Underdog (12 page)

‘Whoa,’ he said as Jeffo finished off the water, his eyes and the tilt of his head asking for more. ‘Go easy. You’ll have the lot.’

Tom poured out a little more, saving the rest for later. He felt elated when Jeffo finished drinking and came to sit beside him; he was the finest dog Tom had ever seen. He swore to himself that no-one was ever going to take Jeffo away from him.

‘We’re going to have to find some water,’ he said. He ruffled the top of Jeffo’s head, only then noticing the dirt staining his white coat. ‘Get you cleaned up, too.’

Leaving his hand on Jeffo’s head, Tom tried to communicate his feelings through his fingertips, letting him know he was safe and loved. All he needed to do was keep Jeffo out of sight for a couple of days.

It was getting darker, and colder. Tom took his windcheater from the rucksack and put it on over his top. Shuffling closer, he put a protective arm around Jeffo and hugged him. They sat huddled together, hidden amongst the trees and long grass, looking back towards the barns and farmhouse as night began to fall. Tom took out one of his Mars Bars and broke it in half.

‘We can share this, Jeffo. Before we get moving.’

‘Why don’t you come in for a coffee?’ asked Keith. ‘Tom’d like to see you.’

‘That’d be nice,’ replied Sonia. She smiled at him. ‘It’s been really kind of you to drive me. I don’t know what I’d have done.’

‘I’m just glad that your mum seemed a bit better. She’s a fighter, that one.’

They turned the corner onto their street. The cars edging the pavements were tightly packed; having squeezed into what seemed to be the last available space, they got out of the car. Keith grabbed his jacket and toolbox from the back seat.

‘Keith,’ said Sonia, the tone of her voice suddenly concerned as they walked back to the house. ‘What’s happened there?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Look: your upstairs window. It’s been broken.’

Keith glanced up at the smashed pane in Tom’s bedroom window. He ran to the front door.

‘Stay there, Sonia, just in case,’ he said as he entered the house. ‘Tom?’ he called. ‘Tom? Are you there?’

There was no reply. Everything seemed in order, though: the front room was undisturbed and the kitchen just as he left it, radio still on. Making his way cautiously up the stairs, he pushed open Tom’s door: the room was empty. When he checked the broken window, he noticed the blood edging the glass, spotting the windowsill. Specks dotted the floor all the way to the bathroom. The basin was clean.

‘Sonia,’ he shouted down the stairs. ‘It’s alright, you can come in. It must’ve been Tom.’

Sonia stepped into the hallway, waiting by the door until Keith came downstairs, his face a picture of worry.

‘It was broken from the inside,’ he said as he followed her into the kitchen. ‘He must’ve cut himself. There’s blood on the floor. God knows what he’s done.’

‘What’s this?’ she said, picking up the note on the table and handing it to him. Keith started reading:

As he passed the note back to Sonia, Keith noticed a second sheet of paper pinned to the door of the fridge. He pulled it free: the name and address weren’t familiar to him.

‘He must have smashed the window after I went out last night,’ he said, mostly to himself. ‘I shouldn’t have left him like that. Shouldn’t have shouted.’

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ said Sonia, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. ‘He probably just needs some space at the moment. It’s only natural after a bust-up. Thank goodness he’s alright.’

‘Maybe I should go and have a look for him?’ He nodded at the piece of paper in his fist. ‘What if this “Stevo” is the friend he’s helping?’

 ‘It’s getting late now, Keith,’ Sonia reminded him. ‘Call in the morning. If he’s with friends he’ll be okay. Give him some space.’

She felt to blame. If only her car had started … Now Keith looked lost sitting in his chair, and she was concerned about leaving him. She wanted to put her arms around him and let him know that everything would be alright.

‘I’ll stay over if you like,’ she offered, filling the kettle without waiting for his answer. ‘We’ll hear something tomorrow. In the morning, I’m sure.’

‘Would you mind? It’d be good having you here.’

‘Of course not.’ She made the tea and handed a cup to Keith.

‘I could do with something stronger,’ he said, his face downcast.

‘It wouldn’t help,’ said Sonia. ‘And Tom might need you.’

The clapping of a pheasant’s wings woke Jeffo. He opened his eyes, instantly alert, looking up as he tried to locate the bird flying through the trees, his ears following its path until the sound drifted into silence. He rose up onto his feet, the dew covering his body making the breeze feel cold about him. The morning was misty, shaded lightest green over the forest floor. Tall and densely packed ash, poplar and birch rose up from a blanket of ferns and bramble, the canopy partly obscuring a pink dawn sky beyond.

Jeffo shook himself until the last of the wet leaves sticking to his belly fell to the ground. He looked down at Tom, nestled in the groundsheet, asleep under the cover of a fallen tree. They had walked for hours once night had fallen, leaving the orchard at the top of the hay field to wander through the countryside, trekking over fields, across deserted country lanes, eventually coming to the edge of the forest. Tightening his grip on Jeffo’s lead, Tom had switched on his torch, its beam illuminating a faint trail that drew them ever deeper into the darkness.

Another bird darted through the branches overhead. Instinctively, Jeffo wanted to set off after it, but something stopped him. He glanced back over his shoulder, turned, and licked Tom’s cheek. Tom grimaced drowsily as he rolled over, freeing the lead from under him.

Jeffo’s ears pricked as he sensed movement behind them. He spun round, a soft growl deep in his throat. There was another rustling sound; this time, he couldn’t stop himself. He broke into a run and was gone.

When Tom awoke, the first thing he noticed was the scorched dark circle where their campfire had been. It was cold and he brought his knees up to his chest, reaching for Jeffo, patting the ground at his side. Sitting up with a start, he threw back the groundsheet: no sign of him.

‘Jeffo!’ he called out. ‘Jeffo! Jeffo!’

All he could see was trees, and more trees. His mind raced: should he pack up everything and go look for him, or stay put and hope he came back? Tom scolded himself for not having tied Jeffo’s lead to him, making sure he couldn’t get away. He was foolish to have been so overconfident.

‘JEFFO!’

Tom called until he was hoarse. There were no clues as to which way he might have gone, the undergrowth too thick to leave any discernible tracks. Everything looked the same, every view obscured by dense forest. Gathering up the groundsheet, Tom hurriedly stuffed it into his rucksack along with everything else. He gritted his teeth, forced back the tears.

But even as he wiped a hand across his eyes, he thought he caught a glimpse of something between his fingers, through the trees. For a moment, he lost sight of it, but there it was again, coming forward at speed: a flash of white. Tom breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Jeffo!’ he shouted excitedly. ‘Here! Come on, boy.’

Jeffo bounded through the scrub, his lead trailing behind him.

Tom dropped the rucksack and knelt down, his arms outstretched. Jeffo ran straight into them, hardly bothering to slow himself down, knocking Tom backwards. His tail wagged itself into a blur as they rolled over and he tried to get his muzzle to Tom’s face.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ said Tom, pushing Jeffo back and wiping the slobber from his cheeks. ‘Where’ve you been?’ Jeffo’s face and muzzle were dusted with a fine covering of soft brown dirt. ‘Been trying to find us some breakfast?’

Reaching for his rucksack, Tom emptied a tin of dog food into the pan and unwrapped the remaining half of a ham and cheese sandwich for himself.

‘You gave me a real fright there,’ he said, taking a bite. ‘I thought you weren’t coming back.’

Jeffo glanced up at Tom for a moment, smacking his chops, it seemed, somewhat incredulously. He returned to his breakfast.

No longer able to ignore the itching beneath his bandages, Tom undid the safety pin and began to carefully unwind them. The strips of plaster under the dressing were bloodied and moist, barely sticking to the weeping scab. Pulling the strips off one by one, he tried to clench his hand into a fist, but the wound was still too tender.

The sound of a distant car horn broke the silence, its suddenness startling both of them. Tom looked around warily, imagining Stevo’s dad and his mate in their car, already after them. The expression on their faces as the cat was killed flooded his thoughts and scared him; despite being well hidden and alone in the forest, Tom suddenly felt unsafe.

 ‘Come on, Jeffo,’ he said, gathering the lead in his hand. ‘Let’s go.’

Keith picked up the receiver as he drank down the last of his coffee. He tapped out the number written on the note, letting it ring over and over.

‘No answer,’ he said, putting the phone back down. ‘I’ll have to try it again when we get back.’

It was another disappointment. Keith had a gut feeling that, whoever ‘Stevo’ was, he’d know something of Tom’s whereabouts. He looked over at the clock. It was almost nine.

‘You ready then, Sonia?’

‘I’ll just wash out these bowls,’ she said, running the hot tap. ‘I don’t think they open up until nine-thirty. We’ll be there in good time.’

It was warm outside when they left the house, a mugginess to the air as the sun fought to penetrate the thin covering of cloud. Keith had barely gone three paces when he felt the sweat prickling his forehead.

‘It’s going to be blistering again,’ he said as he unlocked the car and opened the passenger door.

‘Stormy, too, I reckon,’ Sonia added, getting in. ‘Sultry. A day like this is bound to end in rain.’

Distracted as he was, when they arrived at the butcher’s, Keith made a point of opening the shop door for her as well. Summoned by its ringing bell, Sam hurried through the fly curtains.

‘Good morning, Mrs. Shelland,’ he said cheerily, taking his place behind the counter. ‘Long time, no see. What can I get you?’

‘Actually, we were wondering if we could talk to you about Tom,’ replied Sonia, placing her hand on Keith’s shoulder as a way of introducing him. ‘This is Tom’s father, Keith White.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Sam. He thrust out his hand and Keith shook it. ‘How can I help?’

‘I just wanted to find out if Tom was in yesterday.’

‘He was here,’ said Sam. ‘Not much use with that cut on his hand, mind. Spent most of his time on the till.’

‘He’d cut himself?’ asked Keith.

‘That’s right. Said he’d done it on his bike.’

‘It wasn’t bad, was it?’

‘It wasn’t pretty, but we managed to get it bandaged up. It wasn’t bothering him much. Not that he’d let on, I’m sure.’ Sam could see that Keith was concerned. ‘No need to worry yourself. He was fine. He’s been doing well.’

‘That’s a relief,’ muttered Keith. ‘He didn’t say where he was going, did he?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Sam. ‘His mate Stevo came for him. He seemed happy enough when they left; but then, I had just paid him. Not in any trouble, is he?’

‘No, nothing like that.’ Keith smiled weakly. ‘I wasn’t sure who he was with, that’s all. I’ve got a number for Stevo. He must still be with him. I’ll ring when I get home. Thanks for your help.’ They made their goodbyes and left the shop.

When they got back to the house, Keith looked up at Tom’s broken bedroom window. The sight of it immediately made him feel guilty.

‘He must’ve been damn lucky,’ he said as he unlocked the door and Sonia followed him into the house. ‘He could’ve really hurt himself this time. I’ve got to sort myself out.’

Sonia filled the kettle as Keith sat down at the kitchen table. He picked up Stevo’s note and dialled.

‘Still no luck?’ she asked as she made the tea.

‘No. Nothing.’

There was a knock at the front door. Keith jumped up, hoping it might be Tom, but he could see as he walked down the hallway that the outline behind the frosted glass was too large.

The dark-haired man turned as Keith opened the door. Behind him on the pavement slouched a sulky looking youth, holding onto the handlebars of what looked like Tom’s bike.

‘Can I help you?’ asked Keith.

‘Reckon you can, mate,’ said the man, staring directly at him. A long scar ran down his forehead toward his cold eyes. They remained fixed on Keith as he spoke to the youth. ‘Bring that up here. Now.’

As the boy wheeled the bike up the path, Keith noticed the bruised swelling around his right eye.

‘This your lad’s bike?’ asked the man.

‘Yeah, I think it is. Where did you find it?’

‘Somewhere it shouldn’t have been.’

‘And Tom?’

‘Well, that’s the question, ain’t it,’ said the man coolly. ‘I don’t know where your boy is, but I got to find him, see? Sounds like you do, too. He’s got something of mine.’ The corners of his top lip curled. ‘And I want it back.’

‘What do you mean, he’s got something of yours? Who are you? Why’ve you got my boy’s bike?’

‘’Cos he’s a thieving little bastard, that’s why.’

Keith was about to protest, when the man stepped closer, so close that Keith could smell the stale smoke on his breath. He wasn’t much taller, but bigger and fitter, his expensive-looking white shirt stretched across his muscular torso.

‘He’s nicked one of my dogs. Not any old dog either,’ the man said, measuring his words. ‘I’m meant to be selling it on Friday night and I want it fucking back, get it? So you’re telling me you don’t even know where the little shite has got to?’

He peered over Keith’s shoulder into the house, as though he was half expecting to see Tom and the dog standing in the hallway.

‘Steady on,’ Keith warned him. ‘That’s my boy you’re talking about. How do you know he’s taken your dog?’

‘’Cos dickhead here,’ said the man, nodding to the boy beside him, ‘took your kid somewhere he shouldn’t have. Somewhere private. Then I find my dog’s gone and your kid’s left his bike as fucking evidence. Don’t take a genius to work it out, does it?’

‘Look,’ said Keith, ‘I don’t know anything about a dog, and I don’t know where Tom is. He left for work early yesterday morning and I haven’t seen him since.’

Without warning, the man punched him in the stomach. The shock of pain sucked the air out of him and his legs crumbled. He sank to the floor, clutching his gut.

‘Not good enough,’ said the man, glancing up to see Sonia storming out of the kitchen towards them. A grin spread over his face. ‘This one’ll tell you who I am. Won’t you, love?’

‘Oh, I know who you are.’ Sonia scowled as she helped Keith up, never taking her eyes off the man in front of them. ‘Callum Hodder. And I know
what
you are, too. What are you doing here? What’s going on?’

‘He says Tom’s taken one of his dogs,’ gasped Keith, his anger and embarrassment tempered by his need to find out more about Tom. He glared at Cal with contempt. ‘Says he’s found Tom’s bike.’

‘Well, what kind of proof is that?’

‘It’s all the fucking proof I need,’ said Cal, jabbing Stevo in the ribs with his elbow. ‘Tell them. Tell them how you were with him.’

‘Yeah,’ said the boy, lifting his head, the beating to his face more visible. ‘I picked him up from his work and we went into town. He liked the dogs so I took him up to—’

‘Shut it,’ Cal barked at him. Turning his attention back to Keith and Sonia, his tone was softer, almost friendly. ‘All I want is the dog, see? Your boy’s been round and nicked it from me. He’s had his fun; now it’s time to give it back. No need for anything to get nasty. Get it back to me no later than Friday morning and there’s nothing more to be said.’ Cal leaned in closer, narrowing his eyes to slits and baring his teeth. ‘Don’t get the dog back and you and your kid are in the shit, mate. Deep and fucking dirty. Got it?’

 Sonia could feel Keith tensing beside her.

‘You’re a good-for-nothing bastard, Cal Hodder,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘One of these days someone’s going tear that smile right off your face. The sooner the better.’

‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sort it.’ Cal took out a piece of paper and stuffed it into Keith’s shirt pocket, slapping him hard on the chest to make sure of it. ‘You see your boy, you give me a call, right? And you better hope you find them before I do.’

Cal turned, kicking over the bike as he went, his heavy boot bending the spokes on the front wheel. He shoved Stevo back out onto the pavement and they headed off down the road to their car.

‘Friday,’ Cal shouted without bothering to look back. ‘Don’t let me down.’

‘Are you alright?’ fretted Sonia as she helped Keith back down the hallway. He was still visibly winded from Cal’s sucker punch.

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ he lied. ‘Who the hell
was
that?’

‘Cal Hodder?’ Sonia’s voice brimmed with loathing. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him. You can’t be messing around with someone like that, Keith. He’s a nasty piece of work.’

‘Sodding bastard,’ Keith spat. It had been a long time since anyone had dared hit him and got away with it. ‘Why would Tom want to steal his dog?’

‘I don’t know. It’s true he’s got dogs, though. He’s well known on the estates for it. Breeds them as wild as he is, I shouldn’t wonder.’ The more she spoke, the more anxious she became. ‘He’s got a bad reputation round here, Keith. The dogs are just a side line. Drugs is his thing. There’s no end to the stories; he’s put enough people into hospital over the years to see to that. He almost did for someone, years back. Should have gone to prison for it, ’cept he warned the family off. They were soon gone, I can tell you.’

‘How can Tom have got himself mixed up with someone like that?’ Keith felt as stunned by what he was hearing as he had been by the punch. Then things started adding up. ‘That kid was Stevo, wasn’t he? The one he was with yesterday.’

‘More than likely,’ Sonia nodded. ‘Either way, it’s bad news, Keith. We need to find Tom and get him and that dog back safe.’

Jeffo was panting, his tongue dangling out of the side of his mouth as he stepped through the undergrowth, the shade of the trees doing little to shield them from the heat of the day. Tom was thirsty too, and he stopped for a moment, taking out the water and a can of coke from his rucksack. He drank the coke down quickly, the warm fizz unpleasant as it quenched the dryness in his mouth. He tossed the empty can to the ground.