Scary Monsters

Lately I've been thinking about the day Alan died. He'd grown old, and one morning there was a scatter of drops on the couch. What we had to do was painful, but as Chanel pointed out, it was for Alan's sake. Chanel is the one who sees ahead and plans. She takes the lead in all our decisions, great ones or small.

Alan came to live with us when Sydney was six. We were walking home from the park on a Saturday and saw Fraser come out of his house. A 'For Sale' sign had gone up at his place, four doors along from ours in Spumante Court. Here is a house that can accommodate the joys and sorrows of your family, it said.

Nike and Alan ran out past Fraser and into the yard. Sydney was in the same class as Nike. The two of them began to race around, making vrooming noises under their breath. Fraser and I chatted. He was carrying a tennis racquet and took low swipes at an invisible ball as we spoke.

At dinner I mentioned that our neighbours were relocating to Perth. Sydney piped up. 'Alan isn't, he's going to the farm, Nike said. So he can play with the other animals.'

Mel gave a little laugh in her throat.

'What?' said Sydney.

'Sydney's dumb,' said Mel. 'You're so dumb, Sydney. You don't know anything.'

Chanel said, 'Don't speak to your brother like that.'

'He's so dumb. He doesn't even know what going to the farm means.'

We were all looking at Mel. She jabbed her spoon into her potatoes, pushed the mash into her tomato sauce and began spreading it in red and yellow swirls. She's always been very creative. Keeping her ferny lashes lowered, she said, 'The vet's going to kill Alan. Sydney's the only person in the whole world who doesn't know that 'cos he's dumb.'

Sydney's dinner was two pieces of peanut-butter toast. All he would eat that year was what he called 'toast spread with peanut butter right to the edges'. As we watched, furrows turned his forehead into a small ploughed field. A tear fell onto the tea towel tucked under his chin. He'd started pestering us for a pet almost as soon as he learned to talk.

As Chanel remarked when we talked things over in bed, it was useful to learn a new expression. We already spoke fluent English when we arrived in Australia but we couldn't always understand what was said here. Going to the farm -who could have guessed what it really meant?

'Everyone has rescue pets these days,' Chanel went on. 'Erin's got a three-legged poodle. Does Alan still have all four legs?'

'This afternoon he did.'

'I'll message Fraser anyway. Lots of Australians have a dog or a cat. We should have got one sooner.'

That was how Alan became part of our family. Back when Chanel worked at The Other Corporation, Erin was her manager and a reliable guide on how things were done here. Erin said that it was quite okay to feed Alan in the morning and leave him outside to amuse himself in the yard. 'It's called Set and Forget,' she told Chanel. Alan didn't bark much as we headed off for the day, leaving him alone - he was used to that way of life.

Then Ivy joined our household. Ivy is my mother, and she had Alan inside all the time. I tried to explain about Set and Forget. The news was on, and a government hatespokesperson was telling us why it was necessary to detain asylum-seeking queue-jumpers on an offshore island forever. Ivy said, 'I suppose that's called Set and Forget, too.'

But I've strayed from my subject of Alan's last day. My mind has started showing this tendency to play tricks. There was that time a bulb went, and when I fetched a new one from the cupboard it was labelled 'Worm White'. How strange, I thought, before realising that it was 'Warm White'. It must be overwork - I stay later and later at the Department these days.

Naturally we said nothing to Mel and Sydney about what we had to do. My flexi-day came, a winter morning with a vinyl sheen. The children were at school, so that left Ivy. I found her sitting on the sunny side of the patio with her face turned to the sky. She had a tube of Factor 73 beside her and Alan on her lap.

This is Melbourne. It was three degrees outside. Ivy was wearing Ugg boots, a beanie, a down jacket and gloves. She's always felt the cold. It caused difficulty when she came to live with us. After the first winter power bill, I had to point out that we couldn't keep the heating on just for her. She was to switch it off when the children left for school and switch it on when they came home. When I say 'point out', I mean that I was tactful. I left the bill lying around, and talked about what heating had cost the previous year and how much more we were paying now. That was when Ivy started going out on cold days, crossing the city on buses and trains. She went to places we had no idea were places. Altona! Brunswick! Before setting out, she'd take Alan for a long walk, so that when he came home he slept for hours. Now that he'd grown old and whined when left alone, she stayed with him whatever the weather.

'Alan's due for his injection,' I told her.

'Are you sure?'

'I have the reminder in my phone.'

One of Ivy's eyes has grown hooded and cloudy with age. Back then her eyes were still wide and grey, giving the impression that she spent her time looking into the distance. Chanel used to say that Ivy's eyes made her seem vacant, but Ivy can be very sharp. For a moment I was afraid that she'd insist on going to the vet with me. But Ivy doesn't like vets - they're too close to doctors. Her dread of the medical profession is totally irrational. She says, 'What do doctors know? They know about blood, eyeballs, what it's like on the inside of your lungs. We have nothing to say to each other.' Long ago back home, Ivy had a kidney stone. When they finally operated, the stone was so big that it was put on display in a medical museum. The surgeon said that the pain would have been unimaginable. Ivy had put up with it for five months rather than consult a doctor.

Ivy said, 'Brave boy.' She kissed the springy white fur on top of Alan's head and lifted him down.

When I came home, Ivy was in the kitchen. She saw me dangling Alan's lead attached to his empty collar, and lurched sideways as if she'd been hit. I told her the harmless, comforting story that Chanel and I had prepared. Alan's heart gave out the minute the vet lifted him onto the table, I said. 'It was very quick and peaceful.'

'I should have known,' said Ivy. 'It was the four of clubs this morning - deceit.'

'It was a kindness,' I told her. 'You know yourself how slow Alan had become. There was no lingering this way, no pain. Everything happened for his own good.'

Ivy said, 'You mean for the good of your couch.'

She spoke as if I had no feeling for Alan. But I've never forgotten the time when Sydney talked about him at school. His teacher said, 'Oh, you have a dog? For some reason, I thought your family were Muslims.' We were frightened when we heard that - what if other people made the same mistake? Chanel and I chose photos of the children cuddling Alan for our screensavers, and we bought a 'Beware of the Dog' sign for our gate. When Islam was banned and the arrests followed, who knows what difficulties might have come our way if not for Alan? Of course I was sad when he had to go.

I've just remembered that when the ban came in, Ivy told the children that no one could ban the new moon. She said that Muslims would be able to look up at it and take heart from the symbol of their faith. We had to warn the children against repeating her nonsense to anyone. That's the kind of thing we've had to put up with from Ivy over the years.

What I'd told her about Alan was quite true. It was very peaceful at the end. Everyone at the clinic understood how I felt. The nurse put on soft, calming music. The vet took Alan away to get the cannula in place without distressing me. After it was all over she said that I could sit with Alan for as long as I liked, and the nurse offered me a cup of tea.

The thing that sticks in my mind, even after all this time, is Alan coming back into the room with the cannula in his stumpy leg. It was secured by multicoloured tape, red, yellow, green, that stood out brightly against his fur. When he was led away he must have thought that he'd be spending the day at the clinic, as had happened once or twice when he wasn't well. Finding me waiting for him, he lowered his ears in greeting, lifted his head and stepped up his pace. He looked so gallant, trotting towards death with its cheerful colours taped to his leg.

It's Monday morning, and I'm at The Coffee Spot. It's in our shopping centre, a short walk away on the far side of Blue Nun Road. I've been coming here on my flexi-day for years. It began when Chanel insisted that I join a gym. I argued that lots of Australian men have a pot belly, but Chanel said that it was rarer in senior management. She's more ambitious than I am - it's the one area in which we hold different views. She tells me, 'Russ is a fool. You say so yourself. How come he's your manager and not the other way around?' She knows the answer as well as I do: Russ's brother-in-law is a cabinet minister. Not that it matters to me. I believe that it's best for people like us not to aim for the heights. It creates envy and attracts unnecessary attention. My unfailing advice to the children was: Study hard enough to be in the top ten but not so hard as to end up...