Something Only We Know (24 page)

Behind the shop glass, Owen was spreading out some leaflets on the table and Vikki was bending over to read them. Keisha was nibbling one of her own biscuits, while the man in the long coat was
pointing at something in a book he’d picked off the shelf. Saleem leaned on the counter, his apron rucked up. The jazz played on.

I thought,
Right I’ll do it. I’m ready. I will do this thing, and then if it all comes to nought, I’ll turn around and leave forever.
And at least I’d be sure.
That’d be an end to it.

I took one step forward and my phone started to ring.

‘What?’ I barked into the mouthpiece. ‘Who is this?’

A brief pause, and Ned’s voice. ‘Jen? Hi. It’s me.’

‘Oh, hi. What’s up?’

‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

‘What’s up, Ned?’

Another bus passed by in the opposite direction. On the back seat a teenage girl stared out, bleached pale by the interior lights. She looked completely fed up. I wondered whether she was going
home to an annoying family.

‘I was just wondering when you’d be home.’

‘Why?’

‘Nothing really.’

‘Just say it.’

‘Your sister’s in a spot of bother.’

Bloody hell. ‘Bother? What do you mean? What sort of bother?’

‘Nothing to worry about. Bit complicated to go into here. Are you on your way?’

The shop door opened fully and the man in the long coat swept out. I noticed both of his pockets seemed to be bulged out of shape, and also that he had what could have been the end of a baguette
protruding from one cuff.

‘I wasn’t, no. I’m actually in the middle of something important, if you must know.’

‘Right, OK.’ He sounded nonplussed. I don’t often snap at him. ‘That’s fine. No problem. Really. Sorry to bother you, forget I rang. We’ll see you when we see
you.’

‘For God’s sake, Ned. You can’t just drop something like that and then back track. What’s going on with Hel? Tell me.’

But the phone was dead. He’d rung off. Across the road Keisha came and stood in the shop entrance, looking up and down the street for more customers. I waited for her to spot me, braced
myself for it, but instead she simply went inside again. It was almost as if I’d become invisible.

Even as I pulled into the drive I could tell something was going on. The porch and hall lights were blazing and the garage front was wide open. Mum’s festive door wreath
had been knocked off centre.

I climbed out of the car as Dad was emerging from under the steel shutter. He was puffing and panting and attempting to manhandle a two-metre-wide roll of green plastic sheet into the house. I
heard my mother shout for him, a high, panicky bark.

‘What’s happening?’ I said, locking the car.

He shook his head as if the situation was beyond explanation.

I followed him in, hung up my bag and coat next to the Christmas tree and went through to the living room. Dad carried on into the kitchen but I stayed to see what was the matter with Helen. She
was sitting on the sofa with Ned, her face taut and pale. Between them, laid across the cushion and squirming, was a blanket-wrapped bundle.

‘Now, Hel, see who’s here,’ said Ned.

My first thought was,
Holy fuck, she’s stolen someone’s baby.

‘I won’t tell you again, get some newspaper under it,’ shouted Mum from the stairs. The thing in the blanket whimpered. Above us all a silver foil Christmas star rotated
serenely from the ceiling.

‘What have you got in there?’ I asked.

‘It’s a puppy.’ Ned reached over and gave my sister’s hand a squeeze. ‘Someone brought it into the shelter today and because it’s so little it’s going
to need round-the-clock feeding. Hel volunteered. You’re going to be its foster-mum, aren’t you, Hel?’

‘There were six of them,’ she said.

‘That’s right. They were found under a bridge in a sack and the others didn’t make it, but this one, this chap here, he’s putting up a fight. We’re going to save
him, aren’t we?’

‘He’s got a heat pad to keep him warm.’

‘Yeah, and we’ve found a puppy-sized box. And you’ve brought home some special milk and a feeding bottle. He’s well set up. He’s landed on his paws, this
one.’

Mum came marching in. ‘Has your dad laid that tarpaulin yet?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, just went on through. From the kitchen we could hear rustling and swearing, then
scolding.

- It’s not wide enough.

- How wide does it have to be?

- The whole floor.

- Why?

-  Because this is where we eat! This is where I’ll be cooking the Christmas dinner in a couple of weeks’ time!

- That dog won’t stray from its box tonight. Have you not seen the size of it? Like a flaming guinea pig. It’s going nowhere.

- Says you. I’m the one who’ll be clearing up after it.

‘No, Mum,’ Helen called. ‘I’ll be the one clearing up. I’ll do everything. It’s only for a night. Or two.’ She lowered her voice for the last bit.

The dog whined again and then made a sort of choking noise. Immediately my sister bent over it, using her index finger to move the blanket away from the muzzle. I could make out a very pink and
naked-looking nose, eyes closed into slits. What fur there was looked to be white. ‘You’re OK, sweetheart,’ she told it.

‘Hold that edge and I’ll pull it across,’ went Mum’s voice. You could tell she was furious. Her lovely house, decked out for the holidays with the holly tablecloth
already laid, the red velvet napkin holders and Spode plates on standby, the frosted twigs pinned over the mantelpiece. In the corner burned her mulled-wine-scented candle. Somewhere under the
crackling of plastic and my dad’s grunts, a TV show of carols was playing. All is calm, all is bright.

‘So what breed is he?’ I asked.

‘We can’t tell yet. It’ll be a mix; no one dumps pedigrees. There may be some terrier in the face, my boss thinks. You know, I keep thinking about his mum. She’ll be
beside herself.’

‘Don’t,’ said Ned. ‘Focus on this little guy. He’s the one who needs your attention.’

‘But what kind of bastard leaves baby animals to die?’

Mum appeared in the doorway. ‘Wouldn’t the dog be better off in the garage? Because it’s quieter in there and there wouldn’t be so much disturbance for it. We
wouldn’t be stepping round it every five minutes. And if there are any accidents—’

‘Don’t be daft, it’s about minus twenty in there,’ called Dad.

A darkness crossed her face that was horrible to see.
You’re all against me,
she was thinking.
Again.

I said, ‘It’s only for a few hours and we’ll clean up if there’s any problems. You honestly won’t know he’s here. Everything’ll be dealt with and tidied
away at the end. And you can see how much it means to Helen to see him recover. After the rotten start he’s had, we want to do our best by him, don’t we?’

On cue the puppy squeaked again, a heart-rending sound. We felt it.

‘For God’s sake,’ said Mum, but she had no argument to counter with. Instead she jerked her thumb over her shoulder. ‘You’re not to use any of my kitchen equipment,
is that understood? Any tea towels you use go straight into the machine on a boil-wash. And use the antibacterial handwash. I don’t want us coming down with salmonella or e-coli.’

‘Or worms,’ said Ned under his breath. Mum didn’t hear but Hel and I did. It was hard not to giggle.

Mum disappeared again and I went over to the sofa to get a better look. The puppy’s muzzle was all I could make out, along with an upturned mouth, like a sleepy smile. I knew the dog
wasn’t really smiling. Nevertheless it seemed a sort of hopeful sign.

‘How often will it need feeding?’

‘Every couple of hours,’ said Hel.

‘And you’re going to get up right the way through the night?’

‘I am.’

‘Good luck with that.’

She smiled, reached over for the pup and lifted him onto her lap. It was cute to see her cradle the tiny body against herself. The action, however, revealed a small stain on the cushion
below.

‘Uh-oh,’ whispered Ned.

‘No! Is it wee?’ I asked in appalled fascination. These were my mother’s replacement cushion covers, the ones she’d bought last summer after Dad had left a topless
Sharpie pen resting on the chair arm and it had rolled off onto the seat.

Helen shook her head. ‘It’ll be drool, or something that was on the blanket. It’ll sponge off. Probably.’

‘What?
What
’ll sponge off?’ Mum again.

Expertly Ned slid across so his bum was hiding the mark. ‘Grass stains on my knees, Mrs Crossley. They’re a swine. It’s an occupational hazard when you’re edging the
lawns. Hel was saying, though, a dab of Ariel and they’ll come up grand.’ As she peered round the door frame at him, his eyebrows were so comically pitched I couldn’t help let out
a little squeal of laughter.

‘Jen,’ said Helen, in warning. But then she too began to laugh.

Ned responded by making his eyes wider and more innocent, and that was funny too. And my mother, staring at us like a grumpy bird of prey, trying to work out what crime we’d committed, and
Dad stumbling through behind her, tripping on his own tarpaulin and swearing, became in that instant the funniest sequence I’d ever seen.

‘Ssh,’ said Helen, her shoulders heaving with mirth. ‘You’ll scare the pup.’

‘Yeah, shush, you two,’ said Ned.

‘Sshhh!’

We all just carried on.

Mum watched us disapprovingly. ‘I’d love to know what the joke is. I don’t suppose anyone’s going to tell me?’

Dad, squeezing past, put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh, ignore them, Maureen. Come up to the box room and help me find that extension lead. The sooner this doggy hospital’s set up,
the sooner we can shut the door on it and relax.’

She paused to wipe her hands on a tea towel, then followed him. When they got to the foot of the stairs he stepped aside to let her go first, and she gave a little half-nod of acknowledgement.
It was one of their rare moments of unity.

I woke at 3 a.m.; maybe I’d heard Hel’s alarm clock going off through the wall. Sometimes when you surface in the small hours it’s a matter of rolling over
and sinking back into oblivion, but not on this occasion. I lay in the dark with my eyes wide open, feeling wired. There would be no snuggling down under the duvet and trying to chase sleep now.
Sometimes you know it’s pointless. So I got up and threw on my dressing gown, shoved my feet into my slippers and made my way downstairs as softly as I could.

My sister was in the kitchen, as I knew she’d be. Only the hob light was on, casting a gentle glow over the puppy’s box.

‘Is it OK if I come in?’

She looked up from the sink where she was filling a bowl from the hot tap. ‘Yeah, fine. Don’t make too much noise, though.’

Carefully I brought in a dining chair, placing it near enough to view the dog but not so near I might scare it. I took care not to rumple up the plastic sheeting, too. Meanwhile, Hel had filled
a bottle with special milk and was warming it in the bowl. She was still wearing her jeans and sweatshirt.

‘Trickier than it looks, this,’ she said. ‘I’ve already had to throw one teat away. I made the holes too wide and the milk was coming out faster than it should, and if
that happens then the puppy can end up inhaling it and that can give them pneumonia. Oh, I’d best just check his temp while we’re waiting.’

She rummaged about in the bag she’d brought with her from the shelter and pulled out a thermometer and a jar of Vaseline. With deft movements she popped a sterile plastic tip over the
sensor and then dabbed the end with petroleum jelly.

‘Is that going where I think it is?’

‘Uh huh.’

I couldn’t really see much as she bent over the box, so instead I found myself gazing round the kitchen, at the pinboard of bills and coupons and recipes and flyers; at the decorative wall
plate of Lake Windermere; at the base unit where Hel kept her own food supplies, which none of us was supposed to touch. Not that I’d be tempted to run amok with her Rich Tea Fingers or her
dry Ryvita. At one time she’d got into using Post-It notes and there’d been coloured tabs and labels all over the cupboard door, the microwave, the fridge; some system to do with what
she was and wasn’t allowed to eat.

With a reassuring murmur at the puppy, she stood up and took the thermometer over to the light where she could read it. ‘OK, that’s fine.’ She flicked the used plastic
tip-cover into the bin and placed the thermometer back in the bag. Next she went over to the bowl of water and picked out the feeding bottle, pressing it to the inside of her arm to test the
warmth. ‘Another minute, I reckon.’

‘I never asked you if he had a name.’

‘The dog? Pepper. That was my idea.’ She looked pleased with her choice.

‘Yeah? Why?’

‘Dunno. I looked at him and he just seemed like a Pepper. Ned thinks we should call him Runty.’

‘Harsh.’

‘I know. Pepper’s no runt or he wouldn’t have got this far.’

‘He’s going to be staying with us over Christmas, isn’t he?’

Hel busied herself with the bottle again. ‘We’ll have to see how he goes. Unless we can find him a surrogate mum he’ll have to be hand-fed for weeks.’

‘By you?’

‘The guys at the centre’ll share him round. But I’ve said I’ll have him again when it’s my turn.’

‘You know Mum’s going to go nuts.’

‘That’s a cross I’ll have to bear.’

She tested the milk one last time, then went to sit on the floor by the box. The pup was snuggled into a corner and she had to fish around to root him out. That done, she laid him on his stomach
along her skinny thigh and began to try and match up the rubber teat with his mouth. There was a struggle at first, but then he latched on and began sucking. Now I got the chance to examine him
properly. It was strange. He reminded me almost of a slug, with his pointed bottom and short tail, or maybe a scaled-down baby seal. He was mainly pinky-white, a few darker patches on his flanks
and haunches. Hel was keeping a close watch on his rounded stomach, and on the level in the bottle.