Francesca Beard
LondonTales/Shepherd’s Bush
The boy sits on the swing, Nikes planted on the spongy surfacing of the play-ground, shoulders hunched in a plain black hoodie. His hands fondle and caress the silky ears of a young female rottweiller. She is brindled and barrel-chested, her toe-nails need clipping and her breath stinks. Her eyes roll upwards in adoration as he croons to her.
‘You’re so beautiful, ain’t you, so beautiful,
You’re my special gurl, yes you are, my special only gurl.
You’re gonna be so brave tonite, you’re gonna shine like a diamond and just as bright, Just as hard, never gonna let your spark extinguish, never gonna go out,
You’re my light, you’re the light of my life, yes you are, my diamond dog…’
‘Paul! Get yourself over here.’
The man stands on the pavement, across the road from the playground. Two other men are walking away, one of them holding a tawny Rottweiler on a leash.
Paul slips the leash onto his dog, whistles softy although she is already waiting to follow him. They wait for a cab to pass, trot across the street.
‘Did you see it? Looks mean. Mean-looking bitch. Been in five fights.’
Paul turns to say something, his mouth closes.
‘Look, I know. It’s not perfect. But it looks bad if we back out.’
‘It’s her first fight.’
‘Well, let’s just hope it’s not her last. I’m sorry blud. It’ll be ok. Come on, let’s chill for a while, get her something nice to eat. Yeah?’
His cousin throws an arm around his shoulder and it feels like a dead weight, not comforting. He leans forward and puts his hand down, feels her move beside him, his big baby, his diamond dog, soft and warm.