Wolfie (3 page)

Fang looked down her nose.

“I think she’s very polite,” said Lucie.

“
Polite
?” said Dad,

“Well-trained, I mean.”

“Oh. Right. Well, that’s good — isn’t it Louise?” Dad went to pour himself some coffee. “Eaten any of its food yet?”

“I don’t think she likes it.”

“She’ll get used to it. Or we could buy her some tinned stuff. Doggy Chunks they call it — you know the kind of thing. What do you think?”

Lucie thought that a Wolf who turned up her nose at sausages was not likely to think much of Doggy Chunks. “We could try,” she said doubtfully. “Or — how about a haunch
of venison?”

For some reason her parents thought this very funny. “The things you come up with!” said Dad. “Don’t worry. I don’t think her taste will be as refined as
that.”

Fang snorted.

“What’s that?” asked Dad, surprised.

“She sneezed,” said Lucie hurriedly. “That’s all.”

She could see that it was going to be tricky at times, having a wolf for a pet.

A
fter breakfast, Lucie showed Fang the house and the back garden. In the garden they felt safer, knowing that Lucie’s parents couldn’t
hear them. “Still,” Lucie said to Fang, “we must be careful not to speak too loud. There are the neighbours, after all.”

“What neighbours?” asked Fang.

Lucie pointed. “On that side there’s an old professor. I don’t think he goes out much. I’ve never seen him in all the time we’ve lived here.” Fang looked
where Lucie was pointing, to the far side of a high wall where a twisted turret stuck out of some thick holly trees.

“He doesn’t sound much of a worry.”

“No,” Lucie agreed, “but on the other side are the Mainwarings, and they’re horrible.”

Fang looked at the high wall that separated Lucie’s garden from the Mainwarings. Then she sniffed.

“They certainly don’t smell nice. I detect all kinds of nasty chemicals — plastic and washing detergent —” (“That will be Mrs Mainwaring,” said Lucie,
impressed) “and then sort of bad cheese and vinegar —” (“I bet that’s Marcus!” said Lucie) “but wait a minute! What’s this? Something a lot more
interesting…”

Fang went very still. Her ears flattened close to her head, then pricked up sharply. She sniffed again. Then she pressed her body low to the ground — and the next moment sprang high onto
the garden wall.

As Lucie stared, Fang disappeared into the Mainwarings’ garden. Lucie was too astonished to call out.

A moment later Fang reappeared on top of the wall. Then she dropped down beside Lucie. She was carrying something in her mouth.

“What have you got there?” asked Lucie. Fang dropped it on the ground at Lucie’s feet. With a sick feeling, Lucie saw it was a rabbit. For a moment she hoped it might be a toy
rabbit. Or a model rabbit. That would explain why it was lying so very still. But it was a real rabbit with brown fur and floppy ears. And Lucie recognised it. Before Fang had grabbed it, it had
been Marcus Mainwaring’s pet. Now — well, it wasn’t looking too healthy.

Fang licked her lips. “This is more like it,” she said. “Fresh, juicy rabbit. Just right for elevenses.”

“You’re not going to eat it!”

“Of course I am,” said Fang. “It’s lovely and plump. You can try a bit if you like.”

“I
don’t
like!”

“Suit yourself,” said Fang. She licked her lips.

“That rabbit is Marcus’s pet,” Lucie said. “What will he say if you eat it?”

Fang shrugged. “Who cares? I thought you said Marcus was horrible, anyway?”

“He
is
horrible. But you can’t go round eating peoples’ pets. It’s — it’s not polite.” She thought this point might appeal to Fang, who was an
extremely polite wolf.

“How silly,” said Fang coldly. “All this fuss about a rabbit.
It’s
not clever.
It
can’t talk.”

“Maybe not,” said Lucie. “But you still shouldn’t have killed it!” There were tears in her eyes. She thought about the poor rabbit, innocently sitting in its run.
The next moment, Fang had nabbed it. It really didn’t bear thinking about.

There was a brief silence.

“Actually, it isn’t dead,” said Fang sulkily. “I think it’s just stunned.” She prodded the rabbit with her paw, and it sat up, trembling.

“Thank goodness for that!” said Lucie. She picked up the rabbit and hugged it to her chest — just in case Fang should eat it after all. “
Now
what shall we
do?”

Fang looked bored. “I suppose if you
really
don’t want me to eat it, I could take it back.”

Lucie pictured Mrs Mainwaring looking out of her kitchen window to see a wolf bounding across the lawn. “No! I’ll take it round the front.”

So while Fang waited in Lucie’s garden, Lucie went round to the front of the house and rang the Mainwarings’ doorbell.

L
ucie had hoped Mrs Mainwaring would answer, even though she didn’t like her much. But Marcus answered — which was far worse.

Marcus and Lucie were exactly the same age. They lived next door. They were in the same class at school. Their parents were always saying things like, “Isn’t it
nice
to have
another child living next door” and “why don’t you go round and make friends?” But of course only parents thought that just because you were the same age, and lived next
door, and went to the same school, you had to be friends. Marcus and Lucie didn’t think so — in fact, it was one of the few things they both agreed on.

“What’re you doing with Gnasher?” Marcus snarled. And he grabbed his pet.

“Gnasher!” said Lucie. “That’s a funny name for a rabbit! What does he gnash — apart from carrots?”

“He’s fiercer than he looks!” Marcus told her.

“He
looks
about as fierce as a lettuce.”

Marcus scowled. He had never liked Lucie, right from the start. And how dare a sissy girl like her make fun of Gnasher! “What are you doing with him, anyway?” he demanded.

“He was in my garden,” said Lucie. (Well, this was
sort
of true.) “So I brought him back. You’d better make sure he can’t get out of his run in
future.” (And then, she thought, maybe Fang won’t get
in
either.)

“He
can’t
get out,” said Marcus, scowling. “Not by himself. You stole him.”

“Don’t be silly. If I’d stolen him, then why would I bring him back?”

“Because you knew I’d find out!”

Lucie shrugged. She could see that Marcus was determined to pick a fight, whatever she said. He was that kind of person.

“You’re just jealous because you haven’t got a pet!” Marcus said.

“No I’m not! And I have got a pet! I’ve got my own wol— dog!”

“What’s a wool-dog?”

“Dog!” Lucie shouted. “Dog! Dog! Dog!”

“All right, so they’ve bought you a dog,” said Marcus sourly. “So what? Who wants a dog? And I bet it’s a silly, fluffy, yappy dog, with a pompom tail
—”

“No, it’s not,” said Lucie indignantly. “
My
dog —”

But Marcus wasn’t listening. He was staring at something, and his mouth had dropped open and his eyes goggled, so that he looked like a goldfish.

Fang was coming up the garden path. She looked beautiful and big and ferocious.

“See? I told you,” Lucie said.

Marcus raised a shaking hand and pointed at Fang. “Wh– what kind of dog is it?”

“I’m not sure,” said Lucie, as Fang arrived and stood next to her. “But she’s ever so fierce when she wants to be.”

Marcus’s face screwed up tight into its meanest look. He said: “You’ve no business having a dog like that, Lucie Firkettle. No business at all! And there’s something very
fishy about this! Very fishy indeed. And I’m going to find out what it is!”

And he went inside, shutting the door with a bang.

“Oh dear,” said Lucie.

“You were right,” said Fang. “Nasty little beast. Reminds me of a polecat I once knew. I sent
him
scuttling down his hole I can tell you!”

“Ssshh!” said Lucie. “I wish he hadn’t seen you.”

They walked back to Lucie’s garden.

“A polecat — or maybe a weasel,” Fang mused to herself. “Anyway, he was bound to see me sooner or later. He only lives next door.”

“I know,” said Lucie. “But he’s a mean one. He’ll make trouble if he can.”

“I could sort him out,” said Fang, snapping her jaws.

“No,” said Lucie firmly.

“No what?”

“You’re
not
to eat Marcus! However horrible he is!”

Fang looked disappointed. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Anyway, I don’t think he would taste good.”

Lucie was relieved to hear that. But she had a feeling she had not heard the last from Marcus.

F
ang settled in surprisingly quickly. Mum said nothing more about Fang (or Wolfie, as she called her) being too big. In fact, she and Dad seemed
glad that Lucie had a companion. Although both Mum and Dad were around the house a lot during the day, in another way they weren’t around, because they were always working. Dad was usually
hunched over his computer, writing computer programmes, and Mum taught French to people who came to the house, so neither of them had much time for Lucie. They were glad Lucie had Wolfie,
especially as it was still the summer holidays.

Marcus’s Mum, on the other hand, worked out of the house. This meant that Marcus spent a lot of time in summer camps, which suited Lucie and Fang just fine. They hardly ever saw him.

Lucie loved being with Fang. She was so clever. She could smell things before she saw them, and hear things that were happening on the other side of the house. She showed Lucie stuff she had
never noticed before, even on Acorn Avenue, like a foxes’ den, or hedgehogs, or a blackbirds’ nest. And she could run like the wind. Every night Fang slept next to Lucie’s bed. In
the middle of the night, jolted awake by a bad dream, Lucie would hear Fang’s steady breathing, and feel safe again.

Best of all, there was a big park near Lucie’s house, and as long as she went with Fang, her parents let her go without them. Their favourite part (although Lucie’s parents did not
know this) was the wild bit on the far side where there weren’t many people and there were woods and a gorge with a stream. Fang could run about and get some real exercise. She showed Lucie
how to spot kingfishers. She also caught fish and rabbits to eat.

Lucie did not mind about the fish, but she
did
mind about the rabbits.

“Do you
have
to eat them?” she asked, looking the other way while Fang gnawed on a hind quarter.

Fang licked her lips. “Yes,” she said simply. “I must eat meat. Or would you rather I ate little girls?”

Lucie jumped.

“Just my little joke,” said Fang. “I wouldn’t really eat little girls.” She winked. “Too chewy.”

“Humph,” said Lucie. Of course Fang
was
a wolf, and a wolf could not live off bread and butter. But sometimes Lucie wished she could just go to a supermarket and buy a big tin
marked Wolf Food — as Sophie had done in the story after the Tiger Came for Tea.

“
You
eat meat,” Fang pointed out. “You eat cows and pigs and chickens.”

“I know. But they are kept on farms.”

“Exactly,” said Fang. “Poor things. At least these rabbits have a good time right up until I eat them.”

Lucie had to admit that this was true.

Afterwards they walked down to the lake. Lucie often brought bread for the ducks, and enjoyed feeding them; and Fang enjoyed snapping playfully at the gulls if they came too close (at least,
Lucie
hoped
she was being playful). But today she had forgotten the bread, and because it was such a nice day and she did not want to go home, she wandered into the children’s
playground.

It was a very sunny day, and lots of parents had brought their children to play on the swings and slides. Lucie made her way towards the swings, with Fang beside her. Some of the grown-ups were
sitting on benches, chatting. Some of them looked up as Fang passed. But none of them said anything. They just turned back to their conversations.

Then a little boy looked straight at Fang. He stood staring at her for a long time. Then he lifted a hand, pointed, and shouted, “Wolf!”

Everything went still. The children stopped playing. The parents stopped gossiping. Everybody turned and stared at Fang, who suddenly looked very big and very…
wolf-like
.

Lucie knew she had to do something quickly. She reckoned she only had a moment before everyone started screaming.

“
Of course
she’s not a wolf,” she said as loudly as possible. “I mean, how
could
she be a wolf? What an idea!”

Still nobody said a word. Lucie remembered talking to Mum in the kitchen. She forced a laugh. “I mean — a wolf! Ha, ha! Hee, hee!” She kept going. “Ho ho! Tee
hee!”

It wasn’t working. They were still staring at Fang.

“Fang!” Lucie whispered. “Roll on your back!”

But Fang just gave her a Look that said that she wasn’t going to roll about on her back, like a silly dog, for anything.