Free Something Special, Something Rare by Black Inc.

darker street, a long one, which I would have to traverse in order to get home. Most of the people in this street were asleep. The only light came from the streetlights, which seemed a long way apart. It was cooler. The skin at my waist hurt where Alex had gripped it. This would be the last time, I said to myself, but it was not.

ANY DOG
    SONYA HARTNETT
    They’re saying something about a dog. But there wasn’t any dog.
    Unless they mean old Taf. But Taf has been dead for years.
    There’s no good reason to speak so loudly of Taf.
    â€“ The son kept mentioning this dog.
    â€“ The family’s here?
    â€“ No, they’re coming. I spoke to the son on the phone. He lives with the son’s family, apparently.
    â€“ Did you tell them to hurry?
    â€“ I assume they’re hurrying.
    The boy in blue creases his nose. He shakes his head like a pony. He is a nervy and restless boy. His lungs must be like bellows, that big body full of air. God it’s hot.
    â€“ The hottest day on record, they’re saying on the radio.
    â€“ Yeah, well, it feels it.
    Words roll from me before I can stop them. They flow down my chin like lava. It’s not hot, I say. The men in blue both look at me. They are surprised. I’ve kept silent thus far.
    I remember hotter days when I was a boy.
    â€“ Well, I don’t know, Mr Collier. They’re saying it’s the hottest day on record. It’s forty-four degrees Celsius out there.
    â€“ Forty-four! The boy clutches his head. Jesus Almighty! Forty-four?
    The older one shifts closer. Mr Collier, your son said something about a dog. A golden retriever. Did you have a dog with you? Do you remember a dog?
    He’s staring at me earnestly. I gaze mildly back at him. Sweat is unpleasant on my skin, on my neck. The room which holds myself and the gentlemen is square and small and white. The furniture is cheap and itches. There is a NO SMOKING sign on the wall. Also a sign that says WHO IS WATCHING?
    I’ve shut my mouth, I’m feigning ignorance, I’m saying no more. They’re speaking of Taf, and Taf’s not their business. Taf sleeps in my heart like a secret. Nobody knows he is there. I will not discuss him, disturb his peace. I will not let them put their thoughtless paws upon him. My memories are antiques, china-delicate: even I handle them only rarely, and then with utmost care.
    It was a hot day, like this, the day I found him. I remember a sky like blue cream, free of clouds. I can, in fact, recall everything about that day, just as if I’m walking through it again. I’m twelve. It’s a flea-market. There’s grass underfoot. I am there.
    The younger sighs heavily. We can’t wait all day.
    â€“ It won’t be all day. The son said he’d be here. Besides, would you rather be outside? It’s a hundred times hotter out there than in here.
    The young one’s collar is an eel at his throat; he wrestles with it. Anyone’s got the energy to break the law on a day like today, I admire them. Wouldn’t you, Mr Collier?
    â€“ Mr Collier, can we get you anything? Something to eat, maybe?
    My nostrils flare. I smell toffee. It’s a thick sweet smell, a tooth-rot smell, making syrup out of the air. I see a crowd of faces, some grubby and leering, others church-white and mean. Music is playing, something cranked out of a box, four or five notes that trip over themselves like a hiccuping drunk on a road.
    The younger one has his feet up on the seat. I have never sat in such a way. He is big as a colt, and impolite. He has the habit of thinking his own concerns are paramount. He’s bored, he’s hungry, he’s hot, he’s tired. He’s not yet learned that nobody cares.
    â€“ What did the doctor say, anyway?
    â€“ He’s a bit dehydrated. A bit sunburned. He’s in pretty good shape, considering.
    â€“ Then he can’t have been outside very long.
    â€“ Who knows.
    â€“ Well,