Drawing with Light (8 page)

‘Hey!' Cassy's suddenly right there, looking over my shoulder at the computer screen. ‘Is something wrong?'

‘Not with
me
,' I say pointedly, but Cassy doesn't take the hint. I click off the NHS site. ‘I'm fine. Just killing time. Do you want a cup of tea with me? To celebrate me getting a job?'

‘Yay! Well done, Em!' Cassy hugs me. ‘At Polly's shop?'

‘At the market stall. It's after school, and all day one Saturday and Sunday. Seven pounds an hour.'

‘Fantastic!'

‘So, tea?'

Cassy pulls a sad face. ‘I can't, Em. Sorry. I've been out – had my break already. I've got to work another hour. Rob's picking me up at six fifteen. You can have a lift too, if you want to hang around till then.'

She's not going to tell me about the appointment, clearly. I study her face. She actually looks fine, now. Bright-eyed, happy even.

‘I'll pay for your tea,' she says. ‘Go and get something to eat too. You're looking much too skinny these days.' She disappears into the back room they use as an office and staffroom, and then returns with a five-pound note. ‘There. Have a panini or something nutritious.'

‘I'll have a big slab of chocolate cake,' I say, to wind her up.

I'm about halfway through my hot chocolate and raisin and oat cookie when the
click-clicking
sound of a dog's toes on the tiled floor makes me look up. Dogs aren't really allowed upstairs in the shopping centre. Mattie is skulking along just outside Madison's cafe, sniffing the air. She wags her tail when I call her name softly, but she keeps her tail low, as if she knows she shouldn't be here and doesn't want to draw attention to herself.

‘Where's Bob?' I ask her.

She pricks up her ears and comes close to the railings which separate the cafe from the corridor. She whines at me.

There isn't any sign of him. I wrap up the rest of my cookie and finish my drink and go out of the cafe into the corridor. Mattie comes up and sits down close to my feet, sort of nestling in. Something's wrong. I've never seen her without Bob close by before.

When I try to coax her back down the escalator she won't come. She follows me to the top of the stairs next to the library but she won't go down the stairs either, even when I tempt her with raisin and oat cookie. She licks her lips and looks sorrowfully at me, but she won't budge.

The next minute, everything erupts. An ambulance siren gets louder and louder; the plate-glass window at the front of the shopping centre fills with blue flashing light.

Two ambulance men run up the stairs carrying a stretcher, push past me and Mattie, and go through the swing doors into the library. And just before the doors swing back behind them, I see this person lying on the floor on the carpet just inside the library foyer. I know those tatty brown cord trousers, the lace-up boots and second-hand postman's coat.

Oh
,
Mattie!
I put my hand on her neck, to hold her back. She strains towards the door, as if she wants to get to him. I don't know what to do. I try to push the door open again.

‘No entry to the library at the moment,' a security guard says. ‘You'll have to come back later.'

‘I need to see Cassy – she works in the library,' I try to say, but he's not having any of it. He won't listen.

‘Get out of the way. There's been an incident.'

I get a glimpse of the ambulance men doing something to Bob – a mask on his face – before the security man's boot closes the door again.

Now what?

I still can't make Mattie budge. I try phoning Cassy, but her mobile's switched off. Next minute, the doors are flung back and the ambulance men go through with Bob strapped on to the stretcher, and a crowd of library staff following behind. Cassy's carrying Bob's scruffy old bag.

‘Em! Wait there! I'll be back in a minute!' Cassy says as they rush past.

I sit on the step with my arm round Mattie, even though she is a bit smelly and flea-ridden. The ambulance siren starts up again. A crowd of people push forward to get a look through the window.

Footsteps trudge back up the stairs: Cassy plonks herself down next to me and bursts into tears.

‘What's happened?'

‘Oh, Em, it was horrible. Bob just keeled over. I think he must have had a heart attack or something. He looked awful. All grey and shaky.'

‘What shall we do about Mattie? We can't just leave her here.'

‘I don't know – we'll have to call the police, I suppose. They'll take her somewhere safe.'

‘Where, though? How will Bob get her back? He'll be worried sick!'

‘I don't know, Emily! There's nothing more we can do.' Cassy starts crying again: big, juddering tears like a little child.

Beside me on the top step, Mattie stretches herself out with a big sigh and puts her nose on her paws. She's trembling.

‘We can't just hand Mattie over to some police person who won't care about her,' I say. ‘Anything might happen to her. We owe it to Bob. I'm going to phone Dad.'

It's pretty hard getting Mattie into the car. She digs her heels in. In the end Dad has to lift her into the boot.

I fetch her old blanket from the alcove, to make her feel at home.

Cassy screws up her nose. ‘It's disgusting, it stinks and it's covered in fleas. Just like Mattie, in fact. We can't take her home with us, Emily.'

‘We can drop her off at the police station,' Dad says. ‘They deal with lost dogs all the time. They have a special dog warden.'

‘Mattie's not lost,' I say.

‘Homeless, then.'

‘That's not her fault. If the dog warden gets his hands on her he might not let Bob ever have her back, when he comes out of hospital.'

‘If,' Dad says, under his breath.

‘They might give her away or have her put down or anything! It's not fair. Why can't we keep her, just till we know how Bob is?'

Bit by bit I wear them down.

Dad stops off at the supermarket on the way back. I put a bag of dry dog food and some tins in the trolley, and choose a collar and lead for Mattie. She's only got a bit of string round her neck at the moment.

‘Just for tonight, then,' Dad says. ‘And she'll have to sleep outside. She'll stink the place out. She'll be fine. She's used to being out in all weathers.'

‘But she has Bob for company,' I say. ‘She'll be lonely and cold all by herself. We could wash her? Then she won't smell so much.'

‘No!' Cassy says. ‘Absolutely no. One night only, tied up outside. While we think what to do. I'll phone the hospital in the morning and see how Bob is.'

Later, in bed, I phone Seb to tell him what has happened.

‘I always wanted a dog, when I was little,' he says. ‘But Dad wouldn't let us.'

‘What are you doing tomorrow?' I ask.

‘Nothing much.'

‘You could come over,' I say. ‘After school. We could take Mattie for a walk.'

‘OK,' Seb says. ‘I could meet you from school, if you like? Get the bus with you. Mum needs the car for work, otherwise I'd drive.'

‘I've got a job now too!' I say.

Seb doesn't talk much after that. I guess he feels bad or something, about not having a job himself. But he says he'll meet me at three thirty. At the bus stop.

All night I keep waking up, imagining I can hear Mattie whining. She'll be missing Bob. Or freezing to death in the big cardboard box we gave her under the tarpaulin next to the bikes. I half expect to find in the morning that she's chewed through the lead and run off, trying to find her way back to Bob, like in
The Incredible Journey
. I don't hear the fox.

I think about Seb, wasting his time at home all day, not doing anything. It's not good for him. He should be doing A levels or training or something, not just lazing about. But I can't say that to him. He'd go mad. I sound just like his parents.

I start thinking about our first kiss. I replay the scene. That tingly, amazing feeling of his mouth soft against mine. The feel of his body, so close I can feel his heartbeat.

I'll see him tomorrow.

10

I'm waiting at the bus stop wondering what's happened to Seb and whether he got the bus back in town or something, when the silver Renault pulls up.

‘Hop in quick. I'm not supposed to park at a bus stop.'

The Year Eight girls waiting in the queue collapse into their usual fit of giggles. One of the boys does a stupid wolf whistle.

‘They're so dumb, aren't they?' Seb says. ‘What's the matter with people that age?'

‘Hello to you too,' I say.

‘Sorry. Hello, Em.' He pulls away from the stop and does a three-point turn in about five goes. He grins. ‘There. Not bad, eh?'

‘Brilliant. Couldn't do better myself,' I say. ‘I thought your mum was working?'

‘She got back early. So I could borrow the car. She's nice like that.'

‘What does she do? Her job, I mean.'

Seb glances at me. ‘Care worker. What is it with you? You're obsessed with jobs. Work.'

I don't say anything. Are we about to have our first row? I don't say what I'm thinking, which is that I'm
not
obsessed about work. I was just curious about his mum. And actually he's the one with the problem, if it comes to that. About not working. Hypersensitive or something.

‘How was school?'

‘Fine. How was your day?'

‘Lovely.'

‘What did you do?'

‘Went for a run. Read.'

‘What?'

‘A book about the Spanish Civil War. And I just finished Cormac McCarthy's
The Road
.'

I'm impressed, of course. He reads much more widely than I do. I don't tell him, though.

‘So,' Seb says, ‘where shall we walk the dog?'

‘Down by the river? Or we could walk from the caravan, across the fields? I'll have to change first. Get my wellies.'

We've got to the lane. Seb turns off down the tunnel of trees.

‘Stop just before the gate,' I say. ‘Park in the lay-by.'

We walk across the field together. The lights are on in the caravan, and there's no sign of Mattie or her cardboard box.

I open the door. This isn't how I planned things. Cassy's already home, or perhaps she's never been to work: she's curled up asleep on the sofa under a blanket, and Mattie is stretched out on the swirly orange carpet next to her. She wags her tail nervously, as if she might be in trouble, stretches, yawns and sits up.

Cassy opens one eye, sees Seb behind me, opens both eyes and sits up, startled. ‘Oh!'

‘This is Seb. We're going to take Mattie for a walk,' I gabble. ‘I thought you'd still be at work.'

Cassy's flustered for a moment, then gathers herself together. ‘I didn't go, in the end,' she explains. ‘I felt I couldn't leave the dog alone all day. I had a bit of a headache.'

‘Shall I make some tea?'

‘Lovely,' Cassy says. ‘Hello, Seb.'

‘Seb's dad is one of the builders at the house,' I say. ‘He helps there too, sometimes.'

‘Ah. I thought I recognised you.'

‘So, have you phoned the hospital? How's Bob?' I say.

‘It took hours. Eventually I got through to the right ward. It's not good news. He's very poorly. Heart attack. What with sleeping rough, the alcohol: his immune system's not much good.'

‘When will he be coming out?'

‘Not for a long while. So we can't keep the dog. I've phoned the dogs' home. They'll keep Mattie for a while. We can still visit her and take her for walks now and then. It's the best I could think of.'

Mattie knows we're talking about her. She puts her head on one side, as if she's listening.

Seb strokes her head. ‘She's lovely,' he says. ‘Shame you can't keep her.'

‘Can't we? Please?'

‘There's no way,' Cassy says. ‘We've no room. Look at this place! And you can't leave a dog alone all day while you're at work. It's not fair.'

‘How come you let her inside?' I say.

‘It was raining. She looked so sad. I felt bad. It's just till tomorrow.'

While I'm making tea in the kitchenette, Cassy asks Seb lots of questions about the house. He sounds quite knowledgeable, about getting the new limestone, and how you make a drystone wall. I look at them, sitting up at the table together. They're getting on really well.

‘Should we feed Mattie?' I call.

‘Good idea,' Cassy calls back. ‘And do it outside, please. The smell of that dog food makes me sick.'

‘Cassy's really nice!' Seb says as we walk back up the caravan field to the car. Mattie trots between us.

‘You sound surprised.'

‘No. Not really. She's younger than I expected.'

‘She's not my real mother.'

‘I know. You told me that before. How old is she?'

‘Thirty-one.'

‘How old's your dad, then?'

‘Forty-two.'

‘And your real mum?'

‘I don't know – forty? We don't see her,' I say quickly, so he doesn't ask me anything else.

Mattie hops into the back of the car as if she's been doing it all her life.

‘She's a fast learner,' I say. ‘She wouldn't do that a day ago.'

Seb drives us to a place near the river, where we can get on to the footpath that runs along it. It seemed pitch-dark when we were in the car, but when we're outside, walking along, our eyes adjust enough to make out the way. The path's too narrow to walk together: I go in front and Seb follows behind. Once we're far enough away from the road I bend down to unclip Mattie's lead, so she can run free.

‘Is that a good idea? Are you sure she'll come back?' Seb asks.

‘Yes. Well, I think so,' I say. ‘She knows me.'