And then Kent declares the meeting open and then everyone argues for two hours about what they argued about at the last meeting. Which is when Elsa sneaks out without anyone noticing.
She tiptoes up the stairs to the mezzanine floor. She peers at the door to The Monster’s flat, but calms herself with the thought that there is still daylight outside. The Monster never goes outside while it’s still light.
Then she looks at the door of the flat next to The Monster’s, the one without a name on the mail slot. That is where Our Friend lives. Elsa stands a few feet from it, holding her breath because she’s afraid it will smash the door and come charging out of the splintered remains and try to close its jaws around her throat if it hears her coming too close. Only Granny calls it Our Friend; everyone else says “the hound.” Especially Britt-Marie. Elsa doesn’t know how much fight there is in it, but either way she’s never seen such a big dog in her life. When you hear it barking from behind the door it’s like being whacked in the stomach by a medicine ball.
But she has only seen it once, in Granny’s flat, a few days before Granny got taken ill. She couldn’t have imagined feeling more afraid, even if facing a shadow eye-to-eye in the Land-of-Almost-Awake.
It was a Saturday and Granny and Elsa were going to an exhibition about dinosaurs. That was the morning Mum put the Gryffindor scarf in the wash without asking and made Elsa take another scarf—a vomit-green one. Mum knows Elsa hates green. She really lacks empathy sometimes, that woman.
Our Friend had been lying on Granny’s bed, like a sphinx outside a pyramid. Elsa stood transfixed in the hall, staring at that gigantic black head and the terrifying, depthless eyes. Granny had come out of the kitchen and was putting on her coat as if it were the most natural thing in the whole universe to have the biggest thing ever lying on her bed.
“What is . . . that thing?” Elsa had whispered. Granny carried on rolling her cigarette and replied indifferently: “That’s Our Friend. It won’t hurt you if you don’t hurt it.”
Easy for her to say, Elsa thought—how was she supposed to know what would provoke one of those? Once, one of the girls at school had hit her because she had “an ugly scarf.” That was apparently all Elsa had done to her, and she got hit for it.
And so Elsa stood there, her usual scarf in the wash and in its place an ugly scarf chosen by her mother, worrying that vomit-green might provoke the beast. In the end Elsa had explained that it was her mum’s scarf, not hers, and her mum had terrible taste, before backing away towards the door. Our Friend just stared at her. Or at least that was what Elsa thought, if she was right in thinking those were its eyes. And then it also bared its teeth, Elsa was almost sure of it. But Granny just muttered something about “kids, you know” and rolled her eyes at Our Friend. Then she went to find the keys to Renault and then she and Elsa went to the dinosaur exhibition. Granny left the front door wide open, Elsa remembers, and when they sat in Renault and Elsa asked what Our Friend was doing in Granny’s flat, Granny just answered: “Visiting.” When Elsa asked why it was always barking behind its door, Granny answered cheerily, “Barking? Ah, it only does that when Britt-Marie goes past.” And when Elsa asked why, Granny grinned from ear to ear and answered: “Because that’s what he likes doing.”
And then Elsa had asked who Our Friend lived with, and then Granny said: “Not everyone needs to live with someone, good God. For instance, I don’t live with anybody.” And even though Elsa insisted that this might have some connection with the fact that Granny was not a dog, Granny never explained anything else about it.