Underdog (14 page)

‘No,’ said Tom, rather too forcefully. ‘No. It’s fine, thanks. We’ll be okay,’ he added, smiling.

‘What about your folks? It’s late. They’ll be worried. Your mum’ll be wanting to hear from you. Give us your number and we can give her a call.’

Tom was running out of excuses. For the first time since taking Jeffo, he felt uncertain about what he was doing, and a wave of hopelessness crashed over him. He turned away, cursing himself inside for having been so easily caught, for having made the fire.

‘I haven’t got a mum,’ he said at last, his voice barely audible. ‘She died last year.’

‘Oh. I see … I’m sorry, Tom. What about your father, then?’

 ‘He won’t care.’

It had already occurred to Graham that Tom might have run away. The cut on his hand and the scars on his arms were worrying. He didn’t want to let the boy wander off into the stormy night, or push him too hard about his home life. If he wanted to get anywhere at all with him, he knew he was going to have to tread carefully.

‘Well, I reckon it could rain through tonight,’ he said. ‘You can stay here if you like. There’s a bed up there you can use,’ he added, nodding at the stairs.

‘Thanks, mister,’ said Tom, a smile lighting up his face. ‘We’ll go first thing. You’ll hardly know we’ve been here.’

‘Do you want some food? Are you hungry?’

‘We had some sandwiches earlier. And I’ve got a tin of dog food I can give Jeffo.’

It was all Graham needed to hear. Tom must be running; it wasn’t every day that you went for a walk bringing a change of clothes for yourself, and food for your dog.

‘I’ll go back to the house,’ he said. ‘Get you something warm. Looks like you could do with it. You can feed him off one of the plates in that cupboard.’

‘It’s alright. I’ve got a pan for him in me bag.’

‘I’ll just be a few minutes.’ Graham smiled as he put on his coat and stepped back out into the rain.

Tom felt happier as he looked around the little hut. With the rain lashing the window, he was pleased to be inside, thankful they wouldn’t have to sleep rough. Being found by Graham had turned out to be a real stroke of luck.

‘This is great,’ he said as he fed Jeffo. ‘More than do for us, wouldn’t it? Somewhere like this. Imagine fishing every day.’

It wasn’t long before Tom could hear the quad bike’s engine over the rain. As it parked outside the hut, Jeffo began to bark again. Tom held onto him as Graham entered the hut with a thermos flask and a bag of bread stuffed into his coat pockets.

‘Sit, Jeffo,’ said Tom. ‘Quiet.’

‘Speaks English, does he?’ Graham wiped his dripping face, impressed as Jeffo sat down and was silent.

‘I just tell him what to do and he does it.’

‘You’ve got a job for life, then. There’s always a need for people who know how to train dogs and work with them.’

The idea appealed to Tom. He had never considered working with dogs before.

Sitting at the table, Graham unscrewed the thermos. He filled its plastic cups with piping hot tomato soup and passed one to Tom, then opened the bag of bread, placing it on the table between them.

‘Go ahead, then, Tom,’ he said. ‘Get stuck in.’

They ate in silence. Graham eyed Tom, who sat hunched over his cup, dipping pieces of bread into his soup and sharing them with Jeffo. His other arm remained mostly hidden under the table, his injured hand seemingly never leaving Jeffo’s back.

‘So how about giving your father a ring, then?’ asked Graham when Tom had finished off the last piece of bread. ‘Let him know where you are.’

‘Nah. It’s okay. He’ll only be cross I’m late, anyway. We don’t get on really. Not since …’ Tom paused, wondering whether he should continue.

‘Not since your mum passed on?’ offered Graham.

‘I guess.’

‘It can be like that. Takes time to adjust.’ Graham smiled understandingly. ‘It must have been hard for both of you. I really am very sorry, Tom; I know what it’s like to lose someone close. It might not seem like it now, but things get easier, you’ll see. You’ve just got to give it time. You’ll know when you’re ready to let go.’

‘I don’t want to forget her.’

‘You won’t. You just won’t feel the loss so deeply. When that time comes, your mum’ll still be there. She’ll be happy for you.’ He leant forward in his chair. ‘And try not to blame your dad too much. He’s lost a huge part of himself, Tom, you both have. Whatever’s going on in your lives right now, he’ll be needing you as much as you need him.’

Tom made no sound, but his shoulders started to shake. He turned away and bit his lip, hoping the pain might stop his tears from falling. But it couldn’t. Graham got up and stood next to him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’ll be alright, Tom,’ he said. ‘You’ll get there. You and your dad can work through it. Just don’t be afraid to let him know how you feel. Show him and he’ll be there for you. You’ll see.’

Tom wiped his eyes on his sleeve, but kept his face turned away. Mindful of his embarrassment, Graham busied himself clearing the table, stuffing the thermos in his coat pocket and the cups in the empty bread bag.

‘Let’s get you set up, then,’ he said at last, casting a glance at Jeffo. ‘Get this one organised too. Reckon he can make it up those stairs?’

‘Yeah,’ said Tom, a hint of a smile under his running nose. ‘No problem.’

‘Looks like you’re getting a bed too, then,’ said Graham, patting Jeffo on his way to the door. He looked back at Tom. ‘You can turn the light out from upstairs; there’s a switch by the bed. I’ll see you both in the morning.’

‘Thanks.’

Graham left the hut and closed the door behind him. Tom didn’t notice the click of the padlock.

‘Come on, then, Jeffo.’

Tom led Jeffo up the stairs and slid under the thick duvet draped across the camp bed. It felt good to be warm and safe, a free run ahead of them in the morning. Jeffo jumped up and Tom wrapped the cover around them, pulling him close.

‘We’ll get up early. Get going first thing.’ Tom reached for the switch and turned out the light. ‘Nearly there, boy.’

There was a knock at the door. Tom turned over in bed, sleepily opening his eyes, his dream broken. He looked up at the low wooden roof, then turned his head to peer through the railings next to the bed. Jeffo was already downstairs, standing at the door. The hut was bathed in yellow morning light. Outside, it was bright and clear.

‘Tom?’ called Graham from outside. ‘Tom, are you awake?’

Tom was angry with himself for having slept so late, annoyed with the bed for being too comfortable; they should have been long gone. They should have been running. He started thinking up excuses to get them away as quickly as possible.

‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he called back.

Graham waited, watching for Tom through the window. When he saw him start down the stairs, he pocketed the padlock and entered.

‘How did you sleep?’ he asked.

‘Fine. It was great.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. I’ll walk you both back up to the house. Get you organised from there.’

Tom packed his rucksack and put Jeffo on the lead. They followed Graham out into the sunshine, wandered beside him across the fields. Reaching the gate, he opened it for them and led them around the side of the farmhouse.

‘There’s someone here I want you to meet, actually. I know that you’ve run away from home, Tom. I don’t know why and I don’t expect you to tell me, but you need to get back with your dad.’ Graham looked into Tom’s eyes, the hurt in them clearly visible. ‘It’ll be alright, son.’

As they turned the corner, Tom caught sight of the patrol car parked on the drive. A tall, thin policeman stood beside it, his balding head the redder side of pink and glinting under the sun.

‘Hello there, Tom,’ he said amiably, opening the back door of the car.

‘But we can’t go back,’ Tom pleaded. ‘We can’t.’

Graham shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Tom, but it’s for the best. Remember what we talked about last night. The sooner you get back, the sooner you can start to sort things out. Your dad’ll be worried.’

‘It’s not that; it’s …’ Tom checked himself. The last thing he wanted was to get the police involved any more than they already were. ‘Don’t make me go,’ he begged. ‘Please, can’t I stay? Just for another night? I’ll go back after.’

Graham looked awkward and said nothing.

‘Come on. Let’s be having you,’ interrupted the policeman. He smiled at Tom in an attempt to let him know everything was alright, that he wasn’t in any trouble.

‘I won’t tell you where I live.’

‘Well, that wouldn’t be very wise, son. You’re with a dog that’s got no collar, and no means of identification. If you don’t tell me how to get you both home, I’ll have to take you to the station until we can place you. We can’t be dealing with dogs down there, so your friend will have to go to the nearest pound. It’s your choice.’ He waited for a response. ‘Come on, son. What’ll it be?’

There was nothing to be done, no choice but to tell. After everything they had been through, Tom was not about to have Jeffo taken away from him. Not now. Not ever.

‘He’s a good dog you’ve got there; let’s get him home where he belongs,’ said the policeman as he ushered Tom into the car.

‘In, Jeffo,’ said Tom.

Jeffo jumped onto the back seat and Tom followed, his head in his hands as the door was shut, watching through his fingers while Graham shook the policeman’s hand. He felt desperate and betrayed.

Graham knocked on the back window as the policeman walked round and got into the driver’s seat; Tom grudgingly wound it down. He could hardly bring himself to look at him.

‘It’s for the best, Tom. You’ll see.’ Graham couldn’t help feeling a pang of guilt as he caught Tom’s angry stare. ‘Look after yourself, okay? Look after him, too,’ he added, smiling at Jeffo.

Straightening, Graham patted the roof of the car and it set off down the driveway towards the road.

‘Where are we headed, then, son?’ asked the policeman.

Tom reluctantly offered up his address. As they turned onto the road, he worried how he was going to explain everything, what his dad might do. He hugged Jeffo tightly, ignoring the licks.

‘I’m sorry, Jeffo,’ he whispered. ‘I’m so sorry, boy.’

Stevo dipped a hand into the pocket of his tracksuit top and rubbed his fingers over the plastic packets, making sure all the hash was there. He took a final drag on his joint and flicked it, shielding his face from the sun’s glare as he turned onto the high street. The smoke had done little to numb the pain around his eye; touching the swollen bruise brought the events of the previous morning flooding back.

‘What were you doing up there?’ Cal had asked, pacing the kitchen floor.

‘Where?’

Cal had looked ready to explode. ‘You know fucking where. We found the bike. Who was with you?’

‘No-one. I was just messing about. Didn’t think it’d matter.’

‘What did they see?’

‘Nothing … I don’t know what you’re talking about. No-one saw nothing.’

Stevo had hoped his lying might dig himself out of the hole he’d known he was in the moment Cal pointed out Tom’s bike. The sight of it propped up against the garage wall had made his blood run cold.

‘Do I look stupid to you?’ Cal had snarled. ‘Enjoy taking the piss out of me?’

‘No. Course not.’

 ‘You took them in there. Didn’t you?’

Stevo had no intention of admitting to anything, but the way his eyes dropped to the floor and the sudden flush of guilt burning his cheeks had spoken for him.

Cal had seized him then, pulling him from his chair and throwing him to the kitchen floor, raining kicks and punches down on him as he scrambled for the corner and cowered against the washing machine.

‘You stupid fuck. I should break your neck.’ The loathing in Cal’s eyes had left no doubt he meant it. ‘You’re going to tell me whose bike that is and then we’re going to pay them a visit. And if I find you’ve said anything else you shouldn’t, you’re out, for good this time. You can fucking well rot with your dad. Now, get up!’

As he rose to his feet, Cal had punched him full in the face, leaving him crumpled on the floor as he had stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door so hard, the wood in the frame had split.

Closing the café door behind him with particular care, Stevo tried to put it out of his mind. He glanced up at the wall clock on his way to the counter; it had just gone nine. On the blackened range sat a smoking pan of bacon and eggs, a smell of burning toast cutting through the fry. There were only a few people inside, sitting on the faux red leather benches at the formica-topped tables, the chatter and clattering cutlery familiar and somehow soothing.

Ordering a round of toast, Stevo took a can of coke with him and sat by the window, having an hour to kill before meeting the drop at the arcade and completing the deal foisted on him the night before. The thought of what would happen if he disappointed Cal again heightened his anxiety, and he hoped the punter would turn up on time. He needed to get the deal out of the way so that he could focus on the only thing that mattered: finding Tom.

He kept an eye on the street, willing Tom and the dog to walk past, wishing it could be as easy as that. He’d do him over, get the dog, and then things would get back to normal. Little bastard. He should have let those kids at the bus stop kick the shit out of him, should have joined in himself.

The only other alternative was to hang out at the corner of Tom’s street, stay all day if he had to. There was no going home empty-handed and he knew it would be pointless trawling the estates like the day before; Tom could be anywhere.

Stevo noticed the waitress looking at his bruises and he gurned back at her, making her look away when she put the plate down in front of him. He picked up a piece of the toast and stuffed it into his mouth as she turned and walked away, his eyes following her and his jaw aching as he chewed. Leaving the rest, he picked up his can of coke and left.

The high street was already bustling with early morning shoppers and people going to work, the road filling with traffic. Making his way towards the arcade, he stopped at the lights, taking note of a police car further down; there was someone in the back. The lights changed and the line of vehicles slowed to a halt.

Stevo kept his eye on the police car as he crossed the road with the other pedestrians, hoping he might recognise the passenger, get to wave them off to the nick. It made him feel better thinking someone else was in the shit as well, and he waited on the other side of the road for the car to pass by. When the lights turned green, he took his hand out of his pocket, ready to make a two-fingered salute, when he was stopped dead in his tracks. There he was, sitting in the back seat, the dog right next to him. Stevo stood and watched, open mouthed, his arm hanging limp by his side as the car passed, before coming to his senses and running after it as it accelerated away.

‘Tom! Tom, you bastard!’ he shouted.

Realising he wasn’t going to catch up, Stevo threw his coke can at the back of the car. It arched like a grenade through the air, falling just short of the back bumper, its contents spraying out in a long brown plume as it was crushed under the wheels of the next motor.

‘I’ve fucking got you,’ he shouted as the police car disappeared up the street. ‘Both of you.’

Stevo couldn’t believe his luck; he needed to get home as quickly as possible and tell Cal. Completely forgetting about the drop at the arcade, he turned round and ran, stopping only a couple of times along the way to catch his breath. When he finally made it back to the house, he noticed the driveway was empty, the car gone.

‘Mum, you there?’ he shouted as he rushed into the kitchen, chest heaving, the sweat pouring off him.

‘What’ve you been up to?’ asked Sandra, eyeing him suspiciously over her breakfast.

‘It’s that dog … It’s …’ His breathlessness was making it hard for him to get the words out. ‘Where’s Cal?’

‘Gone over to Frank’s. Sorting out your mess, no doubt.’ She shovelled another spoonful of cornflakes into her mouth. ‘What about the dog?’

‘I saw it,’ Stevo gasped excitedly. ‘It was with Tom on the high street, in the back of a pig car.’

‘The police?’ Sandra dropped her spoon, splashing milk across the counter. ‘Cal’s going to kill you.’

‘No, Mum, it’s going to be alright.’ Stevo knew it wasn’t in Tom’s interests to say anything. The last thing he’d want would be for the dog to be taken to the police station. It would only end in one thing: exactly what Tom was trying to avoid. ‘He was being taken home. I bet he was.’

‘Well, you better get yourself round to Frank’s sharpish and see your dad about it; he’ll know what to do.’ Sandra sounded worried. ‘I just hope you’re right; he’ll skin you if the police get wind of anything.’

‘I ain’t going to Frank’s. Not yet. I’m going to make sure they’re at Tom’s first. Cal’ll have his dog back before this afternoon, well in time for tonight. It’ll be like it was never gone.’

The tide had turned, everything suddenly going his way. Stevo gave Sandra a peck on the cheek; stepping out of the back door, he went to the garage to get his bike.

Speeding through the back streets, he took the quickest route to the estate. When he finally made it to the corner of Tom’s street, he sat straddling the bike on the far side of the junction, close enough to keep an eye on things without being too obvious. Sure enough, the police car was there, parked outside Tom’s house. It was only a matter of minutes before the front door opened and the policeman appeared; flanked by Tom and his dad, all looking pleased about something. The only thing missing was the dog; maybe Tom had grassed after all? He was going to have to check it out for himself.

The group chatted outside the house for another few minutes, then the policeman turned and got into his car, calling something out the window as he drove off. When the car stopped at the corner, Stevo rode across the road, flagging it down. The policeman wound down his window.

‘Oi, mate,’ said Stevo, leaning in. ‘I’ve just seen a fire. Mills Road.’ He tried to seem concerned. ‘I think I could hear someone screaming.’

‘There’s been nothing on the radio.’

Stevo scanned the back seat, pleased to note the dog’s absence.

‘Hmm? Oh, must’ve just started. You need to get on it.’

‘Thanks,’ said the policeman. ‘Very public minded. Good lad. Get a light on that bike.’ He wound up the window and sped off onto the main road, blue lights flashing.

‘Fuck you too,’ Stevo sneered, sticking up an obligatory middle finger.

Wheeling his bike round, he started cycling for all he was worth. He needed to get to Frank’s, and quick.

‘Fuck it,’ said Cal as he leant over the glass tabletop and snorted up another line. ‘We’re going to have to use him.’ He rubbed the sting from his nose. ‘I should throw Stevo in the fucking pit, let
him
fight it out.’

‘Don’t worry, mate.’ Frank leaned back on the plush leather sofa, lacing his fingers behind his head. ‘If this goes wrong, I’ll be dealing with Stevo. I’ll be so far up his arse, he’ll—’

‘You leave him to me. So what about it? What about Mugger?’

‘He’s too tasty, Cal; we can’t take the risk.’

‘Well, what else are we going to do?’ scoffed Cal. ‘Put Tanner in?’ He thought for a moment. There seemed to be only one option left. ‘We can use Mugger if I foul him, but I won’t be able to do anything once they’re in. There’ll be too many people and they’ll be watching us like hawks. We’ll have to down him before they get there.’

‘Fuck that, Cal,’ said Frank, knowing that sedating the dog was too unpredictable. ‘This is getting way out of hand.’

‘We haven’t got a choice, have we?’

Suddenly there was a loud rapping at the door.

‘Get that gear out the way,’ said Frank as he got up to answer. The rapping grew ever more insistent. ‘Alright, for fuck’s sake,’ he shouted as he stomped down the hallway and pulled the latch.

‘Where is he?’ panted Stevo, almost falling through the door as it was opened and brushing his way past Frank.

‘It’s alright, Cal,’ called Frank after him as he closed the door. ‘It’s dickhead.’

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ snorted Cal as Stevo bounded into the room. ‘I thought you were meant to be at the arcade. I told you not to mess it up.’

‘I’ve seen them,’ said Stevo heaving for breath, blurting out the news as quickly as he could. ‘I’ve found him. I’ve found the dog.’

‘This better not be bullshit.’

‘Honest. I know where it is. We need to get going.’

‘Where is it, then? How did you find it?’

Stevo wasn’t about to mention the police car, fearful of the violent reaction it might spark.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Frank as he came back into the room.

‘We’re in business,’ said Cal flatly. ‘We’ve got the dog.’

‘Yeah, I’ve sorted it.’ A cocky grin spread across Stevo’s battered face.

‘Sorted it?’ snapped Cal as he got up from the sofa. ‘If it wasn’t for you, none of this shit’d be happening. You’re lucky you’ve still got your teeth.’

Stevo had thought he might at least get some praise for having done something right, but Cal and Frank were looking at him like he was filth, and he suddenly wished he hadn’t bothered and just let the bastards sort it out for themselves.

When they left the flat, Cal grabbed Stevo’s collar and pulled him up onto his toes, thrusting a finger into his face.

‘If we don’t get this dog back,’ he spat through his teeth, ‘you’re fucked, mate.’

‘Get him outside, Tom,’ said Keith calmly. ‘Shut the gate. He’ll be alright out back. I’ll get the kettle on.’

Tom did as he was told. For now, it was enough that he wasn’t being shouted at. Turning to come back inside, he noticed his bike leaning against the wall. His heart suddenly thumped in his chest as he contemplated how it could have got there, wondering if it was his dad who had trashed the front wheel. When he quietly shut the kitchen door behind him and took a seat, Jeffo lay down on the path, keeping a watchful eye on him through the glass.

‘Don’t be cross, Dad,’ said Tom as Keith put the mugs down on the table and sat down. ‘I had to take him. I had to help him.’ He waited for the tirade to begin, but it didn’t.

‘I’m not angry; I just want you to tell me what’s going on. Me and Sonia have been all over the place trying to find you. We were worried sick.’

‘Thanks for backing me up and telling that policeman he was ours. He would’ve taken him if you hadn’t.’

‘I wasn’t about to get you in any trouble.’ Keith could see the anguish on his son’s face. ‘But why did you do it? Why take him?’

‘I didn’t take him. I found him. I was in the park and he came up to me, and—’

‘Don’t lie to me, Tom. I know you didn’t find the dog. I’ve had some nutter round looking for it. He says you stole it from him. He had your bike with him.’

Tom didn’t know what to say. The idea that Stevo’s stepdad had been at the house scared him, but if the police found out Jeffo was being used for fighting, they’d say he was dangerous and have him put down. He couldn’t mention the barns and what was really going on.

‘They were hurting him, Dad. I couldn’t leave him. Not when I saw how he was being kept. He reminded me of Mum’s dog.’

Tom reached into his back pocket, bringing out a black-and-white photograph. He handed the creased picture to Keith: it was Gayle, not much more than a girl, kneeling down and cheek to cheek with her dog Dennis, an arm draped around his shoulders. Tom was right: the dogs were similar.

‘What do you mean, “hurting him”?’ asked Keith as he stared at the picture.

‘They were keeping him in a cage. All chained up in the dark, covered in his own shit. They’d been beating him.’

Having encountered Callum Hodder, Keith could well believe it. The idea of him abusing animals seemed perfectly plausible. At the same time, it didn’t quite add up.

‘But why abuse a dog he wants to sell? It doesn’t make sense. Who’d buy a dog kept in those kinds of conditions?’

‘He wasn’t selling …’ Whatever his dad thought was the case, it was better than the truth; it was safer for Jeffo. ‘I don’t know why,’ he corrected himself. ‘But if you’ve seen Stevo’s dad, you must know what he’s like. Jeffo needed me. Look at him.’ Tom’s eyes began to sting as he looked at Jeffo sitting patiently outside. ‘I love him, Dad. He thinks he’s mine now. You can’t send him back.’