Alice Through the Plastic Sheet Read Online Free PDF Page B

own dog was a quivering wreck of piss and sick. But as they got into bed that night, Alice said to Alan, “Did you recognize it? That was
our
song. Do you remember? That was the song we used to play, back when we first met.” And Alan didn’t think they’d ever had a song, they’d never been that romantic, had they? But she kissed him, and it was on the lips—it was very brief, but it was sweet—and then turned over and went to sleep. Alan lay there in the dark and wondered which song she had been referring to. Probably one of the ones by Abba.
    The next morning, beneath the sea of cardboard and plastic and bubble wrap crap, Alan saw that there were now holes in the lawn. Craters even. It was like a battlefield. And he supposed that last night the neighbours had let the dog out. And that afternoon, at work, he sacked three of his team force. He called an emergency meeting, and sacked them at random. One of them even cried. “But I’ve got a family,” she said. “Tough,” said Alan. “We’ve all got fucking families.”
    Alice phoned Alan at work. She never did that. “Are you coming home soon?” she asked.
    “What’s the matter?”
    “It’s the dog. He’s very ill.”
    “Well, he’s always a bit ill, isn’t he?”
    “This is different. Oh God, he got out of the house. I don’t know how, but he escaped, and he’s just crawled his way back and . . . Come home soon.”
    Alan explained he was really very busy, and that he didn’t know much about dogs, and there was nothing he could do to help. But he still left work early, he drove back as quickly as he could.
    By now Bobby was home from school. He was crying. “Oh, Sparky,” he said. “Sparky, please don’t die.” And all at once he was an eight year old again, Alan’s special little boy, and he loved him so much, and he pulled him into a hug. And Bobby clung to him, and sobbed all over his suit. “Please, Daddy, don’t let Sparky die.”
    “I won’t,” said Alan. “I won’t. What did the vet say? You have called the vet?” And both Alice and Bobby looked at him blankly. Alan felt cross. “Well, why not?”
    “Look at him,” said Alice.
    The dog was doing its best to stand on all fours, but the paws kept sliding beneath him. At first Alan thought it was simple weakness—but no, it was odder than that, the paws themselves looked so shiny and slippery, they couldn’t get purchase on the kitchen tiles. The dog was trying hard not to look at anyone, it almost seemed to be frowning with human irritation—I know how to stand, don’t worry, I’ll puzzle it out in a moment. Around him lay clumps of fur, big handfuls of it. There was a pool of liquid that looked a bit like cream but smelled much worse.
    Then the dog sneezed—a peculiar little squeak like a broken toy, and it almost made Alan laugh. And it was too much for the dog, its legs shot out from underneath him, his belly slumped to the floor in one big hilarious pratfall. And the dog opened its mouth, as if to give some punchline to the gag, and instead retched out a little more of that cream.
    “They did this to him,” said Alice. “They poisoned him.”
    “We can’t know that.”
    “Fuckers,” said Bobby. “Dirty shitty little fuckers, they did this. Pesky nasty motherfucks.” And he glared at his parents, and that eight year old innocence was lost again, and Alan thought it was probably lost for good.
    “Hey, boy,” said Alan, bending down towards the dog. “Hey, champ. How are you doing? Don’t you worry, champ, everything will be fine.” And the dog’s eyes bulged wide, in utter confusion, and it retched again. But this time there was no mere trickle of cream. It
poured
out, thick and fast, as if some hose inside had just been turned on. No wonder the eyes bulged—there was more liquid here than there was room inside the dog’s body, surely!—it was as if each and every one of his innards had been diluted into one same sticky mulch and were now being