Like A Charm [anthology]

'Bit inconvenient, isn't it?' said Miles, 'Carol taking off the same time as old Froggie; makes us very short staffed.'

Hilda nodded, then said Carol had booked her break a good while ago, just after Christmas. She turned, smiling at the baby photographs pinned up on their noticeboard. Frogton's son, born January 4th.

'Be nice for them both to get away with the new baby,' Hilda said, checking down the appointments; they had a very busy day ahead.

Carol slammed her front door shut. She tipped out the clothes, she felt in all the pockets, in the cuffs, everywhere, but found no charm. No fucking goblin. She then tipped everything into the sink and poured bleach over the clothes and shoes. She waited until they were almost shredded before she put on rubber gloves to ring the remains out and put them back into the bag, the shoes' rubber soles were sticky, the suede coming apart. She then went into the bathroom. The smell of bleach made her feel sick so she ran the shower, picked up the towel and was about to put it on the heater rail when she stopped. 'Shit. Fuck shit, the fucking towel!'

She closed her eyes; the bloody Jack Russell! She'd wrapped it in a towel, the blood-covered towel, fucking shit! She was now certain the charm must have caught on the fluffy cotton towel; the fucking goblin had to be with the dead bloody Jack Russell dog.

Carol called the dogs' home, and got the boy's address. Shit, shit, he'd said he was going to bury it at his grandmother's house! Fuck shit, how the hell was she going to find that address?

At the surgery Hilda thanked a woman, Mrs Palin, and as soon as she left looked down the entries. Miles appeared, ushering out a very elderly woman with an equally ancient cat in a cage.

'Just feed her once a day, small portions, and she should be fine.'

He leaned in to Hilda as the elderly woman paid her, 'Just a check-up, won't need to see Mitzie again.'

He returned to his surgery, gesturing for a young boy to carry in his pet mouse. Hilda gave the receipt to the woman and put the money into the till before she went back to Mr Frogton's lists. Something didn't quite make sense; Mrs Palin had come in to thank them as she had now got her Jack Russell back, and he was none the worse. But they had no record of it being released from the clinic. They did have a Jack Russell but, according to Frogton, it was doubtful it would survive the night. It was scheduled to be collected for the mortuary.

Frogton's girlfriend had called three times wondering where he was as they were due to catch a flight and were going to miss it. Hilda said he had left in the early morning and she had no idea where he was, just as she had no idea why Carol had not made any mention of the Jack Russell's recovery and signed him out. There would be quite a bill to be paid. It was very unlike Carol as she was usually so methodical. Hilda went into Miles' surgery.

'You know we had that Jack Russell in, been in an accident on the Seven Sisters Road, just by Holloway prison, bus ran over it; this woman came in with it, it wasn't hers, said it was her sister's.'

'What?' Miles said, checking over X-rays.

'Well, a woman, the woman's sister, just came in to thank us, she said she's got him home and he's none the worse.'

'What?'

'That's what she said, he's fine, none the worse.'

'What?'

Miles went to the X-ray drawers, drew out a set and pinned them up.

'None the worse?' he said, pulling a face. 'He's got a fractured pelvis, two broken back legs and damage to his kidneys and collar bone!'

'Well that's what she said; came in to thank Carol but we were so busy I couldn't really talk much to her. He was going to be put down this morning.'

'Well miracles do happen, but that's beyond me, and I'm afraid this old boy's in very bad shape, I think he should be put out of his misery.'

Miles was referring to the German Shepherd, both back legs were dragging and he had a congenital spinal deficiency that left his lower back weak.

'Better call his owners, and did you get hold of Froggie?'

'No I didn't, and Mary's been calling; she's a bit frazzled as they're going to miss the flight.'

Miles returned to the X-ray of the Jack Russell, frowning; there was no possible way this dog could be, as his owner had stated, 'none the worse'. He was in a wretched condition.

'Who was the bill made out to?' he asked.

Hilda had returned to reception.

'What?'

'I said who was the bill made out to for this Jack Russell?'

Hilda looked confused.

'I don't know, there doesn't seem to be a record of it!'

Carol had got rid of the clothes, tied in a tight bundle of newspapers and tossed on to a dumpster. She had also made headway in discovering Owl Glasses' grand-mother's address. Calling the boy, his friend had answered and given the address; it was actually not far from Carol's flat, in Highbury, so she went straight there.

Carol rang the doorbell and waited for what seemed an age before it was opened by a small shrivelled woman in thick-lensed glasses, like her grandson's. Carol explained that she worked at the local veterinary clinic and had handed over the Jack Russell.

'Yes, he came here with it,' she said, peering up at Carol, who was head and shoulders taller than her.

'Has he actually buried it?'

'Yes, in a shoebox in the garden.'

'I'm very sorry but I'm afraid I will have to dig it up.'

'You must be joking; it's dead.'

'Yes I know but we had a call from Battersea Dogs Home and it seems there is some confusion regarding the ownership of the dog.'

'But it's dead; it was Kevin's pet.'

'Yes, I am sure it was but I need to verify its markings, if it has a black or brown left ear, or if it is the other way round.'

'Oh, I dunno, Kevin's not here, he's at college.'

'I can do it, if I could just be shown where he is?'

Carol sighed with relief as the old lady let her in and led her down a dingy dark hallway, through an old-fashioned equally dark kitchen and into the small back garden. The garden was overgrown with weeds and rubbish, old bicycles and an old pram minus its wheels. Bottles and Coke cans littered the base of the wall that backed on to the street.

'Kids chuck things over the wall,' the old lady said in disgust, 'but he's buried by the tree. You can't miss it; we've only the one tree anyway.'

'Do you have a shovel?'

'No, I got a trowel; that's what our Kevin used.'

Carol smiled, waiting by the tree as the grandmother went to find it. The freshly dug mound had a small handmade wooden cross; printed on it in black felt-tipped pen was 'REX'. The grandmother returned with her trowel.

'Do you know if Rex was still wrapped in the towel?'

'I don't know, love. You'd have to ask our Kevin but he put him in a shoebox, I know that. He worshipped that little dog.'

Carol got down on her knees; she told the old lady that she should go back inside, then she started to dig.

Kevin had not dug a deep hole; it was only about six inches down and the earth came away easily. Carol eased up the shoe box; it was small and she was certain that the towel and the dog could not have fitted into the box together. As she lifted the lid she saw she was right; there was no white bloodstained towel, just Rex.

Carol stamped on the earth to flatten it back into place, then she re-fixed the cross. Kevin's grandmother was standing at the kitchen door.

'I don't suppose you know what Kevin did with the white clinic towel do you?'

'The trowel?'

'No, Rex was wrapped in a white TOWEL when I gave him to your grandson.'

'Oh, I don't know where that is; you'd have to ask our Kevin. Do you want it back?'

'No, I don't think so but do you know if he found anything else?'

'What else?'

Carol tried to smile. 'It's nothing, never mind, and thank you, I'm sorry to have bothered you.'