Her mum had cooked muffins as usual. Saturday lunch was one of Harriet’s favourites. Her dad was always there and her mum was nearly as happy as she’d been before Toby went away.
Yet Harriet knew she was going to spoil it all by asking them about the dog, so she put it off until near the end of lunch.
“How was Max this morning?” her father asked.
“He looks thin and his coat is scruffy. And he just lies there and looks at you.”
“Did he enjoy the soup?” asked her mother.
“Ahh – it got gobbled up in a flash,” replied Harriet. She smiled at her mother to hide her embarrassment and buttered another muffin.
“But you didn’t take the soup to Max, did you, Harriet?” her mother said quietly. “I rang Mrs Howard and she said you weren’t there.”
Harriet put her knife down carefully. She bit her lip. “I didn’t actually lie to you, Mum,” she said. “You see there’s a poor, little stray dog who’s starving. Max and Gus have been looking after her. She had a wounded paw, and she’s sheltering in a tumbledown shed at the bottom of Mr Jacobs’ garden. She even tried to go to the pound with Max in the storm.” Her words came spilling out.
“So the soup and the sausage were for the stray dog,” said her mother.
“And I took some things from the medicine cupboard to fix her paw.”
“Slow down Harriet,” said her father. “Does Mr Jacobs know about this dog?”
“He found out this morning. He’s going to look after her properly for a few days because he says the shed is dangerous. It’s horrible,” she burst out, “it’s muddy and she just sits on a wet sack.” “You fixed her paw,” said her father, “and she didn’t snap at you?”
“No. I was scared she would, but Gus settled her down and she was awfully brave. She had a splinter of glass stuck in one of the pads.”
Her mother and father looked at one another.
“Harry,” said her father gently, “you do know the dog will have to go to the SP –”
“No!” shouted Harriet. “No! She’s my dog. I’m keeping her and I won’t let you send her away!”
Her mother sighed. “Harry, darling, we can’t –”
“We can! Why can’t we? She’s only little – she won’t eat much. She can sleep in my room. I’ll teach her to be well-behaved, I promise! Please, please, she can be my best friend.”
“We’re not having a dog, Harriet,” said her father firmly.
Harriet burst into tears. “I hate you!” she shouted. “You’re not doing anything about finding Toby. Even when I see him you won’t go and talk to him. And now you won’t let me have a dog. I hate you!” She pushed her chair back. “I’ll run away with my little dog and I won’t come back, just like Toby!”
Her mother started to cry. Her father groaned. He came round the table to Harriet and put his arms around her. She tried to push him away but he held on to her tightly.
“Harry, Harry,” he murmured. He sat down on the couch with Harriet next to him. Harriet sobbed and struggled against him, but he kept on stroking her hair. “Darling Harry, you know Toby isn’t coming back, he’s dead. He isn’t coming back, Harry. You know that really, don’t you? He got very sick and he didn’t get better.”
Her mother came and stood behind the couch. She laid her cheek against Harriet’s father’s head and held on to one of Harriet’s hands. Gradually Harriet’s sobs quietened. Her mother handed Harriet a tissue.
“I don’t hate you,” whispered Harriet. “And I do know Toby won’t ever come home.”
The three of them were still for several moments.
“I’ll make another cup of tea,” said her mother finally.
Harriet sighed deeply and leaned against her father’s chest. “I miss him such a lot,” she said quietly. “It’s so lonely. There’s nobody to do things with. Why did he have to die? Was it something I did?”
“Dearest Harry,” her father answered, “he picked up a terrible sickness – meningitis. It most certainly wasn’t anything you did. We were just so thankful you didn’t get sick as well.”
Harriet felt something tight inside her loosen up. She took a big breath. “I wish I could find a way of saying sorry to Tim,” she said. “I was so awful to him, and he was Toby’s best friend.”
“Shall we drop by some time?” her father replied. “Would you like to give him one of Toby’s models?”
Harriet sat up. “Have you still got them!”
“We packed them in the attic,” said her father. “We could go and look at them later, and you could choose one for Tim.”
Harriet felt as though a heavy load had been lifted off her. The models were still there, and she’d be able to give one to Tim as a way of saying sorry.
“Oh, Daddy,” she said, “I’d love that.”
Her father gave her a big smile. “Why don’t we go and talk to Mr Jacobs,” he said. “I need to find out a bit more about dogs.”
Harriet stared at him.
He took a cup of tea from her mother. “Thank you, dear.”
“You realise that the dog must belong to someone,” he told Harriet. “There might be a girl, just like you, who’s upset about losing her.”
“I wouldn’t mind giving her back to a good home,” Harriet replied.
“Have you given her a name?” asked her mother.
“I’ve thought about it,” said Harriet. “Her shaggy coat, her silky ears, her waggy tail, … though she was scared of me the first time I met her.” She paused. “I think the best name is Honey, ‘cos she’s got honey-coloured patches, and she’s a sweet little doggy.”
Harriet’s father stood up. “Right! Let’s go and meet Honey. Are you coming, Kath?” he asked Harriet’s mother.
She shook her head. “I must get into the garden,” she said.
Harriet took her father’s hand. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said, and they walked along to Ngaiwi Street.
Mr Jacobs was sitting on the porch. There was no sign of Gus – or Honey. Harriet felt a stab of worry. He got to his feet when Harriet and her dad walked down the path.
“Well, hello, Harriet,” he smiled. “This looks like your dad.” Mr Jacobs and her father shook hands.
“David McKibbin – we’re on the main road, number 45.”
“Ted Jacobs.”
“We’ve heard a lot about Gus – and Max,” said Harriet’s dad. “It’s been good of you and the Howards to make Harriet so welcome.”
Mr Jacobs smiled. “I think those two dogs would go into a decline if Harriet stopped visiting. They just about talk to one another, the three of them. Harriet’s got a real feel for dogs.”
“That’s quite surprising,” said Harriet’s father. “Neither my wife nor I have any experience of dogs. Actually, that’s why I’ve come,” he continued, “Harriet’s set her heart on adopting the stray dog I believe has been living in your shed.”
Mr Jacobs pulled a couple of chairs forward. “Have a seat,” he said. “Fact is she’s taken herself off again.”
Harriet gasped. “No! When?”
“Not long ago,” replied Mr Jacobs. “She wouldn’t leave the shed this morning, so I took some food down hoping to coax her out, and she’d gone. Probably thought I’d turn her in.” He looked at Harriet kindly. “It’s not the end of the world,” he said, “she’ll have to come out for food. I’m sure she’ll keep in touch with Gus and Max and maybe they’ll persuade her to come back. I’ll put out food and leave a box and a blanket in the garage.” He patted Harriet’s hand. “She’s obviously had some tough knocks – she’s a survivor.”
Harriet felt as though someone had offered her a present and then snatched it away at the last minute. She’d never dreamed her parents would consider letting her keep Honey – and now Honey had disappeared.
Mr Jacobs looked at her gloomy face. “Why don’t you go next door – Gus is over there with Max – and I’ll start on your dad’s doggy education.”