Ever Dundas - Goblin

‘You serious, miss?’

‘I am.’

‘Why would you do that, miss?’

‘I’ll be straight with you,’ she said, ‘I don’t like kids and I don’t much like adults either.’

‘I know,’ I said, ‘Ma said you were gonna die a withered old maid.’

‘She did, did she?’

‘Yeah, but what did she know?’

‘She’s probably right. I like to keep to my own company, but you’re different.’

‘That’ll be cos I’m part-goblin, miss.’

‘Even so,’ she said, ‘I don’t want responsibility for any children, part-goblin or not. But we can help each other out, can’t we?’

‘Sure, miss.’

‘You can move back to your home with your family and as well as walking old Betty you can do some chores for me, you can get in the food so I don’t have to waste my free time standing in queues for hours. I’ll pay you, Goblin, and you can come round here for your dinner now and then.’

‘So you’ll get the authorities off my back, miss?’

‘Just leave it all to me, Goblin.’

‘Hail the lizards!’ I said to Monsta as I skipped back along the street, back to Kensal Green Cemetery to tell the family the good news. I couldn’t wait to rub it in that Amelia’s smug face.

Miss Campbell told the authorities she’d be my guardian and that a relative would come over from the U.S. to look after me in a few months. So we all moved back home and every day I walked old Betty and did some chores and Miss Campbell paid me. She had me over for dinner sometimes but she was so busy working I didn’t see her all that often. The money she gave me helped feed the family, and I thought I could do chores for the whole neighbourhood as well as fix anything that needed fixing and that way I could pay the rent when old Martha’s son came to sort out her affairs.

The family was happy and me and Monsta, we were busy – we became death-defiers, animal rescuers. At night we’d scooter round the city watching the parachute flares glowing all amber and green, casting spooky colours and shadows across the buildings. Ping ping ping, incendiaries littered the road, fizzing and sparking, lighting up Monsta all strange with their green-white flames.

‘The Martians are here,’ I said to Monsta, sure that I saw their giant insect legs pick their way through the streets, slicing through the smoke and dust. I put on my gas mask and walked through the devastation, Monsta clinging to my neck, peering over my shoulder. Flames erupted amongst the rubble and I skipped between them, watching the insect-Martian disappear to the sound of a distant explosion. People were scattered around the street, plunging their stirrup pumps into buckets, drenching the bombs. I got water from tanks for people who were having a hard time of it, fetching and carrying until those demons were dead then off we’d go, scootering round the street looking for animals. Monsta and I, we’d sneak sneak sneak round the ARP wardens and cordoned off bomb-filled streets picking up any pets we could find, searching for hours, peering in windows, breaking into houses, picking them up right off the street, chasing them, coaxing them if they weren’t of the disposition that would make them so inclined to come near us pet-napping bomb-defiers. We’d make trip upon trip upon sneaky trip in and out of the danger zone with cats, dogs, rabbits and birds.

We rescued as many as we could. It was our job, me and Monsta, and we worked round the clock.

Sneaking done and dusted our work was still tick-tock tick-tock all hours, feeding, rehoming, taking them to the vet and I couldn’t even pay the bills. I couldn’t trust those vets, those no-money-no-way vets who would ‘dispose’ of my rescued pets. I found a vet I could trust with their lives and who would patch up any old beast for me but then the family got too big and chaotic and there was a complete lack of harmonious niceties when cats screeched and scratched and dogs chased the chickens. All this only went and caused more trips to the vets and a hardship of looking out and keeping them apart and inspecting every room and every creature and feeding them all and cleaning up shit and dirt and stink and there I was all collapsed exhausted, no longer able to stand up and call myself a bomb-defying rescuer, instead I was a shit-wallowing stinker.

I had to reduce the family, so I went on a mission, going round the neighbourhood to rehome them. I’d go round every room, inspecting as any good inspector would, making sure their home would suit the cat or the dog or the bird or the rabbit, and I rat-tat-rattled through my list of questions keeping the sharpest of eyes out for any suspicious motives.

‘Sir,’ I said to one shifty-looking neighbour, ‘you thinking of boiling this dog in some stew? I can see it in your eyes – “this fella would be damn tasty with our potatoes.” Don’t lie to me, sir.’

I didn’t have much time for the animal charities. I didn’t like being ordered around and I didn’t like how many animals they killed. Our Dumb Friends’ League really got my goat.

‘What’s dumb about ’em?’ I said to that trusty old vet. ‘Humans are dumber if you ask me.’

‘It’s because they can’t speak, Goblin,’ he explained to me, like I was dumb.

‘They can speak,’ I said. ‘They never shut up. I’m lucky if I get a good night’s sleep. Just cos they can’t talk English like we do, people think they’re stupid.’

‘Goblin, it’s about their lack of voice. It’s so that we have some compassion and speak up on their behalf.’

‘What right do we have to speak for them? If I couldn’t speak, I wouldn’t want someone pretending to say things for me like they’d even know what I’d say without even asking.’

‘You do it every day. You do exactly that.’

I scowled at him and said, ‘I’m just trying to give them a good life.’

I couldn’t take them home anymore. I couldn’t keep them, my neighbours couldn’t take them, the charity homes were all filled up. If they were injured I’d get the trusty vet to patch ’em up, feed ’em, then send them on their way. If they were uninjured I’d feed them and just let them be. The house was packed full and the ration books stretched as far as they’d go. I was twitchy as hell – there were fines for feeding animals food fit for human bellies, so I pretended like I had hardly any animals to anyone who asked. I’d keep them all in the house during the day, only letting them out in the garden at night so the neighbours wouldn’t see how many I had. I told the neighbours I hardly had to feed those chickens at all, as they’d hoover up the garden insects and Groo caught mice and rats. Mostly the neighbours let me be, but I still worried I’d be reported to the authorities by some nosey busybody.

I had a veg patch in the garden to bring in extra food. It took a good few months, but I was proud as proud could be when it turned out so well I was able to sell some and I got more money to help look after the family.

But I was worried and I was tired.

I kept on busking with the chickens and one day a soldier came up to me after our show and took hold of my hand. I frowned at him and was about to punch him when he pressed money into my hand and squeezed my fingers round it. He stood for a moment, just looking at me.

‘Are you here every day?’

‘Most days,’ I said.

He let go of my hand and wandered off into the crowd. I opened my hand to find I was rich. ‘Jesus,’ I said, ‘That’ll feed us all for two weeks, maybe more. What’s his game?’

There was no need for another show that day so I packed up. We needed a rest and it meant we could go home and be content and maybe practice a new routine for when we needed to get back to work. As I was packing some idiot tried to run off with Billy Bones, but she pecked the hell out of him and Dr Kemp got under his feet and flapped and screeched and I yelled ‘Murder! Murder!’ and everyone turned to see what was going on. When they saw what was happening they gave the thief a hard time and he ran off, embarrassed.