Charlie's Gang (7 page)

‘Right you lot,' he said, ‘Trundle's in trouble and we've got to help. We've got no work and those Feather terriers are taking all our trade. They're even going to do Rat Hall. We'll have to go to war and send them back where they came from.' He looked round at his gang. ‘Prepare yourselves for a fight!' Three pairs of ears pricked up, and the gang looked expectantly at their leader.

But Spud spoke first, an image of the beautiful Allie floating in front of his eyes,

‘Och though, might it not be better to try and make peace with Mrs Feathstone's girls. We could maybe come to an agreement with them and share the work? Or even work together why not?'

Charlie stared at him. ‘Are you mad? Did I hear you right? Is this the attitude of the tough Scotsdog we've heard so much about?' Charlie snarled a warning at Spud and looked round at the others. ‘Any sensible ideas?'

‘There's the Terrier Racing next Saturday,' said Herbie, who knew this because he was dreading the event. ‘We could win that for once, and show the whole village that we're the best.'

Charlie looked impatient. ‘But we're not the best are we? Not the best
racers.
Trundle puts us in for it every year but we never win because we're
ratters not racers!
Agile and fast, it's true, but not in a
straight line.
Straight lines are for dogs whose owners take them out for walks but never give them any circles. They just go along footpaths without doing any proper work. That's why we never win the terrier racing. We're too good, that's why.' There were low growls of agreement from the gang members.

Before summer ended every year the villages of Ogden Wash, East and West Foxmould, and Motley got together to hold a local show. Cake makers and riding schools, people with hawks and owls, lamas and tractors, came to show themselves off. Police horses jumped through burning hoops. There were hot burgers and teas and ice creams and a bouncy castle for the children.

Although his dogs hated it, Mr Trundle entered them every year for the terrier racing, which, for the reasons Charlie had outlined, they never won. Herbie in particular resented the whole day as it meant him missing the horse racing on TV, but the rest of the gang hated it too. A ridiculous pretend furry thing (supposed to look like a rabbit) would be dragged on a string down a grassy bit of field and the dogs would be released to chase it. A contest obviously beneath the dignity of any professional ratter.

‘Other ideas?' Charlie looked round the sofa. Mrs Nockerty had gone into the kitchen to fry up the rest of the bacon for Mr Trundle's sandwich, so he knew they'd got time for a proper talk.

‘What about Rat Hall?' said Snip suddenly. ‘We know how bad that is. It desperately needs clearing. Call me an optimist but I bet those girls will never manage that job on their own. Why don't we go over there before they start work and give the rats a fright? Set them running all over the place. Scare the life out of everyone? And then show how quickly we can catch them.'

‘Clever!' said Charlie, ‘now that's more like it.' He glared at Spud.

We could even chase the rats towards the village,' Snip went on, ‘and then everyone would see our superior skills.'

‘Sorted!' said Charlie. ‘When Trundle snoozes after breakfast tomorrow we'll shoot over to Rat Hall and give things a look.'

And over in Rat Hall that same evening, as darkness fell, Beattie shivered on her window ledge waiting for Darren to come and collect her. When he failed to turn up, she knew he'd gone to the pub and forgotten all about her.

10

Beattie

Beattie's fear kept her awake all night. She hadn't known how much livelier rats became in the evenings. They came and went, some bringing food in, some squabbling, others rushing about as if they had a train to catch. She was starving hungry but there was nothing to eat, and to drink she had to risk jumping from the window ledge to reach the frying pan. She took care not to look directly at a single rat because she did NOT want to look as if she was asking for a fight.

Somehow the night passed, and she dozed off as the rats went to their nests to sleep. She dreamed of Brian coming to find her and taking her home to their cosy flat. When she woke again, she knew she would have to make a plan or starve.

She was too high up to jump - that much was clear. Therefore she needed to get herself lower down in the building - probably as far down as the ground floor. Then she thought, she could search every inch of every room, in case there was even the smallest gap she could work on or make bigger, or squeeze through. The rats were obviously coming in and out with ease, so even if the space they needed was smaller, anything would be a start. She had spent hours feeling afraid of them. But perhaps by now they had become used to her. She'd done nothing to threaten them, after all. She hoped she was right.

What she feared most was Darren. She didn't trust him one bit. If he came for her at all it would only be because he'd agreed a price with the Feather man and she guessed that in that case he would simply shut her back in the house again, until the work he wanted to be paid for was done. He would certainly not care that she'd not eaten. She determined to escape from him, and somehow find her way back to Brian.

It was raining still. The drips from the ceiling of the room she was in had become a steady stream. In patches the water was rotting the floorboards. Outside she could hear tiles falling in the wind, sliding down and landing with a thud on the ground.

Taking a deep breath, Beattie slipped down from the window ledge. Looking as casual and unconcerned as she could, she strolled over to the frying pan to take a drink. Then without glancing at the possibly 50 or so rats that shared the top floor with her, she walked over to the staircase, and down. One floor, then the next. She stopped at the heavy old front door. She'd forgotten how gloomy everything was down there, with the boards on the windows keeping out the light.

It was then that she heard the sound of doggy voices outside. There seemed to be some sort of a debate going on, and Beattie strained to hear, as her heart leapt up with hope. A rescue party? Who were these dogs? She yelped and growled a greeting, but the debate outside had become a hot dispute and she feared she couldn't be heard. She listened again. How many were there? Enough to dig her out?

The dogs were quarrelling. Snip, in deference to Charlie's position as gang leader, had offered him the opportunity of being first to squeeze through a small gap Spud had discovered in the side wall of the farmhouse. Snip had meant well, assuming that if there were to be any heroics, Charlie would be the natural one to display them. But Charlie had taken offence.

‘I,'
he said,
‘I, Charlie,
as leader of this outfit, as
brains
of this outfit what's more, do
not
go first when a mere
reconnoitre,
is required. That's French by the way.'

‘I know it's French,' said Snip, huffily, ‘I thought you'd want to be first, that's all. Sorry if I got it wrong.'

‘Och, it should be me to go first,' said Spud. ‘I am the most experienced dog, after Charlie, and I was the one to find the gap.'

‘But I'm the
lookout
dog,' said Herbie, ‘and how can anyone squeeze through anywhere unless I've done a lookout first?' The gang glared at each other.

Then Herbie said, ‘And speaking of look-outs, there's a van coming.'

Charlie took control. ‘Hide!'

Inside the farmhouse Beattie had dashed back to the top floor where windows were open and she could see, and also have more chance of being heard. She barked and called as loudly as she could.

As she leaned out she saw four Jack Russell terriers moving towards the side of the house. One little dog at the back seemed for a moment to look up at her, but then he followed the others and they all disappeared from sight.

Desperately disappointed, she looked out across the fields and the rain falling steadily now. It took her a moment to spot Darren's van. Her heart gave a lurch, and she made a plan. Not brilliant, but the best she could do with no time to waste. Determined not to let Darren catch her, she gave one last desperate bark in case the dogs could hear, and ran back downstairs again. Flattening herself against the wall closest to the front door, she waited. She knew better than to expect Darren to come right into the building, since he would see at once that the place was still full of rats, but she thought he would kick open the door and shout for her. She was right. She heard the van park up, and Darren swearing his way through the damp grass towards the house. There was a loud bang, and then more swearing as the door held for a moment.

‘Dog?' he called from outside. ‘Where are you Whatsyourstupid name? How many rats have you caught?' Bang! The second kick came, and the door swung open just a little.

‘Where the devil are you?' Darren called, and then, ‘and if those are rats I can see in there you're in big trouble!'

But before he got to the end of that sentence, Beattie had squeezed through the tiny space, and was gone. A flash of brown and white, and she shot off up the track and away.

‘Oi! Come back you!' Darren shouted as she disappeared, then veered left through an open gate.

As Beattie ran she heard Darren's van start up. Tyres screeching - she could feel his rage. As he neared the top of the hill, she dived behind a tree, hearing the engine stop and Darren climb out to have a better look for her. He was only a few feet away. She heard him swearing, and muttering to himself about getting Andy's motorbike so he could go across the fields. ‘I'll find her and then I'll strangle her,' she heard him say. ‘I'll run her over and throw her into a ditch. I'll tell Brian she ran away.'

Shaking, Beattie now knew for certain that she must never let Darren catch her. However little she could remember of the route from Ogden Wash to the edge of Birmingham where Brian lived, she would have to try her luck. At least she was free, but oh so hungry. With no food inside her, she already felt weak, and tired from her run up the track. And where had those terriers gone?

Beattie kept as still as a statue. Her life depended on it. She sensed that Darren was standing still too. At last she heard the van door slam and with a screech of tyres he drove away.

She could breathe again. And what's more, coming up the track towards her she saw Charlie and his gang. Surely they would help her? She waited until they were almost level with her tree, then she stepped out in front of them. The tall one jumped in alarm, then said to her angrily, ‘And who might you be? You're one of those girls that are trying to take our jobs away aren't you? You've been doing a
reconnoitre
in Rat Hall haven't you? That's French by the way, for having a look.'

Beattie knew it was French because all members of the SSJRT were advised to carry out a reconnoitre before tackling a job, but she thought it unwise to say so. But she was alarmed. What had she done to deserve this greeting?

‘Och, she's not one of them,' said Spud, who had made a much more careful study of Dora and her daughters, ‘though I agree there's a likeness.'

‘I'm trying to find my way to Brian's house in Birmingham,' Beattie said. She didn't feel inclined to tell these unfriendly dogs any more than that.

‘Well now, Birmingham,' said Spud, ‘that's no place for a Jack Russell terrier, though you may be interested to know that my own father came from those parts, before moving to Scotland you know, and meeting my dear mother.'

‘Oh, shut up,' said the other three other dogs in unison.

Charlie took control for the second time that morning. ‘Well, I have no idea who you are or what you're doing on our patch, but my friend is right about one thing, that Birmingham's too big for a dog of your size. I advise you to go somewhere else instead. Come on gang! It's time to go and find some breakfast.'

Wondering what she'd done to offend dogs she'd never met before, and feeling even hungrier at the mention of breakfast, Beattie turned away and trotted off with her head held high. She went in the direction of Darren's cottage, drawn even from this distance by the smell of socks, and guessing that by the time she reached there Darren would have taken Andy's motorbike and gone looking for her. Then she would be free to try and remember the exact way Brian used to drive in his van, and somehow, somehow, find him again.

Charlie's gang had gone some way in the opposite direction before Spud challenged Charlie. ‘Why so unfriendly boss? She seemed a sad little dog. Not much of a threat surely?'

Charlie turned and growled at him. ‘Not much of a threat?
Everyone
is a threat when you're at war. And we are at war. I've told you that several times. I don't know what's happened to you Spud. You've gone soft in the head.'

But inside Charlie was feeling terrible. He was actually a kind dog, and he knew that the way he had treated the lost little terrier was not good enough. He also knew that the reason he'd been horrid in the first place was because she had given him a fright when she'd appeared from behind the tree.