Dog Days

  Dog Days

The Wednesday before the trouble, Liam sat watching a film with his dad, Jimmy.  Liam was eating a microwave chicken korma straight from the container.  Jimmy was drinking.  Their old collie, Buster, sat in front of Liam, ears pricked, his eyes on the black plastic dish.

    “Give him some,” said Jimmy.

    “It’s mine,” said Liam.  He pushed at Buster with his foot.

    “What’s this, anyway?” asked Jimmy, waving his can vaguely at the portable TV.

    “If...” said Liam.  “It’s a film.”

    “Is it?” said Jimmy.  He took a swig from his can and shifted in his seat.  “Give him some of your curry,” he said.

      Liam ignored him, keeping his eyes on the film. Between mouthfuls, his lips moved in time with Malcolm Macdowell’s.

    “Right,” said Jimmy.  He pushed himself up and lunged clumsily at his son, grabbing for the dish with his free hand and sloshing beer on the carpet.

    Liam pulled back.  The dish tipped and korma slithered onto Liam’s jeans.  Buster leapt forward, snapping up a piece of fallen chicken.

    “Great,” said Liam.  He stood, arms raised, staring at the mess on his jeans.

    “Teach you to share in future,” said Jimmy. He took another mouthful of lager and burped.  “Get a cloth before it stains,” he said.

    Muttering under his breath, Liam stalked to the kitchen and took the cleanest looking rag from the sink, wiping at his jeans as the water seeped into the denim.  They were ruined for tonight, he thought.  Typical.  He squashed the remains of his tea into the bin, crushing down the empty beer cans.  Back in the lounge, he scrubbed at the carpet while his dad flicked between channels with the remote.  Buster lay nearby, licking his muzzle.

    “That dog eats better than I do,” said Liam.

    “You look like you’ve pissed yourself,” said Jimmy.



On the Friday morning, Liam was in his room, staring moodily at the hole Buster had chewed in his school shoe.  Liam looked outside; it was raining.  He put his finger through the shoe’s hole, making sure it really did go all the way through.  For a second he considered asking his dad for the money to buy a new pair.  It didn’t seem likely.  Not with the weekend coming up.

    After a few moments’ thought, Liam dropped the shoe, put on his Reebok Classics, and went to school.  Tomorrow he’d use what money was left in his own account.  So much for the Playstation, he thought.  The idea made him smile.  His dad would only have pawned it anyway.

    The trainers weren’t a problem until Biology that afternoon.  Mr Kelly singled him out the moment Liam walked into the classroom.

    “Jones!” he said, “Those are white trainers.”

    “Yes, sir, I know,” said Liam.  He slung his bag onto a table and pulled out a seat.  It scraped on the hard floor.  Some of the other kids pushed passed him as they took their places.  A few glanced his way, mildly curious.

    “And are you allowed white trainers in school?”

    “No, sir.  It’s just for today.  Sorry, sir.”

    “Make sure it is.  I dare say even your father can’t have spent his whole giro cheque this early,” said Mr Kelly.  Liam’s face paled.  He stared at the table in front of him, clutching at his bag.

    “Afraid so.” Liam’ voice carried over the sudden silence in the classroom.  “He spent it all on your wife last night.” 

    Mr Kelly stood up.  “What did you say?” 

    “And you know what?”  Liam pushed his chair back and stood up, locking eyes with the teacher.  “He said she was well worth his last fifty quid.”

    “Why you—get out!”  Mr Kelly pointed, straight-armed, at the door, his hand shaking.  “Get out of my classroom!”

    Liam snatched at his bag and walked out, head up, looking straight at the door in front of him.  Thirty pairs of eyes watched him go.

    “See you, kids,” said Liam, forcing himself to saunter. 

    Mr Kelly shouted at him to wait.

    Outside, a large hand gripped Liam’s shoulder, fingers pressing against his collar bone.  He tried to shrug it off.  The hand gripped tighter.  Hot breath assaulted his ear.

    “The Head’s office,” said Mr Kelly.  “Now.”



The Head watched Liam from across the walnut table, leaning back in his chair, with his fingers pressed together in a pyramid shape.  One finger tapped at his teeth.  Liam waited for him to say something.  His chair was plastic, sharp, and uncomfortable, and the room was too hot.  Liam’s upper legs itched, chafed by his cheap school pants.

    “It’s settled then: two weeks’ suspension,” said the Head, “starting next Monday.  I will inform your father.”  He picked up the phone and rattled the file in front of him.  “I can’t seem to find-“

    “We haven’t got a phone,” said Liam.  The Head paused and looked at him for a moment.  Liam looked back.

    “Ah,” said the Head.  He took a fountain pen and started to write.

    Liam sighed and looked out of the window into a little courtyard.  There was a tree in the middle— he didn’t know what kind— with its leaves floating from the branches, settling into golden piles on the concrete.  The tree was surrounded, trapped even, by the school’s cheap, flat-roofed buildings.  It was bare of ivy, nests, or any other obvious signs of life.

    “Here.”  The Head’s voice brought Liam’s attention back into the room.  He took the paper being held out to him.  “There’s a reply slip on the bottom,” said the Head.  “Make sure you return it tomorrow.”

    “Yes, sir,” said Liam.  It was a relief to leave the office.  Liam zipped up his coat and set off for his next class, hunched against the cold.  He glanced back at the tree.  All but a few leaves were fallen now.



Liam gave his dad the letter that evening.  Jimmy sat in his chair, holding the page at arm’s length with one hand as he read, idly scratching Buster’s ears with the other.  When he finished, Jimmy lowered the letter onto his lap.

    “Jesus,” he said.  “What’s wrong with you?”

    Liam didn’t answer. He was looking at the dog; at the collar around its neck.  It was black leather, inlaid with copper studs.  And it was new.

    “I can’t afford school shoes, but you can buy Buster a new collar?” he said.

    “You don’t need school shoes,” said Jimmy.  “Not for the next two weeks.”

    “You spend money on a dog and let me buy my own shoes?”

    “That’s not the point.”

    “It bloody well is!”  Liam was shouting now.  “Ever since Mum died-“

    “Don’t give me that!” snapped Jimmy.  “Buster’s the only reason I’ve had for getting up every day since then.  He deserves a collar.”  He shook the letter at Liam.  “Think you deserve anything?” 

    Liam turned away and wiped at his eyes. His whole body shook.  He took a deep breath; staring at the wall, he said: “You were with the dog when you should’ve been with her.” 

    He heard his dad get up, heard the footsteps coming towards him.  He half turned round; the blow caught him on the cheek.  Liam crashed against the wall and slid to the floor.  Jimmy loomed over him.

    “Get out,” said Jimmy.  “Get out of my house.”



Liam spent the night at Steve’s, nursing his face.  Steve had been his best friend since primary school.  His parents were used to having Liam over; they knew not to mention the black eye during breakfast.  Steve’s mother bustled around the table while Steve and Liam sat down to eat their cornflakes.

    “I hear you’re going rabbitting today,” she said.  “I’m not a fan of it myself.  It all seems so cruel, but Steve and his dad both love it.  At least they’re spending time together, a bit of father and son time.  Oh.”  She caught herself too late and looked anxiously at Liam.

    “Mum,” said Steve.

    “Right,” she said.  She caught her hip on the table as she hurried from the room.  Liam carried on eating his cereal.

    After breakfast, they went up to Steve’s bedroom.  Liam sat on a swivel chair, rifle in hand, while Steve changed into what he called his “hunting gear”: combat pants, khaki top, and deerstalker hat, like he was declaring war on the rabbits.

    “That isn’t loaded, right?” asked Steve. 

    Liam didn’t answer; he sat staring out the window, scowling against the sun.

    “You see your backyard from there?” asked Steve.  “You ready? We’ll be off soon.”

    “Yeah,” said Liam.  He checked his watch.  It was almost noon.

    As Steve went downstairs to talk with his parents, Liam saw his own back door swing open.  Buster bounded out and circled the yard, sniffing at everything.  He reached the gate and cocked a leg.  Liam swung the rifle so that it rested on the window.  Below him, the dog started to pee. Liam watched him through the sight until another movement caught his eye.  Jimmy was standing in the doorway, watching Buster, a roll-up hanging from his mouth.  Liam focused on him; the rifle pointed at Jimmy’s chest. 

    Liam calmly shut one eye.  He breathed out, squeezing the trigger.  The rifle clicked.

    “Bang,” he said.  “You’re dead.”

    Below, his dad went back inside.  Liam leaned the rifle against the wall and went to find his friend.