Page 7 of The Good Boy

“Eugenie?” Miles crouches next to me, one palm resting lightly on my shoulder. “Should I call your mum? Your nan? Kelly?”

“Ghostbusters?” I suggest, and then fall about laughing again. I’m glad I’m finding my own insanity amusing. But this is not fair to Miles, who is doing his best to take care of his hysterical friend. I take a few deep breaths and get a grip.

“I’m sorry, Miles. Something really, really stupid and unbelievable has happened,” I say, shoulders shaking, eyes streaming with tears.

“What?” he asks, concerned. “Are you still drunk? Are you having a bad trip? Shall I make you some really strong coffee? I’ll go and make you some coffee. Stay right there, and don’t panic.”

I start laughing again as he rushes into his house.

If what I think has happened has really happened, then I need to try and explain it to Miles, somehow. And it has really happened, right? This isn’t one of those occasional awkward erotic dreams I have about bumping into Miles half dressed in a public environment that means I can’t look him in the eye for the following forty-eight hours, is it? I don’t think so; I usually have better underwear on in those.

I punch myself hard in the leg. It hurts.

This is not a dream: official.

And I left Rory all on his own.

Wincing, I get up, go inside, and close the front door behind me. I fetch Diego the squeaky pigeon from the kitchen and carry it into my bedroom.

“You okay, Rory?” I say to the gap under the bed.

“Not really,” a voice comes back. “I want my fur back. I’m cold. The floor is scratchy. What’s going on, Genie?”

“I think that maybe I accidentally made a wish that turned you into a human,” I say. Saying it out loud makes it sound awfully real.

“Why did you do that?” Rory asks unhappily. “Am I not a good boy anymore?”

“No, you are...” I kneel down on the floor and push Diego under the bed. “You are a very good boy. You aretheOG goodest boy in the world.” Suddenly this feels very inappropriate. A hand comes into view, scoops Diego in. “The thing is, I just didn’t really believe that Nanna Maria is magic.”

“Of course she is magic,” Rory says. “She’s always saying she is magic! Why would she lie?”

“Rory... don’t worry, we will fix this,” I tell him.

“Good,” he says. “I don’t want to be a human, Genie. It’s rubbish.”

“I know, I know it is, trust me. We’ll sort it out, okay?”

“Okay.” There is a long pause. “Can I have breakfast now?”

“I need to find you some clothes,” I say. Miles. I can ask Miles for clothes, which means I have to explain this whole thing in the next minute. The good news is he makes very strong coffee.

“Can I go in the garden, then, and do my business?” Rory asks. “It’s a bit of an emergency.”

“No!” I say. “Look, I’m going to pop next door to Miles’s house—”

“Be careful of the murder cat.”

“—and borrow something for you to wear. While I’m gone you can use the bathroom.”

“What for?” Rory asks.

“For a pee and whatever else,” I say awkwardly. “You can go in the loo... you know what the loo is, right?”

“Oh, the big bowl where I sometimes go for a drink,” Rory says. “Wait—you pee in there? This is a very bad day.”

There is a long sigh.

“Okay, Genie, I’ll work it out,” Rory says, stoic. I must remember that Rory needs me to take care of him just like I always have. That he might look like an adult man, but he is still a five-year-old pup who carries a squeaky pigeon. He’s basically just a tall child. I need to focus on that. Just focus on that. Worrying about how reality has disintegrated around me can come later.

---