We walk a bit farther in silence. This is the area of town where Grace died, though I haven’t been down the road where the accident was since that night. I doubt I ever will again. Briefly, I wonder if the same fate awaits me—but Joel said he doesn’t know how it happens, which means he can’t have seen a car, onlookers, tarmac...
But just as my thoughts are beginning to domino, Joel brings me back to the present. He’s pulling at my hand, gesturing at something over to our right.
“Look, Callie,” he says urgently. “Look.”
He’s pointing to the low wall in front of an abandoned house, halfway along a terrace earmarked for demolition. The front door and windows are shuttered with graffitied chipboard, weeds winding like tentacles round the guttering and brickwork.
Behind the wall, a brown tail is protruding, utterly still.
Before I can blink, Joel’s left my side.
I follow, almost afraid.
“He’s been abandoned.” Joel’s already on his knees, running his hands across the coat of a young-looking white-and-tan dog. I squat down next to him. The dog’s not reacting to Joel’s touch.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, struggling to hold back tears.
Joel starts gently to examine him. “Not sure. An infection of some sort. He’s in a bad way. His gums are really pale—see, here? And he’s cold. We need to get him help, urgently.” He scrambles to his feet and dials a number, murmuring a few words into his phone. I hear him give the address of where we are. “Kieran’s on his way,” he says, after he’s hung up,before kneeling down again next to me on the ground. “Let’s just keep him warm for now.”
Together we ease the dog onto our laps. Joel takes off his jacket and I remove my coat, and we wrap him up, huddle over him for warmth. Still there’s no response—he’s passive and floppy, like he’s already dying.
“Will he be okay?” I ask Joel.
He meets my eye. “Sorry, Cal. It doesn’t look good.”
I bite down on my lip, try not to cry.
•••
Kieran drives us to Joel’s old practice, me and Joel in the back seat, the dog across our knees. As Joel offers Kieran his assessment, I vaguely register mention of IV fluids, anemia, internal bleeding. Then Kieran gets on the phone to someone at a local charity, who agrees to cover the treatment costs, after which he and Joel start debating the best plan of action.
As we pull into the car park, I spot the dog’s collar lying loose on the seat. There’s no tag with a name or phone number, nothing at all to identify him. I pick up the collar, slip it wordlessly into my pocket.
“You go home,” Joel says to me, as we get out of the car. “This could take a while.”
•••
It’s dark by the time he makes it back to the flat. He finds me in the bath and perches wearily on the edge of it, smelling faintly of disinfectant.
I sit up, sloshing a little water over the sides. “How did it go?”
“Okay, I think. He had a pretty severe worm infestation. We gave him a blood transfusion, antibiotics. It’s touch-and-go, but Kieran’s taking him home tonight.”
“Thank God you spotted him.”
“In the nick of time. We’ve just got to wait and see.”
I take his hand. It feels limp in mine, and his eyes are blank, unseeing. “Are you okay?”
He draws his other hand down over his face. He’s pale, like he’s aged somehow. “Just a bit drained.”
“You were incredible. Really calm... Do you miss it?”
He looks up at the window, where the lights from other houses are like bulbs in the blackness. “I miss helping animals.”
“So maybe you could—”
“I’m not up to the job.”
