One Perfect Summer

smile. He doesn’t smile back.
    It’s clear that night that Dad is not going to go to bed until I do, so finally I give in and say goodnight. It’s ridiculous.
    ‘I’ll bring Dyson in,’ I say, yawning.
    ‘Bring him where?’ Dad halts in his tracks.
    ‘To the kitchen,’ I respond.
    ‘No,’ Joe quickly cuts in. ‘He’ll be fine outside.’
    I stare at my dad, but know he’s not going to give in. Not a dog person. ‘Right, that’s settled, then,’ he says, turning towards the stairs. He pauses at the bottom and looks back at me.
    ‘I’ll be up in a minute,’ I tell him firmly. His eyes dart between Joe and me and he leaves, realising that, in this small way, he’s not going to be the victor.
    He creaks his way up the stairs slowly. I wait until he’s inside the bathroom before going to Joe, who is still sitting on the sofa.
    ‘Let me help you make up your bed,’ I say, lifting up the sheets that Mum brought down. We do the job together, then he glances at me awkwardly.
    ‘Night,’ he says.
    ‘Are you sure Dyson will be okay outside?’ I check.
    Almost in response, Dyson starts to bark manically. Joe and I meet each other’s eyes for a split second before rushing to the door.
    ‘DYSON!’ he shouts, running out into the darkness. I follow him, and as soon as my feet touch the driveway I hear a loud yelp. Then: silence.
    ‘DYSON!’ Joe shouts again.
    ‘DAD!’ I scream into the house. ‘DAD!’
    Joe runs out of the gate.
    ‘JOE!’ My voice sounds off into the darkness. ‘WAIT!’
    My dad bursts out of the kitchen door, then reaches back inside to grab a flashlight.
    ‘JOE!’ I scream again.
    ‘DYSON!’ I hear him shout.
    My dad holds me back behind him as we rush through the gate. Then we hear Joe to our left.
    ‘Dyson . . .’
    I will never forget the tone in Joe’s voice. My dad points his torch up the track. Joe is crouched down over a hairy lump, tenderly holding his dog’s head. ‘Dyson . . .’ he says again. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, good boy . . .’
    Dad quickly flashes the light around to scan the scene, but there’s no one to be seen. He returns the light onto Joe. I break away from my dad and run to him.
    ‘He’s still breathing,’ Joe says, tears pouring down his distressed face. Dyson judders under his touch and his tail twitches in a feeble attempt to wag. Dad reaches us and shines his light at Dyson. His black scraggy hair looks stark and bright under the flashlight’s glare. The light moves to his head and I reel away. There’s huge gash to his skull and blood is pouring from it, all over Joe’s hands.
    ‘It’s okay, good boy,’ Joe whispers tearfully, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels.
    Dad’s light moves to a large, blood-splattered rock nearby.
    ‘We’ve got to get him to a vet,’ Joe says.
    ‘I’ll take Mum’s car,’ I tell Dad.
    ‘I’ll drive you,’ he says.
    Joe gingerly tries to lift Dyson, but he’s too heavy to carry alone. Dad takes over from me and I run on ahead to get Mum’s car keys and tell her what we’re doing.
    Joe sits in the boot, tenderly cradling his dog.
    ‘How’s he doing?’ I ask from the backseat as Dad navigates the bendy country roads.
    ‘He’s still breathing,’ Joe replies and a tiny spark of hope hits me. Maybe it will be okay . . .
    ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.
    He doesn’t answer me, instead murmuring, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ over and over again as he strokes Dyson’s head. Tears continue to pour down his cheeks, but he’s keeping his sobs in check.
    ‘Alice!’ Dad gets my attention from the front seat. ‘You’d better call ahead to warn them.’
    He hands me his mobile phone and I ring directory enquiries to locate an emergency number for the vet on night duty.
    My dad waits in the waiting room, while I go into the consultation room with Joe. The vet glances with curiosity at the bandage wrapped around Joe’s head, but he doesn’t comment. He’s a tall slim man with short, sandy blond hair and a kind – albeit tired – face. He helps Joe lay Dyson out on the table and quickly checks him over.
    ‘What happened?’
    ‘We found him like this,’ Joe replies numbly. ‘There was a rock nearby.’
    ‘Did you see who did it?’ the vet asks, his eyes once more darting to Joe’s bandage.
    I’m about to interject, but Joe quickly shakes his head. ‘No.’ He gives me a direct stare and my mouth closes.
    ‘Can you operate?’ Joe asks.
    ‘There’s little chance