At the sound of the SCR door opening, Geoffrey Collins looked round, albeit with a little difficulty. Jonathan Adams and his wife were leaving and so the professor called out merrily to say cheerio. Only Carol, Sally, Elizabeth Collins and the three men in the corner were hanging on until midnight. It was clear that the Master and his wife wished to say their farewells and leave them to it.
George, Duncan and Geoffrey Collins all drained their glasses, rose as one and went to say goodbye. Of the three of them, George’s head was now definitely feeling the worst for the effects of a mix of alcohol so as soon as he had shaken hands with the departing Master and Mrs Adams he staggered quickly back to his seat.
Meanwhile, like the three men, Carol, Sally and Elizabeth were enjoying themselves together as each was finding out more about each other. They had just started laughing about the foibles of their various menfolk when Carol turned to see what was happening in the corner.
“Oh no! George!”
Duncan and Geoffrey Collins turned away from the door to see what Carol was concerned about. They both stopped in surprise.
“Have I just seen what I think I’ve seen…or am I hallucinating?” asked Duncan.
“I think I’ve seen what you’ve just seen and I’m thinking the same as you,” answered Professor Collins.
“George, NO!” Carol was beside herself. She did so want to get to know this man who she was desperately fond of.
“Is this experimental psychology, d’ye reckon?” asked Duncan
“Testing if seeing is believing, do you mean?” the professor replied
Carol rushed over to where George had been sitting and was now talking to a large black greyhound with a white bib. An elegant-looking animal, though with a somewhat dazed expression in its eyes.
“Maybe this is a test in seeing how far can you go in manipulating the environment before people lose faith in who they are and where they are,” suggested Duncan. “Present people with something preposterous and impossible, and see how long it takes for them to go crazy…I’ve heard of such experiments. Even thought of doing one or two myself a while back.”
“Not normally carried out in Senior Common Rooms, though,” said the ex-Master of St Barts. “Not very scientific, in my opinion. Another whisky, my friend?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” agreed Duncan. “Yep, too many variables you canna control here…unless o’ course this whole place is rigged up for it and we’re the guinea pigs, specially selected. Come to think of it, the invitation for tonight’s dinner was conveyed to me by a couple of very suspicious psychologists…”
“Not so in my case,” ruminated Professor Collins, peering carefully into his glass. “And it was I who asked for the company of the two psychologists I believe you are referring to. Of course they could have captured the whole occasion and twisted it to serve their own evil ends. Do you think they might have done that?”
“Do you mind, you two?” Carol was getting annoyed. “We’re confronted with a serious and upsetting animal transformation here and you two drunks are carrying on an academic conversation of no merit whatsoever!”
Sally and Elizabeth backed up this outburst with supportive cries of their own, demanding their partners behave themselves. It was having no effect.
“Pychologists! I wouldn’t trust ‘em as far as I could throw ‘em. In fact, I’m planning to marry one of them as a means of tying her down and exercising some degree of control over her…”
“Risky strategy, old boy. Very risky. Had you thought it might be you that ends up being tied down?”
There was a sudden, sharp bark from Greyhound George that stopped all conversation short. Then Geoffrey Collins put his hand up to his mouth.
“That is a dog! Not a hallucination.”
“Ha, ha, bloody ha!” Carol shot a withering look at the professor.
“Not only is that a dog, but I think I recognise it. Elizabeth – do you recognise it?” Professor Geoffrey Collins, ex-Master of St Bart’s and one who knew the college inside and out, was beginning to put things into their proper perspective.
“Yes, dear. That dog came to see us once. You were impressed with his appreciation of the television. We fed him sausages.”
George wuffed in agreement.
Carol was not placated. She ignored everyone else, caught hold of George’s head in her hands and searched his doggy eyes. “I’m really, really upset with you, do you realise that? I so much wanted to share this whole evening with you; get to know you better. Do you understand?” It was her turn for her eyes to fill up now. “George – how can you keep on running away from me? Just as soon as you show me something lovely about you, just as soon as I begin to get close to you, you do this to me! It’s so unfair!”
George wuffed sorrowfully.
“Stop it, George! Turn right back. Go on! Do it.”
George’s big eyes looked back at Carol. He gently shook his head. He couldn’t do it. Carol promptly burst into tears.
Sally came forward to console her friend. “I think we ought to take George home, Carol,” she said. “We’ll go too and leave him ‘til he sorts himself out. Nothing more we can do.”
Carol nodded dumbly. She searched for a tissue to dry her face.
“I think this means goodnight, Professor,” Duncan volunteered. “It’s been a real pleasure meeting you. G’night, Mrs Collins.”
“Goodnight all of you,” replied Geoffrey Collins. He and his wife shook hands with Duncan and embraced the two girls. “It certainly has been most enjoyable meeting you at last, Carol, Sally, and I hope this won’t be the last time. Do, er, give my best wishes to George when he is feeling more his old self again.”
Carol regained her composure. “I’ve no need to tell him, he understands you quite well, Professor Collins. He might look different but he is still the same most frustrating individual!” She fired a venomous look at George. “But thank you. I have greatly enjoyed your company and that of Elizabeth too, so I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
They all went outside and parted company in the parking bay. Sally opened up the Volvo. Carol insisted that Duncan go in front so that she could share the last few moments with Greyhound George on the back seat. George was thoroughly subdued by this time. They all went back to George’s place first of all and Carol opened the door for him to get out. George really wanted to say goodbye and thanks, but after a quick bark in the car and a poke of Duncan’s back he could do no more. Carol was too upset to speak to him so he leapt out and ran off quickly down the back lane towards the garages. It was good to exercise his legs in the open air. He let rip with a few loud barks to clear his head and release the built-up frustration inside of him at how the evening had finished. He then cantered to a stop outside his garage and checked that, yes, he had left it open enough to get a paw inside and pull. Wriggling his head under, he then heaved the door up enough for him to crawl inside. He found the old overcoat and also some foam rubber he had placed in the corner for just such an occasion as this, so he quickly got himself settled for the rest of the night. It would be a different day in the morning.
Chapter 15
Annabel Potts had just come back upstairs to her bedroom when she heard a dog bark. She was paralysed on the spot. It was a bark she recognised. A short, sharp venomous bark that turned her stomach over and her insides to water. It sounded from outside, from where she had once been chased from Stephen Maxwell’s house to this. There were some street lights out the back, illuminating the garages, and there trotting along in front of them was that vicious black monster that had terrorised her and that she wished dead. Dead as a moon-rock and preferably as distant. She reached for her mobile.
“Stevie?”
“Yes, my love? You back OK? George still away?”
“Yes, yes, no problem. Quick! Go and look out the back window. By the garages. Can you see what I can see?”
“By God, Annabel. It’s that dog! Yeah – I can see it alright. What’s it doing?”
“Good question. Keep looking. It…it seems to be scrabbling about our garage. Of all the nerve! It had better not pee on the door there…No…No. Look! It’s trying to get in…”
“Annabel! Would you believe it! It is getting in. It’s found its way under the door. It’s, it’s gone!” Stephen Maxwell saw the whiplash tail of the greyhound disappear into the garage.
“Stevie! We can trap it there. Quick – out you go. Shut the door down after it. It’ll never get out!”
Stephen Maxwell put the phone in the breast pocket of his pyjamas and ran downstairs. Annabel stood guard at the window and watched him appear in slippers in his garden, hurry up the path to the back gate and from there, disappearing for a moment behind the tall garden walls and the next-door neighbour’s shed, he ran along the lane outside to the garages. The evil black dog had not reappeared in all that time so Stephen got to the Potts garage and slammed the door down tight. Annabel almost jumped out of her skin in delight. She pulled a dressing gown around her shoulders and hurried down as well to meet her lover, with whom she had spent most of the evening already, outside on the lane in front of the garages. They both hopped up and down with glee and, not caring who might see them, embraced under the lamppost.
“Got the blighter!” said Smarmy Stephen.
“Oh, well done, my love! He can’t get out now. There’s no other way in or out but by this door.”
“Have you got the key so we can lock him in?”
“No, George keeps it with all the others for the house on his key ring, but it doesn’t matter. No dog can open the door from the inside once the catch is engaged. That poisonous wolf can push all he likes but it will never open.”
“Right. Well, now you can sleep soundly tonight, my love. I’ll phone my man in the farm to come down tomorrow morning bright and early and collar the bugger. He’ll either drag it out and do the business in his van, or take the gun in and finish him off inside. Either way we’ll be rid of him. George isn’t going to take out his Land Rover early in the morning is he?”
“Not likely. He isn’t back yet and I expect he’ll not get up in the morning until relatively late. And then I guess he’ll take a slow breakfast. What time do you reckon your man will be able to get here?”
“Farmers work early. I’ll give him a ring at six and see what he says. So long as that door stays shut it don’t much matter what time he comes over. Just make sure George doesn’t come out and open it up.”
“I will, you can be sure of that. Oh, Stevie! You are a wonder! What a stroke of luck!”
They embraced again and then stood close to the garage door, listening intently. Was that the sound of some movement inside? The big black greyhound was trapped! Got it! Annabel was hugging herself in triumph. No more nightmares!
The two kissed quickly and went their respective ways to their respective houses. Annabel took one last triumphant look out of the bedroom window before getting into bed and drawing up the covers around her neck. She was ecstatic.
Still trying to get comfortable in his makeshift bed, Greyhound George jumped as the garage door behind him was suddenly slammed shut.
Oh ho! he thought. Someone has seen me entering the garage and has now locked me in. Except the door couldn’t be locked. He had the only key. Still, I’m stuck, he thought. There was no way he could squeeze around the back of the Land Rover to the garage door and twist the handle that released the catch. The locking mechanism engaged on all four sides of the door: top, bottom and both sides. Easy enough to twist round and release it if you had hands, but not at all possible in your mouth, especially squashed sideways between the door and the Land Rover.
What are they up to? His head was a little foggy still after all the night’s drinking but, in trying to put his thoughts in order, he could remember Smarmy Stephen waiting for him one time with a cricket bat to knock his brains out. Maybe he was trying again? George got up and padded to the door and listened carefully. Could he hear anything?
There were voices out there talking excitedly. It was Smarmy Stephen and Annabel, he was sure of it – who else would it be? But he couldn’t catch what they were saying. Whatever it was, George reckoned, it wasn’t going to be good for his health. After all, Smarmy Stephen wanted to strangle or skewer Mr Tibbs with a garden fork and that cat had done nothing but shit in the Maxwell garden on the odd occasion. George had committed far more serious crimes. He’d tried to wake up the neighbourhood with his barking; wrecked Smarmy Stephen’s flower beds; run in and out of his house; chased and terrified his mistress. That must qualify George for some serious redesign of his canine anatomy if they could ever catch him. And now they had. Hmmm.
George looked about the garage. There was some lamplight that shone in through a small window high up and, although his head ached, he could just make out the time on the clock he kept on the work bench. It was a little after one in the morning. Well it was unlikely his wife and her lover would pull any stunt just yet. They would most likely go to bed and come and see him in the morning – if he was still here. George decided his best strategy was to go to sleep himself and see if he could work any changes in the night. There was nothing else to do, after all.
George settled down for the second time on his foam rubber and overcoat. His head was telling him in no uncertain fashion to close his eyes and close his thoughts. He readily obliged.
It was the sound of an insistent beep-beeping as some vehicle or other was reversing close by that next registered in George’s brain. His eyes flickered open and he tried to come round, notwithstanding the fog that seemed to be obstructing his vision. Where was he? What time was it? George was still hung-over and had just struggled to his feet when then there was a sudden, sharp bang and light flooded the interior of the garage. The garage! He was in the garage. And the door had just flown up.
“George!” A cry of surprise. “What are you doing here?”
George was busy dusting himself down and smiling to himself at his returned human form when he was confronted by Smarmy Stephen. On the other side of the garage, shuffling along between the Land Rover and the far wall, another man was entering that George didn’t recognise at all.
“Hello, Stephen. What are you doing here?” He looked at both men, one then the other. “And what are you two up to in my garage? Trying to steal my motor?”
“Er, no…we’re looking for something…a dog…”
“Of course. In my garage. Do you think I keep one in my Land Rover? Or was it one of those robotic, motorised dogs you were looking for this time? Maybe you thought I’d parked one in here?”
“No, no…it’s an ordinary dog we want.”
“Last time it was in my garden. Now in my garage. Next time in my house? What is it about you and dogs, Stephen? Can’t you think of somewhere else to look for them? Why not your own property for a change?” George was enjoying this. Stephen Maxwell could hardly confess to his intimacy with George’s wife and all her demands.
As Smarmy Stephen squirmed, George glanced across at the other man who had now slid along to the front of the Land Rover and was looking like a spare part in an amateur dramatic production. He was standing idly, his hands behind his back, hoping he wouldn’t be noticed. A trifle difficult in the confined space the three men occupied.
“Who’s your friend?” George asked.
“Oh, er, just a friend of mine…”
“Well, shall we go out then and make introductions outside? Maybe you can find your dog there.”
Smarmy Stephen had no option but to turn and sidle his way out. George stood his ground and indicated that the other man should do the same. Then he followed on and moved after them. As he got outside, he noticed Smarmy Stephen had ducked down and was peering under the Land Rover.
“Nothing there but a bit of spilt oil and water, Stephen. Did you want to crawl under and check? Oh, hello, Annabel. What are you doing here? Want to go for a ride?”
“George! What were you doing in there?” She was looking absolutely fu
rious.
“Well I wasn’t looking for any dog, nor was I going to drive the Land Rover out.” George peered down at himself, still dressed in his now somewhat crumpled dinner jacket and full regalia. “Nor was I entertaining friends for dinner in my motor. But what were you three trying to get into my garage for?” He looked at the rear of a large Transit van that was now backed up, with its double doors gaping wide just a few feet away from the open garage. “Or were you going to load up this wagon with something?” He looked at Annabel, Smarmy Stephen and the spare-part man – most likely the van driver, George thought.
Not one of the three wanted to say anything. They all looked as guilty as sin. The van driver was holding something black and ominous and evil in one hand behind his back.
Annabel couldn’t hold her frustration in any longer. “George, did you let that black monster out?”
“I don’t keep any monsters hidden in the garage, Annabel. Nor do I hide them under the beds. And the last I saw, there were no dragons flying around Durham Castle either. I would have thought you’d have grown out of those nightmares by now”
“I hate it when you’re being facetious, George. I’m talking about that dog. That big, vicious, greyhound that causes so much trouble. Did you let it out of the garage in the night? You must have done and you know it. Why else were you in there?”
“It may surprise you, Annabel, but I do not go around looking to release all the dogs in hell to go chase after you…” As George was saying this the van driver was trying to creep away unnoticed to the front of his vehicle, carrying that ugly something that looked a little like a black, cumbersome electric drill. A little. Only it seemed to be more like a sort of gun.
George stopped. He looked again at the man, anxious to get away, climbing into his van and trying to conceal his gun. He looked at the two others: his wife with a face of anger and frustration and Smarmy Stephen – slippery, evasive and smarmy as always. He suddenly realised, with horror, that these three had been on their way to kill him.
Greyhound George Page 18
