have small dicks!’ and we cackled like a pair of hens.
‘They could talk about the first time they came,’ I said, but Julie said,
‘No way! They’d be too embarrassed. They spend hours and hours wanking in their bedroom and then they’re too embarrassed to even mention it to their best friends.’
We killed ourselves laughing. Then we just went through a list of all the people we knew and how their periods affected them – me, her, Mum, school friends, relatives, Mum’s sister Evie, who gets the worst PMT you can imagine. But she’s very sweet about it afterwards so she always gets forgiven, which isn’t really fair.
That talk made me feel better about all sorts of things – about having periods, and about Mum, too, actually, because it made me realise that half the time when I felt she was getting at me, or not caring about me, she was just being herself, really. She used to do it to Julie, too. We sat there and told each other all these stories about all the things Mum had done to piss us off and you know what? We both felt exactly the same. I was amazed. It was so good to know that Julie felt the same way, that it wasn’t just my imagination about Mum being insensitive, even if I did get a bit paranoid about her getting at me.
Lady Page 2