Wolfie (4 page)

So Lucie tried one last time. “I mean — just think of it!
Whoever heard of a
WOLF
in a children’s playground!
” She forced herself to giggle.

Slowly the terrified faces relaxed. They began to grin. Then they began to laugh. “Ha ha ha! A wolf in a children’s playground? How ridiculous!” A few wiped tears from their
eyes.

And the next moment everybody had gone right back to their gossiping, their swinging, their sliding or cheerful shrieking. It was just as if nothing had ever happened.

Except for the small boy who had shouted in the first place. He stared at Fang solemnly with his thumb in his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” Lucie whispered. “She’s a
nice
wolf.”

The boy nodded and toddled off to the roundabout.

“It really was strange,” said Lucie to Fang later. “You’d think everybody would have run away. After all, there you were, teeth and everything. Running away would have
been the sensible thing to do.”

“Agreed,” said Fang. “How you humans get by I can’t imagine. Rabbits now — they would have been off like the wind. And rabbits have no brain at all. But you humans
seem even stupider than rabbits. How you’ve done so well as a species is beyond me.”

“I think,” said Lucie slowly, “because they didn’t
expect
a wolf to be there, they decided that there wasn’t a wolf after all.”

“That’s it,” Fang agreed. “They didn’t believe their eyes and nose. Not that you humans have much of a nose. Now rabbits —”

“Or was it your Magic Powers?” Lucie interrupted. “Maybe they protected you?”

“No,” said Fang cheerfully. “It wasn’t magic. It was just what you said. They decided they couldn’t have seen something, so they didn’t.”

“Well,” said Lucie, “at least it means we can go to the playground whenever we want.”

So they did, and to lots of other places too. If people ever looked at Fang strangely, and even muttered the word “wolf”, then Lucie knew what to do: “Whoever heard of a wolf
in a garden centre!” or “Whoever heard of a wolf in a skate park!” or “Whoever heard of a wolf on a bus!” and then laugh as hard as she could. It always worked.

So the days went by until one Sunday Lucie was quieter than usual. She grew quieter and quieter, until by evening she hardly said anything at all.

Fang noticed. “What’s the matter with you?” she asked just before bedtime.

“Oh, nothing.”

“There must be something. You look like a bear that’s woken up only to find it’s still winter.”

Lucie sighed. “It’s the opposite really. I keep hoping and hoping it’s still summer, but today is the last day of the school holidays.

“Tomorrow I go to school.”

“W
hy are you wearing those terrible clothes?” asked Fang the next morning, as instead of her usual jeans and T-shirt Lucie pulled on a
grey skirt and white polo shirt.

“They’re my school clothes,” said Lucie gloomily. “Look at these horrible shoes! And this! This is the worst of all!”

She waved a red sweatshirt at Fang. It was a very peculiar red. Exactly the shade of red, in fact, to clash most horribly with Lucie’s gingery hair.

“Don’t you hate this red?” demanded Lucie. “It looks like raw meat!”

“What’s wrong with raw meat?” asked Fang. “I find raw meat attractive.”

“Only because you can’t see the colour,” said Lucie.

They had already discovered that Fang could not see colours in the way that Lucie did. Fang said this was only fair. After all, Lucie could not smell or hear half the things that Fang could, and
in some ways her eyesight was worse too. “At dusk and dawn,” Fang remarked, “or in a dark and shady wood, you see barely half the things that
I
do. I would hesitate to take
you hunting by moonlight, for fear that your poor sight would get you into trouble. So it is only fair that you can see these “colours” where I cannot.”

Now Lucie sighed. “Well, I wish I couldn’t see this red sweatshirt, and I wish nobody else could either!”

Downstairs Lucie’s parents were eating breakfast. Lucie tried to force down some cornflakes but she was not hungry.

“Lucie!” said Mum suddenly. “You look different.”

“Of course,” said Dad. “It’s school today. I expect you are looking forward to seeing all your friends!”

They beamed at her. Lucie mashed her cornflakes with a spoon.

“
Why
do I have to go to school?”

They stared at her, astonished.

“To see your friends,” said Dad.

“To learn things,” said Mum.

“I don’t have any friends,” Lucie muttered, “and I could learn at home from a book.”

Her parents looked at each other.

“But
everybody
goes to school!” said Mum. “So you must too.”

They both nodded, as if they had proved something. But really, as Lucie said to Fang later, in the garden, they had proved nothing. Why
should
Lucie go to school, just because everybody
else did? Why should anybody do anything, just because everybody else did? What if they were doing something silly, or cruel? What if they were —

“Shooting wolves and chopping down forests,” suggested Fang.

“Exactly.”

“Or putting wolves in zoos.”

“Yes.”

“Or keeping rabbits in hutches, instead of doing the sensible thing, and eating them.”

“Well…” said Lucie.

“Still, we wolves can be a bit the same,” said Fang surprisingly. “All pack animals can. They like to be the same as the rest of the pack. But remember, the best kind of wolf
can fend for itself, outside the pack, when it needs to. You and I are not
just
pack animals, Lucie. We think for ourselves.”

Lucie nodded. And suddenly she felt a lot better.

Because it was the first day of term, Mum took Lucie to school by car. Fang sat on the back seat beside her.

Lucie gazed through the window at the swarms of children, in their raw-meat-coloured sweatshirts, and felt sick. Fang licked her lips.

“Bye-bye coco,” said Mum, pulling in at the kerb.

Lucie hugged Fang and got out of the car. She watched as it pulled away.

Why did other people like school, she wondered? Of course it did not help that she had been new last term, when her family had moved into town. Everyone else had friends already, and Lucie
always seemed to be on her own. And it was more than that.
I’m not a school sort of person
, she thought. Then she wondered if they would make fun of her red hair, the way they had last
term.

She had told Fang about that last night. “If
I
were to come with you into school,” said Fang, “these ill-mannered children might think again.” And she snapped at
the air, just as she snapped at the gulls by the lake. Lucie had smiled. “Thank you, Fang. I’m afraid children are not as polite as wolves. They don’t care about people’s
feelings.”

Now Lucie lifted her chin firmly.
You are not
just
a pack animal
, she reminded herself.
You can fend for yourself
. She marched through the school gates.

Her bold mood lasted until halfway across the playground. Then she saw Marcus Mainwaring, with his friends Toby and Abdullah.

“Hello Carrots,” said Marcus.

Hello Turnip Face
, thought Lucie — but she didn’t say it aloud.

From the grin on his face, Marcus had been looking forward to tormenting Lucie.

“In that top you look like a blood orange,” he told her. “Red and orange mixed together. Yuk!”

“Or ketchup mixed with mustard,” suggested Toby. They all snickered.

Lucie blushed. Her top and hair
did
look horrible together. She knew they did.

Some more kids drifted over: Marcus repeated his little joke and they giggled.

“I’ve thought of a whole lot of new names for you,” Marcus went on. “Today it’s Blood Orange. Tuesday, Ginger Nut. Wednesday, Tangerine Dream. Thursday, Traffic
Lights. Friday —”

“Hey! New girl — what’s your name?” A bigger boy wandered over to join the group. Everybody recognised him, even Lucie who had never spoken to him: Alex Beamer from the
year above. He played the saxophone, was the best in the school at art, and was the star of the school football team.

“Today she’s called Blood Orange,” Marcus told him. “You can shorten it if you like to —”

“Who asked
you
?” said Alex, his brows coming down in a way that made him suddenly forbidding. “Anyway, what’s with the stupid names?”

“It’s because of my red hair,” said Lucie.

“What’s wrong with red hair?” demanded Alex. There was a pause. Everybody realised what they should have done before — that Alex had red hair too. His was more coppery
than Lucie’s, but both were red.

“Err —” said Marcus.

“Go away,” said Alex.

Marcus opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he slouched off, as if that was what he meant to do anyway. The others drifted after him.

“There’s some real oafs in your year,” said Alex, watching Marcus go. “You tell me if you have any more trouble. What
is
your name, anyway?”

“Lucie Firkettle.”

“I’m Alex.” He looked at her almost shyly. “You’re the girl with the dog, aren’t you? The fantastic, amazing dog! I saw you in the park one time. Wow! I wish
I had a dog like that.”

Lucie beamed and the next thing they were chattering away about Fang as if they had known each other all their lives. Alex thought Fang — though they both called her “Wolfie”
— was almost as wonderful as Lucie did. “My sister does too. She’s only tiny. She thought Wolfie really was a wolf!”

Lucie was so pleased with Alex that on impulse she decided to confide part of her secret to him. “D’you know,” she whispered. “There really
is
wolf blood in
her.”

“Wow!” said Alex. “Amazing! That would explain why I couldn’t find one like her in the dog books. Even the ones that live in the north, and pull sleds and herd reindeer.
She’s fantastic, anyway. I wish
I
had a dog!”

But Lucie had just had a nasty shock. Marcus was loitering close by — much nearer than she’d thought. She hoped that he had not heard what she’d told Alex…but she had a
horrible feeling that he had.

W
hen Lucie came skipping out of the school gates at going-home time, Fang was waiting for her.

“Hello,” Lucie said. She rubbed behind Fang’s ears, the way she especially liked, and Fang made a growly noise which meant she was happy.

“So how was school?” Fang asked, once there was nobody to overhear.

“Actually better than I expected. Marcus was his usual pig self, of course. But then this big boy, Alex, sorted him out. He’s really nice — I think we might even be friends! He
really likes
you
, Fang — he’s going to come round and meet you one afternoon when he doesn’t have football practice. And he told me about Art Club at lunch time, in Mrs
Donnegan’s classroom, so it doesn’t matter that nobody plays with me — I mean to say, I’d rather do art — and I’m doing a wonderful picture of a wolf and my
teacher says I can work on it in class too —”

Lucie stopped. Fang had her nose in the air and a displeased expression on her face. “Well, I’m glad you’ve had such a good time,” said the wolf. “I would hate to
think you were pining. Or that you had missed me. Of course, it wasn’t much fun for
me
all day, sitting at home by myself.”

“But of course I’d rather be with you! Just because school wasn’t as horrible as I expected…you’re still my best friend!”

“Oh. So you did miss me a little bit…”

“I missed you A LOT! And I don’t want you to be lonely either!”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Fang looked more cheerful. “A wolf can always do with a little quiet thinking time.”

They turned into Acorn Avenue and saw Mum hurrying towards them. She had her jacket on inside-out, and odd shoes, and her hair was all on end.

“Oh Lucie!” she cried, hugging her. “I only just realised the time! Mr Fosdyke was here for his lesson, and I was trying to explain to him the subjunctive — but alors!
— he is vraiment stupide!”

“Don’t worry, Mum,” said Lucie. “Wolfie came to collect me.”

Mum hugged Fang too. Fang rolled her eyes.

“What a wonderful dog! And how was school, my pet?”

“Actually — it was OK,” said Lucie.

“There you are!” cried Mum, very pleased with herself. “See, parents always know best!”

It was Lucie’s turn to roll her eyes.

* * *

After that, Fang always collected Lucie from school. The big wolf looked very strange sitting on the pavement amongst all the gossiping parents and the babies in prams. However,
nobody paid much attention, except for Alex, who would come over to say hello, sometimes with his little sister Grace. Grace loved Fang too and often brought a treat that she had saved from her own
meal. Fang always made a great show of gobbling them up, even if she did not like them.

“Sweaty cheese and bacon rind are
not
what wolves like best to eat,” she would say to Lucie afterwards. “But she’s only a little cub and she means well.”