There Is No Dog Page 9

  Lucy giggled and cupped her hand round his ear. ‘I could lose my job. But so far no one’s noticed.’

  Her warm breath aroused him. He turned his head to kiss her. ‘Never mind about the job. I’ll take care of you.’

  They sat like that for a long time and Lucy tipped over into a state of perfect happiness. This is what it’s like, she thought. This is how love feels, as if we’re the only two people in the world, perfectly attuned, hiding together, united against the elements while the whole world hovers. I will never, ever forget this moment.

  He kissed the crease of her elbow, closing it over his mouth.

  Outside, the night was soft and crystal clear. It had turned cold. Men and women wearing flimsy clothing hurried home through the streets, shivering and hugging themselves. Seen through the large front window of the restaurant, the sky glowed with the cold white light of stars. A few flakes of snow fell. The waiter threw open the windows and turned off the air-conditioner.

  Lucy gasped. ‘It’s happening again, look!’ The sky was filled with shooting stars. Bob sat back, smiling, while Lucy and the waiter leaned out and laughed like children. ‘What a night. What a strange day, and series of days, but what a wonderful glorious night. If the world were to end tonight, I wouldn’t complain a bit.’ Her voice trailed off.

  The waiter refused to charge them for the meal. Not on a night like this, he said. Bob and Lucy turned away from each other, shy to have been witnessed, and grateful too. Out on the street, Lucy shivered and Bob put his arm round her shoulders.

  ‘It’s heaven being cold. But strange.’

  ‘Come on, let’s find your rodent,’ said Bob.

  She looked at him. ‘You’d help me? But he could be anywhere.’

  Bob shrugged. ‘Can’t hurt to look. Come on,’ he said, ‘we’ll try. We’ll imagine ourselves lost capybaras and think where we’d go.’

  ‘We’ll never find him. They can swim like rats. And love to lie underwater with only their noses sticking out.’

  ‘OK, we’ll find a boat and search for noses.’

  Lucy beamed. ‘Really? You’re, you’re …’

  ‘A god among men?’

  ‘Yes.’ She laughed.

  ‘And you – are a goddess among women.’ He did not smile. It was too important.

  He found a boat, just where one should have been.

  ‘How do you do that?’ she asked.

  He shrugged again, helped her climb aboard and pushed off.

  ‘I’m a water nymph,’ she said, trailing one hand over the side of the rowboat, drunk with wine and admiration.

  They rowed through the entire flooded area below the zoo, peering into every little copse and shed, increasingly aware of the hopelessness of their mission. After an hour or so, every bobbing plastic bottle took the shape of a rogue snout, and the zig-zagging sweeps of the little boat turned ever more hilarious.

  ‘Let’s stop,’ Lucy said at last, choking with laughter after spending ten minutes chasing a plastic beer keg. ‘He could be anywhere. It’s impossible.’

  It wasn’t far to Lucy’s house.

  Bob tied up the boat and they clambered over on to her balcony, standing silent in front of the French doors, watching the sparkle of moonlight on water. Boats glided quietly past; they caught the occasional murmur of a far-off conversation. At the end of the road, a couple drifted by playing a strange duet on violin and penny whistle. Bob kissed her lips, felt the blood pulse warm in her, willing the moment to go on and on. They kissed again, trembling with the hesitance of disbelief. It was a kiss as pure as the first kiss in the history of the world. Behind them more stars fell from the sky.

  They kissed again, and then again, until Lucy at last pulled back while Bob hovered, anguished, incandescent, willing her to invite him in. For a moment she appeared to be bracing herself against a fierce wind, her expression woozy, her bones soft. But then she stiffened and gently pushed him away.

  ‘Not yet,’ she whispered, her expression soft and blurry with desire.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered back.

  Lucy closed her eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the air that contained his words. She needed to make it last, to extend desire, the wanting and not having, until the irresistible pull became stronger than any force on Earth. And then, she thought, we’ll come together and experience a consummation of love that will shimmer forever, as long as we both shall live.

  Bob shared Lucy’s passion, but his plans were more short-term.

  He wasn’t thinking of forever, of growing old with Lucy as his wife, sitting together on a bench in some windswept seaside town, her elderly swollen ankles in stout black shoes, distended knuckles resting on arthritic knees. Such visions meant nothing to him because he would always be exactly as he was now, despite the passage of time. His humans would change, grow old and die, disappear from Earth and be forgotten, while he went on the same.

  For this reason, it was the present that interested him, even in the deepest sincerest most passionate throes of love. Lucy now, not Lucy later. Of course he might have concluded the issue in a variety of non-legitimate ways, disappearing and reappearing in Lucy’s bedroom, making a slight alteration in the arrangement of time and space. But even Bob had the wit to recognize that no matter how it’s framed, rape is still rape – which besides falling morally short of suitable (as Mr B had explained to him, time and again) took most of the pleasure out of conquest. Besides, he loved her. And he wasn’t totally devoid of self-control. He could wait until next time, holding her image in his head. He didn’t want to wait, obviously, but he would.

  He sighed and met her eyes. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey, yourself. I really should go …’ She smiled. ‘Give me your number and I’ll text you tomorrow.’

  He shifted a little, looked away.

  ‘Where’s your phone?’ She’d pulled hers out, ready to record his number.

  ‘I don’t carry one.’

  ‘Landline, then.’

  He shook his head.

  She stared at him. ‘You’re living with someone.’

  ‘I am not.’ He dipped his head, looking up at her through his fringe, like a pony. ‘I just don’t … like … phones.’

  ‘Really.’ She felt sick.

  ‘Really! Truly.’

  Lucy frowned at him, doubtful, wanting to believe. ‘Wow,’ she said at last. ‘I thought everyone had a phone.’

  ‘I guess they do. But I’m not really like everyone …’

  ‘I think I noticed that.’ Staring at him, hands on hips, she looked suddenly formidable. ‘Swear to God you’re not living with someone?’

  What the hell. ‘Swear. Do I look married?’

  She hesitated. ‘No. You don’t look married.’

  He held out his palms to her and slowly she gave him her hands. They were cold.

  ‘Where do you live?’

  He has never shared this information. It is not as if he has had to register for tax, or have a newspaper delivered. Besides, his abode is, you might say, unfixed – in that he and Mr B have a tendency to move around quite a bit. As whim and necessity require it.

  When he looks up, Lucy is squinting at him. He can feel the importance of the moment. He exhales and says the address quickly, and she repeats it to herself, number twelve, mouthing the words slightly. She nods, as if this is all she requires to believe that he is real.

  Her shoulders dropped a fraction. ‘OK, so, carrier pigeons, then?’ There was still doubt in her voice, but he observed with joy that the crisis had passed.

  ‘I’ll have to find you in person. You can see the advantage.’

  He kissed her again. Slightly dazed, Lucy opened the door, hesitated, then pulled it shut behind her. He didn’t go, but stood gazing at her through the glass, while she watched the sky behind him, criss-crossed with trails of light.

  What a girl, thought Bob. What a g
irl.

  ‘She’s just a garden-variety God-bothering professional virgin,’ Mr B said, without looking up. ‘Please take your boots off in the house. And if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a transfer of attention from your loins to the worldwide meteorological situation.’ Peering through his spectacles he indicated the window, where water was now threatening to slosh over the windowsills. The respite had passed, and once again it was raining. ‘It’s past a joke.’

  Bob scowled. ‘It’s all my fault, is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes, that’s precisely what I’m saying. And if you’d be so good as to stop sulking, we might achieve some degree of improvement. Really, now, what could be simpler?’

  ‘You don’t understand, do you? You know I can’t just turn it off.’

  ‘But you could try, surely?’ He always managed to put on a pleasant face, despite the ache in his heart.

  ‘I am trying.’

  Very trying, thought Mr B.

  In the middle of the Pacific, tsunamis gained momentum. Tornadoes devastated Kansas and the eastern Chinese coastal province of Jiangsu. An upside-down rainbow had been spotted over Sicily. News updates reported snow falling on the Sahara desert. While right here at home, the temperature raced up and down between boiling and freezing and stars fell out of the sky more or less at random.

  And all because the Almighty had fallen head over heels in love with an assistant zookeeper. It wasn’t a joke, and would become less of a joke as the situation progressed. God falls in love; thousands die. Mr B couldn’t, in all conscience, leave Earth in such a state.

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing a file to Bob. ‘Some helpful hints on weather catastrophes around the world, and how to prevent them. If at all possible. If you would be so kind.’

  Bob snatched the file and stomped out without a word. But what about me, he thought. What about the fact that I’m in love? Doesn’t that matter more than these stupid jobs?

  Two hours later, Mr B leaned back in his chair, yawned and rubbed his eyes. The familiar throbbing ache had emerged above his left temple. Outside, occasional rumbles of thunder punctuated the steady drizzle.

  Mr B’s plan went along the lines of whisking his charge away to safety in a haze of smoochy bliss – after which the rain would stop and life would return to normal in time for him to wave goodbye to Bob and his miserable planet without a backwards glance. Of course it wouldn’t solve the problem for good. Life would only remain stable till the next drop-dead gorgeous waitress/tree surgeon/dog-walker caught Bob’s eye. But by then it would no longer be his problem.

  Thinking of Bob’s previous failed relationships, Mr B succumbed to a deep resignation. As the unwilling puppet master, he would tug gently on each string, controlling the movement of one foot, then another, pulling an arm back from a fondle that could endanger them both. He might cause a head to nod and a shoulder to shrug, but while he was concentrating on this, a sweaty hand might creep forward of its own volition to caress a tender length of thigh.

  And which one of them, on which end of the strings, could be considered less free?

  27

  Eck had determined to enjoy the last few weeks of his life, but was finding it increasingly difficult. Bob spent most of his time mooning over Lucy and Mr B worked all the time, so there was no one to nudge and joggle him out of his low spirits. In the past, he and Bob might play computer games together or watch a film; they’d had tournaments to see who could balance the most dinner plates on one finger or eat the most cake. Sometimes Bob showed him pictures of naked girls and asked which he liked best, but Eck couldn’t choose. He found short noses unattractive.

  Time seemed to be passing so quickly.

  On this day, he woke from a depressed doze to see Estelle waving at him through the window. At first his heart leapt to see her, but on second thoughts he approached with some trepidation. It was this girl’s father, after all, who planned to eat him. Perhaps her show of friendliness was merely a ruse. Perhaps her father had sent Estelle to nibble him first, to make sure sadness hadn’t made him bitter.

  But could the expression of kindness on her face be false? She held out her arms to him. ‘You seem thinner,’ she said, frowning.

  Despite being quite a suspicious Eck, he found it impossible to deny the inherent appeal of Estelle’s face, particularly in comparison with the other faces he knew. She didn’t smile at him in a threatening way, or a way that suggested she wanted something, or was just barely managing not to laugh at him. She smiled in a way that made him feel as if he were the creature she most wanted to see in the whole entire world.

  No one had ever looked at Eck in quite this way, and he was so moved by the experience that he forgot his suspicions and shuffled forward into her arms. He remembered how she had held him on the night of the terrible game, and screwed his eyes shut to erase the rest of the memory. He hadn’t known it was possible to experience so many intense feelings at once – misery, love, hunger, suspicion, excitement and of course the ever-present terror of mortality. The enormity of it made him quiver like a leaf.

  He lay still, eyes closed, while she explained about her absence and her travels, the places she’d been and the creatures she’d met, and then she stroked and tickled him, and spoke to him in her singy voice. It was only much later that she gently disengaged herself and reached for her large leather bag.

  The Eck scrambled up, eyes wide with alarm. Estelle’s bag looked exactly like the sort of thing you threw over the head of a man about to be hanged.

  ‘Here,’ she said, and handed it to him. ‘I brought you some things.’

  Trembling with dread, Eck peered into the horrible bag. On top was a cake and beside it a long sandwich stuffed with roast beef, pickles, tomatoes and cheese.

  Throughout his life, the Eck had dreamt constantly of being full – full of happiness, praise or kindness, yes – but most persistently, full of food. And now here, on this most inauspicious of days, Estelle appeared and offered as much sandwich as he could eat, followed by three cakes of perfect deliciousness, fresh scones with jam from a planet that specialized only in jam, a jar of celestial gherkins, pancakes rolled with exquisite condiments unknown in the Milky Way, fruit pies, and the sort of rich, creamy cheese Eck imagined one might eat in heaven. Even if the purpose of the snack was to fatten him up for the kill, it was still extremely nice.

  ‘Bob’s not here?’

  Eck shook his head. He was unable to tell whether she was pleased or disappointed, for her expression remained neutral.

  Conversation did not flow at first. Eck’s mouth was not designed to hold more than half a sandwich and it currently held three. His greed amused the girl, who offered him delicacy after delicacy. The sheer volume of food caused his cheeks to bulge and his eyes to roll back in his head. And all the time he ate, she told him tales of things he had never even thought to imagine. The sound of her voice thrilled him almost as much as the stories and, despite the depressing facts of his fate, he felt almost happy.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you,’ said the girl.

  The Eck nodded.

  ‘Now I’m back,’ she said. ‘And do you know why?’

  Eck examined the question from every angle. It seemed a bit risky to guess.

  Estelle looked at him, her expression steady. ‘It’s because I like you. And also because I’m extremely unhappy about my father’s bet.’

  Not as unhappy as I am, thought Eck.

  ‘I …’ She paused to select precisely the right words. ‘I am doing what I can to influence him. But in the meantime, I should like us to be friends.’

  Eck nodded, a bit uncertainly. He supposed that in the absence of a future, a friend might be nice.

  ‘Shall we go outside?’

  Eck drooped.

  ‘It’s all right – you’re allowed.’ She looked up and saw Mr B watching them from the doorway. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘We’re g
oing out for some air. Would you like to join us?’

  Yes, he would like to join them. The thought of passing a few hours drifting about in the company of Estelle was irresistible. But there was work to do. Always. Too much work. An infinity of work. So he declined, politely, with regret.

  As they went out, Estelle turned back to face Mr B. ‘Next time,’ she said.

  It sounded more like a plan than a query.

  She took Eck to the zoo, and despite the rain they spent a happy afternoon in the company of the penguins, who fascinated Eck the way monkeys fascinate small children. So similar and yet so different.

  When a keeper came past with a bucket of fish, Eck hid behind Estelle, though the keeper-girl didn’t look as if she were noticing much of anything beside her own thoughts.

  ‘Eck,’ Eck whispered to Estelle, and Estelle nodded. So, this was the girl Bob had fallen for. The nice girl from the café. What a shame. And what a small world Earth was, she thought, relieved that Lucy was too distracted to notice them. She doubted her description of Eck’s provenance would stand up to scrutiny a second time.

  When it came time to drop Eck off at home, the girl waylaid a possible bout of weeping by producing a slightly shop-worn pork chop from her coat pocket. Eck stretched his snout in its direction.

  ‘Do help yourself,’ she said.

  The creature helped himself. ‘Eck,’ he mumbled, and she saw big mingled tears of joy and sadness well up in his eyes. Long watery trails ran down to his chin.

  Estelle placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She would have loved to tell him not to worry, that it would all turn out fine, but she couldn’t be confident that it would. Her father was a particularly tricky individual. And she, it must be said, was distracted by her quest … for heaven knew what.

  Eck shook his head and snuffled her hands and arms; then with some deference, and when she seemed not to object, he licked her carefully with his long sticky tongue. She tasted of fresh limes and rainwater.