That evening, Spider saw himself.
He had no idea how far he’d come, but he arrived at a village and wandered up its main street. He chose a turning at random, which took him between rows of houses. His paws were burning, so he stopped at a lamp post to rest them. Looking up, he noticed a piece of white paper, and there was a photo in the centre. Two faces gazed at him: one was a boy, and he had his arm round a black and white puppy. The puppy had a tooth protruding over its bottom lip, and the boy’s eyes were so gentle Spider could only whine. It was Tom, of course, and he had a stick in his hand: his expression of happiness and pride made the dog look away again, for it was too painful. He had no idea who’d taken the picture, or when, and he couldn’t begin to understand who might have taped it to this particular post. It had been printed in colour and there were words above and below, with a set of numbers, but as Spider couldn’t read, they were a mystery. He noticed that the paper was covered in plastic, which had been carefully sealed at the bottom so it wouldn’t get wet.
Spider sat beneath it for a whole hour, as darkness fell.
He wondered where he should spend the night, for he didn’t know where the town was—or if he’d been walking towards or away from it. The red and black school had to be somewhere, but where? Tom would be going there tomorrow, probably, and all he wanted was to find him—but how?
He turned down an alley, trying not to think. He stopped by a bin bag which had been split across the middle. Various creatures had explored it already, but he still snuffled about, and managed to find a few damp vegetables.
A bit further on he came to some garages, and beyond them he found a stretch of grass. Nobody was around, so he headed across it towards a duck pond. Three lumps of bread lay at the edge of the water, rejected by the ducks. He crunched them gratefully, and stepped into the shallows to drink.
A sad face looked up at him.
“You’re a bad dog,” he said quietly. The face looked sadder. “Everywhere you go you cause disaster. Everyone you meet suffers.”
Two little girls appeared with a terrier which couldn’t stop yapping. They stood under a street lamp, throwing a ball between them, and Spider saw that they were keeping it out of their pet’s reach. The dog ran from one child to the other, backwards and forwards, as happy as a dog could be. It wasn’t frustrated, or anxious: it just seemed hopeful. The younger of the two dropped the ball, and their pet pounced upon it, snarling with pleasure. Five seconds later, it had given the ball back, and the girls were throwing it between them again. All three were connected: they needed each other, and the game showed no sign of ever ending.
Spider sighed, and took another drink.
A duck had approached, and stared at him with an unblinking right eye.
“I’m looking for a town,” said Spider.
The duck said nothing.
“I’m a stranger. Do you know a place where the railway ends? It might be a day’s journey or so, but it can’t be too far. It has a church, and it’s by the sea.”
The duck remained silent.
“I’m lost,” said Spider. “I’ve lost all sense of direction, but I need to find this town because I’m looking for a school where the children wear red and black. Black jackets with red on the edges and lions on the pockets—there can’t be many places like that. I’m not suggesting you’d know about the school, but does the town sound familiar?”
The duck turned its head and stared out of its left eye.
Spider sighed again. “Maybe you’re a stranger too?” he said. “I don’t know a lot about ducks. Are you one that flies halfway round the world and always goes in a ‘V’ shape? Sorry, I don’t suppose you speak my language, do you? What I’m saying… It must be just a load of noise, all these meaningless words. Are you wondering about me, though? Are you thinking, Wow. Why is this dog talking nonsense? Where’s he from? Where’s he going?”
The duck gave a short, ugly honk. “You’re not a dog,” it said.
“Are you?” said the duck.
“What do you mean?” asked Spider.
“You’re not a dog. You don’t look like one, anyway.”
“Don’t I?”
“That’s why I came over. We were talking back there, a whole load of us, wondering what the hell you are. I said I’d go over and check.”
“I’m a dog.”
“Oh no. Your head’s all wrong.”
“You mean my tooth?”
“I mean your head. It’s the wrong shape.”
“How?”
“It’s like a cow’s head. You’re like… What do they call a baby cow?”
“A calf.”
“Exactly. I think you’re a calf. You’ve got just the same colouring as a cow, and your head’s completely cow-shaped. Why are you pretending to be a dog?”
“Look,” said Spider. “I don’t know why you’re saying all that—”
“Can you make cow noises?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a dog. If I were a cow, I’d tell you and I’d… I’d give you some milk.”
“You can moo, can’t you?”
“No.”
“Go on, moo-cow. Do a moo.”
Spider stood up. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” he said. “Look at my body: what’s all this fur covering my legs? How many furry cows have you seen? And… This is crazy! I thought you were from a foreign country, but I’m realizing now that you’re just rude.”
“What is he?” said a voice. “Was I right or wrong?”
Spider swung round. A second duck, that looked identical to the first, had approached from behind, and was gazing at him out of its left eye.
“He’s a great big fibber,” said the first. “He says he’s a dog.”
“Why?” asked the second.
“Who knows? Maybe he wants to be one.”
“He’s confused, all right.”
“He’s sick in the head.”
“He’s lost it.”
“Wow.”
The second duck put its beak close to Spider’s nose. “My advice, chum, is that you get your scraggy little arse away from our pond—whatever you are. This is a nice area, OK? This is a village green, and the only dogs who come round here come on leads. With their owners.”
“That’s who I’m looking for!” cried Spider. “I’m looking for my owner.”
“So you haven’t got one?” asked the first duck.
“Yes, I have!” said Spider.
“Where? You’ve been abandoned, cow-head! You’ve been kicked out of the nest, that’s for sure. I wonder why!”
Spider was lost for words.
The ducks clucked rudely, and the first one spun round and showed its bottom. It then made the most obscene noise the dog had ever heard—so unpleasant that Spider snapped at its tail feathers.
Both ducks reared up, flapping.
“Protected!” screamed the first, as Spider retreated.
“You monster!” hissed its mate. “We’re protected and looked after. We get fed! And what are you? On your own and homeless!”
“Peck his eyes out, Morris! Go!”
They came at him together, honking obscenities. Spider twisted to avoid them, but he was still stabbed hard in the ribcage—then in a more private place. He rolled over, yelping, and sprinted to the road.
When he looked back, the two ducks were quacking quietly to each other, as they touched wing tips in triumph. Spider limped off, shaken and bruised.
He followed a footpath into the darkness, and at length the track opened out to an allotment. He could go no further. All he wanted was shelter, so he could rest safely and sleep. Thankfully, that’s what he found, for there was a shed without a door and he crept into it, curling up at once on an old sack.
He tried to empty his mind of everything except Tom, and he lay there wondering if the boy might come to him in a dream. He remembered his old bed, and how he’d snuggle into the crook of Tom’s knees—the boy would stroke him gently, falling asleep as Spider guarded him. Where was he now? What if he’d been persuaded to settle for a cat? What if his father had found him a kitten to love? What if it was on the duvet at that very moment, purring happily as Tom leant down to scratch its simple, undemanding head? Spider closed his eyes and whined.
The dream he wanted didn’t come, and the night was a dark one.