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It was Monty that stopped him.
Monty was thumping wildly at the door, thick claws dragging down the wood. The impact of him was strong enough to make the door shake on its hinges, like someone was trying the batter it down. It shattered the cool, clear silence that had filled Jude’s head for the last six hours.
He had thought he had dealt with Monty. He had dealt with all other loose ends. Originally, he had been going to put Monty in a dog’s home for a week or so to keep him out of the apartment, but that had fallen through, so he simply put some of the leftover animal sleeping medication into his kibble. Jude remembered now that Monty had always had a bad reaction to that medication—but back then he’d had Willem to comfort the animal, to sit and pat his furry belly as Monty suffered through the bad dreams.
Monty began to howl, high and shrill, like something drowning. His pounding became less regular.
Jude listened to the animal’s anguish, and it broke his heart.
Someone would come and discover Monty and what remained of Jude St Francis in about twenty hours. But, lying naked in the bathtub, surrounded by sharp objects, Jude found the idea of Monty alone for those twenty hours unbearable. Monty, who had always been so dedicated to him, who had loved Jude even as Jude had been initially a bit disgusted by the demanding, hairy, loud mess of an animal that Willem had brought home from a shoot in Monaco to keep Jude company. Monty, whom Willem had gripped the folded satin cheeks of, and pulled them back into a toothy smile and laughed, “see, Judy, he looks just like me!”
Jude gripped the sides of the bath and levered himself out. It was so cold—and he hadn’t even realised it—that he was shaking badly. He managed to get himself into his wheelchair. It felt like a herculean effort. He pulled back the bolt on the bathroom and turned the handle.
Monty burst through into the bathroom, sides shaking with juddering breaths. He was a large animal, when Jude was walking Monty came almost up to his hip, and in his chair Monty and him were almost eye-to-eye. Monty looked terrible. His lovely blonde-chocolate coat was matted around his mouth and ears, his eyes were blown wide. As Monty pressed close, Jude could feel the dreadful, feverish heat of the dog. Jude tried to comfort him, but his hands were weak and clumsy, and Monty wouldn’t stop that terrible, terrible howling.
Monty’s keening, shaking, howling grief burst through the apartment like a physical thing. It was a storm that Jude recognised. He tried to scratch behind Monty’s ears, tried to soothe his shaking. The dog tried to let him, but shivered and seized too much for Jude’s clumsy hands.
Monty was probably hallucinating—or as close to hallucinating as a dog could get. Stupid, stupid—Jude cursed himself—he should have remembered, it should have cut through the haze of the moment. Jude gripped the radiator and used that to lower himself out of the chair and onto the ground. His arms were weak and shaking. Monty overpowered him, knocking him painfully into the wall in desperation. Monty’s tail flapped, briefly, and his huge, wet nose pressed into Jude’s neck.
“It’s alright, Monty,” Jude pulled as much as he could into his lap, although the weight of the dog was murder on his back, “It’s alright, it’s alright, Judy’s here.”
Monty rested his great body on Jude’s lap, turning his head around to nose at him insistently. His big wet eyes were wide and there was a tautness to him, like a wire about to snap. Jude tried to pet him with as much pressure as he felt would be comfortable—trying to break through the fugue of Monty’s medication. Monty’s noises had dimmed from howls to pathetic whimpering. Every so often Monty would try to roll closer to Judy, crushing the man against the white bathroom walls.
“It’s alright,” Jude repeated, over and over, like a mantra. “It’s alright, Monty, it’s all alright.” As he smoothed Monty’s tangled fur, he remembered that it was his fault Monty was so unkempt. Monty had long hair that need frequent shampooing and combing, a task he usually performed religiously, but hadn’t done now for at least a month. He remembered, vaguely, that it was something Monty’s walker had said when she’d dropped him off the other day. Jude had meant to remember to book Monty a grooming session, but had forgotten. Jude pressed his face close to the smelly animal.
Jude hadn’t really thought about what would happen to Monty without him. He had always assumed Harold would take him in, but now he realised it was unlikely. Harold’s neighbourhoods probably did not allow pets like Monty, and besides, Monty was a huge dog who needed weekly grooming and lots of attention. Harold and Julia were elderly, and Monty, although charming in other ways, was abysmally trained. When Willem had walked him, he usually needed to lift Monty out of the road because he wouldn’t respond to his name if he found something more interesting to smell.
Then where? Would JB take him in, and interrupt his 12 or 14 hour work sessions with a hour long walk, and on the weekends three hours of grooming? It seemed unlikely. And Monty wasn’t old, but he was established, too old to be adopted quickly in a shelter, or perhaps adopted at all. Almost nobody lived in a place that allowed or even tolerated pets, especially not unruly, huge and loud pets like Monty. Not to mention, Monty had two bad legs and tended to get hacking colds in the winter.
“I’m sorry, Monty,” Jude said, dragging his hands down Monty’s handsome coat, “I’m really sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Monty had spent the last few months like he had, lying on the floor with his nose pointed towards the door, waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back. It had made Jude feel terrible. He hated that his favourite animal, his hounding, loud, ugly and happy dog had been reduced to a quiet, contemplative thing.
“Oh, Monty,” Jude leaned back and let out a long breath. Monty had settled down enough with his petting to lie still and quiet, although he hadn’t closed his eyes and still case furtive glances around the bathroom.
Jude was tired. Really tired. What people didn’t seem to get about him was the situation wasn’t friends verses Jude. It had always, always been: Jude and his friends verses Jude’s mind. Or maybe, them verses Jude’s body, or verses the evil thing that was buried, snakelike and cold, in his body. And although he had some allies before and currently, he had been drafted into the conflict at birth. It had been something he had been fighting all those years, decades on top of more decades, and he was war weary. All he wanted to do was put his weapons down.
Monty deserved better than him. Monty deserved Willem. But Monty had Jude, and nobody else. Jude’s friends tolerated the dog to varying degrees, but on this big wide world, in all the countries of all the people, the only person who really loved Monty was Jude.
Monty snuffled unhappily, tail stirring. Jude scratched behind his ears. Tomorrow, he’ll ring the groomers, book an emergency appointment. He’ll even pay extra for it, get all the additional services, clip the dog’s nails and double shampoo his beautiful coat. After that, Jude will buy another bright red rubber ball, maybe even a dozen, and take Monty to the pool so he can play fetch in the water. For such hairy thing, Monty really loved the water, and was an even better swimmer than Jude himself.
Monty was warm enough across his lap, a big heavy soft pillow, that Jude was no longer shivering. Monty made what remained of his legs go numb. Jude figured that, in a strange kind of way, Monty was the only living thing Jude could be naked around and not feel even a little uncomfortable. Maybe that was because Monty was naked all the time. Or, as Willem loved to joke, Monty was just like him. But while Monty and Jude both had two bad legs, Monty had an extra set, and besides for all the toes he was missing in his back paws it never seemed to slow him down or give him any pain. Missing five toes seemed to impede Monty about as much as pieces of tape stuck to them—an occasional annoyance when he stumbled running, but otherwise ignored.
Tomorrow. It will cheer him up to see Monty happy again. Monty had such a wide, dumb smile, as if Jude’s attention was all he’d ever needed to exceed every expectation. Monty loved Willem, Monty loved Jude, Monty loved Harold and JB and Julia and Malcom and both Henry Youngs and everyone else he’d ever met, and it was a dog’s love, a beef’s love, tough and overcooked and simple.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, Jude thought to himself and murmured: “Tomorrow. Tomorrow. I love ya, To-morr-ow.” Why had Willem never done Annie? His voice was good enough. Jude’s eyes slid shut.