Free Something Special, Something Rare by Black Inc. Page B

professional grip. Try to remember where you left the vehicle, Mr Collier. The green station wagon – remember? You were driving it. Then you stopped and got out and walked around. Did you leave the vehicle by the side of the road? Or in a carpark? Or maybe in somebody’s garage?
    â€“ It could be anywhere.
    â€“ No, it couldn’t. It must be close to where we picked him up. The doctor said he hadn’t been in the sun very long.
    â€“ The doctor only said he’s in good shape, considering.
    â€“ Mr Collier? Can you hear me? Mr Collier, do you remember the car? The station wagon? You were out driving today, remember?
    â€“ You’re wasting your time. He’s got dementia.
    The young one’s lip curls – I think he’s frustrated. So what was he doing behind the wheel?
    â€“ He wasn’t supposed to be. He stole the keys, I said.
    The younger one says nothing. He shakes his head again.
    His mouth can’t help twisting into a smile. He secretly likes theft. I look away.
    Then I see Taf.
    He’s inside a wicker cage with four hearty siblings. Each of them is similar, but it is Taf I see. He’s standing, his wisp of tail waving like a corn leaf in the breeze. His ears are folded like envelopes. He has a white stripe down his nose. The rest of him is the colour of toffee-apples – slightly red, slightly brown. His coat is short, but also long – enough to betray his lifelong tendency toward untidiness. I am the same myself. KEVIN, PICK UP YOUR CLOTHES. KEVIN, YOU’RE DROPPING PEAS.
    I gaze at him and I know I will die without him. Already I know his name.
    The man behind the table is selling second-hand novels.
    The pups are his burden, not his merchandise.
    HOW MUCH ARE THE PUPPIES?
    He looks up. HOW MUCH HAVE YOU GOT?
    I know without counting. She always gives me the same. TEN PENCE.
    THAT’S NOT ENOUGH. EACH OF THESE PUPS COSTS TEN BOB AND A HANDSTAND.
    A WHAT?
    A HANDSTAND AND TEN BOB. ARE YOU DEAF? I COULD HAVE CHARGED SOME JUGGLING TOO, BUT THEY’RE NOT PUREBREED.
    I have my fingers through the wicker. The pups are biting me. Their teeth are like talons. They cut to the bone. I WANT THAT ONE.
    OH YER, HE’S MIGHTY.
    I’LL HAVE TO ASK MY MOTHER.
    GET GOING, THEN.
    SHE’S OVER THERE. AT THE CAKE STALL. I’LL BE BACK IN A MINUTE.
    DON’T LET ANYONE TAKE THAT ONE WITH THE STRIPE.
    CAN’T MAKE PROMISES, BOY.
    I can hardly bear to turn my back. I tear myself away. I speed like the wind through the crowd. I feel my feet strike the earth. I want to run, like a sheepdog, over shoulders and heads. My mother is not averse to animals. In fact, she likes them, as does my father. I have many books on the subject of the natural world. I’ve had a rabbit and a white mouse. I can identify many wild birds. But I’ve asked, before, for a dog, and my mother has said no. I don’t know why she’s taken this stand. I am not irresponsible, forgetful, or cruel. I am clever and obedient and accepting. Until today I have always taken no for an answer.
    I run, dodge, weave. The crowd is bovine, slow, thick-boned. Waves of sickness and fear splash me. She’ll say no and my life will veer irreversibly onto the wrong road. I will become criminal. I will become hollow. I will waste away.
    At the cake stall, Mother is talking. I hop up and down distractingly. I fidget as if I have worms. Finally she looks at me. CAN I HAVE A PUP?
    NO. HAVE YOU HAD LUNCH?
    BUT MOTHER. THEY ONLY COST TEN BOB.
    AND ALL THE REST. HAVE A SUGAR SLICE.
    I stand back from the table, swallowing. I feel suspended, as if from a hook. In this moment there’s only me in the world. There is me and the cobwebbed, abandoned planet.
    PLEASE, MOTHER.
    She leans towards me. Her voice is hushed in the vain hope that the other mothers won’t hear. WHY DO YOU NEED A DOG, KEVIN? WHY CAN’T YOU BE FRIENDS WITH OTHER BOYS?
    My lips are cracking. BECAUSE I CAN’T