A Dog Called Jack by Ivy Pembroke

Author:Ivy Pembroke
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-11-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

Hi, everyone! We should make plans for Bonfire Night! It would be fun to go to see fireworks together. But, as Jack is our collective responsibility, we should also discuss what we can do with him whilst all the loud noises are happening!

—Pen

For a while Max had been contemplating what to do with the bookcase he’d acquired from Sam. Multimedia was not usually Max’s type of art, and while the bookcase was lovely, it wasn’t exactly a unique piece of craftsmanship. It was just a striking piece of wood, but it had not been ornamented in any way, and it could do with a bit of personality. But Max was undecided about the personality that it should acquire. Every day he went out to the shed and regarded the bookcase, but every day the bookcase refused to speak to him. Sometimes Jack came and sat with him, and Max would say things like, “Do you know anything about the Japanese technique of Shou-Sugi-Ban?” and Jack would consider very intently.

Then Max read the note Pen slipped through his front door—everyone’s front door, Max assumed—about Bonfire Night and taking care of Jack, and that day he walked out to the shed and the bookcase said exactly what it needed to be.

But the idea should involve the entire street, Max thought, and it should start, really, in fairness, with Mr. Hammersley down the road.

Which was how Max found himself knocking on Mr. Hammersley’s door.

He didn’t think Mr. Hammersley was going to open it, but he did, eventually, frowning. “What?” he demanded.

“Hi,” said Max. “I’m Max. From down the street.”

Mr. Hammersley looked very unimpressed by this. “What do you want?”

“I have a proposition for you,” said Max.

“I’m not interested,” replied Mr. Hammersley, and went to close the door.

Max caught it before it could entirely close, which earned him a glare that, thankfully, was not literally capable of killing him, or Max would have been dead. “At least hear me out,” he said, striving for cheerfulness.

“Why?” demanded Mr. Hammersley.

“Because it has to do with Jack.”

That got Mr. Hammersley’s attention, as Max had thought it might. “What about Jack?” asked Mr. Hammersley grudgingly.

“I’ve an idea for a Jack-based gift. For the whole street. And I’d love your help on it.”

“My help?” Mr. Hammersley looked astonished, and then wary. “Why?”

“Because Jack starts with you. Because any ordinary street could have got the dog off the street and taken him to the RSPCA to be adopted by someone else. But you were the first one to take him in and decide instead that the street ought to adopt him. So, with any Jack-based gift, I think it should start with you.”

Mr. Hammersley looked like he didn’t know quite what to say.

“And also,” said Max, with a smile, “it’s an art project. And you’re an artist.”

* * *

There was something living in his attic. Honestly, Sam did not have time for this. Work was busy and he was already taking a day off that week to chaperone the field trip.

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