“I just wanted to stay in the warm,” she said, “that’s all. Got nowhere else to go.”
“That’s not my fault, is it?” he said, holding the door open. “Out, or I’ll call the police.”
Becky knew she had no choice, that it was no use arguing with a man like that. But all the same she took her time, very deliberately walking around the waiting room, looking at all the posters on the wall, studying the timetables and the maps, before sauntering past him without even an acknowledgment that he was there. She enjoyed her little show of defiance – it made her feel a little better about facing the dark, cold streets.
The rain had stopped by now, but the wind was icy. There seemed nowhere left to hide from it. All she could do was walk. It was already night before Becky came across the only refuge she could find, a disused multi-story car park with a high chain link fence all around, and a sign up outside: KEEP OUT. SECURITY PATROLLED She was desperate by now. She had to find some shelter, any shelter. So when she spotted a hole in the fence just about big enough to squeeze through, she didn’t hesitate.
The place was filled with a hollow, eerie silence that frightened her, but it looked and sounded deserted. And most importantly it was dry and out of the wind. She found a tucked away corner down in the basement. Others had clearly discovered it before her. The place was littered with cardboard and plastic bags, and bottles, lots of bottles. Someone had lit a fire there too at one time or another, because there was a heap of ashes nearby. Brighteyes went to lie down at once on the cardboard and began cleaning himself. “That’s what I like about you,” Becky said. “Wherever you are, you just make the best of it, make yourself at home. But you’re right: home is where you are, however horrible it is. So we’ll make the best of it. Tomorrow I’ll get some money, somehow. Then we can get a proper place and proper food.” She went to sit down beside him, drew up her legs and hugged them to her. “I can do waitress work. Or kitchen work, washing-up and stuff like that. We’ll go looking tomorrow. We’ll be all right. We’ll be fine, you’ll see.” She lay down then and pulled him close, her head against his chest. She felt the warmth of sleep coming over her and let herself drift with it.
It seemed to Becky that she was woken only minutes later. Brighteyes was on his feet and growling. Somewhere in the car park there was the sound of footsteps. Whoever it was, was coming closer. The light of a torch danced on the ceiling, then on the walls, then it was shining straight at her. Dazzled now, Becky put up her hands to protect her eyes.
“That’s my place you’re sleeping in. What the bleeding heck do you think you’re doing here?”
The man’s voice was rasping and angry, his words slurred with drink. Becky couldn’t see his face. But suddenly out of the glare of the light came a dog, charging at her, his barking angry and loud, a terrifying war cry that echoed through the building. Before Becky could move, Brighteyes leaped at the dog, and then both were at each other yelping and snapping. Rough hands grabbed Becky and yanked her to her feet. “What’ve we got here then? A little girlie?” Becky could smell the stink of his breath. She kicked at him, and heard him cry out. Then she shook herself free of him and ran, calling for Brighteyes, screaming for him. She could hear the two dogs still fighting somewhere ahead of her in the darkness, and ran towards them. She could see them now rolling on the ground, locked together in ferocious combat, snarling and tearing at one another.
Becky didn’t hestitate. She rushed forward and tried to pull them apart. She managed to get hold of Brighteyes round his neck and drag him away. But the other dog came after her, and that was when she was bitten. She felt the teeth sink into her wrist and shake it, tugging at it, twisting it. She tried to break free, but the dog would not let her go. She could hear the man stumbling towards her, dropping his torch as he came, cursing loudly and roaring at her like a wild animal. Terrified, Becky lashed out at the dog, punching him hard on his nose again and again till he let her go. Suddenly free, she and Brighteyes ran for it, out of the basement, the whole car park resonating with angry shouting and barking. Then they were out in the open, back through the gap in the fence and away.
They kept running down the dark and empty street until Becky could run no more. Her head was swimming. Her wrist throbbed and her legs were so weak she could scarcely walk. She felt the blood dripping from her hand, knew that she’d been badly hurt, that she needed help; but all she could think of now was to keep going, to find somewhere to hide in case the man came after them.
Then she was aware of lights all about her. She found herself wandering aimlessly through a deserted shopping centre, which was where she came across some large recycling bins under an arcade. She was staggering by now, and knew her legs could not carry her much further. This was as good a place as any to hide. She crawled in behind the bins with Brighteyes and they huddled there silently, Becky rocking herself, trying to forget the agony in her wrist, trying to calm her panic. She could see now that Brighteyes too was wounded, that one of his ears was badly torn. She tried to reach out to him, but found she could not lift her arm. She tried to talk to him, and found her voice echoing strangely in her head. When she found herself lying on the ground, she couldn’t work out how she’d got there, because she’d been sitting up a moment before. She tried to sit up again and couldn’t find the strength. Brighteyes was swimming in and out of her vision. She tried to stop herself from fainting, but there was nothing she could do.
When the binmen came first thing the next morning, they discovered a girl lying semiconscious behind the bins. She was bleeding badly. Standing over her was a fawn coloured greyhound who, from the look of him, had been in a nasty fight. They wouldn’t have found her at all, they’d have driven off without ever seeing them, they told the paramedics, if the greyhound hadn’t come over and barked and barked at them, until they took some notice of him, and then he’d deliberately led them back to where she was. The paramedics told them that in that case, if the girl lived – and that was doubtful because she’d lost a lot of blood – it would be the greyhound who had saved her life.
I’m a running dog, a chasing dog, a racing dog. I’m not a fighting dog. I never in all my life had a fight before that night. My speed had always got me out of trouble before. This time I didn’t have a chance to use it. He came at us out of nowhere, leaped straight at my face, teeth bared and snarling. He may have been small but he was all aggression, all muscles, all teeth, and I realised at once that he’d rip my throat out if he could. So I fought back with all my strength because I knew I was fighting for my life. It was him or me.
For a while I gave as good as I got, but I very soon understood that I was neither strong enough nor cunning enough. I was up against a street fighter, a killer dog. As we tussled and tore at each other, I could feel my strength ebbing fast. If Becky had not pulled us apart when she did, it would have ended much worse for me. As it was I got away with a bloodied ear. Becky was not so lucky.
I didn’t really know how badly hurt she was until we were through the fence, and running through the streets, until I looked back and saw she was staggering rather than running. I stopped to wait for her. She was leaning against a lamp post now, so I ran back to her. “It keeps bleeding,” she said. She was breathing hard and clutching her wrist. “It won’t stop bleeding.”
We walked on after that, Becky talking all the while, but after a time I realised she wasn’t talking to me at all, but to herself. And she wasn’t walking straight either. She kept bumping into me, kept stumbling off the pavement. Several times she ended up on her hands and knees, unwilling or unable to get up. I would try to encourage her to her feet again, and on we’d go, until at last we came into the glaring light of shop windows. She found a hiding place in behind some bins and crawled in, calling me after her.
She clung to me. “I’m so tired, Brighteyes,” she whispered, “so tired.” She was finding it difficult to talk at all now. She leaned her head back against the wall, closed her eyes and rested a while, before she opened
them again. That was when she noticed my ear. “Oh, Brighteyes,” she cried. “What have I done to you? We can’t go on like this, can we? In the morning I’m going to take you to a rescue centre somewhere – I’ll ask around – a proper one, not Craig’s kind, and I’ll leave you there. I don’t want to do it, Brighteyes, you know I don’t; but there’s no other way. They’ll look after you. They’ll find you a good home. Then I’ll ring Mum, and she’ll come and fetch me. I may not see you again, but at least you’ll be safe, won’t you? And that’s the main thing.”
A moment later her eyes closed again and she slumped sideways to the ground. I tried waking her because I suddenly felt very alone without her voice to comfort me, but she was not sleeping as she usually slept. She was lying there unnaturally still, dead to the world it seemed, her face pale, paler than I’d ever seen it, white almost. I curled up beside her, my head resting on her shoulder. She needed to be warm, I thought, and so did I. But both of us were so cold by now that between us we had no warmth to share.
I was woken by the rumbling of a lorry nearby, and the sound of men’s voices. There was the clatter and crash of breaking bottles. They were emptying the bins. To begin with I stayed hidden where I was. Becky had not woken. I could not understand why not. With all the noise of the lorry and the binmen so close by, their voices so loud, I knew something was very wrong. Nothing I did made any difference. She would not wake.
I ran out from behind the bins, barking at them. They seemed taken aback at first, frightened almost, which wasn’t what I intended at all. I stood there, barking for a while, then ran back behind the bins and out again, trying to make them come and see, trying to make them understand. It was a while before they did, before one of them approached me. He was quite wary of me. He crouched down and reached out to pat me. “What’s your problem, son?” he asked, stroking my neck now. “Nasty looking ear. You’ve been in a bit of a punch-up, haven’t you?”
This time when I ran off behind the bins, he followed me to where Becky was lying. “Jeez!” he shouted. “Call the ambulance! Call 999 fast! There’s a girl back here, and she’s hurt bad! Quick!”
I stayed with Becky until they came and took her away. I tried to jump up into the ambulance with her, but they wouldn’t let me. “No dogs in the ambulance I’m afraid. Not allowed. Hygiene rules,” said the lady who’d been looking after Becky.
“He saved the girl’s life,” said the binman. “You said so yourself. You could make an exception, couldn’t you? Where’s he going to go?”
“Sorry,” she said, getting into the ambulance. “I suggest you take him to the police station down Willoughby Road. They’ll look after him.”
The binmen tried to hold on to me but I wouldn’t have it. I broke free and took off after the ambulance as it raced away down the road, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Sometimes it almost got away from me, but whenever it ran into traffic and had to slow down, I’d catch up with it. Dodging the cars or the people on the pavements, I just about managed to keep it in sight.
I had lost Patrick, my first best friend. I had been stolen away from him and would never see him again. I had lost Alfie, who’d been like a father and brother to me. I did not want to lose Becky, who was doing all she could to save my life. So I ran after the ambulance, as if Alfie was at my side. There was no way I was going to let that ambulance get away. When it turned off the road I followed it down the driveway. When they carried Becky into the hospital I tried to go in after her, but they wouldn’t let me past. They shouted at me and waved me away. So I went and sat on the grassy bank below the car park, and waited. Becky had gone in. Sooner or later she would have to come out again. I would wait for her. She had not deserted me. I would not desert her. Besides, I had nowhere else to go.
All day I had a lot of attention from passers-by, and some of it came with gifts of chocolate or biscuits or crisps, all of which I accepted gratefully and quickly snaffled up. Children came and sat beside me for a while, patted me and talked to me. I liked that. But all the while I didn’t take my eyes off the entrance to the hospital, watching everyone come and go, looking all the time for Becky, waiting for her to come out. She had gone in, so she had to come out. I would stay until she did.
As dark came down there were fewer and fewer people about, and no children at all. I missed them. Ambulances came and went. I did see the lady who’d carried Becky into the ambulance, the one who hadn’t let me go with her. She didn’t see me though. She was too busy driving her ambulance. I tried again and again to sneak in through the door and find Becky, but I got chased out every time. I was getting tired, and I was so, so cold. I felt like going off and finding myself somewhere to shelter out of the wind, somewhere I could curl myself up tight and sleep. But I knew I mustn’t. I knew Becky could come out at any moment. I had to stay where I was and stay awake.
I’m not sure which came first, the thought that I was hungry or the smell of food. Suddenly I found there was an old man sitting down beside me. He didn’t smell like anyone else I had ever met. In fact he didn’t smell like a man at all. He just smelled of food, and it was the kind of food I liked a lot. He put something down in front of me on the grass. “Baked tatty, with my best cheese filling,” he said. “I thought you could do with it, warm you up. You’re shaking like a leaf. Go on, help yourself.” I was hungry all right, but I still hesitated. “Oh I see,” the old man went on, “so you’re the shy sort, just like Paddywack. He’d never eat with anyone looking either. I won’t look, promise.”
The potato was full of melted cheese. It was delicious and gone all too soon. I licked the grass until there was no trace of it left.
“Glad you liked it,” he said. “You’ve made quite a stir round here. Everyone’s been talking about you all day. Lynn told me about you when she came for her tatty at lunchtime – one of my best customers she is. She told me how you followed her ambulance with that girl in it all the way here, going like the clappers she said. Turbo-charged. But I’ve been watching you. You’ve been sitting right here all day long, haven’t you? You’ve been waiting for that girl to come out. Lynn told me her name. But I forget. I forget a lot these days, specially names. She won’t be out for a while you know. Lost a lot of blood apparently. But she’ll be all right, don’t you worry. Lynn says she’s a real survivor that one. Like you, I reckon. But you can’t sit out here all night. Big frost tonight, minus four they said on the radio. There’s no point you sitting here. They won’t let her out now, not at night-time. They’ll keep her in for another day or two at least, I should think.”
That was when he leaned towards me, peering at me more closely. “Nasty ear you’ve got. It needs cleaning up. Here, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you come and sleep in my tatty van? You’ll be snug as a bug in a rug. Baking it is in there. Well it would be, wouldn’t it? It’s what it’s for, the Tattyvan. You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you? I’ve got this old van. Looks like a sort of travelling potato, a motorised tuber, you might say. I converted it myself. My Tattyvan I call it, and I’m Mr Tattyvan when I’m out on the road. I’m Joe really, to my friends I mean.
“I go all over the place, baking potatoes and selling them – cheese filling, chilli, coleslaw, tuna mayo – take your pick, I make it all myself. The hospital here is one of my best pitches. Paramedics like Lynn, doctors, nurses, ancillary workers, visitors, patients, they all love my tatties. Well they would, wouldn’t they? It’s good healthy food, and cheap too. But tomorrow’s my last day. Time has come for something different.”
He pulled his bobble hat down over his ears and hugged himself. “I’m fruzzed sitting here.” He got to his feet. “Are you coming then?” He was whistling for me as he walked away. Then he turned round and saw I wasn’t moving. “So you’re going to stay there and wait for her, are you? Loyal, faithful. I like that in a dog. I like that in people too. Just like poor old Paddywack. You’ve got a lot in common you two.” And then he was gone away into the darkness.
I felt suddenly
very alone. I liked the gentleness of his voice and his quiet kindliness. I thought I’d seen the last of him but he was back in a few minutes and this time he was carrying a blanket. “Here,” he said, wrapping it around me. “This’ll keep you a little warmer. I’ll be back in the morning. See you then.” And he was gone again.
It was a long and lonely night, and the coldest of my life, only interrupted by the occasional wailing siren as another ambulance drove up. I never fell asleep, not once, because the cold didn’t let me. I kept watch on that door, hoping all the while that Becky would come out, but she didn’t.
By first light Joe was back again and I was so pleased to see him. He brought me a bowl of warm milk, and I lapped it eagerly, filling myself with its warmth. He sat down beside me and rubbed me with his bobble hat until I wasn’t shivering and shaking any more. And he talked to me the whole time.
“What am I going to do with you?” he was saying. “I mean, you can’t sit out here for ever, can you? I could take you down to the rescue centre, I suppose. That ear of yours needs seeing to.” He tried to reach out and touch it, but I wouldn’t let him. “They’d clean it up. They’d look after you, that’s for sure, find you a good home. But you want to stay, don’t you? You want to wait for her.”
He was still sitting there, still talking, still rubbing me, when I looked up and saw someone I recognised walking towards us. It wasn’t Becky. It was her mother.
“So there you are,” she said to me. “They told me in the hospital I’d find you out here. I see you’ve found yourself a friend then.”
The Classic Morpurgo Collection (six novels) Page 18