The door slammed, and Spider lay in the darkness. He heard footsteps retreating, as Tom’s voice cried out from the house. It was silenced abruptly, and there was a terrible stillness.
“Ouch,” said someone.
Spider blinked. He couldn’t even whimper, for he was concentrating on breathing. He didn’t think anything was broken, but he wasn’t sure he could stand. He licked his muzzle and shook his head slowly, trying to clear it. Then he rolled over and managed to look around him. He could just make out a window, but it was nailed shut, and the whole place felt small and claustrophobic. There was no way out.
“Are you all right?”
Still, Spider said nothing. He was too shocked to think, and his ribs were aching. He waited, and his heartbeat gradually slowed so he was able to swallow.
“Look, don’t worry,” said the voice. It was a tiny, nervous sound coming from a corner of the roof, soft and whispery. “If you’re moving in, that’s fine—I won’t be in your way. You can hardly see me—and I’m not here to cause trouble.”
There was silence again.
“You’re hurt, aren’t you?”
“No,” said Spider.
“You ought to stay still for a while. You might have a concussion, or something, so… I’d take it easy if I were you. What’s your name?”
Spider went to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Don’t worry,” said the voice. “I’m only a moth—we don’t need to communicate if you don’t want to. I like dogs, though—always have.”
The creature laughed, and it was a soft, fluttering sound.
“‘Only a moth’,” it said. “Ha! I don’t mean I’m ashamed of that. I just mean, well… you know, that’s what I am. I stay out of the way, so if you’re going to be here for a while we can live together without any kind of, you know, territorial problems. I’m busy, and I mind my own business. I just, you know, try to get by, doing my thing. Where are you from?”
Spider had managed to stand, and he limped to the door. He snuffled at the gap beneath it and listened hard. There was no sound or scent of Tom’s dad, but he was still trembling.
“I’ve been here most of my life,” said the moth. “A lonely old life, in some ways. I was never that sociable, till I met my partner. That was late in life, really—but that’s often the way. You don’t find happiness till you’ve given up looking. That’s when it drops in, out of nowhere.”
The moth laughed. “We’re inseparable now, and we’ve got this shed just the way we want it. You’ll be a welcome guest. Am I talking too much?”
“No.”
“Good. I can be a chatterbox, especially when I’m worried.”
Spider felt wings fluttering past his left ear, and spied a grey shape hovering above his head. He closed his eyes.
“You’re from the big house, aren’t you?” said the moth.
“Yes. I think I’ve been thrown out, though.”
“That’s too bad.”
“I can’t stay here. This is… a disaster.”
“Can I just quickly ask you something?” said the moth. “While I’ve got the chance.”
Spider nodded.
“It may not be the right time, because I can see you’re upset. But I have to enquire: have you ever been up to the top bedroom? There’s only one, and it’s way up in the roof. You get in through a broken skylight.”
Spider nodded again. “I used to live there,” he said.
“You know it well? Oh, good! You haven’t seen another moth up there, have you? One like me. Because my partner, the moth I was telling you about… He was looking around up there with a view to relocation. He’d found something rather special in the wardrobe—a jacket of some kind, made of wool. He brought me a few threads, and it was top quality. He’s been gone longer than usual, though, and, well, to tell you the truth, he’s never been gone this long before, and I can’t help thinking the worst.”
Spider said nothing.
“He’s a skinny old thing,” said the moth. “Smaller than me, and a kind of off-white. Delicate features. Not young, not any more, but… handsome in his way.”
“I haven’t seen anyone,” said Spider.
“Oh, well. You’d know him if you saw him—his eyes are pale and prominent. Magnetic, really. He’s not talkative, though—not like me. I just need to be patient, I think. Sit it out, eh? What else can you do? When you love someone, you wait for ever—you’re incomplete without them.” The moth laughed again. “He’ll be back with some stories, I imagine. But I just wish he’d, you know, contact me. He may have met someone younger, for all I know—I’ve never been much of a looker, but we were a pair. We had something special, I’d say, but I don’t think I ever told him just how special he was. Maybe I did, but it feels so strange when it’s just me, and I keep thinking I hear his wings, and I… I need to see him. I want to tell him that I need him.”
“What’s that noise?” asked Spider.
“I don’t know. Where?”
“Above us.”
The moth listened. “Oh, that’s not him. That’s just a cat. I can hear shouting again, too, in the house. There’s a hole up here, and you can see the whole garden. Yes, there are quite a few by the look of it. I can see tails.”
“What colour?”
“Hard to say. Black, I think.”
Spider pressed his nose to the crack under the door and breathed in. The scent wafted down to him, and was unmistakable. He felt faint all over again.
“Moonlight?” he whispered. “Moonlight, is that you?”
Silence. Then he heard the sound of claws picking their way over the shed roof. Something jumped down, and he heard a snigger, which was cut off by an abrupt “Shh!”
“Moonlight?” hissed Spider.
“Yes.”
“Moonlight, you have to help me.”
“Oh,” said the cat softly. “Is that really you? Darling, how badly are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. I’m locked up, though. Listen, this might be the end, if you don’t help me. It’s a long story, but—”
“I saw it all. I was watching you—didn’t you see me?”
“No. When?”
“I’ve been watching you all afternoon. I was up there, on the roof again. Oh, you’ve forgotten me!”
“No, that’s not fair—don’t say that, Moonlight. I’ve just had the strangest day, and I’m so confused. I can’t seem to do the right thing, ever. I’ve been bad…”
“That’s not true. What can you be, other than yourself? I saw you tearing the little boy’s room to pieces. You were so brave!”
“I wasn’t. And I’ve killed a fish!”
“That’s good!”
“It wasn’t—she was harmless.”
“Oh, they pretend to be, but they’re slippery creatures. You’re wild at heart, you see, Spider—I so wanted to be with you.”
“I’m being punished now. I don’t know what came over me, because I shouldn’t have been so… so destructive. They’ll send me away.”
“Where to?”
“I don’t know. The dogs’ home, possibly. I need to get out of this shed. Look for a latch, will you? If you can see the bolt you might be able to pull it.”
“If only I could. I just haven’t the strength, Spider.”
“I’m sure you have, if you try.”
“No, no—you must break down the door. If that wicked man returns, or the boy, they’ll have no mercy. I can still hear them, shouting like savages! Do you think they want to kill you?”
“I don’t know! Tom wouldn’t hurt me—”
“Oh, but he would—and you must hurry! Free yourself, Spider, before it’s too late. If I weren’t so feeble I’d tear down the door myself! You should be running with cats, not languishing in jail.”
Moonlight’s voice lifted to an agonized wail, and Spider felt the fur on his back rise up, so that he shuddered all over. Another cry soared up in response, and the air was full of frenzied yowling. Spider turned in h
is panic, and kicked at the wall. It held firm and fast, but he felt weakness in one of the slats. He spun around and attacked it with his nose.
“Hurry, Spider!” cried Moonlight. “You’re right—you’re not safe in there.”
He pushed harder, and felt splinters pierce his flesh. A gap appeared, though, and he thrust a paw right through it. There was a whole chorus of cats now, shrieking together. Inspired by their screams, Spider got his teeth on to an edge and crunched.
“So close!” hissed Moonlight. “Come to me, Spider! Chase me!”
Spider closed his ears, for the sound around him was torture. He kicked and chewed—and suddenly the wood twisted and gave way. He had a hole big enough for his head, and by driving hard and ignoring the cuts and scratches, he got halfway out.
“Moonlight,” he cried. “Use your claws! Help me!”
“Oh, you’re like Samson!” purred Moonlight, retreating. “Push, Spider. Fight for love!”
“I can’t fight for anything. I’m stuck.”
“No!”
“Dammit, it’s my collar. The collar’s caught—can you lift it?”
“No, Spider—my paws are too soft.”
“I can pull back if you support me. Wait! It’s coming—I can feel it!”
Spider turned himself upside down and kicked with his back legs. His collar had been stretched already, and the frayed leather could take the strain no more: it snapped apart, and he was free. Another slat splintered around a rotten knot, and he could almost taste freedom. He lunged forward, ignoring the pain, and rolled on to his belly in the mud.
That’s when he heard the noises from the house. The back door had sprung open, and a torch beam was dancing down the garden, sharp as a searchlight. It flashed straight into his eyes, and for a moment blinded him.
“Spider!” cried Tom.
“We’re lost!” hissed Moonlight. “He’s after us, and what have we done? Run, my angel!”
“Where to?” asked Spider.
“I don’t know!” said Moonlight. “Oh, the world’s not big enough!”
He heard Tom’s voice again, shrill and desperate: “Spider! Stay!”
There were footsteps racing over the grass, and he saw a flash of silver as Moonlight disappeared under the fence with the other cats. Spider leapt sideways, and the light hit him again.
Tom’s father was shouting, too, but it was the boy’s voice that screamed loudest: “Spider! Don’t go!”
The dog spun round, torn in two. He saw the boy’s wild, panic-stricken eyes, but at that very moment Moonlight shrieked, and the dog obeyed his instincts: he scrambled into an alleyway and dashed after her. The cold air gave him the energy surge he needed, and he was running faster than he’d ever run. Tom was calling him still, but his voice was fading. His friend was above him, and Spider was a pet no more. He felt a rush of terrifying, dizzying independence, and he pounded through another garden, and through its gate. The cat was still ahead of him, and he bounded after her with his ears closed. He had no idea where he was going, but he was free.
Tom called Spider’s name until he was hoarse.
At last, a long howl of anguish ended in a sob, which was swallowed by the night.
He listened for a bark, but there was nothing, so he stood by the fence, trying to comprehend the disaster.
His dog was gone, and he was alone.
PART TWO
Jesse was a fox.
She was two years old, and a rich, coppery red. Her current home was the Denham Estate, but this was only a temporary lodging. She’d found a network of well-made tunnels there, and they were safe, warm and comfortable. But, restless by nature, she knew that she’d be moving on soon. Why stay in one place when the world was so vast? Change was not just inevitable, but exciting—and Jesse always liked to observe new creatures. This was why she’d become interested in the newcomer: a black and white dog who appeared to be called Spider.
Was he someone’s pet? Clearly not. He had a skinny, hungry look and always seemed anxious. On the other hand, he wasn’t vicious or wild, and he didn’t have the manic energy of a stray. What confused Jesse the most, however, was the company the poor creature kept. He spent most of his time with a gang of cats, who Jesse had come to loathe. She could see a couple of them now, padding about by the bins beside the main kitchen, so she moved further down the slope and took cover in a rhododendron. The dog crossed the lawn to join his friends. It was obvious he was starving.
Moonlight was worried, too.
Denham Manor was one of a dozen homes she considered hers, and it was probably the nicest. It was certainly the furthest from town, and perfect for the occasional weekend when she needed to relax. There were three other cats, who adored her, and she had thought it would be rather fun to present Spider to them. He’d been such an easy conquest.
Things were getting complicated, though, and she sat in the drawing room with Lady Denham, wondering what to do next. The old lady was frail and feeble. Two full-time maids looked after her, and they both had strict instructions to give Moonlight anything she wanted. One yowl in the kitchen produced not just milk, but warm milk, and there was always a bowl of something edible. Monday had been braised liver, while Tuesday had been a little too rich—some kind of spiced chicken she would have preferred to eat raw. Today, however, had been a triumph: a mixed-fish dish without a single bone, choice flesh in a creamy white sauce. The cat had overeaten, and now felt fat. When she eased herself on to the old woman’s lap, she had to work hard not to be sick. She purred, and felt gentle fingers behind her ears.
“So,” said Lady Denham quietly. “Who’s been a naughty girl, eh? Who’s been staying away and getting up to mischief?”
Moonlight yawned.
Lady Denham was a bore. The cat suspected she was dying, for she often passed out on the sofa with the TV blaring, and there was always drool around her mouth. Moonlight gazed at her now, wondering if she’d make it through another winter. Her death would be so inconvenient, for the manor was comfort of the traditional kind, and she didn’t want to lose it.
“So then,” said the old woman. “Who’s that nasty old dog?”
Moonlight arched her back, and forced herself to perform a gratitude rub—she had a whole routine of appropriate responses, and they rarely failed. She would close her eyes and stretch. She’d open them again, and butt gently with her forehead. She rolled sideways sometimes, waving her paws as if helpless. These three moves could make Lady Denham coo like a child. Nine times out of ten it would result in a sweet, as it did now: a cream puff that she didn’t really want, but couldn’t reject. She licked at the cream, surprised that the old woman had even noticed Spider.
“Is he your little friend?” she said.
No, thought Moonlight. You couldn’t call him that.
“He’s your little friend, isn’t he? What are we going to do with him?”
Moonlight was just asking herself the same question. She knew she ought to go to check on him, to be sure he was still there, and not doing something foolish. That meant going out into the cold, where the other cats were waiting, and she was losing interest in the whole silly game. She’d tricked several dogs in her time, but they’d mostly been strays who’d soon given up and moved on. Spider seemed to have an unusual loyalty, and she didn’t know what to do with it.
“You should bring him round to the kitchen,” said Lady Denham. “Feed him up a bit, no?”
No, thought Moonlight. The kitchen’s mine.
She jumped down on to the carpet. Lady Denham called her back, so she showed her backside and walked briskly into the hall. The mirrors told her she was still beautiful: there was one up ahead, so she practised her purposeful stride. There was one to the right as well, so she checked her whole aerodynamic form, adjusting her tail and lifting her hips. She could hear a servant clattering about, so she pushed through into the boot room, where a flap let her out on to the terrace. There, she breathed in the scent of hyacinths for a moment, before moving
on to the pond. Spider would be waiting by the sheds and bins. That was where he slept, and she saw him at once, standing awkwardly. He was wasting away, and his fur looked awful.
“What kept you?” he asked.
“Oh, darling,” said Moonlight. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just so hungry. Did you find anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing at all?”
“They’re so mean. I tried and tried—I begged. What could I do?”
“I don’t know. Can dogs eat potatoes? There’s a store round the back, but I don’t know if I can digest them, and they’re covered in earth.”
“Spider, you must try. Have you checked the bins?”
“Twice. I found something in a packet, but it’s disgusting. It made me feel ill, Moonlight.”
“What, darling? Show me. Beggars can’t be choosers, you know.”
“I think it’s rotten.”
Spider picked up a crushed cardboard box. There was a picture on the front, and even though it was torn and stained with old tea leaves, the image was clear enough. A smiling woman was spooning a meaty substance into a bowl. All that remained of the dish was a smear of brown, glutinous goo where the packet had been opened and emptied. Spider dropped it in disgust.
“It’s a McKinley’s Pet Snack,” said Moonlight. “She buys them for me, but I can’t eat them.”
“It smells terrible,” said Spider. “You haven’t caught anything, have you? Anything fresh, I mean?”
“Not a thing. Oh, this is torture! They won’t have you in the house, angel. I’ve told them straight: ‘He’s not what you think! He may look like an unloved, scavenging mongrel, but look deeper. He’s a cat at heart—or he could be.’”
“I’m getting thin.”
“Yes, darling. You wanted that, didn’t you?”
“No. You wanted that. I don’t think I should lose any more weight. It’s making me feel faint, and…”
Moonlight shook her head. “Have you been climbing? That’s what you need to do, Spider. Doesn’t he, Butter? Butter, darling, tell him what he needs to do. He’s so stubborn…”
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