Chapter 29 Connor #3
“Mum, people are making videos of themselves singing Champ’s night song.” Toby tries to sound solemn but can’t contain his joyful grin. “And posting them on TikTok. It’s mental what’s happening.”
“The campaign’s official hashtag is now #InnocentChamp,” Ree tells me. “I had to make a tough decision with very little help”—she shoots a savage look at Toby—“and I’ll be honest. I didn’t—”
“Oh, sorry, who stayed up half the night to pick out all the cutest Champ photos?” Tobes protests.
Ree ignores him. After a dignified two-second silence, she goes on: “I was really reluctant to let go of the Furry Fugitive and Gone Dog hashtags that did so well for us at first, but once the momentum was building and it started to feel like an unstoppable force had been unleashed, I just thought, ‘Neither of those is quite right.’ Like, they’re misleading—or they easily could be.
‘Fugitive’ was perfect but ‘Furry’ wasn’t. ”
“Furry doesn’t only mean what you think it means, Mum,” says Tobes.
“And Gone Dog was so, so close to perfect, except that… You’ve read Gone Girl, right, Mum?”
I nod—yes, I’ve read it—then repeat the gesture twice more. This is something positive, a “yes”-themed thing I can do with my head that I can also hide behind.
The #InnocentChamp campaign… How can such a thing exist?
And, since it does, how am I not in sole charge of it?
I can’t bear it. I want to scream and punch the bed until I’ve expelled all my rage.
How could Ree do all this without me? She must never, ever find out how betrayed I feel.
I don’t think she’d be able to forgive me for feeling as angry with her as I do now.
I tell myself that of course she hasn’t betrayed or abandoned me. She’s just trying to help. I’m shocked, that’s all. We’re on the same side, me and Ree.
It’s the Universe that’s let me down, I decide. I thought we had a deal, Universe. I thought the deal was: massive suffering in family of origin accepted without complaint or even a mention, but then my reward is: no suffering in chosen, created family. None caused by family members, anyway.
“I just didn’t want anyone thinking Gone Dog and Gone Girl might have anything in common, as characters, because they don’t,” says Ree.
Corinne nods. “That’s good thinking, Ree. #InnocentChamp is perfect, and bang on point. That’s the key message we need to put out: He didn’t do this. It wasn’t him.”
“So, now it’s all coordinated,” Ree tells me. “We’ve got the same hashtag across all platforms: InnocentChamp. No spaces, capital I, capital C.”
“Right,” I say. I don’t know what’s happened to my emotions, which were right here only a moment ago and are usually pretty close to the surface, even if I have to hide them most of the time.
Hashtag Gone Feelings. For the time being, I can’t seem to reach them.
I would need to be convinced, in fact, that I have any. This is scarier than the anger was.
Silently, I recite to myself all the most upsetting things I can think of: Your darling dog is not your own. The authorities can take him if they want to. Nothing is safe. The legal system can take Champ and kill him if it wants to, even though he’s the sweetest soul that could ever exist.
Nothing happens. I wonder about the possibility that I will never have a feeling again, but even that doesn’t move the emotional needle away from zero.
***
Large—I’m guessing this next bit is from at least a week later.
It’s about Champ’s night song. I’m sure by now you’ve heard all the different versions.
Here’s a fascinating detail you might not know, though, and I only found it out from a piece I read where someone had done a proper analysis: In the end, there were more online posts arguing about “Land of Cute and Furry” (which lyrics are better, the whole privilege/colonialism thing) than there were arguing about Champ having bitten Tess Gavey versus him being innocent.
Can you believe that? Well, according to this guy (who admittedly might be wrong—I’m not sure how to check), it’s true.
***
“If you ask me,” says Mark, “the worst change is ‘thee’ to ‘you’ and ‘thy’ to ‘your.’ The song’s a period piece.
It doesn’t sound right with modern language.
” From there, he launches into a rant about churches in which the proper wording of the Lord’s Prayer has been abandoned in favor of easier language: “‘Yours’ is the kingdom? What’s wrong with ‘Thine’?
” Ten minutes on the Book of Common Prayer follow, and how there are almost no churches in Cambridgeshire that care about it anymore.
“I couldn’t give a monkey’s about ‘thee’ versus ‘you,’” I say. “What I’m not willing to tolerate is ‘God who made thee bitey, make thee bitier yet.’ Champ isn’t bitey. He didn’t—”
A groan comes from Ree. “Mum, how many times? You can say you won’t tolerate it all you like, but people are singing it—as many who are on our side as who aren’t.
And they’ll probably carry on. Not gonna lie, there’s a whole…
faction of people out there who’d love Champ even more at this point if it turned out he did bite Tess!
They’d love him to get bitey so that he can defeat the bad guys. ”
“But you said the ‘bitey/bitier’ version came from Tess’s supporters originally,” I say. “I just don’t understand why—”
“Mum, trust,” says Tobes. “The official #InnocentChamp campaign has made its position very clear: It’s ‘God who made thee cuddly/Make thee cuddlier yet.’ The overwhelming majority of Champ fans are still singing that version.”
“It’s just a shame ‘bitey’ rhymes with ‘mighty,’” says Mark.
“It should be ‘fighty.’” Tobes yawns. “That rhymes with ‘mighty,’ but also, you can fight for justice, can’t you?”
“I reckon I could bite for justice too,” says Ree.
“It doesn’t matter,” says Mark. “What matters is that this campaign has turned out to be a brilliant thing. It changes everything. Champ’s case is so high profile now, there’s no way the authorities could whiz him off and put him to sleep without due process—not while people are writing about him in national newspapers. We’ll be able to prove—”
“And what if the police don’t accept our proof?” I cut him off. “Tess’s wound’s bound to be healing by now. What if the tooth marks aren’t distinct enough anymore for us to prove they’re not Champ’s?”
“Then we work on consolidating his alibi,” says Mark. “We launch an initiative to find people who saw you walking him by the lode that afternoon.”
“Launch an initiative?” He’s been listening to Corinne for too long. “Mark, I don’t know how to launch a bloody initiative, and neither do you.”
“Never lost a fight.” Toby holds up his hands. “Just saying.”
“We’re not going back,” I say in a steely voice I’ve never used before apart from silently in my head. “And the lyrics of Champ’s night song aren’t up for negotiation. It’s ‘God who made thee cuddly/Make thee cuddlier yet.’ Please, somebody who visits TikTok and Instagram regularly—”
“‘Visits TikTok’?” Toby yelps.
“It’d legit be crease if it wasn’t so cringe,” says Ree.
“—make it clear that Champ’s mum requires all his supporters to stop changing the words.
” I ignore my children’s derision and carry on issuing orders.
“They’re my words, about my dog. No one gets to change them without my permission.
Also, Ree, I don’t want Champ associated in any way with your new crop of best mates whose dogs have eaten toddlers and chewed people’s legs off. ”
Ree laughs. “Loving your new sarcastic vibe, Mum. Suits you.”
“I know you’re not being straight with me about that…new lot you’ve just recruited,” I tell her. “Every time I ask you directly, you change the subject. Please get rid of them. Whatever you have to do.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Do you want to know the truth about the incredibly kind and caring friends of Champ that you’re so keen to cut ties with?
They’re mainly people whose dogs, exactly like Champ, have been unfairly vilified for no good reason.
Okay? You think being lied about by Tess Gavey’s the only way a dog can be unjustly persecuted?
You have no idea what some people have been through—lovely Darren, Sue and Dennis Cooper, Craig, the Youngs—all their dogs weren’t even accused of acts of violence before being carted away.
They were just unlucky enough to have a breed—”
“Hang on, who are all these people?” Mark asks me.
“We don’t know any of them and we don’t need to,” I say firmly. “They’re nothing to do with us.”
“Oh, so we don’t care about their dogs, no?” says Ree. “We only care about our own?”
“I care about saving Champ. That’s all. That’s what this is. I’m not having my…mission diluted or turned into anything apart from that. I won’t stand for it.”
“God who made Mum fighty, make her fightier yet.” Tobes sounds impressed.
***
This next little snippet will feel like it comes out of nowhere, Large.
I was pretty chuffed with myself when I worked out that it’s about Dutch Barn vodka and the advertising of that same drink by the comedian Ricky Gervais.
Read it, and then I’ll explain what I think it means.
You’ll notice we’re in first-person past tense for this bit, and it becomes clear after a few lines that it’s the dead dog talking again—Furbert, describing a scene in which Sally Lambert is talking to Champ.
***