Out of the Blue (33 page)

“Katie!” I said. “That’s rude!”

“You know, Katie,” said Jos calmly, unfazed by her frank remark, “lots of people have this little…procedure…done to their dogs. And it’s a good thing, not least because it stops them chasing girls.”

“Why shouldn’t he chase girls?” said Katie indignantly. “You do.”

“Katie!” I said crossly. “You are
not
being very nice!”

“Anyway, he doesn’t even like girls,” said Matt. “He only chases
cats!”
At this Graham leaped out of his basket and rushed, barking and whining, to the back door.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” I groaned. “Graham, there is
no
cat out there, so will you please go and lie down.” Graham looked at me, nonplussed, then trotted back to his bed.

“Anyway,” said Jos, resolutely refusing to be crushed, “Faith and I think it would be better if we had Graham done.”

“I bet Mum doesn’t think that,” said Katie matter-of-factly.

“Katie, I can speak for myself, thank you very much, and my opinion on this subject is that we should…that we should…wait until Daddy gets back.” I saw Jos roll his eyes.

“OK,” said Katie. “We’ll wait till Dad gets back. And I can tell you he won’t have anything to do with it. Apart from anything else,” she went on, “it would mean Graham couldn’t have any children.”

“Yes, but that wouldn’t matter,” said Jos, “because he’s not exactly a Pedigree Chum.”

“Jos,” said Katie with suddenly assumed hauteur, “Graham may not, as you are kind enough to point out, have a pedigree. But he has true breeding. He is one of nature’s gentlemen.”

“OK, OK,” said Jos, throwing up his hands. “I wish I’d never mentioned it.”

“So do we,” said Matt. He’d given Graham his plate to lick.

“Don’t do that, Matt!” I said. “It’s disgusting!”

“Well, so is cutting off his balls! It’s to make him feel better,” Matt added as I snatched it away. “In case his feelings are hurt.”

“No-one cares about
my
feelings,” said Jos. “No one cares that I keep getting bitten.”

“Has he ever drawn blood?” Katie demanded.

“Well, no.”

“Then that’s not a proper bite.”

“Yes, but one of these days he will bite me, good and proper.”

“Good and proper,” muttered Matt.

“Look, please can we just forget this conversation and change the subject,” I said as we all returned to the table. I removed the chocolate mousse from the fridge and began spooning it out. By now Graham had closed his eyes.

“Oh, good,” I said, “he’s asleep. Which reminds me, Katie, do you think dogs dream?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “They have rapid eye movement just like we do, when their eyelids twitch. That’s the time when humans dream, so I guess it’s the same with dogs. And Graham sometimes whimpers in his sleep, as though he’s having nightmares, or his legs ‘run’ as though he’s chasing rabbits.”

“Dreams are strange things, aren’t they?” I said as we ate our pudding.

“They’re usually wish-fulfilment,” said Katie, “in which the
id,
the childish, pleasure-loving part of the subconscious, is indulging all its deepest desires.” I thought about that for a while as we ate on in silence.

“I had a funny dream last night,” I said. “I dreamed that I was ironing some shirts. But I know exactly why I dreamed that,” I added, though I didn’t explain.

“Dreams of ironing mean you would love to smooth over current troubles,” said Katie with a candour I found hard to take.

“Well, I had a
very
strange dream the other day,” said Jos, determined to melt the ice that had accumulated around him in the last half-hour. So now he described his dream in which he’d got undressed at the Royal Opera House. As he spoke, Katie sat there, scrutinising him in a thoughtful way. She obviously wasn’t sure what it meant.

“I think it means that Jos is a very honest person,” I said, “that he’s prepared to strip off in public. Why don’t you get your book of dreams down, Katie, and look up what it might mean?”

“Oh, it’s OK, Mum,” she said. “I don’t need to. I know exactly what it signifies.”

“Oh yes?” said Jos. “And what’s that, then? I’d love to know.”

“It’s about exposure,” she went on calmly. “Dreams of undressing are a sign that you fear that someone will discover something about you that you would rather remained a secret.”

Jos met Katie’s unflinching gaze for a moment, then looked down at his bowl. “This mousse is absolutely
delicious,
you know. I’d love some more,” he said.

* * *

Dear Alfie,
I wrote on Monday, after my last bulletin.
A flash of lightning is a spark of static electricity zigzagging between a thundercloud and the ground, or between two clouds. If the lightning jumps out of the cloud, it’s called fork lightning. If it jumps inside the cloud, it’s sheet lightning. I hope this helps with your holiday project.

Dear Vicki,
I began.
The reason why thunder is so loud is because during a storm, flashes of lightning heat up the air to incredible temperatures—five times as hot as the surface of the sun. This heat makes the air suddenly expand, at supersonic speed, which produces the deafening crash we call thunder. It’s the same effect as when Concorde flies overhead. I do hope this helps with your holiday work.

Dear Anil, frost is just frozen dew. The reason why it’s white is because the ice crystals are full of air. If the weather is very, very cold, then the ice crystals form in the shape of sharp needles. We call this hoar frost. Thanks for writing, and good luck with your project!

I looked up from my computer as I printed off the letters, saw Sophie and smiled.

“More fan mail?” she asked as she saw the pile of post on my desk.

“Not exactly. Just letters from school kids rushing to do their holiday projects before term starts again next week.”

“I don’t get any letters,” she said ruefully.

“You must get some.”

“No. Practically nothing.”

“I’m astonished. Apart from anything else I’d have thought you’d get marriage proposals by the sackful.”

“Marriage?” said Terry, who was just walking past. He stopped and gave her an arch smile. “Oh, Sophie’s not interested in that. Are you Sophie?” he said.

“No,” she said calmly. “Certainly not. At twenty-four I’m much too
young
.” I saw Terry flinch as she jabbed his Achilles heel. “I intend to build my presenting career first,” she added.

“Don’t bank on it,” said Terry with a hollow laugh. “You might find you have a commercial break. So I wouldn’t get too comfortable here, Sophie,” he added with a knowing smirk.

“Oh, I’m not,” she replied ambiguously. Then she turned her back on him and carried on talking to me.

“Nice one,” I whispered as he walked away. “More power to your larynx.”

“Thanks.” But although Sophie seemed calm and self-possessed, I could see her hands shake. “And how’s everything going with you?” she asked as she perched on the side of my desk.

“Oh, fine, thanks. Fine, fine, fine. Jos is really busy,” I added. “He’s doing
Madame Butterfly
at the moment.”

“
Madame Butterfly
?” she repeated.

“It’s a new production at the opera house. It opens in three weeks’ time. He’s taking my kids in to watch rehearsals this morning. He’s so kind to them, you know.”

“
Is
he?” she said wonderingly. She was fiddling with my weather house.

“Oh yes, he’s
fabulous
with them,” I went on. “He simply can’t do enough. To be honest they’re a little, well, ungrateful at times, but you know how teenagers can be.”

“So he’s good with kids, is he?” she echoed.

“Oh, yes,” I said. “He’s great.”

Matt and Katie had received Jos’s offer of a backstage tour of the opera house with polite enthusiasm. They were still feeling a little chilly towards him about the dog but they knew a good offer when they saw one. And I secretly hoped that the trip to Covent Garden would help them all bond a little more. Perhaps watching Jos in his professional context, and seeing how respected he was would leave them with a better impression. I didn’t know. All I knew was that today I was shattered. On Mondays I’m always exhausted, but by Wednesday I’ve adjusted again to the early start so it doesn’t hit me quite so hard. But today I was aching for my bed. To my surprise Graham didn’t come rushing to greet me when I opened the front door. I looked in the garden, and he wasn’t there. They’d obviously taken him with them, I thought as I hauled myself up the stairs. But then he and the children are inseparable, I reflected as I undressed and fell into bed. He thinks he’s their little brother and wants to do all the things they do. I was just so, so tired, and the second my head hit the pillow I was out. Once again I had strange dreams. I was in a shopping mall somewhere, and I was on the escalator, going up. I was standing there, with my bags of shopping, happily taking in the view. But then just as I was approaching the top the escalator stopped and went into reverse. So now I was going down instead, which struck me as very strange. But I remember thinking that when it got to the bottom it would probably ascend again. And I looked up, and standing at the top of the escalator were all these people and they were shouting at me. They were yelling at the tops of their voices. The strange thing was, I couldn’t hear a word they were saying because I suddenly realized I’d gone deaf. I could see from their expressions, and the way they were gesticulating, that they were trying to warn me about something, but I didn’t know what. And now I turned and looked down, and to my horror the shopping mall had gone, and in its place was this yawning chasm. And the escalator was carrying me inexorably towards the edge, and I was almost at the last step. So I began desperately running upwards, but my legs wouldn’t go fast enough. And I was so out of breath, and I had a stitch, and as I looked up I could see Peter and the kids. They were at the front of the crowd and they were shouting at me, urging me on. And now at last, at last, I could hear. I could hear Matt and he was saying, “Mummy! Mummy! Come
on!
”

“It’s OK, I can hear you now!”

“Mummy!” he shouted again. And I could feel his hands on my shoulders. “Mummy, wake
up!
We can’t find Graham!”

“Wh-at?” As I opened my eyes, the dream receded and there was Matt, by the bed, looking distraught. I heard Katie’s footsteps running up the stairs, and then she burst in too.

“I’ve been all down the street,” she said breathlessly. “He isn’t there.”

“What?”

“Graham’s missing, Mum,” said Matt. He was crying. “We can’t find him.”

“But I thought he was with you!”

“No! We left him here. We’ve just come home, we came back on the tube.”

“He’s missing?”

“Yes! He’s gone.”

“Now, don’t worry,” I said as I felt my pulse begin to race. “We’re going to find him, we’re going to find him, we’re going to find him, but we’ll have to stay calm. What time is it? Half past four? Oh my God, he’s been missing all day!” I put in my contact lenses, threw on some clothes and ran downstairs.

“Graham!” I called as I flew into the garden. I clapped my hands. “Graham! Come on! Here boy! Graham!”

“We’ve been doing that,” said Matt, “he’s not here.”

“How did he get out?”

“Through the kitchen window.”

“But it was only open six inches.”

“I know, but he squeezed through. Look, here’s a bit of his fur.”

“Oh my God! What shall we do?”

“Let’s phone Dad!” said Katie. Of
course!
I rapidly dialled Peter’s mobile phone and after five rings it picked up.

“Hello?” said Peter.

“Peter, it’s me. Listen, we can’t find Graham. He’s got out. He’s been missing all day. We’re distraught.”

“He’s got out? Christ! Now don’t worry, I’ll come and help you find him, I’ll come and look with you and—oh no, I can’t, I’m in America. Have you rung the police? You’ve got to ring the police, you’ve got to ring the police, you’ve got to ring the police and Battersea Dogs and you’ve got to get in the car and drive round and look. I’ll phone you back in two hours. Bye.”

I dialled Chiswick police station, got put through to the lost dogs department, and gave the station officer a rapid description.

“Collie cross…feathery red-gold coat…slightly foxy looking…white blaze on throat and chest…whippety back…long swishy tail…yes, of course he’s got a collar and tag…no, no, no, not microchipped…very, very clever…but it’s true—he really
is
…Graham. Yes, that’s right…Yes, yes, I know it’s odd…yes, of course I’ll wait.” There was an agonising silence while the policeman checked the lost dogs logbook.

“I’ve got two Alsatians, a West Highland terrier, a Jack Russell and three mongrels, none of which match your dog’s description. But we’ll phone you if we have him handed in. In the meantime you should phone Battersea Dogs’ Home.”

“Yes of course.”

“And the animal warden—here’s the number…”

“Thanks.”

“And your local vets.”

“The vets?” I repeated. “Why?”

“In case he’s been run over.” It was as though a knife had been plunged into my heart.

“You know why this has happened, don’t you?” said Katie as I dialled the dogs’ home. “It’s because he doesn’t want to have that operation. He’d developed Castration Anxiety. We told Jos,” she added vehemently. “We told him Graham understands everything we say, but he simply wouldn’t believe us.”

“Hello, this is Battersea Dogs’ Home,” I heard a voice say. I gave a rapid description of Graham, trying to fight the tears which were rising in my throat.

“He’s never run away from us before.” My voice was trembling now. “But he’s got a collar and an identity tag, so if you’ve got him there, you’d know.”

“Lost dogs often arrive without their collars,” the woman explained. “So can you tell me if he has any distinctive markings, because we get a lot of collie crosses coming in.”

“Distinctive markings?” I looked at the kids for inspiration. Matt was pointing to his ear. “Oh yes, one of his ears is slightly shorter than the other,” I said. “And he’s got a very waggy tail.”