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.
I was so angry and scared I was almost sick. We’d had people try to steal the chickens before, but this was the closest it came to losing one of them, and the thought of losing Billy Bones or Dr Kemp had me in a sweat, so I explained to them on the train home that our performance days were over.
‘You’ll stay at home,’ I said, ‘and I’ll make my own routine. I’ll be a clown, I’ll use ma’s old make-up and I’ll make my own clothes, and you’ll all be safe at home.’
That’s what I did. I only went exploring with Monsta after that, and I let the chickens out into the garden at night so they could get their worms and all the neighbours were hidden away in their houses on account of the blackout so they wouldn’t think to try and kidnap my family and put them in their bellies.
‘You can’t trust humans,’ I said to the chickens. ‘Apart from me, but I’m part-goblin so I don’t count.’ Then I thought of the man who’d given us all that money and I said to myself, ‘What’s his game?’
I thought how it would be good if I had a performance partner, but I didn’t have anyone. Miss Campbell wouldn’t have time and I didn’t think she’d want to anyway. I knew David would have done it, but he was gone. Maybe he’d gone to the sea like I had. Maybe he escaped to the sea and he was swimming with a girl just like I did, and maybe he’ll come back just like I did. I had to earn money and feed the family and get money for rent if I ended up needing it, so that I can be here, waiting for David. If he were here I know for sure he’d come busking with me. But he wasn’t here and I needed a partner in busking, and it was then I found the Lizard King.
‘Get lost, ya wee cunt.’
A pale orb emerged from the darkness. It moved closer and I raised my torch, the features falling into place. His skin was white. His lips were shrivelled, dry and cracking. I expected his lizard tongue to flick out and taste me. His eyes were as black as the tunnel. Silver rivulets were painted on his cheeks, flowing from his eyes down to his neck. They shimmered in the torchlight.
‘Hail thee, O Lizard King.’
I prostrated myself before him.
‘This is ma spot, ya wee cunt.’
I looked up, squinting. His face was right next to mine, the stench of his breath intolerable.
‘I dinnae ken what yer game is, but ye can get!’
‘Mr Lizard King, sir, I’ve come to live with the lizard people.’
He snatched my torch and shone it in my face.
‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘Used to run wild, you and two others. Right little cunts ya were.’
I shielded my eyes from the light and sat up.
‘Mr Fenwick?’
‘Ye cannae live wi me. This is ma spot. Where’s yer ma and pa?’
‘Gone.’
‘That right?’
I’d heard about what happened to Mr Fenwick from Miss Campbell. He was too old to serve, so he stayed living on our street but he’d been bombed out, his face scarred by the blast so he looked just like the Lizard King who’d lost his queen and cried tears of acid that burned away his skin.
‘I have Groo,’ I said.
‘Eh?’
‘Your cat.’
‘Issatright? She still alive? Wily wee thing.’
‘She misses Devil and Corporal Pig, but I look after her. She chews on my hair.’
‘She always wis an odd one. I expect ma chickens are long gone by now.’
‘They’re alive and well, Mr Fenwick, sir. They live with me.’
‘Ye ’ave a habit of kidnapping people’s animals?’
‘They were on their own. I rescued them and they’re my family now.’
‘Family, eh? They’d be better off in your belly. Or in mine.’