others watched her go, amusement written all over their faces.
Clem kept one eye on Bella as she pedalled and the other on the uneven surface. Track lines criss-crossed in all directions, and loose stones with sharp edges jutted from the ground between sandypatches that, at any other time, would’ve been fun to skid on. ‘Bella!’ Clem called again, but instead of stopping, Bella picked up speed.
You’d think she’d seen a rabbit or a fox, thought Clem, knowing full well that beagles were hunting dogs, bred and trained over hundreds of years to chase down game.
But Bella had picked up another sort of scent.
As Clem neared the busy part of the train station a guard called out to her, ‘Hey, you. Stop!’ Distracted, her front tyre clipped a pothole and she tumble-wheeled over the handlebars, landing heavily on her butt. The guard raced down the steps three at a time, and after checking left, right, left, jumped onto the track and ran over to Clem. Gingerly, she got to her feet and picked up her bike.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing!’ roared the guard, five centimetres from her face. ‘I could charge you with trespass, you stupid, stupid kid.’
Clem staggered back and winced, knowing that her bruise tally had risen alarmingly. ‘I was chasing my…’ she tried to explain.
‘Not here you’re not!’ The guard had hold of Clem’s bike and was half-wheeling it, half-dragging it along.
‘What about my dog?’ asked Clem; following, then ignoring the guard she called, ‘Be-lla-a-a-a!’
Woof!
They both came to an abrupt halt.
‘She’s in there,’ cried Clem, pointing to a siding that disappeared into a tunnel. She raced up to the entrance and baulked. The darkness was thick and impenetrable, the air chilly and musty. ‘Bell—Bella?’ called Clem. She pulled out a handful of dog treats and waved them around. At first there was a deafening silence, but then this was broken by a resounding crash that echoed in the empty chamber like the dying cries of a crow.
Bella yelped and shot out of the tunnel faster than a cannonball, straight into Clem’s arms, almost sending her flying again. But on the way, Bella dropped something.
‘This the culprit?’ asked the guard, glaring at Bella.
‘Yes.’
‘Should be on a lead.’
‘Here it is,’ said Clem, pulling the lead from the basket and clipping it on to Bella’s collar. She stared at the object Bella had dropped but couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like a dead mouse. When Clem moved, a sharp pain shot down her leg and into her heel. She winced, clinging onto the lead with a vice-like grip. No way was Bella going to take off again! She lowered Bella into her basket, attached the leadto the metal frame and pushed her bike towards the station ramp, realising that she’d have to go back onto the street and all the way around to meet the others.
Following the guard Clem detoured via the dead mouse, hoping it was dead and not half-mangled and needing to be put out of its misery. But when she squatted down to inspect it she got a surprise. It wasn’t a mouse. It was a doll’s head. Mouse fur turned out to be doll’s hair, and it was obvious that it hadn’t come from some old pile of rubbish. Except for the fresh Bella drool it was clean, and the hair was parted and plaited and tied with ribbons. Someone loved that doll. Clem wondered who it could belong to and how it had come to be in the tunnel. The guard began to hurry her again so she slipped the head in her pocket and followed him.
Halfway to the exit stairs they halted. One whole wall had been bombed with graffiti: tags and throw-ups, and one intricate piece that looked like a work of art.
‘Bloody kids,’ said the guard. ‘Vandals, that’s what they are. It’s wanton destruction, it is.’ He straightened up as he added, ‘In my day we never did such things.’
There were paint cans, caps and tips strewn across the ground.
The guard reached out and ran his
Clem kept one eye on Bella as she pedalled and the other on the uneven surface. Track lines criss-crossed in all directions, and loose stones with sharp edges jutted from the ground between sandypatches that, at any other time, would’ve been fun to skid on. ‘Bella!’ Clem called again, but instead of stopping, Bella picked up speed.
You’d think she’d seen a rabbit or a fox, thought Clem, knowing full well that beagles were hunting dogs, bred and trained over hundreds of years to chase down game.
But Bella had picked up another sort of scent.
As Clem neared the busy part of the train station a guard called out to her, ‘Hey, you. Stop!’ Distracted, her front tyre clipped a pothole and she tumble-wheeled over the handlebars, landing heavily on her butt. The guard raced down the steps three at a time, and after checking left, right, left, jumped onto the track and ran over to Clem. Gingerly, she got to her feet and picked up her bike.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing!’ roared the guard, five centimetres from her face. ‘I could charge you with trespass, you stupid, stupid kid.’
Clem staggered back and winced, knowing that her bruise tally had risen alarmingly. ‘I was chasing my…’ she tried to explain.
‘Not here you’re not!’ The guard had hold of Clem’s bike and was half-wheeling it, half-dragging it along.
‘What about my dog?’ asked Clem; following, then ignoring the guard she called, ‘Be-lla-a-a-a!’
Woof!
They both came to an abrupt halt.
‘She’s in there,’ cried Clem, pointing to a siding that disappeared into a tunnel. She raced up to the entrance and baulked. The darkness was thick and impenetrable, the air chilly and musty. ‘Bell—Bella?’ called Clem. She pulled out a handful of dog treats and waved them around. At first there was a deafening silence, but then this was broken by a resounding crash that echoed in the empty chamber like the dying cries of a crow.
Bella yelped and shot out of the tunnel faster than a cannonball, straight into Clem’s arms, almost sending her flying again. But on the way, Bella dropped something.
‘This the culprit?’ asked the guard, glaring at Bella.
‘Yes.’
‘Should be on a lead.’
‘Here it is,’ said Clem, pulling the lead from the basket and clipping it on to Bella’s collar. She stared at the object Bella had dropped but couldn’t make out what it was. It looked like a dead mouse. When Clem moved, a sharp pain shot down her leg and into her heel. She winced, clinging onto the lead with a vice-like grip. No way was Bella going to take off again! She lowered Bella into her basket, attached the leadto the metal frame and pushed her bike towards the station ramp, realising that she’d have to go back onto the street and all the way around to meet the others.
Following the guard Clem detoured via the dead mouse, hoping it was dead and not half-mangled and needing to be put out of its misery. But when she squatted down to inspect it she got a surprise. It wasn’t a mouse. It was a doll’s head. Mouse fur turned out to be doll’s hair, and it was obvious that it hadn’t come from some old pile of rubbish. Except for the fresh Bella drool it was clean, and the hair was parted and plaited and tied with ribbons. Someone loved that doll. Clem wondered who it could belong to and how it had come to be in the tunnel. The guard began to hurry her again so she slipped the head in her pocket and followed him.
Halfway to the exit stairs they halted. One whole wall had been bombed with graffiti: tags and throw-ups, and one intricate piece that looked like a work of art.
‘Bloody kids,’ said the guard. ‘Vandals, that’s what they are. It’s wanton destruction, it is.’ He straightened up as he added, ‘In my day we never did such things.’
There were paint cans, caps and tips strewn across the ground.
The guard reached out and ran his
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