One Dog and His Boy

14 Nini

Greystoke House was a big stone building on the outskirts of Todcaster. From the street it looked forbidding and grim, but inside the walls had been painted in bright colours. There was a nursery full of toys, and a room where the older children watched TV. Mrs Platt, the house mother who was in charge, was a fat and friendly lady who did her best to be motherly. All the same, to the children who lived there, waiting to be placed with foster parents, it was still “The Home”, a place in which no one wanted to stay longer than they needed.

The small girl who sat up in bed on the morning that the circus opened in Todcaster had no interest in being fostered. She seemed to have no interest in anything. She was a beautiful child with huge dark eyes, thick jet-black hair and golden skin, but she lived in a closed world which nobody could reach.

She had come from an Indonesian island, a place of great beauty with lush forests, crystal rivers and mountains shaped like big green cones, but a place too of sudden earthquakes and terrifying landslides. Nini’s family had died in one of these, and she had been taken to an orphanage to be cared for by nuns.

It was a peaceful place set in the grounds of a temple where the monks prayed and chanted, and the little dogs who guarded them sat on the stone steps keeping evil spirits at bay.

Then one day a rich businessman and his wife had come to the island for a holiday, seen the little girl playing quietly under a jacaranda tree and decided to adopt her and bring her back to England.

For the first few months that Nini was with them they were delighted with their pretty daughter and dressed her beautifully and showed her off to their friends. But then they found that the little girl did not learn to speak English as quickly as they hoped – in fact she did not speak at all. They took her to a doctor and another and another and were given a lot of names for what might be the matter with Nini, but no one could tell them what to do. She was not deaf, and she could see perfectly well, but she was enclosed in a world of her own.

Then one day when she had spent the whole day being tested in a hospital, Nini had a terrifying tantrum.

“They do that in the East,” a friend had said. “It’s called running amok.”

This was too much for the couple who had wanted a pretty, prattling doll, and they took her to the Children’s Welfare Centre and said they couldn’t keep her. Since then she had been in Greystoke House, not misbehaving, not being difficult, just not really being there at all.

Now she got out of bed and ran along the corridor, moving as lightly as a little ghost, and into the room where the older boys slept, and pulled at the duvet on the bed nearest the door.

Mick woke, saw who it was, and sat up.

“Today’s the circus, Nini. We’re going to the circus,” he repeated.

He was a tough Geordie with ginger hair, freckles and a cheerful open face. His grandfather had been a coalminer till the closure of the pits. For some reason Mick had become Nini’s protector and the only person of whom she took any notice. “It’ll be good,” he went on. “There’ll be horses and acrobats and clowns.”

But Nini did not answer, only looked at him. He might have been telling her about a visit to the dentist. Mick sighed and reached for his clothes.

Greystoke House was not far from the common where the circus was encamped. The children walked there, shepherded by plump Mrs Platt and a nursery assistant called Doreen. They danced along, excited by the treat to come. Only Nini, clutching Mick’s hand, walked along in silence.

The circus was gearing up for the start. On a platform outside the big top a small man with a moustache was juggling a mass of coloured balls. Another man in spangled tights was beating a big drum.

“Come and see Henry’s Circus, the eighth wonder of the world!” he shouted.

The Greystoke children were early. They filed into the front row. Mick sat down next to a boy of about his own age, with a white dog on his knee. Nini was beside him. Her legs, too short to reach the ground, stuck out in front of her.

“It’s going to start,” Mick told her.

But nothing moved in the beautiful mask-like face.

Hal, holding on to Fleck, was sick with nerves. In half an hour The Dog Family Murgatroyd would do their turn, and if it went wrong they would be banished from the circus. All the same, he turned to smile at the boy who had just come in with a group of children and was sitting next to him. He had ginger hair and looked friendly.

The house lights dimmed, the band struck up. Mr Henry, in his ringmaster’s clothes, cracked his whip.

The procession came first. The horses, the clowns, the tumblers and acrobats, Pauline’s Parrots all sitting on her shoulders. There was a burst of clapping – and the show began.

The Texas Terrors galloped in first – a string of horses ridden bareback by three men who leapt from one gleaming back to the other… The Dainty Danielas – a group of girls in shining costumes who climbed on one another’s shoulders and threw each other up in the air… The Comedy Horse, a pony who followed his master round the ring trying to get sugar lumps out of his pockets… A stupendous display on the high wire with men and women pretending to push each other off…

Hal was holding his breath. The time had come. Fleck whined once and Hal shushed him.

“And, now Elsa’s Fabulous Dogs in ‘The Murgatroyd Family Go to Their Wedding’,” announced the ringmaster.

The clowns came on first. They wheeled in a huge bath filled with water, and carried buckets and a ladder. They were trying to get ready for the wedding feast, but everything kept going wrong. The legs came off the table they were scrubbing; the balloons they were trying to blow up burst in their faces or floated out of reach; one of the clowns fell backwards into the bath…

A tent with a big notice on it saying “The Church” had been put up near the entrance, and Rupert appeared and sat in front of it in his bow tie and silk waistcoat. Another lot of clowns came in on stilts, carrying trays of wobbling jellies and coloured streamers in which they got entangled, and they threshed about and pretended to cry.

And now, to a fanfare from the band, the cart pulled by Otto made its entry.

Otto was wretchedly nervous but Francine had given him a good talking-to and he managed to trot steadily three-quarters of the way round the ring. Li-Chee in his little bonnet and Honey in her frilly hat sat in their seats, but Francine was standing up on her hind legs. With her white wreath and the enthusiastic little yaps she gave, she was obviously an eager bride.

But now something happened which the children had not bargained for. The audience broke into a storm of clapping and as the sound grew louder, Otto began to tremble. He had faced all sorts of dangers in Switzerland, climbing up rock faces and plunging into dangerous crevasses to rescue trapped climbers, but this noise was horrible; it was not to be borne. His eyes rolled and he stopped dead.

And Li-Chee, who would have done anything for Otto, jumped down from the cart with his bonnet askew and reappeared beneath Otto’s legs. He meant only to reassure his friend, but it looked as though he was trying to pull the cart, and everybody laughed. Not at the clowns now, but at the gallant little dog.

It was at this moment that Mick turned in amazement to the little girl beside him. Nini was leaning forward intently, her whole face alight, her eyes fixed in wonder at the Peke.

In the ring, no one, for a moment, knew what to do. Otto was standing stock-still, his head hanging. There was no way he was going to pull the cart as far as the church.

And once again it was Francine, that old trouper, who took over. She leapt from the cart but she did not run towards her bridegroom. She charged in the other direction, making noises of terror. She had changed the plot and become a dog who did not want to be married, who wanted to be free – and Rupert caught on at once. He jumped to his feet and gave chase, barking angrily – a bridegroom who wasn’t going to be done out of his bride.

The two poodles rolled over together, but Francine escaped and ran up a ladder, and took a flying leap into the arms of one of the clowns. Rupert followed her. But now the clowns understood the game. They pretended to catch Francine; they grabbed her and lost her and hit their foreheads in despair. Round and round the ring went the fleeing bride, between the legs of the clowns, flying over the table, hiding behind the bath, yelping in mock terror – and round and round went Rupert, the thwarted bridegroom, following her trick for trick.

The slapstick grew wilder and wilder. The clowns stepped into the buckets, fell on the balloons and burst them… Li-Chee left Otto and joined in, yapping at the top of his voice.

Meanwhile, Fleck, on Hal’s lap, had been getting more and more excited. All his friends were down there and he wanted desperately to be brave and join them but he couldn’t quite do it. Then, in a sudden burst of courage, he jumped off Hal’s knee, leapt over the barrier – and landed in the bath of water. For a moment he paddled up and down, then he scrambled out, shook himself, and joined in the chase.

But now came Honey. She was, after all, the mother and she couldn’t bear the mess and muddle any longer. She leapt from the cart, still in her frilly hat, and began trying to herd the clowns, the dogs, the balloons – everything she could see – towards the exit.

Round and round they went, Francine and Rupert in the lead, then Li-Chee, Fleck and Otto with the cart. And round and round went the clowns.

But they still hadn’t left the ring and Honey now called on all her old sheepdog skills. She turned and ran in the other direction to meet Francine, her runaway daughter, head on. The music grew to a crescendo, everyone disappeared through the exit – and the lights went out.

And the audience roared and stamped and clapped and cheered, while behind the scenes, Mr Henry and George looked at each other and grinned.

Performing dogs are valuable, but dog clowns are pure gold.

“Well, we did it,” said Pippa triumphantly. “I reckon we can stay till Berwick and then it’s hardly any distance to your grandparents’. Even if they do something quite different next time, Mr Henry won’t send us away.”

They had taken the dogs back to the lorry and were helping out in the tent where the performing animals were housed. For a small sum the audience could visit them in their cages after the show.

“Excuse me.” Hal turned to find the ginger-haired boy who’d been sitting next to him.

Clutching his hand was the tiny girl with jet-black hair. “I was wondering if there was any chance of seeing the little dog that tried to pull the cart. The Peke. She’s nutty about him.”

Nini looked up. “Small dog,” she said.

“I think she’s seen dogs like that where she came from. Temple dogs they were, guarding the monks and chasing away evil spirits and all that stuff. But it’s amazing because she’s never taken notice of anything up till now. I’ve got permission from our house mother, as long as we’re not too long. She’s taken the others to look at the liberty horses.”

“Small dog,” repeated Nini, who never spoke.

“He’s in the lorry with the others – just across the grass,” said Hal. “Come on, we’ll show you.”

They were greeted by a chorus of friendly barks. Mick lifted Nini up on to the hay bales and she disappeared into the huddle of dogs. When they looked at her again, they saw something unexpected. Nini had not picked up Li-Chee or hugged him. She was sitting cross-legged in front of him, not touching him, murmuring to him in her own language while Li-Chee stood very still, his face lifted respectfully up to hers. It was obvious that he understood every word.

“You can’t imagine what a thing this is,” said Mick, and in a few words he gave them Nini’s history.

The children had moved a little way away, giving Nini as long as they could. They were talking quietly, beginning to make friends, when two stable lads came past.

“Look at this,” said one. “Here on page two.” There was a rustle of pages being turned. “That’s the spit an’ image of the boy with the white dog. The one that’s staying with Bill and Myra. Don’t tell me it isn’t.”

The children, hidden by the side of the lorry, froze into silence.

The other lad whistled through his teeth. “‘Twenty-thousand-pound reward for news of him,’ it says. It can’t be the same boy.”

“Maybe not. But it looks like him and it’s worth a chance. The phone number’s here.”

The men moved away out of earshot. Mick, looking at Hal and Pippa, saw the shock on their faces.

“I don’t want to pry, but if there’s anything I can do to help?” he said. “I mean if you’re on the run or something.” And as the children exchanged glances, he said, “You don’t have to explain, I’ll help you just the same. It makes no odds to me.”

Hal only hesitated for a moment. The redheaded boy was probably quite as much in need of twenty thousand pounds as the circus lad. But Hal felt certain that Mick was to be trusted, that he was honest and truthful and brave. He said, “Yes, maybe you could help. We’ll have to leave here at once, but we don’t really know where we are or anything. We ought to hide somewhere overnight, I suppose, and then start off at dawn.”

Pippa looked at him, frowning. It was usually she who made the decisions – and they knew nothing about the boy.

“You can spend the night at our place,” said Mick. “There’s a big boiler room in the basement. No one goes there. I know where the key is. I’ll get it and get some food down there and blankets. There’s only Mrs Platt at night and she sleeps like a top.”

“Would you really?” said Hal. “I think that might work. But how do we get to you? Did you come in a bus?”

Mick shook his head.

“We walked. It’s only twenty minutes from here. I’ll draw you a map.”

“What about the other children?” asked Pippa. “Can you trust them not to give us away?”

Mick said, “Yes.”

They left a note for George. It was hard lying to someone who had been so helpful but there was nothing else to do. The note said that Aunt Elsa had got in touch and told them that she couldn’t manage to get north because her brother-in-law was in hospital, so they were taking the overnight bus back to London. Fortunately Bill and Myra had gone out to the cinema, so the children were able to say goodbye by letter, and to thank them for all they had done.

Then they gathered up their belongings and went to fetch the dogs.

At first all went well. The dogs liked the idea of a late-night walk. They noticed that Pippa had strapped on her haversack and Hal carried his holdall, and both of them wore their anoraks. For Fleck and Otto and Li-Chee and Honey this meant that they were off on another adventure and they were ready for it.

But not Francine. Francine knew that they were leaving. Leaving the circus – and leaving Rupert.

She sat down where she was. She threw back her head and she howled. It was the most desperate and forlorn sound the children had ever heard. And from George’s camper where he now slept, Rupert replied and came to her.

What followed was almost unbearable. The poodles stood together in the dusk; their bodies so close that they might have been one thing. They did not bark or complain; they only shivered as sorrow gripped them.

Hal and Pippa watched, and the other dogs too. Could they force Francine away? She loved the life of the circus, and she loved Rupert. It was a proper enduring passion, they knew that.

Yet could they go on without her? This flight was an adventure they all shared.

The two poodles still stood like statues. No one else existed for them. Otto took a few steps towards them and then stopped. He and Francine had been friends for a long time, but he did nothing. Francine would have to decide this for herself.

“Come on, Hal,” said Pippa, who could bear it no longer. “We have to get on. She’s got a right to stay.”

They turned and made their way slowly over the trampled grass. They had reached the entrance to the circus when Francine gave a last, heart-rending howl. Then she turned away from Rupert and raced after them.