Lady

by Melvin Burgess

  ‘All right,’ she said. ‘What did I get you?’

  Yes! Yes! My brown and gold top! How could I forget? I loved that top, I wore it and wore it. It’d been my favourite thing for years. I barked excitedly and nodded my head – yes yes … yes yes … yes yes!

  With a flourish Mum opened the door. ‘Go on then, smart-arse. Fetch!’ she commanded.

  Oh, my clever, clever mum! With a bark of joy I bounded out of the door and up the stairs. My door was locked. I scratched and whined and jumped up for the handle, and then of course Adam’s opened, slammed immediately and Dad shouted from behind it, ‘It’s out! Look out, Sue, it’s out!’

  But Mum called, ‘I let her out. Leave her!’

  ‘You let her out? What for? For God’s sake!’

  Then I got the door open and with a joyous woof, I ran into the bedroom and began nosing around in the heap of clothes on the floor. There it was, the lovely old thing, worn to bits and far too small now, but I still loved it with its velvet stripes and pretty, pale metallic strips in between. I ran downstairs and I dropped it at my mother’s feet and looked up to her and … and …

  There was a long silence. My dad was standing on the stairs behind us. My nose told me Adam was behind him. My mum looked down at me and …

  ‘Oh, Sandra! Oh, my darling, darling, darling – oh, Sandra, what’s happened to you? What have they done?’

  She bent and scooped me up with her arms, and held me tightly to her, kissing me and loving me and weeping tears. And I was weeping tears too, flooding down my face. I just wanted to cry and to show her how I could cry, as if tears alone would wash me back to what I was.

  My mum! What about her? Can you believe it? How many people could pick their daughter out of a horrible hairy face full of fangs and a tongue like a face flannel? Could your mum do that for you? Cos my mum did it for me!

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Susan!’ cried my father at the door, and his face was a twisted mask of despair at seeing his wife – his ex-wife, anyway – holding on to a little bitch dog and claiming it was her daughter.

  ‘It’s her! Do you think I don’t know my own child, just because she looks like a dog?’ demanded Mum furiously. Dad took a couple of paces towards her, but she turned her back on him. ‘How else could she know all those things? It’s her! Only she’s – she’s been turned into something else …’

  ‘What are you saying?’ began Dad, but he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  ‘The police!’ wailed Mum. ‘Get rid of them, get rid of them, and we’ll talk then. Don’t say a word, just get rid of them!’ She ran up the stairs, pushing past him. Adam dodged back out of our way, and she ran along the landing to her room.

  ‘Just get rid of them!’ she rasped. She dived into her bedroom and slammed the door.

  ‘Sandra! My darling, oh, my darling,’ she cried. She put me down on the bed, threw herself down next to me and covered my wet nose with her kisses and let me lick the tears from her poor, tired old face.

  To tell you the truth, it’s not the first time Mum’s had to hustle me up the stairs with the police banging on the door looking for me. In fact, it was only a few weeks ago that it happened the first time, a few days after I got in with Michelle and her little crowd.

  It was like this: Mum wasn’t letting me have the new clothes I wanted, so I decided to go and get them for myself. Michelle was always going on about how much she nicked and how easy it was. At the time I thought she was really cool about it, although, looking back, I think she just didn’t care about getting caught. I really envied her, it just looked to me like a good way of getting what you want. She had the most fabulous gear, everything. I thought, Right, why not?

  Since it was my first time we did a practice run nicking some make-up from the chemist’s in Withington before we went out and tried some serious stuff – clothes down Manchester. Basically, you just have to think what people who nick things might look like, then look like someone else. The way Michelle told it, it was easy. You stroll into the shop, chatting away with your mate as though you’re not really interested, you’re just browsing, the stuff’s not that good anyhow – then in the bag and out the door as soon as the shop assistants turn their backs. Easy! Except, I got spotted.

  Funny thing is, I knew someone was watching me but I just kept hoping that if I went on and did it they’d take no notice. It was like I was on a machine that I couldn’t stop. I could see this woman with her eyes on me the whole time but it was like, I wasn’t going to back down, you know? Like, it would have been so uncool to have to walk out without taking anything. That’s the thing about being cool – it’s so stupid. You’d never get a dog worrying about being cool. Being cool means you can’t think about anything because you’re so bothered about how you look – even if it means getting caught shoplifting because you’re ashamed to admit that you’re not cool enough to look innocent!

  In the end, I grabbed some eyeliner and made for the door. The girl at the till just by the door tried to get in my way but I brushed past her and I was out into the street in a second and legging it up the road. The woman from the pharmacy counter dashed out and shouted, ‘Stop her!’ behind my back, but of course no one did anything. Michelle was still in the shop. While I was pelting up the road, gibbering and scared out of my wits, she was standing there on her own in the shop, stuffing about fifty quid’s worth of make-up in her bag while the shopkeepers were at the door watching me.

  ‘It was a good trick, you getting spotted and taking the heat off me,’ she teased me after. She gave me half the stuff she’d had away and wanted to do it again straightaway.

  ‘Yeah, no problem,’ I said, as if the whole thing had been cool. We started planning our big trip into town but it was already too late. I’d been recognised as I legged it off down the road. The police were round at my place that same afternoon.

  I was at the table with Mum when Adam came to the kitchen door.

  ‘There’s a police car outside and I think they’re coming in here,’ he said. Mum looked at me and the blood must have gone from my face because she knew at once.

  ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’ she said, and then the bell rang.

  ‘That’s them. What have you done?’ asked Adam.

  Mum was up and grabbed me by the arm. ‘Come on, you, upstairs, come on,’ she hissed.

  ‘You’re not going to hide her, are you? That’s illegal!’ said Adam, the little twat. He screwed up his face and chased after us. ‘I don’t want to live in a house with a criminal,’ he bellowed.

  ‘Shut up, keep your voice down!’ hissed Mum. ‘You answer the door, tell them she’s not in,’ she told him, hustling me upstairs.

  ‘I’m not telling lies to the police!’ shouted Adam.

  ‘Shut up, they’ll hear you,’ I hissed.

  ‘I’m not telling lies, I don’t want to get arrested for telling lies,’ he yelled. ‘If she’s done something wrong she should go to jail, not me,’ he ranted. I wish! Mum had me on the landing by this time. She shoved me into her room.

  ‘In the wardrobe!’ She pushed me in and closed the door and ran back downstairs. I could hear Adam booming away like some sort of burglar alarm so she sent him out into the back garden and answered the door herself. Me, I was standing in the wardrobe on a huge pile of her shoes wetting my knickers. I nearly did, really. I was terrified. I was thinking, I’m sorry, please don’t let them find me, I’ll be good. I heard voices downstairs. Then there were feet coming up the stairs, and I didn’t know if it was Mum or them. The door opened – I nearly died – and it was Mum.

  ‘Right, you, downstairs. What have you been up to? Nicking things from the chemist’s, you stupid, stupid girl. Go on, down you go!’ And she dragged me out and practically pushed me downstairs and got the whole story out of me, while Adam stood goggling in from the doorway.

  ‘Is she going to jail? Is she going to jail?’ he kept asking, and I kept shouting,

  ‘Just piss off, will you, little freak!’
and Mum was threatening me with every form of hell this earth has to offer. In the end she had a word with the chemist and got them to drop charges, but I had to go round and apologise in public and pay them back the fifty quid’s-worth Michelle had away before they agreed to do it. Mum was great. She even helped out with the money. Afterwards she wanted me to help do this car boot sale she was going to, but you know what? I was too selfish even to do that. I wasn’t giving up my Saturday for her. I should have been turned into a cow rather than a dog, I was that bad.

  You know, I’d forgotten all about that incident. I never think about anything, me, I just do it. I never look back or have regrets. Sometimes I think that I never even have any hopes for the future. That’s why things got so bad between me and Mum for a while. I never thought about what I’d done, so all I’d be left with was the horrible feelings that I’d caused, and I’d think it was all Mum’s fault, because it was with her that I was feeling so bad. But I can’t help it. It’s just me. It’s just that the person she wants me to be isn’t the way I am.

  And now here she was, on my side again even though just about everything about me was different. Now there was the rest of the family to convince as well. Dad and Adam both thought Mum was having a nervous breakdown. You could tell it by their voices. After the police had gone, Dad came up close to the bedroom door and started talking to her as if she was a kid.

  ‘Sue? It’s OK, Sue, everything’s all right. You can open the door now,’ he said in this calm, quiet voice, as if he was trying to tempt the cat out of a cupboard.

  ‘Have they gone?’ demanded Mum. She was sitting on the bed with one arm around my neck. I was shaking from head to foot, whimpering and licking her face, and she was twisting her head this way and that to keep my wet tongue off her. She never liked dogs, my mum. She never liked Ed, either.

  ‘Yes, it’s all right, they’ve gone. You can come out now,’ soothed Dad.

  ‘Is Adam still there?’ demanded my mum.

  ‘He’s downstairs.’

  Mum looked down at me and scowled. ‘Oh, Jesus. I must be going mad!’ I was so terrified she’d suddenly decide the whole thing was a dream that I started muttering, ‘No, no, it’s me, Mum, it’s me,’ and she jumped up and screamed, ‘Shit!’

  ‘What is it? Are you all right?’ demanded my dad.

  ‘It’s talking again!’

  I hung my head. It? Hadn’t I shown enough to be a she yet?

  Mum looked down at me and smiled weakly. ‘I’m going to let your father in, and you have to go over the same tricks you did for me, OK? Just do everything I tell you. And don’t talk! It sounds – it sounds like – not very nice.’ She patted me encouragingly on the head, and went to open the door. I was so scared I scuttled off the bed and cringed behind it, my tail tucked in between my legs. I heard Dad come into the room; he stank of fear.

  ‘Come on, Sandra, come out. It’s just your dad,’ said Mum soothingly. I crept round the side of the bed, licking my lips and trying to wag my tail, but it was hard work. Then she called Adam up. They both looked so huge, towering above me on their hind legs! Mum took a deep breath and off we went, same as before. She sent me all round the house doing my tricks to prove I was human.

  ‘Turn round three times. Get up on the bed. Roll over once. Bark four times. Go and get your socks off the dresser, the red ones. Fetch me the scarf from the back of the chair that you always used to wear with your leather jacket.’ And so on.

  As I ran around the bedroom, performing these little jobs, you should have seen Dad and Adam’s faces! Their mouths opened wider and wider and wider, until they looked like a pair of deep sea fish. It made me laugh, Huf huf, and Adam got nervous and took a step back.

  ‘Go and touch your last birthday present with your front paw.’ That was my stereo system. ‘Pull your favourite CD from the shelf. Which book did Adam give you last Christmas?’ On and on she went. And what choice did Dad and Adam have? How could they not believe? At last, my dad got down on his haunches and looked at me, staring in my doggy face, trying to see something of the girl he knew in there.

  ‘Sandra?’ he croaked. I wagged my tail and went towards him, but he stood quickly back up.

  ‘It’s your daughter!’ scolded my mother. ‘Hug her! Make her feel better!’

  Dad came down to me again and opened his arms and I crept up to him, but I could tell by the way he smelled that he still didn’t believe. I thought, Mum loves me more than you do, but it wasn’t really fair to think that. It was just that she was better at believing stupid things than he was.

  Then it was Adam’s turn.

  ‘Go on,’ she urged. ‘Give your sister a pat. Show her you’re pleased to see her.’

  I went up to Adam and held out a paw, but he just stood and stared. He looked truly appalled, appalled and disgusted, as if he was being asked to eat dog food or something.

  ‘Adam …’ began my mum. But he couldn’t take it. He made a funny choking noise, shook his head, turned and ran out of the room.

  ‘Adam! Come back!’ shouted Mum after him. I barked, ‘Adam!’ But it was too late. The front door banged. My mum groaned, ‘Oh, God,’ and sat heavily down on the bed.

  ‘Pretty difficult to accept,’ said my dad. He walked over and sat down next to her. I stood in front of them, wagging my tail trustingly.

  ‘What now?’ said Mum.

  Dad rubbed his chin. ‘Perhaps a doctor?’ he said. But something in his voice made me suspicious. Who did he want that doctor for? Me – or Mum? I think he still thought she’d gone completely round the twist.

  eight

  I was back at home – not exactly in the bosom of my family, but still. I’d done it, and now I was exhausted. I crawled rather than walked to my bedroom. The door was locked, but I was too tired to be proud and I scratched to be let in like a dog. It was Dad who opened it for me. I gave him a grateful glance, and I’ll never forget the look of distrust and amazement that he gave his little dog daughter as she slid back into the safety of her own bedroom. I jumped up on my bed, curled up and went straight to sleep.

  I was woken up in the middle of my sleep by a strange, dreamlike experience. In my exhausted state, still half asleep, it all seemed only half real.

  The door opened. I remember thinking that I was dreaming. Adam came into the room. I was so much asleep that I couldn’t even move my limbs. All I could do was lift up my head and open my eyes and watch. He stood over me, staring down and frowning as if the force of his frown could make him see me as I truly was, and although I knew this was what he was really trying to do, I had no idea why because I’d forgotten what had happened to me.

  ‘You’re not my sister,’ said Adam slowly. He began to pace up and down in slow motion like a ghost made of flesh and blood.

  ‘You’re not my sister. You’re horrible. My sister isn’t horrible, she’s beautiful. My sister’s the most lovely girl anyone ever saw. Everyone thinks so. Everyone admires her and likes her. She knows how to live, she understands all about people. She’s great. Sandra’s great and you’re just a stupid, stupid, little bitch.’

  He stood there looking at me for a while longer before he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. I put my head back down and went straight back to sleep. When I awoke, as I say, it felt like a dream because I was so tired, but I remembered everything about it, even the texture of the skin around his eyes, which had a grainy, strained look about it. What he said didn’t hurt me, it touched me. It touched me so much it made me cry. You see, I never knew he felt like that about me. I thought I was just a pain in the neck to him, someone who got in the way, who probably stole too much of our mum’s attention away from him with all my goings-on. To think, all the time he loved me, and looked up to me! It made me feel bad about all the times I’d thought I hated him. But at the same time, it made me feel depressed. It’s just so hard, isn’t it? All these different relationships – Mum, Dad, Adam, Simon, Annie. All these different people, all wanting different things
. You can never get it all right, can you? People’s lives – it’s a wonder they don’t burn themselves out and die before they ever grow up just trying to get along together. I was so dopey I only half realised what was going on, and I thought to myself, Thank God, at least I don’t have to worry about any of that any more, before sleep closed up again over my head.

  When I awoke properly I was feeling hungry. In fact, I was ravenous. I could have rushed downstairs to the kitchen and stuck my head in the rubbish bin, but I was sticking to my decision to behave myself, so I had to get dressed first. My knickers and little skirt had stayed downstairs and all I had on was a T-shirt. Mum must have come in and tidied up while I was asleep, but she’d left out some clothes – an old pair of knickers that were too small – I mean, they used to be too small. They were about ten sizes too big, now. There were some little shorts out, too, which was a good idea, and a pair of ankle warmers – another good idea. I hesitated before putting them on – I wanted to choose my own clothes. It had been years since I’d let Mum tell me what to wear. But I didn’t have time to be so proud, not any more.

  I put the clothes on, left the room – and there were the stairs. No one was looking, so I quickly ran down on all fours. There was no point in making another noise falling down again.

  The family were in the kitchen. They all turned to look at me when I came in, and it made me feel uncomfortable, being so far beneath them. I climbed up on to a kitchen chair and sat upright like a dog begging. I wasn’t begging though. I just wanted to be on the same height as the rest of them.

  ‘Sandra?’ said my mum haltingly.

  I nodded my head and said, ‘Yuf!’

  ‘Sandra, Julie’s coming round. I – we – haven’t told her about, about what’s happened to you. We’ve just told her that it’s about you and that it’s very important. She should be here, well, any minute now.’

  So that was why they were all looking so nervous! I think we’re all a little bit afraid of Julie. She’s always so sure of herself and she has such clear ideas about things – you can’t help feeling she knows what’s going on, although she’s told me before now that she doesn’t know any better than anyone else, really. Inside, she’s just as unsure of herself as the rest of us. That’s what she says, anyway, but I think she just likes the idea of being modest and isn’t really like that at all. I think she thinks she’s right practically all the time.