Underdog (13 page)

‘Here you go, Jeffo,’ he said, bending down to pour the last of the water into his hand.

Jeffo lapped it up, then sat back, pawing the air, wanting more.

‘Sorry, Jeffo. It’s all gone, boy.’ Tom shook the upended flask as he patted him. ‘I’ll find some more soon. It can’t be far now. We’ll find a way out. Come on.’

As they walked on, Jeffo pulled less at the lead; soon Tom could hardly feel any tension in it at all. Bending down, he drew Jeffo to him and slipped the lead up over his head.

‘Now, don’t run off,’ he said, holding the lead out for Jeffo to see. ‘Or I’ll have to put this back on you.’

It seemed only right to let Jeffo walk on his own; after seeing him caged in the barn, Tom didn’t want to restrain him any more than necessary.

‘Heel,’ he commanded when Jeffo trotted ahead, imitating the voice of a dog trainer he once saw on the television. Jeffo slowed his pace to stay level with Tom’s legs and close to his side.

‘Good boy, that’s it. You’ve got it,’ said Tom, impressed as he watched Jeffo walking freely and contentedly next to him. It felt good as they wandered on together, Jeffo wanting to be with him. He’d wanted a dog of his own for so long.

‘There, Jeffo,’ he said suddenly, pointing in the direction of a barely visible pathway winding through the trees ahead. ‘Look. That’ll lead us out of here, bet you.’ Tom crouched down and unravelled Jeffo’s lead. ‘Sorry, but I’d better get this back on, just in case we see someone. I’ll take it off again as soon as we get the chance.’

They traipsed their way out of the tangle of brush and onto the track, following it as it climbed steeply upwards through the tightening corridor of trees.  Regardless of the cover around them, Tom still felt exposed on the path and kept close to the edges, striding forward with his head down and Jeffo beside him.

The top of the trail opened up onto a large, flat expanse of tidy shingle: a well-kept car park. Tom slowed, pulling Jeffo closer to him; cautiously, they edged their way along the perimeter of the trees. There were a few cars, but no people or dogs. Tom dragged his sleeve across his sweaty forehead, noticing the public toilet sign on a small brick building at the other end of the car park. The thought of taps and water was too much of a temptation and he stepped out into the open.

With the forest behind them, their elevated position provided a panoramic view of the countryside. Momentarily stopped in his tracks, Tom took in the patchwork of golden fields and green meadows that disappeared into the summer haze. The sparkling surface of a distant lake particularly caught his eye; it lay at the centre of a large field, well away from a lone house set back some distance from the road. Its remoteness appealed to Tom; even from afar, it looked inviting and safe.

‘Can you see, Jeffo?’ he said, crouching down and pointing in the direction of the lake. ‘That’s where we’re going.’

Beneath the hazy, whitening sky, they continued wearily over the fields that flattened out in front of them. Coming to an old wooden gate leading onto the road they had seen from the car park, Tom and Jeffo stood quietly for a few moments, listening. At last, Tom decided it was safe to go through.

Despite the tarmac making for easier walking, all they could see was the winding road ahead, thick hedges on either side: nowhere, no time to run should Stevo’s dad catch up with them. Whenever the occasional car passed by, Tom would crouch with his back to it, shielding Jeffo from view as he pretended to tie a shoelace. They followed the road for some miles as it sloped between the fields, using gaps in the hedgerow for cover when they stopped to take a rest and share a drink.

It was a relief to finally see the house up ahead of them. The L-shaped converted barn, built from cut stone and dark timber, was much larger than it had seemed from a distance, its walls rendered green and red with patches of Virginia creeper and climbing ivy. Tom stopped just beyond the gated driveway and looked across the open fields, casting his sights on the lake that was still some way off. He looked over at the house for a moment, searching for signs of life, then climbed the wooden fence and pulled Jeffo under it.

Once in the field, the thought of watchful eyes spurred Tom on as he ran, Jeffo chasing at his heels. They didn’t stop until they made it to the far side of the water, hidden from view by the tall weeping willows edging the banks of the lake’s large, central island. The willows swayed lazily in the warm afternoon breeze, nodding as if acknowledging their arrival.

Tom finally felt safe: no way for them to be found now. He released Jeffo from his lead, watching as he ran to the water’s edge and lapped thirstily. Tom slumped down next to him; the water was crystal clear, reflecting the clouds that were building in the sky above.

The lake was edged with bulrushes and flowering meadowsweet, lush green reeds in the shallows, and the depths tinted green and brown with pondweed and milfoil. A plopping sound across the water alerted Tom to a fish feeding on surface flies as it patrolled the bank of the island.

‘Did you see that?’ he asked, rubbing Jeffo’s back. ‘Should’ve brought some hooks.’

Tom slipped the rucksack from his shoulders, then took off his trainers and socks. Rolling the bottoms of his jeans up over his knees, he dipped his toes into the water. It was colder than he expected, refreshing as it cooled the blood in his tired, hot feet. Standing up, he took a couple of steps into the water; before he knew it, his feet had sunk into the soft mud beneath him. Trying to pull one foot free, he toppled backwards, grabbing for the bank and just managing to right himself as his legs sank deeper. Jeffo, trying to be helpful, splashed around Tom’s head, covering his face in licks.

Eventually Tom freed himself, laughing as he clambered back up onto the bank. His legs were covered in thick, oily mud, and he scraped a finger along his shin, playfully wiping it across the bridge of Jeffo’s muzzle.

‘We can get you washed up now, Jeffo,’ said Tom, his eyes searching the grass. ‘Give you a proper clean.’

Picking up a stick, he waved it teasingly, offering it to Jeffo and pulling it away each time he jumped for it.

‘Go on, then!’

Tom flung the stick out over the water, almost halfway to the island. Launching himself from the bank, Jeffo crashed into the water.

And sank.

Long moments passed. Tom was about to jump in after him when Jeffo’s head popped up out of the water. He paddled about in circles, a somewhat manic expression on his face, trying to find the stick that seemed to always be behind him.

‘Get us one of them fish, instead.’ Tom laughed.

Jeffo paddled back and scrambled up onto the bank. He shook himself, spraying water everywhere, then rolled onto his side to dry off on the grass. His legs, like Tom’s, were coated in mud, making it look as if he were wearing a pair of long black socks.

‘You’re worse than before you went in,’ Tom said, leaping back as Jeffo jumped up at him, this quickly becoming a game of chase between them as they ran around the edge of the lake.

The afternoon wore on as they frolicked together. Eventually, Tom lay on the warm grass, resting on his elbows, content to watch as Jeffo carried on playing, running and chasing after dragonflies that flashed blue and green as they darted to the water’s edge. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Tom felt truly happy.

In the distance, darker clouds were gathering. Only a few more hours and it would be evening. He’d have to start thinking about where they were going to sleep.

A sudden bang echoed across the field from the house. It sounded like a door being slammed shut, except for the way the sound carried on the air … Could it have been a gunshot? Tom called Jeffo to him. They sat together for a few moments, listening intently; Tom felt sure he could hear dogs barking. Jeffo’s ears pricked.

Tom grabbed up his things and prepared to set off again. As they reached the gate, he turned to look back at the lake, able to see all around the field from where he stood. A log hut nestled in the far corner, crowded by overhanging trees, dense undergrowth forming a wall behind it.

When Tom suddenly awoke, Jeffo was on all fours beside him, upright and alert. The clouds were closing in fast and low above them, black with rain, dimming what remained of the evening’s light.

‘We should get a fire going,’ he said as he rubbed his eyes. ‘Warm us up a bit.’

He searched the ground around the hut for firewood. The hut itself was padlocked, Tom had discovered, the bracket riveted in place, so this time both his penknife and hammer had been of little use. He’d only sat down for a moment to work out what to do; he hadn’t planned on nodding off.

Collecting some dead branches and strips of bark from a fallen tree, he arranged them in a pile, then broke up the bark for kindling. Once this was lit, he added twigs, then larger pieces of the wood, until there was a strong blaze. Tom and Jeffo sat by the flames, huddling together in companionable silence as the evening darkened around them.

A flash of lightning in the distance was followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Jeffo squeezed even closer to Tom, his body shaking, his mouth open and panting. When Tom tried to calm him, he jumped up, licking at Tom’s face, wanting him to protect him, wanting them to run. The storm was heading right for them.

‘It’s alright,’ Tom whispered, wrapping his arms around Jeffo’s neck. ‘I’ll look after you. It’ll be okay.’

The wind picked up and first drops of rain started to fall. Tom pulled the groundsheet out of his rucksack and draped it over them. Jeffo shivered next to him as the rain became heavier, tapping loudly on the thin material as the downpour lashed them. The smoke from the fire drifted under their cover, making Tom want to cough. The rain dowsed the remaining flames, creating a thick, billowing cloud that spiralled skyward.

Another rumble of thunder rolled towards them, seemingly growing sharper and louder as it approached. Tom’s heart pounded. Jeffo began to bark. Peering out from under the groundsheet, Tom gasped and pulled it down again: a quad bike was coming towards them at speed, lights glaring. It was ridden by a large man in a flapping raincoat and thigh-length waders. Tom’s first instinct was to run, but he knew it would be pointless; the only way out of the field was back through the gate. He sat disconsolately, listening as the bike pulled up beside them. Suddenly the groundsheet was torn aside.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ growled the man, towering above them. His drooping bush of greying moustache and soaking dark hair hung untidily around his face. ‘Well?’

‘We were lost,’ Tom stammered. ‘The rain was coming. We needed somewhere to stop.’

‘Well, you’re found now,’ said the man, nodding over at smoking remains of the fire. ‘I spotted that plume all the way from the house. Didn’t you see the footpath signs?’

‘I just wanted to keep us warm.’

‘This is private property, son. You shouldn’t be up here. It’s dangerous lighting a fire like that.’

‘I’m sorry, mister. We didn’t know.’ Tom pulled Jeffo closer. ‘Didn’t think we were doing anything wrong.’

‘Well, let’s at least get you out of this weather.’

The man let go of the groundsheet and stamped out what was left of the sizzling fire, his boot exposing its glowing heart more fully to the rain. Tom gathered up his belongings.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked, anxiously.

The man glanced over at the hut. ‘You can dry off in there. What’s your name?’

‘Tom.’

‘Well, Tom, I’d take you back to the house, but I’ve got dogs in there myself. Wouldn’t take too kindly to yours, I’m afraid. I’m Graham.’

Unlocking the padlock, Graham swung open the door of the hut, ushering Tom and Jeffo hastily through it, and turning on the light as he followed them in.

The hut was basic, but warm and dry, simply furnished with a wooden table and chairs in front of a small window, with cabinets and cupboards lining the rear wall. Reeled fly-fishing rods were hung neatly along the other walls, and the floor was covered with coarse, tan carpet. A set of wooden steps ran up to a mezzanine floor, its headroom limited under the hut’s sloping roof.

‘He’s a bit of a bruiser,’ said Graham, stooping to scratch Jeffo’s ears. ‘Looks strong. What’s his name?’

‘Jeffo.’

‘Better get you something to dry yourselves off with.’ Taking off his dark Barbour coat, he hung it on the back of the door, then took a couple of towels from one of the cabinets. He handed them to Tom. ‘You’re going to need a change of clothes by the look of it too. You’re drenched.’

‘It’s alright,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve got some dry things with me.’

Untying Jeffo’s lead, he searched through his rucksack for a dry top, glad to finally be able to strip off his cold, sodden shirt. As he patted himself down, he forgot about his arms being momentarily in full view.

‘Thanks, mister,’ he said, pulling on his sweatshirt. He knelt and set about towelling Jeffo dry. ‘Sorry about the fire. I didn’t mean it.’

‘No harm done. Just keep to the right path in future.’

There was another crack of thunder outside, and a heavier burst of rain drummed on the roof. It was getting darker outside by the second, and Jeffo started to shiver again, panting hard as he looked up at Tom.

‘He doesn’t like the noise, does he?’ said Graham. ‘Is he alright?’

‘He’s from a sanctuary,’ Tom replied, stroking Jeffo’s head to try to calm him. ‘The people who had him before were bad to him. They should pay for it,’ he added under his breath as he stared into Jeffo’s eyes. ‘You’re alright now, though. Now you’re with me.’

‘Why hasn’t he got a proper collar?’

‘I lost it,’ Tom lied. He nodded at the lead lying on the table. ‘Had to make
that
up when I took him for his walk.’

‘You’ve been on a long old walk, then, Tom. Nearest house is almost two miles. Where’ve you come from?’

Tom avoided the question. ‘We’ll be off when it stops raining,’ he said.

‘You’ll be lucky.’ Graham looked out the window at the grim night outside. ‘It doesn’t seem as though this is going to stop any time soon. If you can get yourself lost during the day, I don’t fancy your chances in the dark. Tell us where you live and I’ll give you a lift home.’