by Various
Somehow we move away from the kennels. I become aware of Dominic’s hand, hot and solid, on the small of my back. Warmth spreads to the rest of my body, and by the time we reach the door, I almost feel normal again. He lets his hand drop and studies me, as if I’m some kind of strange creature.
“So?” he says.
I realize he’s been talking this entire time, but I haven’t been paying attention.
“Yeah,” I say vaguely.
“Cool. Catch you at the same time tomorrow then,” he says, and goes inside, leaving me alone.
He must think I’m a right weirdo. I don’t know why I care anyway. There’s no way I’m coming out here again.
I stand for a while, listening to the scuffles and yelps of the dogs. Then I realize something: I’ve never been able to set foot out here before, and even though the kennels are just over there, I’m calm. The fence didn’t crumple. I survived.
Before I leave for the day, I creep up to the terrarium to see if I can catch the tortoise with his head out. What I see surprises me. The tortoise is still hiding under his shell, but Dominic is kneeling over it, holding a thin brush. He’s painting it, recreating the original pattern of the shell. I slink away without him noticing.
On the way home, I wonder about him. Dominic.
Curiosity killed the cat, whispers a voice in my head.
At two o’clock the next day, I find myself squinting in the sunlight. As long as the dogs are inside their kennels it will be all right, I tell myself as Dominic and I make our way across the yard. We stick to the middle of the path between the kennels, not getting too close. They’re all made of the same wire-mesh fencing and are pretty big, with balls and toys and old bits of furniture in them. The dogs are safely inside with the gates locked, but I still don’t like it. I don’t like the smell of the dogs, their neediness, the way they rush up to their fences when we approach, wagging their tails, barking, jumping up and down. The Staffie from the hallway snarls.
I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Dominic has an easy walk – slow, with a bounce, as if he’s walking to a beat that no one else can hear.
When we reach the end of the path, we walk back down. I read the boards on each of the kennels. They give the names of the dogs inside: Dolly Parton, John Travolta, Leonard Cohen…
“They all have weird names,” I say to Dominic when we get back to the main building.
“Clive names them after famous people,” he says. “Oh yeah, Faith said I could name the tortoise.”
“Cool. What you gonna call it?”
“I might use Clive’s method. I was thinking maybe Jake Blakemore. I liked him in Infected.”
“Yeah, I loved that film. Except the end.”
“Really? That was the best bit.”
“It’s unrealistic. If a super-virus like that came along all the scientists would die before they found a cure.”
“What about Magna, did you see that?” he asks.
“Same problem. Realistic until the end. The earth’s magnetic field is already changing, and is anyone doing anything about it?”
He glances at me sideways through his long black eyelashes and raises his eyebrows.
“Bees are disappearing worldwide,” I add, as if that’s going to win the argument.
By the end of the week, I think I’ve got the walk sorted – but then Dominic strolls right up to Marilyn Monroe, a straggly grey and black schnauzer and I’m practically hiding behind his back. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t help it. He sticks his fingers into the kennel.
“She looks nothing like Marilyn Monroe,” I whisper, not wanting to offend her.
“Clive says she’s depressed. And so was Marilyn,” Dominic explains.
Marilyn lopes over to us and sniffs his fingers.
“See, she doesn’t bite,” he says, turning to me.
Slowly, I reach out and put my finger through. My hand is shaking. Marilyn looks at it, then sniffs. Her nose is wet against my fingertip.
We do the same with some of the other dogs, going right up to their kennels to say hello. I don’t put my fingers into all of the cages. With some, I stand back and watch Dominic play with the dogs. Surprisingly, it’s OK. Maybe this whole laid-back vibe Dominic’s got going on is affecting me. Or his presence makes me feel safe. Then again it’s probably just that the gates are bolted shut.
“What did you think about Red?” he asks.
“Yeah, good film.”
“Even the end?”
I nod.
“So it’s unrealistic when a scientist finds a cure for a virus, but when the earth is dying and there are limited resources, people will have the chance to resettle on a beautiful, untouched planet?”
I look at him to see whether he’s having a laugh, but he’s not.
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I say. “There is no untouched planet. It’s a lie. The government is just blasting people into space to get rid of them. Lottie and Junot aren’t going to Planet Red; they’re going to die.”
“Nah. Planet Red is out there, and Lottie and Junot are living on it. I can just feel it,” he says.
I look at his wide, trusting eyes and almost get sucked in. I shake my head. He can feel it? What rubbish.
I hear Mum chanting before I even get through the door. “I am confident. I am worthy of true love. I am a beloved child of the universe.” She’s sitting cross-legged on the living-room floor.
“Leona, your dad called,” she says.
Coldness creeps through me, despite the thirty-degree heat. It’s been a good year since we’ve heard from him.
“What did he want?” I ask.
“Nothing. I don’t know. I said I didn’t want to talk to him and hung up. Pulled the wire out the socket, for good measure.”
Relief washes over me. She’s never done that before.
On the way to the sanctuary the next day I glance at the spaceship, and for a moment, I see it differently. Instead of believing that something terrible is about to emerge from that doorway, I see the open door as an invitation. Maybe I could step inside, run my hands over the multicoloured buttons, pull a lever and lift off.
The first kennel I enter belongs to Casanova, a Saint Bernard with a reputation for being affectionate. As soon as I step inside, Casanova jumps – his paws landing heavily on my chest, mouth open, dog breath wafting into my nostrils. I squeeze my eyes shut. Sluu–urp! Warm wetness covers my face. I hear Dominic shooing him away and open my eyes. Dominic is looking at me, concerned.
“Leona, are you all right?” he asks.
I look at Casanova wagging his tail beside Dominic and realize that the stupid mutt has just slobbered all over me.
“That is the most disgusting—” I start.
Dominic starts laughing. “Sorry, it’s just you should see your face,” he says, trying to control himself.
I have this sudden urge to lick his face. See how he likes it.
Dominic lifts the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe my face. His stomach is smooth and hard. “He’s just showing you he likes you,” he says. “I don’t blame him.”
He’s close enough to kiss. I wonder whether he’s just being friendly or if he really does like me. I think of Dara – the cat that nobody wants because she’s imperfect.
I step back.
We move on to stick-throwing. I lob one across the yard, and Arnie, a Chihuahua, runs yapping after it. According to Clive, Arnie is what Arnold Schwarzenegger would look like if he didn’t take steroids.
“I don’t get it. Why do dogs get so excited about fetching sticks?” I say.
“Maybe we like throwing sticks, and really they’re entertaining us,” says Dominic.
Dominic, I realize, has a really weird way of looking at things. Arnie returns, drops the stick at my feet and looks up at me with his big brown eyes. The stick is wet. Dominic picks it up and throws it lazily. It doesn’t go as far as mine.
“Isn’t there something you’d rather be doing than throwin
g sticks?” I ask.
Dominic’s eyes are thoughtful, mysterious. “It’s not that simple. You can’t just do what you want,” he says.
“Yeah, but you can try. I mean, I want to be a vet. No one I know has even done their A levels, let alone set foot in a university, and the careers woman at school said I was being overambitious. To top it off, I’m scared of dogs.”
“Not any more,” Dominic says.
I look at the Staffie, who’s chewing a deflated rugby ball in his kennel. It was kept as a fighting dog and now Clive’s teaching it to behave, but I still don’t trust it.
“Why are you scared of dogs?” Dominic asks.
A memory flashes through my mind. People yell, my dad laughs, my little fingers reach out to pet a doggie, my back thuds to the ground, pain burns my stomach, screams…
“Just am,” I reply.
The next day I realize I’m humming along to that awful “Desert Rose” song that is playing on the radio in reception. There must be something in the air, because all the animals are acting a little weird too. Roger is gnawing at his cage as if planning an escape, and Dara buries herself under the blankets of her bed when I try to play with her. Only the tortoise, his head still inside his shell, is the same as always. He’s been eating the lettuce we leave for him, though, so he must be coming out occasionally.
Dominic and I take Einstein the Dalmatian for a walk in the park. It’s so hot today; it’s unbearable. We move like snails through the park. Bodies, like beached whales, lie about, turning red in the sun. Even Einstein doesn’t want to walk. I’ve been watching Einstein carefully, but I can’t figure out how he earned his name. He goes over to the shade of a willow tree, turns around three times, as if checking his tail is still attached, and then sits down.
The storm comes out of the blue. First there’s a breeze, then a wind, and a huge black and purple cloud rumbles across the sky, casting a shadow. At first we just stand and watch it, as if we’re watching a film. Einstein barks at it. Like that’s going to help. But when the first drops of rain begin to fall, Dominic grabs my hand and the three of us run back to the sanctuary.
Dominic and I push through the doors, and Einstein circles us, wrapping his lead around our legs. I stumble, taking Dominic with me. He puts his arm against the wall, so he won’t crash into me. Our bodies touch. His black eyes glitter. His lips, soft and warm, meet mine. Rain drums the roof and windows, water gushes outside, cats meow, dogs bark, a gate bangs in the wind. It rains and rains and rains, and we kiss and kiss and kiss. Einstein is silent. Maybe he’s not such a stupid dog after all.
I know as soon as I see Mum put the phone down and give me a guilty look.
“We’re just talking, that’s all. I owe him that,” she says – but I don’t believe her. This is how it starts. She comes towards me, but I shrug her off and go to my room. Music drifts in through the window. “You’re my desert rain…”
I slam the window shut and hurl one of the little animal ornaments I’ve been collecting against the wall. It smashes. I do the same to another, then another. Mum calls, “Leona, are you all right?” from the other side of the door. I ignore her. I’m furious at her, at him, and most of all, at myself, for believing that this time would be different. For becoming a fool myself. I crawl into bed and bury myself under the blankets like Dara did earlier.
I must fall asleep, because when I open my eyes, it’s morning. I avoid Mum and leave the flat. It is cool and damp. Everything looks grey, even the spaceship.
Dominic comes up to me when I’m cleaning Roger’s cage.
“Hey,” he says, smiling.
I continue cleaning. He brushes the hair from my face.
“So, you wanna go and see Starburst? It’s about a gamma-ray explosion that threatens to destroy the planet.”
“Sounds rubbish,” I say.
“Oh. I thought it was your kind of thing.”
“I’m not in the habit of going to the cinema with criminals.”
He is silent.
“I mean, you could be a con artist, a thief, a serial killer,” I continue.
“They don’t give you community service if you’re serial killer,” he says.
“What is it, then? What did you do?”
For the first time, his eyes are troubled. I’m scared of what he’s going to tell me about who he is.
“Forget it,” I say, and storm off, leaving the cage open. I hope Roger doesn’t escape.
Mum tries to speak to me when I get home.
“I’m not in the mood,” I say.
“Leona, it’s just … I’m not like you. I can’t just… Look, you’re going off to college or whatever. Your dad is the only thing I know.”
I ignore her, but I have a feeling that we’re more alike than she thinks. We’re both cowards; we both stick to what we know.
On my way to the sanctuary the next day, I stop in shock – the spaceship has disappeared. The council must have painted over it.
I look for Dominic everywhere, but I can’t find him. Finally, I track Faith down and ask her where he is.
“Oh, I’m not entirely… I was expecting … but on the other hand…”
Typical. She’s clueless as usual.
“But isn’t he meant to be doing community service?”
“Oh, that was only for two weeks. He stayed on longer, probably … well, you two seemed to be…”
I guess she’s not that clueless after all.
Two weeks’ community service… What did he get done for? Stealing some pic ’n’ mix? It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve blown it.
On the walk home, I try to ignore the blank wall where the spaceship used to be.
A few days later I find myself gaping at the wall again. The blank space has been replaced by a girl. A beautiful girl, striding forward, one foot in front of the other, red hair flowing behind her, as if she’s crashing through the wall. Her amber eyes are fierce. Half-girl, half-cat. No. Half-girl, half-lioness. A colourful medley of creatures follows in her wake – an old rat, a one-eyed kitten, a tortoise with a cracked shell… The pieces of the puzzle fall into place. It’s a message from Dominic. He’s WallBreaker. He was prosecuted for graffiti and he’s done it again. The girl on the wall is me!
The sanctuary is in chaos. Faith has gone into labour. Debbie has taken her to the hospital and Clive is on one of his fishing trips, leaving me as the only full-time volunteer on duty. There’s loads of cleaning and feeding and organizing to do. The phone rings constantly.
I leave the dogs till last, then go into each kennel as quickly as I can to give them their food – until only one remains. The Staffie. As I approach, I pray that Clive has named him Gandhi or something equally reassuring. He barks as I approach. The name on his kennel reads “Muhammad Ali”.
I take a deep breath and think of the Leona on the wall. Leona, fierce and brave, striding through all obstacles. I walk slowly, calmly, towards the kennel, even though I feel wobbly inside. I look at the dog’s yellow eyes – and realize that Ali is just like me. He’s scared of people getting too close. He jumps up at the fence, growling. I don’t flinch. I stand still by the gate until he stops barking and moves away. I unlock the bolt, open the gate and go inside. Then I top up his food and water as if it’s no big deal and leave, closing the gate behind me.
Debbie returns soon after, gushing about Aphrodisia – which is what Faith has decided to call her baby girl. The poor child will be bullied to death.
I pass the terrarium on the way Faith’s office to look for Dominic’s address and see the tortoise’s little bald head moving back and forth as he attacks the apple in front of him.
He lives in one of the high rises on Orchard Estate. A stupid name really because there isn’t a tree in sight.
A little boy opens the door. He’s got the same mad hair as Dominic.
“Is Dominic in?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Do you know where he is?”
He points upwards.
>
“In the flat above?” I ask.
He sighs, as if he’s dealing with a prize idiot, and walks towards the stairwell, leaving the door open behind him. We go up to the very top floor, then walk along the balcony that leads round to the other side of the building, where a ladder is leaning against the wall. It’s old and paint-splattered and very long. The boy skips off.
I climb the ladder one step at a time. I don’t look down.
Dominic is on his hands and knees at the far end of the roof. Spray cans, pens and bits of cardboard are littered all over the place. As I get closer, I see that he’s cutting a stencil out of a huge bit of cardboard with a carpet knife. My shadow falls over him. He looks up, surprised. His smooth brown skin glows in the evening sun. I move closer. I think about how he exposed himself by doing that graffiti up the side of the bookies. Slowly, I lift my T-shirt.
He doesn’t recoil from the pink and shiny scars on my stomach, but reaches out and runs his fingertips along them.
“What happened?” he says.
I tell him about my dad, who used to organize dog fights when I was little, and how I was attacked by a pit bull. I tell him about how he hits my mum sometimes or, more often than not, shacks up with another woman or just goes off on a caper – and how she keeps taking him back.
Dominic listens, then plants a kiss on my stomach, making it flutter. Then he stands up and kisses me on the collarbone, then on my lips.
The sunset is a deep red, which is a sign of pollution – but it looks wicked.
“I think I know what to name the tortoise,” he says.
“What?”
“Red.”
We hold hands and look out over the antennas, the rooftops, the cars and trucks zooming along overpasses, the buses going round roundabouts, the factories in the distance pumping out plumes of smoke, the skyscrapers in the city beyond, and for the first time, I don’t see the world ending, but the future, unfurling before me.