Summer at World's End (17 page)

‘Go away, urchins,’ the woman said, ‘and play somewhere else.’

‘We’re with him.’

‘Indeed?’ Her look was like picking up something disgusting between thumb and finger.

‘We lost a dog. We thought he might be here.’

‘There are a lot of dogs here,’ the woman said coldly.

‘Where do they come from?’

‘These days, we have to get them where we can.’

‘Any shaggy ones?’ Michael stepped forward, shirt tail hanging out, smudge on his nose, doughnut crumbs from the last meal but one in the corners of his mouth. ‘Like
those sort of rugs you have beside the bed to put your feet out on to when it’s cold?’

‘I have a fitted carpet Go away, little boy, or I’ll have to call one of the doctors.’

‘We’d like to see a doctor.’ They edged towards the corridor behind the desk.

‘You go one step farther and I’ll call the police!’ The woman put her hand on the telephone.

‘We’ll tell them what you do!’ Suddenly Carrie heard herself shouting, exploding with anger. ‘You take animals that trust people, you spray hairspray into their eyes to see if it makes them go blind, you make them run and run till they have a heart attack, you bleed them white, you —’

‘Calm yourself.’ The woman patted her stiff hair, or wig, or whatever it was. ‘Experiments with animals save people’s lives.’

‘Why don’t they experiment on people to save animals’ lives?’

‘Would you rather it was that way?’ She was deeply shocked.

‘Yes.’

‘Now listen, you gang of hoodlums, I’m going to have to tell you a few truths.’

‘Tell
him.’
They pushed Hubert into a chair by the desk. ‘He’s the cleverest. He can understand.’

‘All right, now listen to me. Suppose you were trying to find a cure for - let’s say hiccups.’

‘That’s easy,’ Hubert said. ‘You drink beer out of the wrong side of the glass.’

‘No, no, suppose you were looking for some particular medicine —’

‘I’d go to that drawer where my mum keeps the stomach powders.’ He was so stupid, it was a gift While the woman was
leaning forward, patiently trying to explain, the four others tiptoed away behind her back, dashed down the corridor, round a corner, through a door and into another corridor that smelled faintly of dog.

‘Follow your nose!’ Lester cried, and they burst through another door and into a concrete passage lined with barred runs. As soon as they came through the door, a great hullabaloo started up as dogs of all sizes and breeds and no breed at all hurled themselves at the gates, barking and yelping and howling and wagging their tails as if their masters had come at last.

‘Shut up, pack, it’s not feeding time!’ A little man like a jockey with a nut-brown face and a dirty overall came out of a room at the end. ‘Oy-oy!’ He grabbed at the children, who were dashing from gate to gate, although if Charlie was here, they would know his voice. He caught Michael by the back of the collar. ‘How did you lot get in here?’

‘Past the reception desk,’ Lester said, which was true.

‘In the normal way.’ Carrie never could help adding some detail that made it not quite true.

‘What do you want?’ He tried to look fierce, but his face was made for smiling, although he had no teeth to do it with, just a wide grinning gap.

‘We’re looking for our dog.’ They could not look at the dogs in the barred runs. They could not meet their eyes.

‘What breed of dog? Pedigree? Mongrel?’

‘A sort of pedigree mongrel.’ They told him all the good breeds that might have gone into Charlie. Michael, half choked, added the bit about the bedside rug.

‘Don’t tell me!’ The man let him go so suddenly that he fell on his hands and scarred knees. ‘Did he have a torn ear and some nasty cuts on his head?’

‘He might have.’

‘And sort of round eyes like toffee balls —’ ‘With a lot of white showing.’

‘Oh Gawd,’ said the little nut-brown man, ‘that sounds like Trumpeter.’

‘Our dog is Charlie.’

‘Trumpeter, Joyful, Nimrod - I call ‘em all that, to remind me of my days at the foxhound kennels.’

‘Does he -’ Carrie could hardly ask it. ‘Does he sort of lift the side of his mouth, and - sort of - grin at you?’

‘My Gawd,’ he said, ‘that’s him. Went up today.’

‘Went where?’

‘Surgical unit. Artery transplant. Oh no you don’t.’ He stepped in front of them as they headed for the far end of the passage. ‘No one goes through that door. Cost me my job, that would.’

‘How can you
do
such a job?’ Carrie raged, raising her hands as if she would hit him.

‘Someone has to take care of ‘em, missie, till they —’

‘Look at that dog!’ Lester yelled suddenly. The man stepped aside to look down the line of runs, and before he knew it, Carrie, Lester, Em and Michael were through the door and running down a corridor, up a flight of stairs, down another, across a hall lined with doors that had glass peepholes. There were cages of animals in most of the rooms. Monkeys, guinea-pigs, hamsters, rabbits, rats, mice.

A young woman in a white coat came out of one of the rooms, carrying two large cases of white mice. ‘What on earth—?’

‘Urgent message for the doctor,’ Lester said quickly.

‘Which doctor?’

‘In the surgical unit.’ Lester tried to sound calm, but Carrie could see that his breath was coming very fast, and his heart pounding under his thin shirt.

‘You’re going the wrong - hi, wait!’ as they doubled back, but she could not catch up with them, because of the mice.

Back up the stairs, across a bridge to another building, through swing doors - ‘I smell ether!’ Lester stopped, his nose twitching like - Oh,
Charlie
. Would they be too late?

‘You are ze pupils from ze zgool?’ They turned and saw a bent, wild-haired old gent in a flapping coat and thick spectacles, like the mad doctors in monster films. ‘Come to hear ze legture about ze life zycle of the giant ztag beedle, eh? Gum, my dears.’

As he shooed them along the corridors, they passed a big door with a thick glass window. Standing on tiptoe, they saw people in white, moving expertly, stainless steel sinks, tables, cabinets full of shining instruments, gas cylinders, a huge arc light like the eye of God.

On a high table under the light, a rough-haired dog was lying calmly and trustfully. A man with a white surgical mask over his mouth and nose, holding a syringe, was stroking the dog’s head and talking to him.

‘Gum along, gum
along,’
the mad doctor fussed. The door said NO ENTRY. Carrie, Lester, Em and Michael entered. Charlie jerked up his head, the man dropped the syringe and the whole room fell apart, equipment and people scattering, bottles breaking, stools overturning, as the dog and the children leaped at each other, shrieking and barking with joy.

‘What’s going on?’ The man in the mask bent to pick up his broken syringe.

‘We found our dog!’

Charlie pushed against the door with his paws and was off, and the mad doctor jumped aside just in time, as Carrie, Lester, Em and Michael raced after him to freedom.

This electronic edition published in July 2011 by Bloomsbury Reader

Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square, London WC1B 3DP

Copyright © Monica Dickens 1971

The Moral rights of this author have been asserted.

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ISBN: 9781448203130
eISBN: 9781448202805

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