‘There’s this girl at school, Anna Pascoe, whose mother has got a sheep in her laboratory,’ said Lloyd, thinking of animals and freedom. ‘It stays in there all the time, on the fourth floor of a building in the city. It never goes out into a paddock or anything. They do medical experiments on it.’ Lloyd hadn’t thought of the sheep since the talk he’d heard in class. ‘Kurt and Otis saw it.’
Constable Porter inspected the dry fly on his rod and, finding it slightly damaged, he began to replace it with a new dragonfly nymph. ‘Ah, I know the Pascoes,’ he said. Then he let out a sigh. ‘It’s hard to believe, but from a legal perspective it is not against the law to use animals for research.’
‘Well, I think it’s really cruel,’ said Lloyd. ‘Don’t you?’
‘Yes, definitely very cruel,’ his father replied. ‘It’s bad enough to hear about it, but it would be worse to see it. Then you’d feel compelled to do something.’
‘How do you mean?’ Lloyd frowned.
His father lifted his head and looked him in the eye. ‘If I witnessed an animal being kept in that manner, and if I was not a policeman, I would have half a mind to take that animal and set it free myself.’
Lloyd was not surprised by his father’s reaction; he knew he had a soft spot for animals. He remembered the first time he had ever seen his father cry, when they had taken their old arthritic dog, Chester, to the vet to have him put down.
‘Humans can be cruel to each other as well as to animals,’ Constable Porter continued. ‘I see it every day in my job. But sometimes no matter how much you want to help, things are completely out of your control.’
Lloyd returned upstream to his rod. He gave up trying to fly fish and put it aside for his spinning rod. He cast his line downstream and slowly reeled it back in. The metallic lure danced and twirled on the end of the line just like a tiny fish struggling against the current. As he stood there staring into space, Lloyd became entranced by the noise of the river. He could almost hear in it the sound of a school yard full of yabbering, babbling children. He jumped, alert as the rod in his hands was tugged firmly.
‘Dad!’ he yelled out. ‘Dad, I’ve hooked one.’
‘Beautiful specimen,’ said Constable Porter, standing in the shallows and watching Lloyd unhook his fish.
Lloyd gazed at the beautiful pink stripes and orange spots on his fish. His face broke into a delighted grin.
‘It’s a rainbow trout!’ Lloyd called over his shoulder, even though he knew his father could identify it. He held the unhooked fish in his hands, as his father had done, and felt it wriggle gently in protest. Its belly was soft and slippery. Lloyd knew that he could do what he liked with his fish. He could take it home and show his mum and then cook it up for tea if he wanted to. And the thought was tempting. His mother would be proud of him and they could all enjoy a feast of trout. His dad had shown him how to bake fish with salt, butter and lemon juice. Lloyd glanced uncertainly at his father.
‘Your decision, son, but don’t muck about,’ said Constable Porter. ‘Either kill it or release it quickly; we don’t want the fish to suffer.’
Lloyd looked back at the fish. Its eyes were like small shiny pearls and its mouth was open and gaping.
‘Can you take a photo?’ Lloyd asked.
He smiled proudly as his father snapped three quick photos on his cellphone. Then Lloyd gently walked the fish out into a deeper part of the river. He held it facing upstream and the current fanned its gills open. The fish started to move its tail and, sensing freedom, it darted out of Lloyd’s hands into the river, where it disappeared into the bubbling current. Lloyd looked up and smiled broadly at his father.
His father grinned. ‘One each! It’s been a good morning.’
‘You know, I think my rainbow trout was slightly bigger than your brown trout,’ said Lloyd.
‘Oh, really now?’ Constable Porter laughed and patted Lloyd on the head. ‘Come on, caveman, it’s time we headed back.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Rom bent his head down and took a sip of water from his bowl. It was warm and it tasted faintly of metal but he drank deeply to try to quench his potent thirst. Then he moved his head towards the pellets in his food bowl. He sniffed at them carefully; they smelled faintly of old hay and wheat. It wasn’t the cold, juicy, tasty grass that he had been craving but he took a pellet in his teeth and crunched it up. His stomach growled noisily in approval.
Rom was relieved that the heavy feeling in his chest had disappeared, and that he no longer sneezed constantly. There was still a needle stuck in his back leg, and sometimes when it tingled he wished he could scratch it against a warm, craggy rock, but apart from that his body felt stronger than it had for days.
Rom suddenly pricked up his ears and became motionless. Footsteps were coming towards his cage. It was a man; the white coat with the red hair. Rom felt slightly apprehensive but also glad of the company. Almost as bad as the sickness was the feeling of being completely alone.
‘You’re looking a lot better,’ said Jeff. Rom liked the feel of the man’s fingers scratching his head. ‘We all thought you were a goner for a while.’
‘Mmaaaahhhh,’ Rom bleated gently. The man’s words sounded kind. Perhaps today he was going to be put back with his flock?
‘The worst is over for you now, mate,’ said Jeff. ‘We’ve got nearly all the results you’re going to give us. There’s just one more thing we need to get from you.’ He took a notebook and pen from his pocket. ‘Now, you could save yourself one final operation if you could just tell us what your liver, lungs and spleen weigh.’
‘Mmaaaahhhh.’ Rom put his nose through the bars and nudged the man. Perhaps he was going to stay in here with him now? It wasn’t the same as a big flock of his own kind, but it was better than being lonely.
The man laughed. ‘No, I didn’t think you’d know. Ah well, looks like we’re going to have to find out in the usual way.’ He scribbled in his notebook, then turned and headed for the door. ‘So you’ll be saying goodbye to this place in a couple of days. Bet you’ll miss all the excitement, eh?’ The man chuckled softly, pleased at his own little joke, and then he disappeared through the door.
‘BAAAAAAAA!’ Rom bleated. Come back! Don’t leave me here! Let me out! ‘BAAAAAAAA!’
But the man didn’t return. Rom stood perfectly still for a while, listening to the sound of his own breathing. Then he lay down on his bed of straw, rested his head on his front legs and waited for something to happen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Anna put the telephone down and let a lungful of air rush out between her teeth.
‘Pfffffffffffffff.’
A mild panic swept through her. It was only now she realized that she hadn’t been expecting Kurt to say yes. She thought he was going to ring her back and say, ‘Sorry, I can’t help you.’ And she would have been disappointed, but also relieved, because she could have assured herself that, though she had tried her hardest to do something to save Rom, it was completely out of her control. But now? Did she really just conspire with Kurt to sneak into St Sebastian’s Hospital and steal a sheep? Steal? A sheep? It seemed so ridiculous that she laughed out loud.
‘Something tickled your funny bone?’ her father remarked, pausing in the doorway on his way past her bedroom.
‘Not really,’ Anna replied. Steal a sheep? Another snort of laughter escaped from her throat, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Her father gave her a funny look and continued down the hall.
‘Duggie said yes,’ Kurt had told her on the phone. Anna thought he sounded very calm, given the magnitude of the scheme they were plotting. ‘We have to put a whole lot of stuff back in the engine but his car will be ready by Sunday night.’ Then Kurt had paused, waiting for Anna’s response.
She tried to think rationally and ignore her hammering heart. ‘Ah…good,’ she said. ‘Great. Sunday night. Yeah.’
‘I’ve told Duggie not to tell anyone else,’ Kurt continued. ‘He was keen to
get his mates involved but I think it would be, you know, safer if nobody else knew.’
‘No,’ said Anna. ‘I mean, yes, you’re right. The fewer people who know, the better.’
Kurt had wondered if they needed to meet up before Sunday night, to refine their plan, but Anna decided against it.
‘You’ve got the transport sorted; I’ll get the security card. Like you said, there’s not much to it.’ Except they were breaking the law, she thought.
‘See you Sunday then,’ Kurt said.
‘Sure,’ Anna replied, ‘see you Sunday.’
Anna sat down on her bed and stared at the blank wall. She couldn’t remember now exactly why she’d thought it was a good idea to keep the walls clear. Interesting posters or some cluttered junk like at Nana Richmond’s house might have provided a temporary relief from the thoughts burning in her head. A word from the phantom voice would have been welcomed too, but it still hadn’t returned.
Anna found herself squirming with doubt. Was it really down to stealing? Had she investigated every single possibility? Kurt had agreed that protesting was out of the question, and whatever they were going to do had to be done before Wednesday morning. There wasn’t time for anything else.
Unless…
Anna thought about her mother. Was there any chance she could appeal to Penelope’s compassionate side to save Rom? After all, Penelope was a vegetarian. Anna decided it was worth a try. But she had to be careful not to give too much away—if it did come down to rescuing Rom, she couldn’t let her mother know she’d been thinking about the sheep at all.
‘Yum, vegetables,’ said Peter, looking sadly at the bowl of stirfried greens and rice in front of him. He winked across the table at Anna as he picked up his chopsticks.
Anna skilfully grasped a piece of celery with her own chopsticks and guided it to her mouth. The anxiety about Rom had temporarily made her lose her appetite but she did her best to eat in front of her parents.
‘There’s nothing wrong with vegetables,’ Anna said in reply to her father’s comment. ‘It is far better for both humanity and the environment to grow broccoli and potatoes than it is to grow pasture to feed animals.’ She glanced carefully at her mother. ‘Animals such as cows and sheep.’
Peter looked at Anna. It sounded like she was having thoughts about vegetarianism herself. ‘Of course you’re right,’ he said, then cursed quietly as a piece of broccoli flew from his chopsticks onto the table. As he picked it up he started to reel off some statistics about carbon dioxide emissions and starving populations in central Africa.
Anna wasn’t really listening. She was waiting for her mother to join the conversation, but Penelope was calmly picking at her meal and gazing into her glass of red wine.
‘And it’s not just about humanity and the environment,’ said Anna, determined to provoke a response from her mother. ‘If there were more vegetarians in the country, there would be fewer animals cruelly slaughtered for their meat.’ She looked at Penelope. ‘Isn’t that right, Mum?’
Penelope looked up. ‘Huh? Oh, yes. Definitely.’
Anna sighed. Her mother wasn’t even paying attention to what Anna was saying.
‘Goodness me!’ Peter exclaimed. ‘Cruel slaughter? You really have developed some strong opinions.’ He chased a sliver of carrot around his bowl with his chopsticks.
‘Well, I think it’s horrible and unnecessary,’ said Anna. ‘After all, they’ve got brains and hearts, just the same as you and me. That’s why you became vegetarian, isn’t it, Mum?’ Surely now her mother would take an interest. But all she said was ‘Yes, dear, you’re quite right’, and then she turned her gaze to the window.
Anna sighed. She was going to have to be more direct.
‘Have you got anything interesting happening at work next week, Mum?’ she asked. Now Penelope would be forced to think of the sheep that was being killed on Wednesday, and then Anna could carefully probe her with questions of morality.
‘Next week?’ Penelope tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘Nothing out of the ordinary as far as I know.’ She looked across the table and frowned at Peter, who had managed to flick a piece of cauliflower out of his bowl and onto his lap. ‘Do you want me to get you a fork?’ she asked him.
Peter shook his head and insisted he was doing just fine.
‘Nothing out of the ordinary?’ Anna repeated her mother’s words incredulously. Penelope had condemned a helpless sheep to death to get results for an experiment that hadn’t worked and it was nothing out of the ordinary?
‘Oh, hang on, it’s the twenty-third next Wednesday, isn’t it?’ said Penelope.
Anna noticed she looked slightly uneasy as she mentioned the date, and she breathed with relief—her mother did have a conscience.
‘George from biochemistry is turning fifty on the twenty-third and I’ve got to organize a morning tea and a gift for him,’ said Penelope. ‘Damn, I should have rung and booked the caterers this afternoon.’
While Penelope turned to Peter to discuss appropriate gifts for fiftieth birthdays, Anna’s gaze turned to her bowl. Suddenly she couldn’t stomach another mouthful. The thought that her mother was more worried about a birthday morning tea than the life of an animal made her mind spin. When did Penelope become so heartless?
‘Oh, hang on, there is one more thing about next Wednesday,’ said Penelope.
Anna looked up, filled with hope.
‘I’ve got to pick up my navy-blue jacket from the drycleaners,’ Penelope continued. ‘Can somebody please remind me?’
Anna’s gloom melted away. She felt numb for a short while and then another feeling took control. It was an emotion that didn’t come to her very often. It made her grit her teeth and clench her hands into fists. A scowl deepened on her forehead; Anna felt enraged with anger. At that moment, steely determination became set in her heart. In a tight voice she excused herself from the table and went upstairs to her bedroom.
Anna no longer felt any seed of doubt or fear in her mind. The fact was, it was wrong to keep a sheep in a lab; it was cruel and inhumane. She felt it within her soul. She was the only one who cared about the sheep and it was now up to her to rescue him. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for Sunday night to arrive.
In her dream Anna was walking down a long hallway lined with mirrors. Every now and then she would catch a glimpse of herself; sometimes she was wearing her pyjamas, sometimes a T-shirt and jeans. In some of the mirrors she was much younger, with fluffy pigtails and flowery dresses.
Anna!
In the distance someone was calling her name. It was a voice she recognized well, but hadn’t heard in a while. It was the phantom voice. She became filled with curiosity as she walked towards the sound; who or what was the phantom voice? She half suspected a misplaced spiritual guide or a long-dead ancestor had become lodged in her brain. Why were they there and why had they recently disappeared? She neared the mirror at the end of the corridor and, taking a deep breath, she peered into it.
A confident young woman stared back at her. She had dark wavy hair, grey eyes and a few spots on her chin. She was looking at herself. The phantom voice was hers all along.
Anna frowned. But what did it mean to have two selves in her head? Didn’t that qualify you for confinement in a mental asylum? As if sensing her doubt, her reflection pointed knowingly to a small golden-framed mirror on the side wall. Anna peered into it. A girl with curly brown pigtails and a gaptoothed grin stared back.
Suddenly Anna understood. The phantom voice had disappeared because it had overtaken her primary voice completely. She had arrived at a significant junction in her life. If she went ahead with the plan to rescue the sheep, she would be irreversibly turning away from her childhood. Never again could she be in the comfortable position of having others make decisions for her. Never again could she rely on other adults to be right. Now she had to take on the responsibility of making up her own mind.
She returned to the first mirror and carefully regarded the young wom
an. She found reassurance in the steely glint of her grey eyes, and the honest expression on her face. Anna was confident the young woman was someone she could always rely upon.
‘So be it,’ Anna whispered.
Her reflection smiled in response, So be it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Kurt was awoken in the middle of a dream about a swarm of killer bees. His heart raced as a buzzing under his head snapped him alert. It was his cellphone, switched to vibrate. He grabbed at it blindly, surprised that he had actually managed to fall asleep despite his nerves.
‘It’s all on,’ Anna Pascoe’s voice whispered. ‘Are you and Duggie ready to go?’
Kurt took a deep breath to calm himself down. His eyes felt gritty and he blinked rapidly, then squinted towards his beside clock.
00:13 glowed in neon orange.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Kurt whispered. Still holding the cellphone, he swung his legs out of bed. He’d fallen asleep fully clothed, in his black jeans and black hoodie. They were all wrinkled now; he looked like he’d just crawled out of a dumpster, but he didn’t care. Very slowly and softly he made his way down the carpeted hallway to Duggie’s room and nudged the door open.
‘Duggie!’ Kurt hissed. There was no reply so he stepped through the doorway. Kicking his way through piles of discarded clothes and shoes he made his way to Duggie’s bed. He poked his cellphone at the snoring lump under the blankets.
‘Duggie! Duggie, wake up! It’s midnight. Anna’s on the phone. Are you ready to go?’
Duggie twisted and snorted and stretched slowly, like a rusty crane. ‘Midnight?’ his muffled voice croaked from under the blankets.
Kurt thought he was going to turn over and go back to sleep but then Duggie’s hand slowly emerged from under the blankets with a ‘thumbs up’ sign.
Sheep on the Fourth Floor Page 12
