3

Tom soon realized that Spider was a real explorer.

The dog loved the garden, which ended in a patch of mud and a mad mess of brambles. He’d glimpsed an alleyway that led towards some bins, and there was an empty shed beside a small, stagnant pond. The world was a shimmering cocktail of ever-changing smells, and Spider could lose himself among them for hours on end.

“We’ll go further afield soon,” said Tom, stroking his nose. “There’s a park nearby, and you’ll love it.”

Spider blinked and licked Tom’s fingers.

“You need proper exercise, don’t you? I realize that. And we need to start serious training. Dad works nights, Spider, so there are times we have to be dead quiet. Oh, and you don’t ever go into Phil’s room. Phil’s the guy who collected you. He’s our lodger and he’s a friend as well. He has a little pet, too, by the way. It’s a fish, so his room’s totally out of bounds. There are so many rules! It’s just like school…”

Spider nibbled Tom’s wrist, and dived up at his chin. They play-fought again, until Tom rolled on to his back and Spider lay on top of him, panting.

He had been waiting to meet the boy’s brothers and sisters, but realized now that Tom was all on his own, and—like him—without a mother. Where the mother had gone was a mystery, for her scent was everywhere.

The lodger occupied the middle floor, and he was followed by a smell of engine oil and grease. Spider had glimpsed the fish, twirling in a bowl—and it didn’t interest him. What interested him more than anything was his new master’s bedroom, which was up another flight of stairs at the top of the house. It was a tent-like triangle, high in the roof space, where fresh air circulated all the time because of a skylight that wouldn’t close. There were no curtains, so you could see the clouds by day and the stars by night. The carpet was covered in toys and clothes, so the first thing the dog had done was build a nest right in the middle of Tom’s bed, using both pillows and the duvet. He could lie in the warm, looking out at the rest of the furniture.

There was a table which supported a very old computer and vast piles of folders. Pens were strewn everywhere, along with pencils, felt tips and poster paints, for Tom liked drawing, and the walls were covered in startling pictures of rockets and bombs. There was a bookcase, too, and the shelves were bending under the weight of the books. It was jammed against a wardrobe that was almost bursting with jeans, T-shirts and too-big sweaters, everything scented with Tom’s unique mixture of smells.

The only thing that was hung up neatly was a black blazer edged in a thin red stripe. On the front was a gold badge in the shape of a lion, and a serious-looking tie was looped over the shoulders. It had a forbidding, funereal look.

“Don’t,” said Tom.

He had followed Spider’s gaze, and the dog noticed an alarmingly serious edge to his voice.

“Are you going to chew things?” he said. “I know dogs do, but if you chew any of my school stuff, we’re dead. Both of us. That’s ‘uniform’, that is, and it cost us a fortune. In fact…”

He pushed the wardrobe door closed, and wedged it shut with a slipper.

“There. Let’s forget about it.”

He rubbed Spider’s head.

“We go back next week. There’s been a holiday, but school starts again soon—and I won’t be taking you.”

Spider blinked thoughtfully, and licked Tom’s thumb.

“You’d hate it, anyway—it’s scary. You’re going to stay in the garden because Dad will be sleeping. You’ll have access to the kitchen, too. Phil’s at college, so he comes and goes. What we need to do, though, is sort out all the basics. You seem a pretty good dog to me—I mean, you do what you’re told already. But you need wide open spaces, don’t you? And that means the lead.”

Spider licked each one of Tom’s fingers then, and started to bite them.

Tom laughed, and played with his ears.

“You’re such a monster,” he said. “Dad thinks you ought to be sleeping downstairs, and I suppose you should, really. But the way I look at it is that you’re only young, and you’re not used to being on your own yet—how could you be? So for the first week or two, while we’re adjusting, I’m going smuggle you up here. We can protect each other, OK? But we’ve got to be careful. No barking, unless there’s a real emergency. And there won’t be.”

 

The very next morning, Tom produced a collar.

It was blue, with two metal rings. One held a tag on which various numbers were engraved, and the other was shaped to receive the clip of a strong leather leash. Spider wore it with pride, and Tom led him down the hallway to the front door. When he opened it, the dog realized that the moment had come: the outside world was before him again, and it was so different from the garden. He darted on to the pavement, tripping over his own paws. Tom laughed, and restrained him as firmly as he dared. The next moment, they were making their way down the street together, past doors of every colour. There were cars, nose to tail, and so many poles and posts that the dog was soon dizzy. They went past a boarded-up shop, and a house enveloped in the scent of exotic spices. Crossing the road, Tom turned into an alleyway which became a labyrinth of paths and passages. Spider forged ahead, determined to lose himself, and before long they came to a pair of tall metal gates.

“OK,” said Tom. “This is the park.”

They were both out of breath and panting.

“Sit.”

Spider was astonished. The gates were open, inviting him into a vast expanse of the greenest grass he’d ever seen, and yet Tom’s hand was pressing at his haunches. He twisted, and tried to run.

“No, Spider! No.” Tom pushed him down again. “Sit down, please. We’re doing this together. We’re learning to be patient.”

The dog sat down, wondering why they had to rest. Tom had a firm hold of his collar, and he couldn’t resist pulling away again. He ducked, and got a paw over Tom’s arm, and he was about to squirm his way to freedom when he was showered in gravel. A bicycle had skidded to a halt, just missing them both.

“Wow,” said a voice. “Tommy Lipman.”

Spider bounded forward, and Tom was jerked off balance so that he ended up on the ground, his feet entangled in the lead. The bicycle came closer still, its grinning rider staring down at the confusion.

“What have you got there?” he asked, laughing. “My God, Lipman—where did you get that?”

“Hi, Rob,” said Tom. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business.”

“You don’t live round here.”

“I’m seeing friends, Lipman. You wouldn’t understand that because you don’t have any. Seriously, though, what is that thing?”

“He’s my new dog.”

“No way,” said Rob. “You can’t call that thing a dog! Look at its mouth, man. Is it a boy or a girl? Or doesn’t it know?”

“He’s a boy.”

“Really? You’ve checked, have you?”

Rob was still smiling, but Spider sensed Tom’s unease.

“Check again, Lipman!” cried the boy. “You get a bit confused about gender, don’t you? And we’re still not sure what you are yet. Hey, don’t walk away, buddy—I’m talking to you.”

“We’re busy, Rob. See you next week.”

“Oh, Lipman, you’re so asking for it.”

“Goodbye, Rob.”

“I’ll see you soon. You can’t get away from us, you know: we’ll be waiting.”

Spider was totally bewildered. Tom had started to run, and the boy on the bike was following. He was shouting questions, too, but Tom wasn’t answering—he was trying to sort out the lead, which had become knotted again. Suddenly, Spider was free, for the end that had been looped round his master’s wrist flipped on to the grass.

The dog bounded sideways as a bolt of energy burst inside him. Tom went to hold him back, but it was so easy to dodge, and Spider was off like a rocket, racing over the grass in an unstoppable sprint. If Tom’s friend was still with them, Spider didn’t hear him. He was curving to the right, with Tom in hot pursuit. In the distance he’d spied a speck of grey, and he knew just what it was: another dog was in the park.

Tom yelled his name, so Spider raced back, swerving out of his reach. He tripped over his lead, and somersaulted neatly back on to his feet, galloping towards his new playmate. They veered off, side by side, towards a distant hedge, and slipped straight through it. Tom’s cries grew faint and disappeared altogether under the splashing of a brook. Spider was paddling for the first time in his life, feeling mud between his toes and water on his fur—he didn’t notice when his companion left him.

He clambered up a bank into thick brambles. Rich smells poured from a tunnel that something wild had bored into the undergrowth. Spider plunged into it, for this was so much better than the garden he was used to. He was soon lost in a maze. When he emerged, minutes later, he found himself in a whole new area of woodland, and now there were pine needles under his paws.

He trotted into a clearing, hoping Tom was keeping up. But there was no sign or scent of him, so he ran back eagerly. The park was some way behind, but he sensed the way, for there was a path ahead which led to gates and a road—he could see a line of parked cars identical to the ones he’d passed earlier. When he trotted along beside them, the street looked very like the one he lived in—but there was no boarded-up shop, and he noticed there were sets of iron railings which were unfamiliar.

Spider sat down.

He wondered if Tom would come the other way and meet him further along. He set off again, full of hope, but the only human being he could see was someone pushing a pram. At last, Spider saw a boy, and broke into a run—but he soon saw that it wasn’t Tom, or his friend the cyclist. He slowed again, and was immediately distracted by a telegraph pole. Having snuffled around that, he realized it would be best to retrace his steps. The problem was, he wasn’t sure which direction that meant, so he turned, and turned again. The pram was coming closer, its wheels rumbling. Spider backed away, and that’s when he heard the awful howl of a siren—it was a wave of sound accompanied by flashing lights and squealing tyres. An engine backfired, loud as a gunshot, and Spider bolted.

 

All the driver saw was a blur of black and white.

He stamped on his brakes, and lost control at once. Somebody screamed, but the noise was lost in a rending screech of metal, and an explosion of glass. Spider knew he was dead: his short life flashed in front of his eyes, with a quick vision of Tom, followed by his bed in the attic room. He glimpsed the silver cat he’d once stared at, but the back end of the van was now swinging towards him and he could do nothing but cringe in terror.

Somehow, the back wheel came to a juddering, steaming halt a few centimetres from his nose.

The driver gazed down through the broken window, open-mouthed.

Spider backed away.

A hand grabbed his collar, and he twisted round, hoping with all his heart that it would be Tom. It wasn’t: a woman had stepped into the road, and he was caught. She was pulling at his tag, and more people were gathering round, looking down at him with grave faces. Instinct told him he was in serious trouble.