Tea and Dog Biscuits Read Free Page A

give him some air.
    For a moment I thought he was dead. I lifted myself up a bit more but with my hands clasped round his neck. Then he made a sound like the noise made by a balloon when the air escapes.
    â€˜Thhwwmiuuuuuwrr.’
    Like a rider getting off a horse, I lifted a leg up and dismounted, still with those hands firmly round his neck. Lion-Maned Dog jumped to his feet, taking me by surprise. Then he shook himself – but I hung on. He finished his shake and just stood there, gathering his thoughts. our eyes met.
    And then the Lion-Maned Dog grinned.
    This was a game. He was having fun.
    His great tail swept the air. I felt my eyes glisten over with relief. Perhaps this was the first time anybody had ever played with him.
    My grasp around his neck became a hug.
    I had something to tell him and was about to say his name when I remembered. I paused.
    â€˜Number Seven,’ I said, ‘you’re a good boy.’
    And this time, I meant it.

In the Beginning
    It had been a very long journey. The trolley had squeaked its way along what seemed to be the longest corridors I had ever seen. One lot of swing doors after another. Through a waiting area. Then a long wait for a lift. The last set of swing doors brought us into this windowless place, in which Dorothy had been trolleyed to the far end.
    I turned my head to the right. A very old man, his face all wrinkles, awaited his turn on another trolley, unmoving, eyes closed. During the weeks Dorothy had been in hospital, most of the patients on her ward had been so elderly it had made me ask the resentful question, Why should this happen to her at this age? So I looked away from the very old man.
    Turning away to the left took my gaze to a wall painted for its entire run of some forty or fifty feet with a mural. I found myself staring at Mickey Mouse.
    I blinked at him. Are they mad? Why on earth have they painted the wall outside an operating theatre with scenes from Disney? The people here are waiting for serious surgery. Then I realised it had been painted for the sake of the children. I remembered that the hospital was famous for its work with youngsters as well as the kind of work they were doing for my Dorothy. They would have had lots of children in this room, waiting.
    I lifted Dorothy’s hand towards the mural. ‘Look,’ I said.
    She turned her head. ‘Have you only just seen it?’ She smiled at me. ‘How could you not see that?’
    It was giving us something to talk about.
    â€˜There’s Pluto,’ Dorothy said.
    Mickey Mouse was not her favourite Disney character but we both liked Pluto, who for some reason had been drawn bigger than the other characters, with huge friendly eyes.
    â€˜Oh, yes,’ I said. I didn’t know much about Pluto and tried to think of something to say about him. I wanted to talk about anything except the operation Dorothy was about to have.
    â€˜He looks like my dog,’ said a voice from behind us. I turned. The very old man’s head was tilted to one side now and his eyes were open, fixed on the mural. He had come alive.
    â€˜Does he?’ I said, to keep the conversation going. This was a welcome interruption.
    â€˜What’s his name?’ Dorothy asked the man. I knew immediately that her motive was to take his mind off things. There was nobody with him.
    There came a very long pause.
    â€˜I can’t remember,’ said the man. Then another long pause. ‘Oh yes,’ he suddenly said. ‘Elton.’ ‘Oh. That’s unusual,’ I said.
    â€˜Daft name,’ he responded. ‘My grand-daughter called him after that singer.’
    â€˜Oh, Elton John,’ I said. The conversation was lit now.
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜Elton Presley.’
    Dorothy and I couldn’t help but smile at one another. The very old man closed his eyes. He had given up on trying to converse with me.
    A woman encased in full theatre gear, accompanied