when he growled at people
coming to classes, she was forced to take him up to her room and shut him in there. By evening there was a real crisis. Fern, having gone without her breakfast, and half her lunch, was desperate
for her tea or supper, and so was the dog. But when she explained this to her mother, Mrs Bracken simply said that
she
had not wanted the dirty creature in the house: if Fern wanted him, she
would have to be responsible.
‘But I haven’t got any
money
!’
‘Oh, it’s money now, is it? Whatever next! First you have a dog and then you want money.’
‘Only to feed him with. He
must
have food or he’ll starve to death.’
‘I don’t care what he does. And kindly leave the bread alone. It’s new: far too good for him, and you know you’re not allowed to touch it.’
Frantic, Fern cut up the pieces of ham on her plate, unwrapped the small triangle of cheese and broke it into pieces. The dog ate it in about five seconds, looked at her appealingly and wagged
his tail. He was clearly asking for more.
‘You understand, that’s your lot for the night.’
Fern looked at her mother, and to her utter confusion, saw that Mrs Bracken was almost smiling – as though she was enjoying herself! How could she be? – in such an awful situation!
But it needn’t be like that at all! It was her mother who wasn’t allowing everyone to have enough, while she guzzled away without having to share a thing. And she could do anything she
liked, because of having money and being grown-up. Her eyes filled with tears, and furious that she couldn’t help it, she said as a retort: ‘If you’re not careful, I’ll be so hungry, I won’t be able to see Mr Strong on Friday, and you won’t like that!’
Her mother’s reply was to take the dog by the scruff of his neck, and kick – literally kick – him through the back door into the night.
‘That’s that, then,’ she said. ‘Finish your fruit juice and up to bed with you.’
Fern burst out crying. It was icy cold, and rain or sleet was falling to make things worse. He had nowhere to go; he was lost, and now, without enough dinner, he had been pushed out and he would
either get run over or freeze to death.
Her mother boxed her ears: Fern threw her grapefruit juice on the floor. For a moment they both stood staring at each other, panting, each wondering what outrage the other would commit next.
Then Mrs Bracken seized Fern by her hair and started to pull her out of the room: Fern kicked the bulging calves of her mother’s muscular legs, but owing to the rounded toes of her shoes and
her long hair, her mother easily won. At the top of the stairs, Fern tried once more:
‘If you don’t let him in, I
won’t
eat anything and that will make me no good at the audition. You’ll see.’
‘Silly nonsense.’ Her mother practically threw Fern on to the bed (she was frighteningly strong sometimes), slammed the door, and then locked it. Now, she wouldn’t be able to
creep down when her mother was asleep to let him in! He would be out all night, and would probably go away, if he didn’t die of cold. Cruelty to animals; she would like to have her mother
arrested for it if only they did that sort of thing. Once she was sure that her mother had gone, she cried more quietly out of sheer misery for him. Her bedroom was the wrong side of the house: it
looked out on to a main road, so she dared not call him. She considered trying to escape down a drain-pipe, but there didn’t seem to be one near enough. Eventually she fell asleep for a few
hours, and when she woke up she remembered that there was a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. She should have remembered this before, because she ought to have known that her mother
would be Cruel to him, and not waited for her to be it.
Her mother let her out of the room in silence: there was nothing in her face to tell Fern how things were. When she went down to the kitchen, her breakfast was laid out,
coming to classes, she was forced to take him up to her room and shut him in there. By evening there was a real crisis. Fern, having gone without her breakfast, and half her lunch, was desperate
for her tea or supper, and so was the dog. But when she explained this to her mother, Mrs Bracken simply said that
she
had not wanted the dirty creature in the house: if Fern wanted him, she
would have to be responsible.
‘But I haven’t got any
money
!’
‘Oh, it’s money now, is it? Whatever next! First you have a dog and then you want money.’
‘Only to feed him with. He
must
have food or he’ll starve to death.’
‘I don’t care what he does. And kindly leave the bread alone. It’s new: far too good for him, and you know you’re not allowed to touch it.’
Frantic, Fern cut up the pieces of ham on her plate, unwrapped the small triangle of cheese and broke it into pieces. The dog ate it in about five seconds, looked at her appealingly and wagged
his tail. He was clearly asking for more.
‘You understand, that’s your lot for the night.’
Fern looked at her mother, and to her utter confusion, saw that Mrs Bracken was almost smiling – as though she was enjoying herself! How could she be? – in such an awful situation!
But it needn’t be like that at all! It was her mother who wasn’t allowing everyone to have enough, while she guzzled away without having to share a thing. And she could do anything she
liked, because of having money and being grown-up. Her eyes filled with tears, and furious that she couldn’t help it, she said as a retort: ‘If you’re not careful, I’ll be so hungry, I won’t be able to see Mr Strong on Friday, and you won’t like that!’
Her mother’s reply was to take the dog by the scruff of his neck, and kick – literally kick – him through the back door into the night.
‘That’s that, then,’ she said. ‘Finish your fruit juice and up to bed with you.’
Fern burst out crying. It was icy cold, and rain or sleet was falling to make things worse. He had nowhere to go; he was lost, and now, without enough dinner, he had been pushed out and he would
either get run over or freeze to death.
Her mother boxed her ears: Fern threw her grapefruit juice on the floor. For a moment they both stood staring at each other, panting, each wondering what outrage the other would commit next.
Then Mrs Bracken seized Fern by her hair and started to pull her out of the room: Fern kicked the bulging calves of her mother’s muscular legs, but owing to the rounded toes of her shoes and
her long hair, her mother easily won. At the top of the stairs, Fern tried once more:
‘If you don’t let him in, I
won’t
eat anything and that will make me no good at the audition. You’ll see.’
‘Silly nonsense.’ Her mother practically threw Fern on to the bed (she was frighteningly strong sometimes), slammed the door, and then locked it. Now, she wouldn’t be able to
creep down when her mother was asleep to let him in! He would be out all night, and would probably go away, if he didn’t die of cold. Cruelty to animals; she would like to have her mother
arrested for it if only they did that sort of thing. Once she was sure that her mother had gone, she cried more quietly out of sheer misery for him. Her bedroom was the wrong side of the house: it
looked out on to a main road, so she dared not call him. She considered trying to escape down a drain-pipe, but there didn’t seem to be one near enough. Eventually she fell asleep for a few
hours, and when she woke up she remembered that there was a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. She should have remembered this before, because she ought to have known that her mother
would be Cruel to him, and not waited for her to be it.
Her mother let her out of the room in silence: there was nothing in her face to tell Fern how things were. When she went down to the kitchen, her breakfast was laid out,
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