by Scilla James
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.
3
New Homes
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.
When we get back to my house at four o’clock, Dad’s out and Queenie’s still in the shed with her puppies. Nick’s alone downstairs making a peanut butter sandwich.
Nick is Dad’s son from way back when Dad was married to someone else. He’s lived with us for my whole life and he’s the kindest person, even though he looks and acts tough. He’s saved me a thousand times from the twins.
Our house has one big room downstairs with the kitchen bit at the front end and everything else at the back, so when Jan comes up with her idea, Nick overhears what she says.
‘Why don’t we hide Queenie and the puppies? If no one wants them except us, why not?’
‘Hide them where?’ I ask.
‘Gran’s allotment of course,’ says Jan. ‘I bet she wouldn’t mind. She loves dogs. And if we go quickly, now, she’ll probably still be there.’
‘Are you two mad?’ Nick comes over, sandwich in hand. ‘Dad will go crazy! And how would you feed them? Or even get them there?’ he asks.
‘In your van!’ I say, as I realise what a brilliant idea it is. ‘It’ll be easy. Please, Nick, say you’ll help?’
At first Nick doesn’t want to know, but he’s fond of Queenie too, and by the time Jan and I have begged and pleaded with him for five whole minutes, he gives in and agrees to drive us.
‘I warn you though,’ he says, ‘those dogs technically belong to Frank. He may have said he doesn’t want them, but he could change his mind at any minute. And it could be that Dad will change his mind, and not take them to the rescue at all. Have you thought of that? And, what’s more, Queenie might stand to get a nice new home.’
‘But then I wouldn’t have her anymore!’ I protest, ‘and she might not get a nice new home. She’s really old. I heard of a greyhound once that was found on the street with its nails painted all different colours.’
‘Don’t talk daft,’ says Nick, ‘and how do you know Margaret will let them stay? Who would want to suddenly take on a whole family of dogs?’
‘I’m sure Gran will,’ says Jan, ‘she’ll understand that it’s an emergency.’
I’m not quite as certain that Margaret will be pleased, but I don’t want to think about that. I just want Queenie to be saved from going to strangers, however nice, as I’m sure Dad is serious about letting her and the puppies go.
‘Quick then,’ I say, ‘let’s get them out before the others get back. We can think about everything else later.’
Before Nick can have second thoughts we whiz out to the shed and grab everything. Queenie, four puppies, bits of sacking and some feed and water bowls. I run back into the house and get the bag of dog biscuits, wishing there were more left. Nick makes space in the back of his van and we get Queenie in. The puppies think it’s a great laugh and leap about like anything. I’m panicked thinking Dad might come home any minute, but we get away and Nick drives us up the hill to the allotments. It isn’t far.
But as we turn a sharp corner near the edge of the estate, we see Frank walking out of the flats where he lives. His disgusting hairy stomach is sticking out between his shirt buttons and he has no coat on, even though it’s cold. He stares, clocking all three of us sitting in the front. His small, mean little eyes follow us as we go up the hill. I can see him in the wing mirror.
Nick swears. ‘I could do without that,’ he says.
‘But Frank doesn’t want the dogs,’ I say.
‘No,’ says Nick. ‘It’s me he wants. He’s waiting for s
ome money I owe him.’
It’s not like Nick to tell me stuff like that. It makes me anxious. ‘Why did you borrow from him?’ I ask. ‘Everyone knows what he’s like.’
‘How d’you think I got this van?’ asks Nick. Then he says, ‘Look, forget it. And say nothing at home. I’ll sort Frank out. You concentrate on hiding the greyhounds.’
I can’t say Margaret’s that pleased when we roll up with five greyhounds just as it’s getting dark. She’s ready to go home and has all her tools packed away in the outbuilding. Jan’s got a lot of explaining to do. But as we tell the story and the puppies fly around the place like mad things, rolling and playing with delight at being out of their shed and in this exciting new place, we can see that Jan’s gran is going to give in. She likes all animals and the puppies are unbelievably sweet. Add to that Queenie’s begging looks, and in the end she agrees that they can stay for a few days.
I carry in the sacking and bowls. There’s enough food for a week and we collect water from the allotment tap. Then we kiss them all goodnight, with a special kiss for Margaret, and get back in Nick’s van.
‘So that was the easy bit,’ he says. ‘What are you going to tell Dad and Pearl?’
‘I’ll tell them the truth,’ I say. ‘I’ll tell them a friend from school wants to give them a home, to save them going to the rescue.’
When we get back to our house, having dropped Jan at hers on the way, Mum and Dad haven’t even missed the dogs. They are talking about the rent man who’s been calling again, saying we’re behind and if we don’t catch up with the payments he’ll put us out. So I casually drop in to the conversation that I’ve sorted the problem of the dogs and that they’ve gone.
‘What?’ says Dad, ‘what did you say Ellie?’
‘I said the greyhounds have gone, Dad. Don’t freak,’ I add quickly, as he starts changing colour.
‘What d’you mean “they’ve gone”?’ he asks, turning to Nick. ‘D’you know about this lad?’ He often calls Nick ‘lad,’ as if Nick’s someone from the old days.
Nick looks at me and shrugs, so I get in quick.
‘Jan’s gran’s taken them,’ I say, ‘and she’ll help us find homes for them.’ Of course, this isn’t exactly true. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘You’re getting above yourself my girl,’ he says, but I can tell by his face that he’s thinking there’s one less thing to worry about. It makes me sad to think that this is the only thing he feels about Queenie going, after all she’s done for him and Frank. But when I go to bed I can’t help worrying. Jan’s gran certainly hasn’t said she’ll help us find homes for the puppies and, in fact, she’s made it clear that they can only stay with her for a few days. What if they dig up her beans? Eat someone’s cat? I can’t sleep for picturing five full-sized greyhounds going crazy on the allotments and getting even less food than they had in our shed, as I’ve got no money at all. Maybe we haven’t thought it through properly after all.
Thankfully, next day at school, Jan has another of her ideas.
‘Why don’t we advertise them? There could be loads of kids that want a greyhound.’
‘But what about us?’ I say, ‘we want a greyhound, don’t we? And if all that happens is they get new homes with other people we could have let Dad take them away in the first place!’
‘True,’ Jan agrees.
‘D’you reckon your dad might let you have Jade, if you told him it was an emergency?’ Jan looks doubtful.
‘It is an emergency,’ I insist.
‘I’ll talk to him,’ she says, ‘and I’ll ask Gran to help.’
When Jan tells me next day that her dad has agreed to her having Jade I’m thrilled to bits – and jealous. ‘What’s more’, she says, ‘Gran’s thinking of keeping Queenie herself.’
‘What d’you say Ellie?’ Margaret asks as we arrive at the allotment later and the puppies jump all over us, ‘would you like me to have Queenie? I’d look after her very well and you’d be able to see her whenever you want.’
‘It’s a great idea,’ I say, feeling terrible.
As I walk home later I decide that I’ll make Dad agree to let me keep Princess, even if it takes me all night.
‘You’ve got Tag,’ I tell him, ‘Mum’s got Sam and Patrick, and the twins have got each other. I want someone of my own!’
‘But you’ve got all of us Ellie,’ he says.
‘Please!’ I keep on at him. I sit on his knee and tickle his neck. I get up again and make him a cup of tea and a jam sandwich (his favourite). I promise to help Mum with the baby. I even promise to try and stop fighting with the twins.
‘Now, that is tempting,’ Dad says. I can see he’s weakening.
I decide I’d better do a demonstration, so I wash up a pile of dishes. I turn to make pleading faces at him in between plates as he sits on the sofa with Tag. I notice that Mum’s giving him looks, too, until, in the end, just before bed, he gives a big sigh and says crossly, ‘All right!’
I shout with joy. I kiss him and Mum, and then I text Jan. I’m so excited. Jan and I send texts to each other until midnight, planning all the stuff we’re going to do as dog owners. It’s brilliant.
Next day at school, we carry out Jan’s idea for the other two puppies. We print off the advert, after we’ve checked a few spellings:
FREE TO GOOD HOMES!
TWO 10 WEEK OLD CHARMING GREYHOUND PUPPIES WANT LOVING HOMES WITH SOFAS AND GOOD FOOD
Apply Ellie or Jan
It seems worth it to say about the food and the sofas, to make sure the puppies will be comfortable, wherever they go.
All we have to do is to pass the advert round in our year. It turns out that loads of kids, and their parents, want them, so Jan and I take trips up to the allotment to show the puppies off and choose who to give them to. In the end, the same family takes both of them. They’ve already got two greyhounds but they live in a village and have plenty of room for more. That’s the thing about greyhounds. You can never have too many.
We’re so happy as we send everyone to their new homes, and Jan and I take Princess and Jade at the same time. Queenie’s overcome with excitement and trots off with Margaret to her warm cosy house, without a backward glance at me. I know I’ll see her often so, when it comes to it, I don’t mind. I tell myself she’s Margaret’s dog now, and I have Princess to love. It’s a perfect story, which should end there. But for me and Princess, it’s only just beginning.
4
Princess
Once the puppies have gone to their new homes and Queenie has taken off with Margaret, Jan and I can begin our new lives as proud dog owners. At last, I have my own dog that I can love and train, and who can become my best friend in life. I can’t afford a collar or lead, but I find a bit of rope in a corner of the allotment that Margaret says I can have. I walk home with Princess, feeling like a princess myself with such a beautiful greyhound walking beside me through the town. Well, not quite walking. I need to do a bit of training there, I think, as Princess hauls me down the hill at twenty miles an hour.
When I get home, Dad’s there at the gate.
‘Everything’s ready for her,’ he says, pointing to the open shed. ‘I’ve put down some bedding and water.’
‘What do you mean, Dad? She’s not sleeping in the shed!’
‘Of course she is,’ he says, ‘you surely didn’t think she’d be coming into the house? She’s a greyhound, Ellie, she’ll expect to be out of doors. You’ll have her all day to play with.’
‘She’s my dog, Dad, she needs to be with me!’
‘Ellie, don’t be silly. She can’t possibly come indoors, what with Tag and all you kids. Now don’t start being difficult or she’s off down the rescue this minute. And don’t go crying because it’ll do no good.’
Dad takes the rope from me and pulls poor Princess towards the shed. With one movement, he slips her neck free and pushes her in with his leg, shutting the door after her. ‘She’ll be just fine in there. Now, come in
and help your mother.’ He takes me by the arm and raises his voice as I pull back.
‘That’s enough, Ellie!’
I’m not strong enough to get away from him and I can hear Princess starting to howl and scratch at the shed door. It’s not how I’d imagined my first evening with my dog.
When Dad goes out with his gun I sit outside with her until late, just as I used to with Queenie, stroking her and telling her not to worry, that I’ll sort it out. But when I leave she starts to howl and scratch again.
‘Mum,’ I plead, despite knowing that it is a waste of time, ‘please let me bring Princess indoors.’
Mum’s watching telly, and for once Jack and Patrick are both asleep. She doesn’t even look in my direction.
‘You must do as your dad tells you,’ she says.
I wait until Dad comes home and everyone’s in bed, and I creep out to the shed and bring Princess in anyway. It’s after midnight, but she’s waiting for me in the dark. She comes in to the house and climbs the stairs so quietly it’s as if she knows what’s going on. She lies on my bed as silent as a mouse. I feel her comforting weight on my feet and know that she’s going to be the best thing in my life. And if they won’t let me keep her indoors, I’ll leave home.
One good thing about my family is that, because there’s always so much chaos, it’s easy to go unnoticed. I come downstairs the next morning to Mum shouting at the top of her voice, as usual, trying to get the twins up and ready for school. They’re fighting in the bedroom. Meanwhile, Patrick is trailing around the living room with his little cart of bricks, hoping for some breakfast, and baby Jack is screaming his head off because he’s hungry and needs his nappy changing. Mum’s trying to balance her ciggy on the end of the draining board in between shouts, telling me to sort Patrick out while she gets a bottle ready for Jack.
