Princess Phoebe (2 page)

The puppies are about eight weeks old when Frank comes again. Jan and I are outside as usual when we hear his van. We try to get back into the shed before he notices us, but when he comes in the back gate, he doesn't seem that interested.

‘Is your Nick here?' he asks.

Before I can answer, Dad appears and takes Frank indoors. Five minutes later, they come out again.

‘Tell Nick I was asking for him, will you?' Frank's saying. ‘I wouldn't like to think he's avoiding me. A big mistake, when people do that.'

‘I'll tell him,' says Dad, ‘but what about these dogs, Frank? I can't see what the fuss is about. There may only be four of them, and I admit one looks more like a whippet, but they could be good dogs. Why don't we wait and see? And while you're here, d'you want to settle up? I could do with some cash. You owe me for the last lot, and one of those turned out to be good if you remember? It costs a bit to feed them you know.'

‘You're not getting it, are you Charlie?' says Frank. ‘I don't want to settle up and I reckon I'm done with you as my breeder. Big Lennie's bitch has had seven puppies and they put this lot in the shade. Let me know if you want a replacement for Queenie but for now, you're off my list. Tell Nick to call me.'

With that, he leaves and we hear him start up his van and drive off. I'm not worried, in fact I'm pleased. Life without Frank Skally can only be better, and Dad doesn't look that bothered either.

‘Well, that's charming,' he says, ‘Frank comes round looking for Nick and while he's here he drops that on me.'

I say, ‘Can we keep the dogs Dad, if Frank doesn't want them?'

‘Course not,' he says, ‘don't be silly Ellie. He'll change his mind, you'll see.'

‘Are Big Lennie's dogs better than ours?'

‘Course not,' he says again. ‘It's just Frank being Frank. He doesn't want to pay me, that's all.'

‘Who's Big Lennie?' Jan asks when Dad's gone back in.

‘You know,' I tell her, ‘he's that tiny little bloke we've seen hanging out with Frank. Long greasy hair and tight jeans with holes in. He trains his skinny greyhounds to chase hares. Dad says he's got no brains and Nick says he's a rat. He lives near the park.'

‘Oh,' says Jan, as we follow Dad indoors, ‘he sounds lovely.'

Frank doesn't change his mind though, and Dad doesn't mention the subject again. So Jan and I get more and more fond of the puppies as we get nearer to the summer holidays.

About a week before school breaks up, I'm with Mum at her friend Val's house. I hate going there. Val looks after Jack and Patrick while Mum's working part-time at the hotel in town. Even though it's time to go home, Val puts the kettle on for the third time and my heart sinks. The two of them talk like this:

Val: ‘Tea?'

Mum: ‘Ta.'

Val: ‘Ciggy?'

Mum: ‘Ta.'

Val: ‘How's your throat?'

Mum: ‘Worse.' Then,

‘I wish Charlie would get a proper job. How am I supposed to manage on what he gets from Job Seekers with all these kids to look after? Even if he does make a bit on the rabbits.'

Val: ‘At least he doesn't drink, Pearl, and he's good tempered. You want to try being married to my Pete.'

I'm bored brainless. And anyway, I love my dad and I don't want to hear about how it must have been his fault
for losing his job. How could he help it if the Country Park closed? I know we haven't got enough money but it can't all be down to him. I've seen him bring money in and give it to Mum. But she always says we were better off when we lived in Granddad's village, and how she wishes we'd never moved.

Their smoke makes me cough.

‘Mum, when the holidays start, can we go over to see Granddad?' I ask hopefully.

Mum sighs. ‘You must have asked me that twenty times Ellie, and I keep telling you: your father and Granddad had a quarrel and they don't speak to each other anymore.'

‘But I love it there!' I insist.

Granddad's place is in Staffordshire, and was once part of a farm. There are fields and woods where we used to play, and a river to swim in. It's where Dad grew up and where he learnt about guns and catching rabbits. Granddad's mad keen on gardening and he grows rows of vegetables he's really proud of.

‘What d'you think of the spuds, Ellie?' he used to ask me. ‘Perfect, eh? With a bit of mint and butter?'

I'd say, ‘Perfect Granddad'. Though they tasted the same as any other spuds to me. Then about three years ago we stopped going to visit. Nobody explained why. There was some big argument but Dad won't talk about it.

‘You'd like to go too, though, wouldn't you Mum?' I ask her now.

‘Of course I would,' says Mum, ‘but you know how stubborn your father is, and Granddad's just the same. And unless they make friends, the rest of us can't go.'

It's late when we set off for home and it has started raining. Mum gets more and more bad tempered as we hurry through the cold wet streets. I push Jack in the pram while she carries Patrick; they're both crying for their tea.

‘Get Jack's bottle, will you Ellie?' she asks me as we finally get into the house.

Patrick stops crying and toddles over to the twins who are watching telly. His nappy's hanging off and I know that any minute I'll be asked to sort that out, too. The twins hardly ever get asked to do anything. They sit on the sofa shoving each other or changing channels and fighting. Patrick starts crying again, and I'm waiting for Mum to freak.

In other words, it's a normal Monday evening, with no warning of what's coming next.

When Dad finishes his tea he gets his coat and lifts down his gun from the cupboard in the corner. His Jack Russell terrier, who's called Tag, stretches his bandy little legs ready to go to work on the rabbits. They're waiting to see if Nick can give them a lift.

Then, out of the blue, as if he's talking about some cheese that's gone mouldy, Dad says, ‘Queenie's going to have to go. Frank's not interested in her and he's stopped paying me. I'll have to take her down to the animal rescue and leave her on their doorstep. They'll take her in.'

Mum looks as if she hasn't heard. She's putting chips in the oven. I stare at Dad.

‘No!' I shout, making baby Jack jump. ‘You can't do that! We've had Queenie for years, you can't just dump her!'

‘We may have had her for years but she's not really our dog,' says Dad. ‘Frank brought her here and she's supposed to provide him with puppies. She's stopped doing that so she'll have to go. He doesn't want her and I can't afford to feed her. It's as simple as that. Don't worry Ellie,' he adds, ‘the rescue will see they all get homes.'

I can't believe what I'm hearing.

‘How can you just say that?' I shout at him. ‘Mum! Tell him he can't get rid of Queenie. I've always had her and she's my friend. It's not her fault she's getting old!'

‘Ellie's right Charlie,' says Mum, looking up from the cooker. ‘Why should we always have to do what Frank says?'

‘This is business Pearl,' says Dad. ‘It's not like they're pets. They stay in the shed because they're supposed to make money for us. But you know we're short and they're costing us an arm and a leg. The rescue people are set up to deal with stuff like this.' He looks at me and says, ‘Sorry love, I know you're fond of them but they're going.'

I turn to the twins. ‘Sam! David! You care about Queenie don't you? Tell Dad he can't let her go!'

David looks up from the telly. For a moment I think he might agree with me, but then he says, ‘They're just greyhounds Ellie, and Queenie's old. She can't stay in that shed forever. Dogs have to work the same as the rest of us. If she can't have enough puppies for Frank, you can't blame Dad for saying she's got to go.'

I stop myself from pointing out that I've never seen either him or Sam do any work, because I want them to concentrate on Queenie. The thought of losing her is terrible. Being the only girl in a house full of boys is hard enough. I don't count Mum as she's usually freaked and doesn't have any time to spend with me, but Queenie's always been there. I can't count the hours I've spent outside with her, sitting on the old sacks and talking to her about everything.

I look to Sam for help, but he shrugs and doesn't say anything. I argue and shout and come up with everything I can think of to get Dad to change his mind.

‘What if they say she's too old and they put her to sleep?' I ask.

‘They won't do that, they never do.'

‘What if the rescue's full and they won't take her?'

‘They'll send her somewhere else that has space.'

I can't get anywhere with him: ‘Mum, you talk to him!'

‘He's made up his mind Ellie,' she says, ‘and I've got to sort these two out and get some dinner. Put the pram away in the hall will you? You'll need to move David's bike.'

I have one final go at Dad, ‘What if one of the puppies turns out to be a brilliant runner and you could have made thousands?'

This does, at least, make him look up.

‘None of them will,' he says.

Then Nick hoots on his van horn from outside and Dad goes out. Mum starts to lay the table. Patrick still needs seeing to, the baby needs changing and putting to bed and I realise that, for now, the subject is closed.

Later, I go up to my room but I can't think about sleeping.
What's wrong with my family
? It's like Queenie means nothing even though we've had her so long. I think of her being left outside the gates of the rescue place, cold, frightened and wondering why she's been dumped. I have to do something to stop it.

Jan can't believe me when I tell her what's happened. She puts her arm round me as we get off the school bus.

‘Maybe the rescue will find good homes for them,' she says.

I stare at her. ‘What's that got to do with it? It's
me
that wants them. Queenie's my friend!'

‘I know,' says Jan, ‘are you sure your dad means to get rid of them?'

‘Certain,' I reply. There's a big lump in my throat and I wonder how I'm going to bear a whole day at school.

‘We'll think of a plan,' says Jan. ‘Maybe your dad won't take them for a few days and we can sort something out.'

Jan doesn't usually look on the bright side so I know she's just trying to cheer me up.

‘OK,' I say, to make her feel better. But I have no real hope.

As if things weren't bad enough, Mrs Wilson, our class teacher, nabs me on the way in.

‘Ellie! Did you learn the spellings I gave you?' She takes me into one of the small rooms off the corridor and tells me to sit down. How can she think about spellings when even now Dad might be dumping Queenie and her puppies out on the pavement?

‘Right,' Mrs Wilson says, ‘four words. Can you remember what they are?'

I look at her blankly. I can only think of Queenie.

I get all the spellings wrong. Just a few letters in the wrong places, but she's cross.

‘When are you going to start working Ellie? You're a bright girl and you're wasting time.'

I can't help the tears starting. ‘Dad's getting rid of Queenie,' I blurt out.

It's Mrs Wilson's turn to look blank.

‘Our greyhound,' I explain. ‘He's sending her and her puppies to the rescue.'

‘Oh dear,' she says, ‘but is that so terrible? If you can't keep them maybe the rescue's the right place for them? But, Ellie, it's time to concentrate on schoolwork. You'll have to stay in at lunchtime again today and catch up. And please,
please
, give your hands a wash.'

Jan's waiting for me outside.

‘Come home with me later and help me murder Dad.' I say.

‘OK,' she says.