by Matt Haig
But this was different. If Adam and Emily were going to see each other every evening, I had to try and squeeze as much information out of Falstaff as possible. And to do that, I had to befriend him. In other words, I had to join him in his activities, however much at odds they were with my Labrador lifestyle.
Cautiously my nose made its way through the dirt and leaves. I tried to ignore Falstaff, who was chuckling at my technique, and instead concentrated on holding my breath. If I didn’t sniff, there could be no damage done. But I couldn’t hold it for long.
As I inhaled, a wild and heady cocktail of smells hit me. Rich earth, leaf juice, worm blood, squirrel droppings. I recognised each smell, but had never experienced them at such intensity. Time stopped, or shifted sideways. My whole body dissolved into the air. I couldn’t feel my paws.
I don’t honestly know how long I was under, but for as long as I was, nothing mattered. All my frets and concerns and responsibilities evaporated instantly. Adam and Emily. Kate. Grandma Margaret. Who cared? What was the worst that could happen?
Smells turned to colours in my mind, red and gold.
I was floating. Content.
Falstaff said something but I couldn’t understand. The words were meaningless. My heart throbbed.
Eventually I pulled my head out and shook myself free of dirt and leaves.
‘How was it for you, madwag, eh?’
‘Good,’ I said, delirious. ‘Good smells.’ I sneezed, provoking another chuckle from Falstaff.
‘Well, well, madwag. Well, well. I never thought you had it in you.’
My senses were slowly being restored. ‘About Emily. You said . . . you said you had something to tell me.’
Falstaff looked at me straight on. It was the first time I had seen him completely serious. ‘OK, OK. I will tell you the truth.’ He paused, for dramatic effect. ‘She takes people away from their families. And she will want to take your master, I know. I can tell. She will want him for herself.’
Although my head was still cloudy, the pain I felt at that moment was sharp and real. A sequence of disjointed images of the Family flashed in my mind and the accompanying scents returned. Adam and Kate slow-dancing together last Christmas. Adam and Hal armwrestling on the kitchen table. Hal and Charlotte fighting for the remote control.
A single thought: the Family must be protected.
‘Who,’ I said at long last. ‘Who has she taken away?’
Falstaff sighed, clearly wishing he hadn’t said anything. ‘Most recently, Simon, my master. Two years ago he had a wife, they were trying for a baby, but then Emily came along. He has a lot of money, madwag, a lot of money. She won’t have mentioned him yet . . . But anyway, madwag, it doesn’t matter, does it? Not really. I mean, think about it, we could end up living together. It would be a riot, madwag. A riot. Come on, lighten up. Have another sniff.’
A wave of nausea passed over me as I stared blankly at the smell-heap. I knew enough.
‘I have to go. I’m sorry, it’s my duty.’
Falstaff sighed again, this time with disappointment. He had misjudged my reaction. ‘Duty schmooty, come on, madwag. I shouldn’t have told you. But there’s nothing you can do about it, anyway. What happens happens. Don’t be such a, such a Labrador, eh. Come on. Relax.’
‘I’m sorry.’
As I trotted back over to the bench my mind felt as if it was about to explode. Everything was chaos. I saw Emily and Adam on the bench, even closer than before, and I retched. I was about to throw up. What had they been talking about? Was Adam really prepared to risk the Family? Where was this all going to end up?
In my confused state only one thing could be clung to with any certainty. Duty over all, I thought to myself. Yes.
Duty over all.
face
There is something about the human face. Something ridiculous, yes, but also sad, unprotected, even when it smiles. I was noticing this as I lay between Adam and Kate, watching them read their bedtime books. I don’t know, they just seemed so hairless and vulnerable, I wanted to lick them, wash them clean, keep them safe.
‘Prince, no. Stop that.’
‘Oh, Prince, please don’t. We’re trying to read.’
I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist. Once I lay back down, they returned to their separate worlds. They sighed and chuckled quietly to themselves from time to time. Adam even nodded his head on one occasion as if the author was in the same room as us, sitting at the end of the bed, waiting for approval of what he had written. ‘Very good,’ Adam assured him, the anxious and invisible author. ‘Very good.’
Right then, although they may have looked vulnerable, they also looked happy. In their own worlds, but also together. Sharing the quiet, animal peace of humans who truly love each other. The children asleep, the house calm. But my apprehension would not subside. Lying between these two loving creatures, feeling their warmth, breathing in their scent, I still couldn’t believe that it was going to be OK.
For the first time ever I wanted the moment to stay still. For it to sit there, like an obedient dog, like me, and only move on when it was told to. There may not have been passion in the room - that faded, years ago, along with the carpet - but there was something else. Something as - no, more - important. You could feel it just by entering the room, just by seeing them sitting together, side by side, half-cocooned by duvet. Love. That’s what you felt. Coming from every corner of the room, contained within every object. It sounded sentimental, but it was true. And anyway, I’m a Labrador.
Sentimental was all I knew.
But as any old dog would confirm, nothing stays still. Not permanently. Puppy love matures into dog love, which soon becomes old dog love. It hobbles on for years but then love itself eventually has to be put down. So I couldn’t help thinking that this moment may already have been a memory, and a nostalgic one at that.
Love, I realised, wasn’t going to be enough.
stick
‘You’re right, Prince. This is a very serious situation.’ Henry was, of course, the only dog I could turn to. A friend, a mentor, a Labrador - he was the only one who could fully understand what I was going through. He was also, I had hoped, the only one who might be able to offer a solution.
‘So what should I do?’
We were lying side by side on the grass, in full view of Adam and Mick. They were in conversation on the bench, the bench which had witnessed last night’s horrendous entrapment. Because that is how I viewed it. Entrapment. Adam was snared in a trap which he couldn’t, single-handedly, get himself out of.
I started to chew on the end of a stick, anxiously awaiting Henry’s verdict.
‘You need more information, more conclusive information, before any action can, or indeed should be taken,’ he said. ‘When will you next see them together?’
‘He is going around to her house tonight for an aromatherapy treatment. She says his aura is in a state of intense internal conflict and that she may be able to cure him. He is taking me with him so Kate won’t think anything is up.’ I’m afraid this was all true. The lure of visiting the house he had been fascinated by for months, combined with the opportunity to get to know Emily better, had evidently been too much for Adam.
‘That is good,’ Henry said, to my surprise. ‘You must go. However hard it is, you must go and observe everything, Prince. Your power depends on your senses. You must sniff out any potential trouble. Your eyes, your ears, and most importantly your nose - these are your weapons. If the situation looks likely to get out of paw, you must, of course, act decisively. But don’t, at any time, risk the secrecy of your mission. Remember, no matter what it looks like, everything is always within your control. The Labrador has ultimate power. You know that, don’t you, Prince?’
I felt reassured. By his words and by the smile emerging on his wise golden face. ‘Yes, Henry. I know that.’
‘Tell me, this Falstaff character, what is he like? Would you say he’s a reliable source of information? Does he strike yo
u as a responsible sort of chap?’
I pictured Falstaff as I first saw him, when he slipped his lead. And then as he was last night, his head submerged in a smell-heap.
‘It’s, um, too early to tell,’ I said.
‘He’s not a Springer, is he?’
‘No,’ I lied. Or half-lied. ‘Of course not. He’s a cross, but I don’t know what between.’
‘OK, well, just remember non-Labradors often do not share the sense of duty we feel towards our masters. In fact, they often take great pleasure in trying to lead Labradors astray. So be careful, that’s all.’
It’s funny, looking back now, but I never doubted Henry’s judgement. Not for one moment. His wisdom was infinite as it always had been. The very first time I visited the park, he had been there, and he must have seen me as a new recruit. It seemed to me that he must have been there since the beginning of time. But in reality he’d only just finished his police work and clearly wanted a new challenge. He followed the Pact to the letter, and knew it better than any other Labrador. And, by listening to his wise words, by taking on board the lessons he taught me, I had managed to preserve and protect the Hunters from any threat.
Until now. Now the real test was beginning.
But Henry would help me, I knew that.
letter
The rest of the day I spent in mental preparation. I paced the kitchen floor, reciting the Labrador Pact.
Duty over all . . .
Prediction equals protection . . .
I ran through worst-case scenarios. What would I do? How would I stop them? Would Falstaff help me?
Kate was the first home. Poor Kate. I watched as she went about her normal routine. Taking her coat off, switching on the radio, emptying the dishwasher, tidying everything away. She seemed so vulnerable, so completely oblivious to the outside threat which could affect the future of her Family.
She picked up a letter lying on the kitchen unit. Hal had read it aloud this morning, before school - a university had made him a conditional offer. She sat down to re-read it, a proud smile spreading across her face.
Grandma Margaret was next through the door. Back from her Friday coach trip. Back from her Lovely Day.
‘Here, Katherine, I got speaking to this woman on the coach. Lovely lady, no airs and graces, she lost her husband too . . .’
While Grandma Margaret was talking, Kate continued her routine. She made my meal, cold meat and biscuits, but I wasn’t hungry. I was too nervous about what lay ahead later that evening. She picked up the bowl and chopped the meat up into smaller pieces but still I couldn’t face it.
‘Are you OK, Prince?’ she asked, her mouth pouting with concern.
I wagged and panted an affirmative. The last thing I wanted was for Kate to get suspicious. Remember the Pact, Prince. Remember the Pact. She crouched down and planted a soft kiss on my cheek. I licked her face in return.
‘Prince,’ she giggled. ‘Stop that.’ But I knew she liked it really.
Hal and Charlotte arrived back together. Ever since a news story about a girl who’d gone missing on her way to the corner shop, Kate had insisted that Hal escort his sister to and from school. Charlotte, of course, wasn’t happy with this arrangement. Or rather, she pretended not to be.
‘It’s so embarrassing walking with him,’ she grumbled, twisting her nose ring. ‘He’s so weird, he just walks along talking in Shakespeare.’
‘He’s got exams, Charlotte, he’s got to learn quotes. Try and be sympathetic.’
‘Yeah, I know, but no one else seems to be walking down the street talking as if they’re in the sixteenth century or whatever.’ She threw a heavy stare at her brother who was starting to make himself a triple-decker peanut butter and Marmite sandwich, as he did every evening.
‘I tried to tell her,’ Hal said to his mum, although more for his sister’s benefit. ‘I said: this is just a phase, it’s perfectly normal, you’ll grow out of it. You’re bound to have these feelings of self-consciousness and embarrassment. It’s to do with the hormones and because your body is changing very quickly at the moment. I was very sympathetic.’
‘Hal,’ reprimanded Kate.
‘He’s such a tosser.’
‘Char- lotte.’
‘See, again, a perfectly natural response for someone of her age and gender who lives permanently in the shadow of their elder and wiser and better-looking and, let’s face it, more sophisticated sibling.’
‘Tosser!’ With that, Charlotte jangled her way upstairs and slammed her bedroom door. Hal held out his hand, as if Charlotte had just proved his own point, and then reverted to talking Shakespeare, in between taking bites of his sandwich.
Although an impartial human observer may have been slightly troubled by these Family squabbles, as a Labrador I understood what was really going on. I could smell the love.
‘So shaken as we are, so wan with care,’ said Hal to himself. ‘Find we a time for frighted peace to pant. Act One, Scene, er . . . One, the King.’
When Adam arrived back, the house was at its maximum noise level. Hal was running through his quotes. Kate was listening to the radio while wiping the kitchen table. Charlotte was listening to The Mad Dogz Of War. And Grandma Margaret was still busy telling an imaginary audience about her day.
‘My God,’ he said, clunking his keys on the cabinet in the hall. ‘You can’t hear yourself think.’
He moved into the kitchen, pulled back a chair and slumped himself down. I went over to him, and he cheered up instantly. He grabbed my top jaw playfully and started to shake my head.
‘Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?’ he asked me. And then, to Kate: ‘I said I’d drop some of last year’s exam papers around at Paul Mortimer’s, you know, that NQT I was telling you about. He only lives on Friary Road so I might as well take them around later when I take Prince. OK?’
I pulled back. He stopped shaking me. I couldn’t believe it: he’d even made up an excuse for tonight, in case he was too long with Emily.
He smelt nervous, and no wonder. The kitchen, for a brief moment, seemed to contract around us.
‘Yeah, OK,’ said Kate, without even the faintest trace of doubt. She was too absorbed in listening to the man on the radio.
Hal had made himself another peanut butter and Marmite sandwich and was about to head upstairs to start revising. ‘I will die a hundred thousand deaths, Ere break the smallest parcel of this vow,’ he said, as he munched. ‘Act . . . Act Three, Scene Two, the Prince.’
The Labrador Pact: Observe everything
If a Family is in danger of falling apart, the signs will be everywhere.
Be continually alert to any changes of scent or behaviour, and if such changes occur smell for an explanation. This is equally important when your masters are outside the Family home.
Humans must therefore be monitored at every possible moment in order to ensure the success of our mission.
Watch, listen, but most of all smell for trouble at all times.
snip
I’ve not always had such a strong sense of duty. I used to have a hard job, in my early years, trying to control my instincts. I was guided by my loins, rather than my principles. I kept on falling for, and falling off, older females. Tall. Long legs. That worldly scent. I couldn’t control myself.
But it wasn’t just other dogs I fell in love with, it was furniture too. Within minutes of arriving at the Hunter family home, I fell in love with it, I really did. Especially the cushions.
‘Are Labradors meant to do that?’ houseguests would ask with evident disdain, as they made their way into the living room. I carried on. Throughout the embarrassed glances and lightsabre jokes, I carried on.
But this behaviour, it was decided, was not natural.
Bollocks.
That is what it amounted to.
Remove the bollocks, remove the problem.
Snip, snip. Gone.
So I was booked in for an appointment with Nice Mister Ve
t. I was told it was for my own good. That’s what Adam said as he left me in the vet’s surgery.
‘It’s for your own good, Princey-boy, you’ll see. You’ll wake up a new man.’
Words could not describe my outrage. As far as I was concerned, this was The End. Of my life, or at least my lust for it. It was also, I was sure, the end of love. Adam was robbing me of my chance of future happiness. He was forcing me into a final compromise. But the anger faded, along with the lust, and I woke up into a new world of neutrality.
I was no longer distracted.
Through sacrifice, everything had suddenly become clear.
slippery
‘OK, now, take everything off.’
Emily was rubbing her hands, coating her fingers in the strangest smelling substance I had ever experienced.
‘Everything?’ Adam asked, in panic.
She laughed with exaggerated hilarity. ‘Well, not everything. You can leave your pants on . . . if you like.’ She laughed again, even louder.
‘Madwag, this is really rather dull, old chap. Come on, I’ll show you round. There’s loads of wild things we can get up to.’
Although I was tempted to take up Falstaff’s offer, to find out more about Emily’s massive new house and its many secrets, I knew I had to stay here. To observe every detail of the rather bizarre scene unfolding before our noses.
‘Wait,’ commanded Emily. ‘Music.’
Adam’s head turned to watch her.
‘Oceania: Music for a deepwater state of mind,’ she said, provoking an ominous whimper of recognition from Falstaff.
‘OK, madwag, you old Labrabore. Suit yourself, old chap. Suit yourself.’ I watched him trot off into the next room, shaking his head in disapproval.
Right. Observe, Prince, observe.
Adam was already lying on the massage table in nothing but his boxer shorts. His newest pair. The treatment was under way. Emily, with the sleeves of her pink cardigan rolled up, was starting to stroke the unnatural-smelling oils into the skin, pushing ripples of flesh up his back as she did so.
