Free Mad Dog Moonlight by Pauline Fisk Page B

using her weak legs and ‘dicky heart’ as her excuse.
    By the end of the week, Aunty was exhausted. So was Mad Dog, who’d done his best to help, but had had enough. They all had. On their last night, over dinner in the dining room, Aunty tried one last time to persuade the Aged Relative not only to get rid of the Manager but the house as well, and move into a little flat which would be easier to look after.
    But the Aged Relative wouldn’t hear of it. ‘If you and your sisters looked after me properly,’ she said,fixing Aunty with a sour eye, ‘everything would be all right. Then there’d be no manager and I could do this on my own. This is all your fault. You should be running this place between you, not leaving me to my own devices. I’m your mother and you owe me.’
    Aunty turned pale at that. ‘Owe you for what, Mother?’ she said in a still, small voice.
    For a moment, you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. Then the Manager’s dogs came bounding in and stood around the table looking just about as threatening as a cohort of Republican Guards. Aunty shouted at them to go away, but they refused to budge and wouldn’t even move for the Aged Relative.
    â€˜Honestly, Mother, can’t you even control your own dogs?’ Aunty said.
    â€˜They’re not mine. They’re
his
,’ the Aged Relative said.
    Aunty sighed. That man again. ‘Of all the people you could have chosen to work for you, why did you have to pick him?’ she said.
    â€˜I didn’t pick him. He just turned up. In fact, you could say
he
picked
me
,’ the Aged Relative said.
    â€˜Yes, but you must have some idea of who he is, where he comes from, where he’s worked before?’ Aunty said. ‘He must have references. You must know something.’
    â€˜I don’t know anything,’ the Aged Relative said. ‘Except that now you’re walking out on me, I’ll need him all the more.’

10
The Manager’s Ball
    This time, when the bags were packed, Mad Dog knew Aunty wouldn’t change her mind. Sure enough, she went to bed, saying she couldn’t wait for the morning when they’d be off, and slept like a baby.
    Mad Dog wished that he could sleep too, but tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. He longed for morning and wished they could have left already. Even after cleaning up the house, he didn’t like it. It was bad enough by day, but in the dark the sound of running water outside seemed to be magnified and the walls and floorboards seemed to creak as if people were sneaking about.
    Every night Mad Dog reckoned he could hear muffled sounds, as if people were whispering outside his door, but tonight it was worse than ever. He told himself that all houses made noises in the darkness, including No. 3, but tonight he was sure he could hear doors opening and closing, and the swish of dresses going down the corridor, and even snatches of music.
    In the end, determined to find out what was going on, Mad Dog went to investigate. Creeping along the landing, he was convinced that, at worst, he’d find a radio left on somewhere, or the Manager watching a bit of late-night telly. At the top of the stairs, he looked down into the darkness. There was not a soul about, but the sound of music rose up to greet him,followed by a murmur of voices. It didn’t sound like the telly, but it
did
sound like a party. Not an imaginary one, either. A real party.
    Mad Dog tiptoed downstairs, his curiosity aroused. Down in the hall, it seemed to him that the sound was coming from the conservatory. He slipped outside, sneaked round the back of the house and, sure enough, there beyond the kitchen, he found the conservatory windows ablaze with light.
    That was the moment when Mad Dog should have gone back for Aunty. Instead, however, under cover of darkness, he crept up to the windows to see what was going on. Last time he’d seen inside