The Dog Who Saved the World. Ross Welford

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СКАЧАТЬ lucky my watch isn’t broken,’ she said to me, in her strange, low-pitched American accent. Then she added, ‘You’re the two I saw a few weeks ago, aren’t you?’

      I nodded. ‘I … I’m sorry about your wrist. Is it OK?’

      ‘No, of course it’s not OK. It hurts like heck and there’s a great big scratch on the crystal of my watch.’

      ‘I’m very sorry.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah, so you said. I get it. You’re sorry. Jeez, is that dog gonna eat the whole darn thing? It sure looks like it.’ Her huge white Afro bobbed as she talked. She stretched her sinewy neck to peer at me and I think I squeaked in surprise when I saw her unusual pale blue eyes: I don’t think I’d ever seen a black person with eyes like that and it was difficult not to stare. I dragged my gaze away to look at Mr Mash.

      ‘Stop it, Mr Mash!’ I said. I tried to pull the cap from the dog’s mouth, but it was ruined. ‘I’m sorry!’ I said again. Then, ‘Stop that, Dudley!’ to Dudley, who had a dead seagull in his mouth. It was all pretty chaotic.

      The old lady replaced her thick spectacles, then she folded her skinny arms with their papery skin. She looked me up and down. ‘How old are you?’ she snarled.

      ‘I’m eleven.’

      ‘Hmph. What about Mr Madrid over there?’ She jerked her thumb at Ramzy, who was still hopping from foot to foot with anxiety. He was wearing his black Real Madrid football top, although – so far as I know – he doesn’t follow the team. It’s not a real top: it’s made by Adidas but I don’t think he cares.

      ‘He’s ten,’ I said.

      ‘And five-sixths,’ Ramzy chipped in, then immediately looked embarrassed. He’s the youngest in our year.

      A trace of a smile appeared on the old lady’s face: it wasn’t much more than the slight lifting of one side of her mouth. I didn’t know then that it was an expression I would get used to. She flexed her wrist and winced. ‘Five-sixths, huh? Well, ain’t you the big fella?’ She took a long breath in through her nose as if she was making a big decision about what to say next.

      ‘I really don’t want to have to report all this,’ she said, staring out at the sea, and then her eyes flashed to the side, measuring my reaction. ‘You know – a stolen swim cap, a potentially serious injury, a damaged watch, an outta control dog …’

      ‘Oh, he’s not out of—’

      ‘Like I say, I don’t want to have to report it. That would be a drag. But you two could help me.’ She turned round to face us and put her long hands on her narrow hips. ‘You know the Spanish City?’

      ‘Of course.’ I pointed to the big dome a little way in the distance.

      ‘Yeah, course you do. Come there this evening at six, and we may be able to forget about all … this. And don’t tell anyone, either.’

      Ramzy was nodding away like an idiot, but that’s because his Aunty Nush, who he lives with, is super strict about good behaviour. I think he’s on his last chance or something so he’d agree to anything. Me, on the other hand …

      I half raised my hand and said, ‘Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, only you say don’t tell anyone, but we don’t know you, and …’

      She stared at me, unblinking, and her large glasses seemed to magnify her pale eyes.

      ‘There’s a rule, honey, and know that you know it: if a grown-up you hardly know asks you to keep a secret from your mom and pop, it is always a bad idea.’

      I nodded, wishing she’d stop staring, but I was unable to take my eyes away.

      ‘It’s a cast-iron rule,’ she said. I nodded again, and swallowed. ‘Which I’m gonna ask you to break.’

      She let this sink in. ‘See you at six this evening.’ She turned and, in one movement, gathered up her sandals and yellow beach bag and stalked off up the steps. Then she turned. ‘Pretorius. Dr Emilia Pretorius. Good to meet ya.’

      Beside me, Mr Mash sicked up the pieces of bathing cap, then started to eat them again. (Later I added bathing cap to the ever-lengthening list of things Mr Mash has eaten.)

      ‘What d’you reckon?’ asked Ramzy, watching her go.

      I thought a bit and then pointed to his football top. ‘How many ladies of her age would recognise Real Madrid’s away kit?’ I said, impressed. ‘Plus – Mr Mash quite liked her.’

      Which meant I was prepared to give her a chance.

      

      So here we are, the evening of the same day, back in the Spanish City.

      ‘Ha ha ha haaa!’ cackles Dr Pretorius again and I honestly don’t think she’s acting. I think she’s just excited.

      Beyond the double doors it’s dark – I mean, totally dark – till Dr Pretorius barks, ‘Studio lights!’ and brilliant pinpoint lights flicker to life on thin metal rails that criss-cross the domed ceiling high, high above us.

      We’re in a vast, round windowless room with walls clad entirely – floor to ceiling – with a dull dark green … foam, I suppose? It looks spongy, although I don’t dare touch it. The ceiling and floor are matt black, and in the centre of the room is a single deckchair: the old-fashioned type with red-and-white striped canvas. That’s it.

      We are inside the dome of the Spanish City – the mosque-like building that dominates the seafront of Whitley Bay – and it is huge.

      ‘You like?’ says Dr Pretorius, sweeping a proud arm into the blackness, and her voice echoes round the vast emptiness.

      ‘Yeah!’ I say, and Ramzy nods, but before I’ve finished my syllable she turns and glares.

      ‘Liar! How can you? You have no idea what this is. I warned you: you must tell me the truth, and only the truth! Now, I’ll try again. You like?’

      ‘Erm …’ I don’t know what to say this time, and I’m scared I’ll get it wrong again. This Dr Pretorius is pretty intimidating. Ramzy rescues me.

      ‘To be honest, Dr Pretorius,’ he says, ‘there’s norra great deal to like. But I’d certainly call it impressive. Striking. Erm … remarkable.’

      ‘Ha! You’re learning! That’s more like it. You know a lot of words. Where are you from, kid? That north-eastern accent’s mixed up with something else, isn’t it?’

      Ramzy hesitates. ‘Well, my home country doesn’t really exist any more. There was a war and, well …’

      ‘I get it, kid. We’re all lookin’ for a home, huh? Well, this is mine. Welcome to my lab-ratory, or – as you English say – my la-bor-atory, СКАЧАТЬ