Underdog (19 page)

The big man turned on Cal, a frightening look of anger contorting his features.

‘What the fuck is this all about, Cal? What’s going on? Who the fuck is he?’

‘He’s talking bullshit,’ protested Cal, his mind whirling as he tried to think of something that would explain it all away. But there was nothing. They were compromised. The whole thing was fucked and Cal knew it. ‘On my life, I’ve never seen him before. I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing here.’

‘I thought there was meant to be boys on the gate,’ spat Mick. ‘What kind of operation is this?’ He turned his attention back to Tom who was still struggling to free himself. ‘Get him out of it, now.’

As Tom was dragged to the door, he looked back at the pit; Jeffo still had him fixed in his sights, his jaws clamped tight on the other dog’s throat.

‘And break that fucking dog. Get it off Taser.’

‘Don’t hurt him,’ shouted Tom. ‘Let me take him or you’ll all be for it. Jeffo. Jeffo!’

Jeffo snarled through his teeth when one of the men jumped down to separate him from Taser; the man hesitated. Tom realised Jeffo wouldn’t let go of the other dog until he was safely out of sight; afraid they might hurt Jeffo further, he stopped putting up a fight as the lock clicked undone behind him.

‘I won’t leave you, Jeffo,’ he called. ‘It’s going to be alright.’ He looked up at the big man who seemed to be in charge, and even though he wanted to tear into him, Tom knew his only chance was to try to appeal to his better nature, if he had one. ‘I just want my dog, mister. Please.’

As he begged through his sobs, Tom was pulled outside into the rain, the door slamming shut in his face.

‘Tom!’

‘Dad! Over here. Get him off me!’

Tom turned his head to see Keith running towards him. His face was cut, his shirt torn, the truncheon fully extended in his hand.

‘You!’ shouted Keith as he approached. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Feeling the grip on his shoulders relax, Tom pulled away. He ran to stand beside his father, his anger boiling when he realised it was Sam Fenton who had pulled him out of the barn, his presence making the situation even worse.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sam, avoiding Tom’s glare. ‘Cal never mentioned anything. I promise you I didn’t know it was your dog. I didn’t know you had a dog.’

‘How could you let them do it?’ Tom cried. ‘How could you be part of something like this?’

Sam shook his head. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you two better get out of here. These are some real bad ’uns that Cal has got himself mixed up with. I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just the way it is, Tom. Take my advice and get going. Whilst you’ve still got a chance.’

‘We’re not going anywhere without my boy’s dog,’ said Keith. Sam noted the determination in his voice, as steely as the truncheon in his hand. ‘And you’re going to go back in there and get him.’ He pulled Tom close. ‘Now.’

Sam turned and put his head round the barn door; it was as far as he was prepared to go. ‘Cal,’ he called inside. ‘Cal, you better get out here.’

But Cal wasn’t going anywhere. A couple of Mick’s men had him pinned by the arms, a couple more holding Frank next to him, making sure there was no way either of them could make a run for it.

‘You stay there,’ said Mick, boxing Cal across the face for good measure. Cal’s head fell forward, blood gushing from his nose. ‘Keep an eye on ’em.’

He stepped outside.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

The question was directed at Keith; sensing his opportunity, Sam beat a hasty retreat in the direction of his car.

‘I’m this boy’s dad,’ Keith replied, standing his ground. ‘We want our dog back. Get him and we’re gone.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘This place’ll be swarming.’ Keith stepped forward, staring boldly up at the enormous man in front of him. ‘All we want is the dog.’

‘You want to watch yourself,’ growled Mick, almost amused at being threatened. He stared hard into Keith’s unflinching eyes. ‘Any sorting here’s going to be done by me. You got that? I ain’t got an argument with you or your boy, unless you want to make one; so don’t push it. It’s them cunts inside I want. You can have your dog, but no filth. This place and the geezers who run it are finished.’

Keith pressed home his advantage. ‘I don’t give a shit what happens to those bastards. All I know is my boy wants his dog back. And I’m not letting him go home without it.’

If there was one thing Mick admired, it was guts. The way the boy and his father stood firm together impressed him; it was the most impressive thing he had seen all night.

‘Stay there,’ he ordered and went back into the barn, leaving Tom and Keith outside. Behind them, a car started up; Sam was clearing out as fast as he could.

‘Bloody coward!’ shouted Tom, shaking his fist at the car as it sped off down the track.

When Mick came back to the door, he was dragging Jeffo along the ground behind him, pulling him by the bloodied scruff of his neck. He dropped him at Keith’s feet as if he was nothing.

Jeffo whimpered as he hit the ground, his legs pathetically cycling in a futile attempt to stand when he saw Tom. But he was too badly injured, struggling to breathe as the rain washed his blood into the puddles and dirt around him.

Tom fell to his knees and pulled Jeffo to him.

‘I’m here, Jeffo,’ he murmured, carefully stroking Jeffo’s head. ‘You’re safe now.’

Mick stared at Keith. ‘There’s your dog.’

Tom glanced up at him, a look of pure hatred in his eyes. He wanted to scream and curse, but gritted his teeth; they had Jeffo and now they needed to get him away.

‘Get yourselves out of it before I change my mind.’

Mick reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of cash. Jeffo’s blood smeared over the notes as he stripped them off. These he thrust at Keith.

‘Take it,’ he ordered. ‘It’ll pay for someone to look at it.’

Keith looked back at him with disgust. ‘Stick your fucking money.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Mick shrugged. ‘But you keep your mouth shut, get it?’

He turned and headed back into the barn, the door locking behind him.

‘He can’t walk, Dad,’ sobbed Tom. ‘He can’t get up.’

Keith crouched down beside him and gently lifted Jeffo off the ground. When he stood back up, Jeffo’s head lolled and hung limply over his arm.

‘Come on, Tom,’ said Keith urgently. ‘We haven’t got much time.’

They made their way down the track as fast as they were able, Tom close by his dad’s side, his eyes never leaving Jeffo. The gate at the bottom was wide open, Andy long gone. Reaching the car, Tom tore open the back door and jumped in, arms out ready as his dad leant in over him and lay Jeffo carefully across his lap.

Keith rushed round to the front and jumped in. Turning the engine over, he spun the car round, putting his foot down as he drove back towards the village, only slowing momentarily when an oncoming police van, and the police cars following it, sped by.

‘You’ve got to go faster!’ cried Tom. ‘He’s bleeding, Dad. It’s everywhere. I can’t stop it. I can’t stop it!’

Tom’s jeans were sodden with blood. He pressed his hand over the deep gash across Jeffo’s chest, trying to staunch the flow that swelled between his fingers. But it was useless. Tom wept; he could feel him slipping away.

‘I’m here, Jeffo,’ he whispered. ‘It’s Tom. Please be okay. Please, Jeffo. Don’t die.’ He cradled Jeffo’s head to his own, the dog’s shallow breathing warm against his cheek. ‘I love you, Jeffo. I love you so much. I’m sorry … I’m so sorry …’

Jeffo’s tail tapped lightly against the seat, then lay still. As the light faded from his glazed eyes, the last thing he saw was Tom, and the last thing he felt was love. Then he was free. Running free at last.

The deeper soil was softer, the dense, moist clay sticking to the shovel as Keith dug into it. He removed the stones from the side and bottom of the hole, stopping for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow and look over the water. The lake was flat calm, perfectly reflecting the gently swaying willows on the island and deep blue of the sky. There was a freshness to the air, made sweet with the scent of drying grass and summer flowers. The sun was slowly descending, all around bathed golden in the evening light.

‘That should do it.’

He trod down the uneven earth, making the base as flat as he could before climbing out. It was a good space, a proper grave, Tom thought.

‘Are you ready, Tom?’ asked Keith. ‘It’s going to take both of us.’ Together they lifted Jeffo from the large cardboard box in which they had carried him across the field. ‘Okay, son. Gently does it.’

They lowered the shrouded body into the grave.

‘I’ve got something for him.’ Tom stepped down beside Jeffo, laying an unopened Mars Bar next to him.

‘So have I.’

Tom turned to see his dad unexpectedly taking something from his pocket.

‘It’s not much,’ said Keith as he handed it down to him. ‘Best I could do.’

Tom looked at the piece of belt leather that had been tidily cut, trimmed and pierced to make a collar, turning it in his hand to reveal a metal name tag that had been fixed to it. He ran a finger over the engraving: ‘JEFFO’.

‘Thanks,’ he said, a hint of a smile as he looked sadly up at his dad.

Tom knelt down and pulled the top of the sheet away from Jeffo’s head and shoulders. If his washed coat had not been so cold to the touch, Tom might have almost believed he was still alive; he looked so peaceful, like he was sleeping.

‘No-one can hurt you anymore,’ he said as he stroked Jeffo for the last time.

Resting Jeffo’s head on his lap, Tom slipped the collar round his neck, turning it in his hands until the silver tag flashed in the sunlight and the name could be seen. He cradled Jeffo’s head a moment longer, then lay him down gently. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the photograph of his mum, slipping it under the sheet and placing it on Jeffo’s chest, close to his heart. Tom lowered his head, his lips close to Jeffo’s ear.

‘I’ll never forget you,’ he whispered as he kissed him.

Tom held him in his gaze a moment longer, then pulled the sheet back over him. As he stood up, Keith reached out his hand and helped him from the grave.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah, Dad,’ Tom answered, his shoulders back, seemingly standing a little taller as he bit his lip and tried to be brave.

‘We’re going to be okay,’ said Keith, smiling as they stood next to each other. Tom felt it too.

Walking over to the spot where he and Jeffo had played, Tom found a stick. He picked it up and threw it into water, almost halfway to the island. As he sat down on the grassy bank, looking into the water, a tear rolled down his cheek. Thinking about Alison comforted him as he wiped it away; he was glad he’d dared to phone her, the prospect of seeing her helping to soothe the ache he felt inside.

A sudden splash made Tom look up. As quickly as the fish rose, it was gone, the ripples it made drifting into nothing as swallows overhead swooped down over the lake. He watched as they circled the island and dived to feed on the clouds of insects dancing above the water. The place was alive and Tom smiled: Jeffo would never be alone.

By the time they finished covering the grave, the sun was starting to dip on the horizon, its falling light illuminating the clouds from below and building the sky into a raging fire of reds and oranges and pinks. The countryside took on a rich, vibrant glow as the greenery became tinted in the light, the warmth of it lifting Tom’s spirits.

When he closed his eyes, he could see her face. She was smiling. And Jeffo was there beside her. When at last he spoke, Tom’s voice was no more than a whisper:

‘I love you, Mum.’

On leaving school Euan Leckie found work at a number of London media agencies before embarking on a career within the computer graphics industry as an animator. He took the opportunity to write
Underdog
following a redundancy and returned to education as a mature student, winning a first class degree and overall University prize for academic excellence at the age of forty-four.

A keen angler and environmentalist, Euan has fished all over the world supporting
catch-and
-release and sustainable fishing practices. He is currently involved in a number of environmental initiatives in the UK that include wave energy, sustainable development and urban farming.

His interest in dogs and their welfare is shared by his wife Emma. Together they live on a countryside smallholding in Northamptonshire with their children Esme and Ralph; and family of rescued dogs, cats and horses.