5

Tom stepped carefully. The lines were a confusing tangle, but he walked along the sleepers as quickly as he dared. Any minute, he’d be spotted and someone would raise the alarm—he knew he was trespassing, and he knew he was taking a suicidal risk. One slip, and he’d be roasted: he’d been told that if you touched a live rail, your flesh would stick to it, sizzling. To give up now, though, was unthinkable. Spider had to be close.

The line he was following divided, and at last he saw a freight train.

Was it the right one? It was some way off, and had come to rest between two derelict platforms. The low wagon at the end was flat and bare, and he had the sense that he’d been hallucinating again, for it looked as if the train had never moved. It might have been sitting for ever in its own little wasteland. Wild grass grew high, and there was an ominous silence, as if all the birds had taken flight. He reached the wagon and clambered up on to it. There were warehouses further along, and “Keep Out” notices had been screwed to a long, collapsing fence. Razor wire glinted in the sunshine, but there were holes everywhere—a dog could easily get through. Tom knew he had to keep going.

He dropped to his knees and found a gap the width of his shoulders. Half a minute later, he had squirmed his way on to a building site. A bulldozer sat quietly, without a driver. Beyond it stood the structure it had been demolishing: a huge carcass of cracked walls and empty windows and a caved-in roof. There was a crane with a wrecking ball—that too was still and lifeless.

Tom whistled, but it wasn’t the kind of whistle that carried.

“Spider!” he cried—and he realized how long it had been since he’d shouted the name.

He called again, at the very top of his voice, “Come on, boy! Spider?”

 

Spider turned, and found his tail was wagging. He’d jumped off the wagon long before it had reached the warehouse, for what he wanted was the railway station. Moonlight had led the way, and they had reached it minutes before Tom’s train arrived. This time, the platform was full of red and black blazers, and Spider barked in delight. They were worn by genuine schoolchildren, and the golden lions were clear to see. Buster and Moonlight hung back anxiously as Spider ran among them, skipping from group to group like a sheepdog. He pushed his way through, revisiting certain clusters in dismayed disbelief: Tom simply wasn’t there.

He scampered back to his friends, for he was attracting far too much attention. Buster felt his frustration, but pushed him back into a quiet corner.

“Calm yourself down,” she said. “We’re closer than ever—we must be.”

“I don’t know,” whimpered Spider. “Was that really him on the motorbike? If it was, then he wasn’t at school.”

“How could it have been?” said the flea. “Let’s keep to the side—everyone’s looking at us.”

“You know, darling,” said Moonlight. “I’ve had an idea. Why don’t we just go back home and wait for him there? He’s bound to turn up sooner or later, and we might even get some dinner.”

Spider barked in frustration.

“How can I?” he cried.

“Cat,” snarled Buster, “he doesn’t know where home is. That’s why we’re looking for the wretched school!”

“But it’s just round the corner,” said Moonlight.

“Where?” Spider asked. “What do you mean?”

The cat sat down and licked her paw. “Your little house. The place we met, when you followed me on to the roof and opened your heart. It’s close to the park, isn’t it?”

Spider nodded. “Yes, very close.”

“It’s five minutes from here, angel. Do you want me to show you?”

“Moonlight,” said Buster, “are you serious?”

The cat blinked. “Of course,” she said. “I should have thought of it before, really.”

Spider moved in front of her and put his nose close to hers. He was panting. “Don’t play games,” he said. “Are you telling me that you could lead me home to Tom? Is that what you’re saying?”

The cat’s eyes were wide. “Why, yes,” she said.

“You’re positive?”

“Of course.”

“Then why didn’t you say so ages ago?” cried the flea.

“Nobody asked. You were talking about getting to the station, so I thought you had a plan.”

“Moonbeam, you’re a menace!” roared Buster, snarling furiously.

“We’re looking for this dog’s owner, yes?”

“Little Tom, of course—”

“So get that stump of a tail in gear! Get your skinny arse moving and get this dog home. Now!”

The pit bull snapped at Moonlight’s bottom, and she leapt into the air, yowling. She cringed as the pit bull glared, but managed to turn primly and put her nose in the air. Seconds later, she was trotting across the station concourse towards the exit, and the others were right behind her.

Five minutes after that, Spider recognized his first landmark: a pair of iron gates stood wide open, revealing an expanse of green grass. They entered the park together and sprinted to the far side. Spider now knew exactly where he was, and identical gates let him out across a road. He was soon in a labyrinth of alleyways, and he could have negotiated them with his eyes closed. He was leading now, though Moonlight was next to him. He was whining, too, unable to help himself, for he could smell rich, familiar smells. Suddenly he was passing the first door on his very own street! The white door was next to it, and they reached the house that smelt of spices, which joined on to the boarded-up shop. And there it was, at last: the home he’d so stupidly abandoned. He looked up at its peeling yellow paintwork, and his heart jolted painfully. He’d caught his first scent of Tom.

Above his head was a poster, pinned above the knocker, and Spider saw himself in the arms of his master.

“Oh,” Spider said, trembling again. “Buster, look!”

“There it is,” said the pit bull. “He wants you back, pal—you were dead right. He’ll be in there now, waiting for you. You’ve made it.”

Spider’s mouth was dry. He was feeling faint, so he sat down in front of the door and scratched at the wood. Within seconds, he was up again, with his nose through the letter box, barking loudly.

Buster joined him, and Moonlight jumped on to the front room’s window sill to stare through the glass.

Nobody answered.

“Stop,” said the flea. “You’ll get us arrested.”

“He must be in there,” cried Spider. “School’s finished—we saw that.”

He yelped twice, but this time he was aware of the unsettling quiet. His cries echoed in the empty hallway and were swallowed by silence.

“Is there any other way in?” asked the flea.

Spider swallowed. “Only one,” he said. “The skylight.”

“I’ll go,” said the cat. “It’s quite a climb, but I’ll do my best. Wish me luck, darling, and wait for me…”