A Dog Called Homeless Read online




  Dedication

  For Dad

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  MY NAME IS CALLY LOUISE FISHER AND I haven’t spoken for thirty-one days. Talking doesn’t always make things happen, however much you want it to. Think of rain; it just happens when it happens. When the clouds are ready, when they’re full, they drop the water. It’s not magic; it’s just putting something back where it belongs.

  And this is how it all began.

  DAD’S BIRTHDAY, AND I GOT UP BEFORE ANYONE.

  He just wanted a quiet day. No presents, no cake, no nothing. It just wouldn’t be right, he said. People forget birthdays aren’t just about them.

  Dad’s birthday is also the same day my mum died last year. I think it’s called a tragedy or a catastrophe or some other big word which means more than just ‘bad luck’ when two things like that happen on the same day.

  I sat outside Dad’s bedroom door with his birthday cards, waiting. Through the gap in the doorway I could just make out the dark hump under the covers and his dark head making a deep dent in his pillow. He sighed, so I knew he was awake.

  There were six birthday cards for Dad. One from me, one from my older brother Luke (still in bed or on his computer – the door was shut) and four that had come in the post. I nudged Dad’s bedroom door open a bit wider and flung my card in. I saw Dad patting round the bed, feeling for the blue envelope that landed by his back, and heard it crunch as he opened it. It was a picture of a grey bear with a blue nose. It was speaking on the telephone and on the front it said A Message From Me To You.

  Dad said, “Thanks, that’s nice.”

  And I said, “Are you thinking about Mum?”

  Silence.

  And then he said, “Get me a cup of coffee, will you?”

  It didn’t feel like a birthday at all, not even with the cards on top of the telly. Dad had the volume turned low while we sat around waiting for the rest of our family to arrive and come with us to visit Mum’s grave for her anniversary.

  GRANDPA AND GRANDMA HAMBLIN PICKED US up and drove slowly to the cemetery. We met Granddad Fisher and Aunty Sue and walked together along paths of tidy grass and loving memories.

  We made a circle, stood still as statues, not talking about her because Dad says it’s too hard to talk about her. We stared at the cold, grey stone marked with her name. Louise Fisher. The same as my middle name.

  And I thought about her, up there, somewhere. Not here. And because she was so far away I missed her like crazy and I wondered if I should have had some breakfast because my belly hurt like mad.

  And then there she was. I saw my mum. And I know what you’re thinking – you can’t really see dead people. But I did. She was standing on the wall of the cemetery, wearing her red raincoat and waxy green hat. And I wasn’t scared. Why would I be scared of my own mum?

  She put her arms out to balance, swaying as she walked along the wall. Just like she always was, doing something that made you want to laugh or do it too. She wobbled along, until she was as close as she could get to us without jumping down. She pushed her hat flat on her head. She looked at me and smiled, just like she did when she saw me sing in the school musical of Charlotte’s Web. Like you’re everything.

  Grandma had a bunch of sweet peas wrapped in silver foil.

  “Be a good girl and put the flowers in the vase,” she said, holding them out. Her tissue fell out of her sleeve and floated to the ground.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” I whispered, picking up her tissue and handing it back. “Do you believe Mum could come back and we could see her?”

  The purple and pink flowers reflected in her glasses and made them look like a church window. She closed her eyes and dabbed her nose.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, “we’re all a little upset.” She sniffed the flowers and put them in my hand.

  I made my way round the tight circle of bodies and squeezed between Aunty Sue and Dad.

  “Do you believe in ghosts, Aunty Sue?” I said. “Have you ever seen Mum, even though she’s not supposed to be there?”

  I guided her arm so that she would turn round and look over at the wall, so she could see Mum, colourful and bright and real as anything. I watched her eyes for the sudden surprise. Her mouth made the shape of a smile, but she frowned. I didn’t know what that meant.

  “She’s there, Aunty Sue,” I whispered, pointing. “Over there.”

  She blinked. Nothing.

  “Dad,” I said, “look! Look over there on the wall. It’s Mum!”

  He rubbed his beard. They both looked at me, in that way people do when they’re not really listening to what you’re saying. So did Grandma and Grandpa Hamblin and Granddad Fisher.

  Granddad Fisher said, “Now, now, Cally, it’s neither the time nor place for silly games.”

  Then Grandpa Hamblin looked at the sky, at the distant grey clouds. “Rain’s on its way,” he muttered.

  Dad looked at the silent earth.

  “Dad?” I said. “I can see her. I know she’s dead, but she’s here.”

  And right then, when I looked across and Mum’s eyes shone as bright as a whole sky full of sunshine, I felt that her and me were the only ones truly alive. My heart thumped, my lungs filled and I wanted to shout, “Mum, sing a song, then they’ll hear you. Make the birds wonder, just like you used to.”

  “Cally, love,” Aunty Sue said, “sometimes our imaginations play tricks on us.” She reached round and rested her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Sometimes, when you really want to believe something, you can make it seem true.”

  Tears smudged her mascara. Grandma blew into her tissue.

  I thought I heard something, like when the carnival starts and you’re miles away down the other end of town, but you know it’s coming. Mum made a funnel of her hands, like a loudspeaker.

  “Dad, she wants to tell us something,” I said.

  I saw into his eyes before he looked away, like all the words waiting there were too big to pronounce, too hard to say properly. He hunched his shoulders, rubbed his face.

  “Enough, Cally,” he said, “you’re upsetting people.”

  I whispered, “Can’t you see her?”

  She’d stopped smiling. She searched her pocket as if she was trying to find something. I wondered why she had a coat and hat on when it was such a warm summer day.

  “Dad,” I poin
ted, “you can see her, can’t you?”

  “No,” he growled, “and neither can you. And I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

  “GET INTO GROUPS OF TWO OR THREE. EACH group will represent a planet,” said Miss Steadman in science. “As it’s stopped raining, we’re going out to the playground to map out the solar system.”

  I said to Mia Johnson, who was my best friend, “Let’s us two be Earth.”

  Then Daisy Bouvier came over, chewing her nails. She hung around us like she’d been doing a lot lately since she fell out with Florence Green at a sleepover. Mia looked at me funny and said, “Daisy, you’re in my group too.”

  Miss Steadman started talking about planets being millions of miles away and that we had to pretend the playground was the whole solar system. I nudged Mia and tried to whisper about what us two could do at break-time, not including Daisy. But I couldn’t tell her because Miss Steadman said, “Shush, Cally. Let’s try very hard today not to talk when I’m speaking. Otherwise you won’t learn anything.”

  She marked our place with a blue chalk circle and set off to Mars with another group and some red chalk.

  Doing space reminded me of the day when our family had gone to Wells. Inside the enormous yellow cathedral was one of the oldest clocks in the world. The earth was painted in the middle of the clock and the ancient sun circled round the outside on the long hand.

  Mum had said, “Sometimes people get things the wrong way round.”

  Because it was hundreds of years old the people who painted it didn’t know what the universe was like. Now everyone knows we are the ones spinning on our tiny planet through space, circling round the sun. It’s funny how that happens and we can’t even feel it.

  “Look,” I said to Mia and Daisy, “this is how our planet spins.”

  With my arms out, I went round and round. It made my hands go heavy and my eyes go giddy.

  “Stop it,” said Mia, “we’re supposed to be listening not talking and spinning.”

  “You could be the moon,” I said to Daisy.

  “Miss Steadman didn’t say to be a moon,” she said. “And I wanted to be Mercury.”

  “But look,” I said, “look what would happen if we suddenly started spinning a different way.”

  I bumped into the moon and that made me fly off in a different direction.

  “Look,” I said, “we could go right out into space and see what’s there.”

  “Cally Fisher!” Miss Steadman shouted across the galaxy. “Go back to your circle and stay there!”

  But I wanted to see what was out there. I imagined a splash of light winking from across the universe. Maybe it was a star, maybe it was a doorway, a way through a hole in the sky where souls and angels go. And who wouldn’t want to find out what was shining in the darkness when it’s the only bright thing in the whole of space?

  Anyway, I got sent to Pluto with Daniel Bird who didn’t have a partner.

  “You’re in trouble again,” he said, because he is always stating the obvious.

  WE HAD MUSIC NEXT WITH MR CRISP. I LOVE singing. I get that from my mum. She could sing and Dad would say the early morning birds ought to think about getting another job. Mum said singing is like knitting: it ties everything together, especially people. That’s why Dad played the guitar for her and why he played in a band down at the pub on Friday nights. Well, he used to.

  So when Mr Crisp said we were doing a farewell concert at the end of term, me and Mia said we’d put our names down for the auditions to sing together, seeing as it was our last year at Parkside Juniors.

  Then, after music, I heard Daisy talking to Mia in the loos.

  Daisy said, “Let’s just put our names down to do something on our own. We’ll just not tell her.”

  Mia said, “We could do a duet, seeing as we’re best friends now.”

  They talked about some songs they liked.

  “She’d only drown us out anyway,” said Daisy.

  They laughed and Mia said, “Actually, I think she’s a rubbish singer.”

  Then they came round the corner of the cubicles and Mia slammed, smack! right into me in the doorway.

  “I’m not rubbish,” I said.

  Her eyes flashed. “I never said that.”

  “I heard you.”

  Mia went red. She punched her hands on her hips. “I was only joking,” she said.

  “She can’t take a joke,” said Daisy.

  “And anyway, every time we do something with you, you always get told off. And you’re always making such a big fuss about everything.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said.

  “Yes, you do!” said Mia.

  “No, I don’t! And you’re supposed to be my friend.”

  “See, you’re doing it now. You just spoil everything. And I never said for definite I was going to do it with you.”

  “You’re not a very good friend. Good friends wouldn’t say things like that.”

  “Well, if that’s how you feel,” said Mia, hooking Daisy’s arm and marching down the corridor, “we don’t have to be friends any more.”

  I stayed in the loo with the door locked, peeling bits of plastic off the scabby patch by the loo roll until the bell rang.

  I could still put my name down for the concert. Only now I’d have to sing on my own.

  “QUIET NOW. EVERYONE LOOK THIS WAY. Cally… Cally!”

  Miss Steadman glared. “Put the felt pen down. Now, please. Thank you, Cally. Now I have something to tell you all.”

  In registration Miss Steadman told us that our school was going to raise money for a charity called Angela’s Hospice. Angela’s Hospice is a place nearby where they care for sick children and try to make their wishes come true. Miss Steadman said the members of the student council would be along in a minute to tell us how we were going to raise the money.

  While we waited for them, Miss Steadman asked us what our wishes were. We wished for fast cars (mostly boys), to meet famous people, for new computers and Xboxes, that all the tigers, bears, dolphins and whales were saved (mostly girls), a rocket to go to the stars (me) and to save the planet.

  Daniel Bird shouted out that he wished he could win the lottery. He said if he won, he’d buy a time machine and go back to the day he cut off half his finger in his granddad’s deckchair. He’d pick it up and make sure it got to the hospital in a bag of ice and have it sewn back on.

  I said, “Why don’t you have the time machine take you back to just before your granddad sat down and get your hand out the way!”

  Obviously.

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Daniel, “there’s no such thing as time machines.”

  He was so annoying.

  “That’s enough bickering, Cally, Daniel,” said Miss Steadman. “What other wishes do we have?”

  Daisy said she wished for world peace. Mia folded her arms and scowled at me. I thought she’d be wishing her hair wasn’t so fuzzy. Instead she said, “I wish that this year’s concert is the best one ever.”

  Daniel continued, “I wish I could go to Disneyland, Miss.”

  Miss Steadman stopped the calling out saying, “Funny Daniel should mention Disneyland because sometimes the children at Angela’s Hospice have that same wish.” Her voice went quiet. “It’s good to remember how lucky we are to be healthy. The money we’ll raise isn’t just for trips to Disneyland. It’s also for expensive equipment for very poorly children.”

  Just then the two children from the student council came in. Jessica Stubbs and Harry Turner were holding a piece of paper between them and stood at the front of the class.

  “The student council have decided we’re going to do a sponsored silence to raise money for Angela’s Hospice,” said Jessica, reading from the sheet. “We need three volunteers from each class to be silent and hopefully everyone will sponsor them.”

  Harry waved the sponsorship forms.

  I wasn’t really listening. The tip of my green felt pen had gone inside the tube. I was t
rying to poke it out with a compass under the desk. We had geography next and you always need a green felt tip in geography.

  “We’re going to do it next Tuesday,” said Harry. “The people doing the silence are not allowed to talk between nine o’clock in the morning and three o’clock in the afternoon.”

  “You have to be really sure you can do it,” said Jessica.

  I took off the bottom end of the pen and poked through the top again. The inky felt shot out and landed on the floor by Florence. I tried to tell her to roll it over with her feet. She told me to shush. I told her to get it quick because it might leak into the carpet.

  “It’s for an important cause,” said Jessica.

  Miss Steadman rapped on her desk. “What’s going on over there now?” she said sharply.

  Florence told her I wasn’t listening and was trying to distract her.

  “I was just…” I started to say but Miss Steadman interrupted.

  “Enough tattling, thank you!” she snapped. “Or we’ll be having words at the end of the day again.”

  I watched the ink make a dark patch on the carpet.

  “So,” she carried on, taking a deep breath, “who thinks they can manage to be silent for a whole school day? Any volunteers?”

  She scanned the room, straight away looking at the quiet ones and the good ones. She nodded and smiled and thanked the two children who put their hands up and their names got added to the list.