A Liverpool Song (3 page)

‘French? That’ll be why he speaks no English,’ was Andrew’s reply. ‘What’s the other half? Gestapo, German shepherd, Russian spy? Because that red was under
my bed.’

‘Probably half Labrador. Yes, they speak French in Canada, so you may be right. And he’s been neglected. Keep him thin, but not this thin. That’s if you keep him at all.’
He looked over his shoulder. ‘You’re keeping him. Ownership’s already written all over your face.’ For the first time in years, Keith’s friend looked almost amused and
slightly relaxed. Might this new arrival provide the start of a long-awaited miracle? Animals sometimes reached the parts that remained inaccessible to humankind.

‘I know. He needs me.’

It occurred to Keith that the boot was on a different foot – or paw – because Andy needed the dog. ‘This fellow’s five months old, I’d say. He could be five and a
half months, but no more. He’s probably had no inoculations, so I’ll start from scratch, if you’ll excuse the poor pun. In two weeks, I’ll do the second jab. Keep him on
your land for a month – no walkies. It’s important that he stays away from other dogs, especially as he’s so undernourished.’

‘Anything else, your honour?’

‘Feed him little and often because he’s been starved. Work your way up slowly to two tins of dog food a day – this chap’s still making bone and muscle.’

‘Right.’

‘And get the . . . get the grave fenced off. He’ll ruin your garden.’

‘I see.’

Keith checked the dog’s general health and labelled him satisfactory. ‘You’re lucky,’ he commented. ‘He doesn’t have the wrinkled nose or the drooling jowls
of Hooch.’

Andrew jumped out of his chair. ‘You mean . . . ? No. Not that great delinquent poor Tom Hanks was landed with?’

‘The same. Underneath all the hassle and chewed clothes and ruined furniture, Hooch had a heart of gold.’ The vet laughed. ‘If it makes it any easier for you, think of him as a
Labrador. They ruin houses, too. All pups do it. He’ll be company for you, Andy.’

Andrew sat down again. The film had been released in the late eighties, and he’d seen it with Mary on their very last outing together. Just months later, Mary had lost her feeble hold on
life. Storm was a message, then. Not that Andrew could say any of this to Keith. People already had him down as mad because his devotion hadn’t ended with Mary’s death. They had no real
concept of true love, because if it was true it never ended.
Oh, Mary. Why you? Why you and not me? You would have handled life so much better . . .

‘Andy?’

‘What?’

‘She’s dead, mate.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’

‘Still talking to her?’

Andrew nodded. ‘Not every day. Not recently. Oh well, I’m retired now, so perhaps Storm will keep me busy and fit. Have you eaten?’

‘No, and she’ll kill me if I don’t get back and do justice to her
boeuf en croûte
. She’s been taking cookery classes again. Bloody murder, it is. I’d
be happy enough with a ham sandwich, but oh no, if it isn’t in French and difficult to pronounce, it’s not proper cooking. I have developed a close affinity with guinea pigs.’

Andrew laughed. ‘Would you like a French dog? It might taste good with a few spuds and a drop of gravy.’

Keith picked up his bag. ‘Four Irish wolfhounds, two horses, two hormonal teenage daughters and one wife are enough, ta. See you in a couple of weeks.’ He left, crossing the index
and middle fingers of his left hand. Perhaps the dog would make the first crack in Andrew’s emotional concrete bunker.

Andrew glanced at his canine companion. ‘Just us, then. I’ll leave you a bit of stew to cool. Do you need to go out?’

Storm mooched round the garden for a while, relieved himself, then walked straight towards—

Andrew stood in the doorway and stared. There was no digging, no fooling about; the dog simply sat on Mary’s grave. With over half an acre to choose from, he had homed in on that one spot.
This animal belonged to Mary, and his other owner wept. Eva wasn’t here, so it was his party, and he’d cry if he wanted to.

That cursed inner alarm clock woke him at exactly ten minutes to seven. Time for a shower, a bite to eat, out of the house by seven thirty, look at today’s list. Check
theatre availability, get everything in order . . . Ah. Of course, there was no list. No, no, that wasn’t true; it was just a different list, that was all. Mary had sent him a dependant, and
there were things to be done.

As he surfaced, Andrew Sanderson began to realize that he was not alone. Like Tom Hanks, he was sharing his bed with a Hooch. ‘We went through this last night, Storm. Didn’t we
discuss sleeping arrangements?
Ton lit est . . . sur le
. . . landing.’ What was the French for landing? ‘You’ll have to learn English, dog. When in Rome and all that.
Oh, by the way, do you have fleas? And I know it’s only a cardboard box, but there’s a nice blanket in it. You can’t sleep here. That’s Mary’s place.’

The dog yawned. He had a set of strong, white teeth.

‘You feel safe at last, don’t you?’

‘Ruff.’

‘This isn’t rough. I built and carved the bed with my dad’s help, and Mary did the drapes. You’re living in the lap of luxury, boy. This is a five-bedroom, four-bathroom
house. That single-storey extension downstairs is an events room that runs the full depth of the building. She liked events, did a great deal for charity.’ He hadn’t used the events
suite in over a decade. Even the formal dining room remained unloved. With a dining-kitchen, a morning room and a drawing room, Andrew had enough space. And Eva was talking about needing more help
for the heavier work, but Eva was very adept at finding something to moan about.

‘Shall we go downstairs, Storm?’

‘Ruff.’

‘Don’t you know any more words? It’s all getting a bit monotonous, you know. Anyway, we’re going out. Not “out” out, no running, no playing. But out as in the
car. The same rules apply, by the way. It’s a Mercedes. We don’t eat upholstery, don’t scratch the doors, don’t chew seatbelts. Especially in a one-year-old Merc.’

‘Ruff.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s Weetabix or nothing, so it’s Weetabix. One more ruff and I’ll make you wear one. You can walk round looking mad and Shakespearean.’

A shower, a shave and a small disagreement later, both were seated in the car by nine o’clock. Storm, who had wanted to occupy the front passenger seat, was finally installed in the rear
of the Merc. Andrew, nursing the suspicion that he needed a second shower, climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Stay,’ he ordered. ‘I smell very doggy after that
tussle.’

‘Ruff.’

‘What?’

‘Arr-arr.’

‘That’s better. If you’re going to live with me, your conversational skills need work. Though you could be a blessing after Eva’s carryings-on. Half an hour with
her’s like a public meeting with the riot police outside at the ready. She fed you, though. She’s not all bad – just half bad. Her husband’s our gardener, so you’d be
wise to stay on his better side, too.’

He drove to Tony Almond’s, a we-have-almost-everything type of shop, where he bought a large dog bed, boxes of balls and toys, half a ton of dog food, collar, lead and bowls. ‘What
else do I need?’ he asked.

‘Not much,’ the girl replied. ‘Just your head tested. Our Alsatian ate the plastic rainwater pipes in our back yard yesterday. I see you bought a large bed. Is it a big
dog?’

‘It will be if I let it live.’

‘Oh, and don’t bother with a kennel. Get it a Wendy house. They like their own place. No chocolate – it’s poison. And make sure you’re the boss.’

Hmm. Chance would be a fine thing. The battle for position in the car had revealed a strong personality under all the shaking and ruffing.

When all purchases were stashed in the boot, Andrew drove to the stonemason’s next door to the funeral parlour. The cross he had made to mark Mary’s grave had been well cared for,
treated against weather, its brass plaque always shiny clean, but, due to recently altered circumstances, she needed more protection. ‘I have to make sure she stays where she is,’ he
told the dog. ‘She may have sent you, but you’re not digging her up just so you can have the last word. Well, the last ruff.’

‘Ruff.’

Smiling while shaking his head, Andrew left the car. He picked out the stone, said he wanted it flat on the ground over the grave, handed over a paper on which were written the appropriate words
for engraving, and gave the man his address.

‘Not many people want the stone lying down these days,’ Sam Grey said.

‘I have my reasons.’

‘And eight feet by four? Was this a big person?’ He studied the customer. ‘You’re that doctor who’s a mister. You were in the paper, a photo at Buckingham Palace.
OBE, wasn’t it? And I helped our Archie bury your wife years ago in your garden – I remember now, God love her. She was tiny. Did an awful lot for cancer research.’

Andrew nodded. ‘Then she died of it.’

‘I’m sorry, sir. But my brother and I handle so many funerals – so very sorry.’

‘The dog in the car adopted me, Mr Grey. He’s confined to barracks just now because of injections against distemper and so forth. If he digs in the wrong place . . . well . .
.’

Sam Grey nodded thoughtfully. ‘Right. Can we get power to the grave?’

‘Yes. There’s electricity in the summerhouse.’

The stonemason did some mental juggling. ‘Fair enough. We’ll get the slab delivered later today, and I’ll work on it in situ over next weekend. She was a lovely woman.’
He paused for a moment. ‘So was mine, but I lost her to leukaemia.’

It was Andrew’s turn to express sorrow.

‘I’m fine now. Remarried. I’ve not forgotten Mags, but Kath’s a good woman. We look after each other. Step into my office and we’ll do the paperwork.’

Back in the car, Andrew surveyed his companion. ‘You’re almost too well behaved,’ he advised the pup. ‘I’m just waiting for the outbreak of war.’

So that was what ‘normal’ people did; they put one wife in the ground and married another. He could not imagine himself wanting or needing anyone after Mary. Mary Collins, the object
of many men’s desire, had chosen him. Although she hadn’t been his first partner in sex, she had certainly been his last. So tiny, so trusting, so affectionate and powerful. She had
cajoled, begged and almost blackmailed people into parting with money for cancer research, had organized everything from jumble sales to formal balls, had raised many, many thousands in pursuit of
her goal.

‘And it took her, Storm.’ It had been deep, widespread, difficult to diagnose in its virtually symptom-free early months. They’d trawled Denmark, Switzerland and the United
States in pursuit of a cure, but nothing had worked. ‘She died in my arms, overloaded with morphine. Anyway,’ he dashed a tear from his cheek, ‘you have toys. You will chew the
toys in lieu of furniture.’

A weighty paw suddenly landed on his right shoulder and stayed there.

‘Good God, how much do you know, Storm?’

‘Arf.’

‘Only half? Right, I’ll tell you the full story later. But first, we have a dragon to face. You must remember, Eva is fair. She talks tough, but she does have a good heart. One
thing’s certain – neither of us will ever go hungry.’

The pup retreated to his rightful place. He was beginning to realize that there was a price to pay, and that the price was being nice. Nice was not jumping about too much inside cars and houses,
but outside was OK. Somewhere at the back of Storm’s mind, a horrible memory lingered. A man, a stick, bits of ripped-up stuff everywhere. The beating. Outside in the cold, no food, drinking
from puddles, running, running. Lights in the sky, loud noise, waves crashing, door opening. And the man. This man. Deep inside, there was love in Storm’s new person. Strength, too. He was a
pack leader, a decider, one who would make life good. And Storm was here for a reason, though he’d no idea what it might be.

Eva Dawson was standing at the laundry-room window, a mobile phone clamped to her ear. ‘I promise you, Joyce, I’m not joking. Sam Grey’s here with a mini
tractor thingy dragging a trailer with stone on it. It’s going on top of poor Mary so the dog can’t start digging there.’

After a pause, she picked up the thread. ‘And the doc’s building a house for the dog. What? No, not a kennel. It’s more the size of a kiddy’s play house. Raised off the
ground to keep it from getting damp. All for a stray dog. Oh, I’d better go. Talk to you later, and see you at bingo.’

Andrew entered. ‘I’ve decided on proper foundations. I’ll insulate, then run a pipe through and instal a radiator. Can’t have him getting cold, can we?’

Eva’s mouth snapped shut. Sometimes, it was better to say nothing. If her employer seemed to be going a different kind of mad, that might be classed as progress. He talked to the animal
now. Perhaps the daft-looking bugger would help the doc stop having one-sided conversations with the deceased.

She joined him in the kitchen. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ she asked.

‘I’ll look after myself, thanks. Even my own cooking has to be an improvement on hospital food.’

‘But I’m here.’

‘I know you’re here. I can see you here and hear you here. But I don’t want to take advantage of you.’

‘Ooh, there’s a novelty. Months I’ve been asking could our Natalie come a few times a month to do some of the heavier work. She needs a few bob, being a student.’

So, it looked as if Eva had produced something that hadn’t put its name down for prison. ‘Studying what?’

‘Medicine,’ she snapped.

‘In Liverpool?’

‘In Liverpool. She needs work because of student loans.’

‘Right. Use her and give me the bill.’

‘Don’t worry, I will. Now. Scrambled or poached egg on toast, bacon butty, ploughman’s, salad, baked potato?’

‘Bacon butty,’ he replied. ‘With ketchup.’

The thing Eva loved most about Doc was that he’d managed to hang on to his working-class Lancashire roots with no excuses, no pride, no inverted snobbery. He was what he was, and nothing
would ever change him. What was more, she knew he’d do what he could for her Natalie. Natalie deserved the best.