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‘But still adorable,’ Cat said. ‘More than anything, I’d like to spend time with Disco. I’d like to bury my head in her salt-and-pepper fur, take her for walks and watch TV with her on my lap. I could do that for the next few days at least, couldn’t I?’
‘You know you can borrow Disco any time you want. But I thought Joe wouldn’t let you have a dog in the house?’ Elsie frowned.
‘No,’ Cat said quietly, unexpelled emotion rising in her throat. ‘No, he won’t let me. He’s got a cat, so no dogs allowed, apparently. I’m sure if we found the right one they’d get along fine, but he’s adamant.’
‘He’s always seemed like a very pleasant young man to me, and I know people can be very sensitive about their pets – often rightly – but I’m surprised he won’t let you have a dog.’
‘Sometimes he’s nice, but most of the time he’s a grumpy sod. But I love living with Polly, and I love being here, on Primrose Terrace, and I want to stay.’
‘Oh, chin up, don’t get all teary.’
‘I’m not.’ Cat swallowed and blinked. ‘It just seems like when one thing goes wrong, it magnifies all the other little niggles into giant, immovable barriers.’ Her voice wavered at the end.
‘That’s why you need to be proactive. Keep moving forward, and have another biscuit.’
Cat looked at the plate, now swimming in tea. She shrugged and popped one into her mouth before it covered her hand in chocolate. ‘At least I can see Disco and Chalky, and I’ll still take them out twice a day while you’re getting back on your feet.’
‘That’s the spirit!’
‘Lots of spring sunshine and your two perfect pooches is exactly what I need while I’m working out a plan.’ Cat clicked her fingers and Disco bounced across the carpet and started licking her wrist. Cat laughed as the dog’s whiskers tickled her hand.
‘You might be right.’ Elsie drummed her fingers against her lips, her gaze fixed on the thick verge of grass outside the window, where the primroses were just starting to peek through. ‘I think, Cat, that you may have come up with your own perfect solution.’
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‘Dog walking? As a job?’
‘Yes, Polly. Taking other people’s dogs for walks. It’s a growing market – people who work all day, busy families, people like Elsie who might be temporarily unable to take their pets out. I bet there are loads of dog-owners out there who don’t even know it’s an option. Now it will be, because of me.’
They were sitting on the over-squashy, faded blue sofas in the living room of number nine Primrose Terrace, sharing a bottle of wine. Polly had come back late from Fairview vet’s, where she was doing the work placement for her veterinary nursing degree, and had changed into blue cotton pyjamas, her bare feet up on the coffee table.
‘And you’re sure Alison won’t have you back at the nursery, even if you grovel?’
‘I wouldn’t go back, even if she grovelled. I don’t think it’s the right job for me, not in a conventional nursery, anyway. Elsie’s right, this is perfect. Between the beach and the park this must be a prime doggy neighbourhood, and I can’t think of anything I’d like more than spending time walking other people’s dogs.’
Polly scrutinized her, her wide blue eyes unblinking in a way that Cat had almost got used to, despite the effect, along with her long blonde hair, of being a bit Midwich Cuckoos. ‘I’m sure you can do it,’ she said slowly, ‘but there are lots of things to consider. Lots. How much you’ll charge, how many dogs you can walk at a time. Do the owners let their dogs have treats? If so, what kind and how often? Will you pick them all up from their houses? Will they get on with each other? And think of all the poo you’ll have to pick up. It won’t be a walk in the park.’
‘Ha ha.’
‘What, I – oh!’ Polly grinned. ‘It’s true, though. I know you’ll think things through, but you can be…’
‘Impulsive, spontaneous?’
‘Excitable, a bit like a dog.’
Cat threw a cushion at her. ‘I get that I need to think about it like a business, but I’m excited, Pol. As excited as I was about moving here, finally getting to live with you. I think I can do this, and at the very least I can test the water, see if anyone nearby would be interested in a dog walker – other than Elsie, of course.’
‘You won’t charge her, will you?’
‘I said I wouldn’t, but she insists on it. She’ll be my first client and I’ll give her a special OAP rate.’ Cat sipped her wine and beamed, feeling a swell of something like accomplishment, even though all they’d really done was come up with an idea and the hard work was ahead of her.
‘Well, I think it’s pretty inventive,’ Polly said. ‘Inspirational, almost.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. You may not have intended to leave your job today—’
‘Get booted out, you mean?’
‘But,’Polly continued, holding up a finger, ‘this could be better. And you’ll have a nearly trained veterinary nurse on hand, should anything go hideously wrong.’
‘What’s going to go hideously wrong?’ Joe sloped into the room, sat next to Polly and poured himself a glass of red wine. He was in his usual work outfit of jeans and a hoody, the current one navy with an orange goldfish on the front, his short hair sticking up in unruly tufts as if his day had involved a lot of head scratching.
‘There’s a tsunami heading towards Fairview beach. Think of the carnage it’s going to cause.’
Joe sat up, almost spilling his wine. ‘What? Who said anything about a tsunami?’
‘Calm down,’ Polly said, pushing gently against his chest. ‘Cat was having you on. No tsunami.’
‘Right.’ Joe glared at Cat and she grinned. Joe and Polly could almost be twins. They were both blond-haired and blue-eyed, Polly’s frame almost as slender as a boy’s, but Joe’s blond was more strawberry than ash. Cat had never found him unnerving, only annoying. ‘So what’s going to go wrong?’ he asked.
‘Cat’s new business venture – except it’s not, but if it does, then I’ll be on hand.’
‘To offer moral support?’ Joe noticed Polly’s feet up on the coffee table, and gently nudged them onto the floor.
‘To provide medical assistance.’
‘Are we going back to the tsunami? Why would you need medical assistance? Do your techniques work on people as well as animals?’ Joe rubbed his forehead.
‘Not for the people, silly,’ Polly said, ‘for the dogs.’
‘Dogs?’ Joe sat up again, this time keeping careful control of his wine. ‘What dogs?’ There was an edge of panic in his voice that Cat might have found amusing, except that it was his aversion to dogs that was stopping her from having one of her own at Primrose Terrace.
‘All dogs.’ Cat threw her arms up. ‘I’m going to walk the dogs of Fairview. I’m going to look after them all, from chihuahuas to Great Danes, give them exercise and love and the freedom they deserve, and I’m going to get paid for it!’
Joe took a sip of wine, his movements slow and measured. Cat had, in the two months she’d been living there, discovered that this meant he was formulating an argument, considering his point carefully before he expressed it. Spontaneity was not Joe’s thing. Cat was expecting a carefully crafted attack on all things canine. It didn’t come.
‘So your time at the nursery,’ he said softly, ‘it’s…come to an end?’
‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But…it seemed slightly inevitable.’
‘Why?’
Joe gave a quick smile. ‘Because every time I asked about your day, you gave me an elaborate description of all the things you wished you’d been doing with the children – some of which would have got you sued, by the way – because the real answer was too boring to talk about. I guessed that you weren’t that happy there. Sorry if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’
‘Stick,’ Polly said. ‘Ha ha!’
‘What?’
‘Y’know, dog walking, stick…we’re collecting dog puns.’
‘Not intentionally,’ Cat said. ‘But you’re right, I didn’t last at the nursery.’
Since she’d been living there, it had become an evening ritual. Cat would tell Joe all the things she wished they’d been doing at the nursery, and Joe, a freelance illustrator, would go on about how wonderfully cooperative his clients were to begin with, and how it would take him half a day to lovingly create a drawing of a single person, only to be told by the client that they looked too angry, or too insipid, or too posh. Joe was currently working on websites, marketing and branding for small companies and, at the moment, a local magazine that was probably the cause of the hair pulling.
‘Whose decision?’ Joe asked.
‘What?’
‘Did you jump, or were you pushed?’
The room fell into silence, thoughts drifting up towards the high ceiling as Cat tried to conjure up the best way of explaining what had happened. She didn’t need to.
‘Cat took Disco to the nursery in her handbag, and she escaped during music time. It gave the children more excitement than Miss Knickers-too-tight could handle.’ Polly poured more wine, put her feet back on the table and took them off again at Joe’s instant glare.
‘You took a puppy into a nursery in a handbag?’ He narrowed his eyes.
Cat nodded.
‘And expected chaos not to rain down upon you?’
‘I was hopeful.’
‘You were deluded. No wonder she fired you.’
Cat pressed her lips together and gave a small nod. ‘Maybe. But look where it’s led me.’
‘What, to a bottle of wine and some pie-in-the-sky idea about becoming the local Dr Dolittle?’
‘Hey!’
‘Joe,’ Polly chided, ‘that’s not fair. If Cat sets her mind to it, then I think she can do it.’
‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.’ He raised his glass, and Polly and Cat did the same, though Cat could see amusement glimmering behind Joe’s serious expression. His rather large ginger cat, Shed, took the opportunity to stalk into the room, shaking out his back feet in turn as if discarding distasteful footwear, and positioning himself on the coffee table. He nudged the bottle of wine close to the edge with his tail.
‘How come Shed’s allowed on the table and not my feet?’ Polly asked. This was not a new argument, and Shed gave her a look that said just that: I’m allowed, you’re not. Get over it.
Joe shrugged. ‘It’s harder to get him to behave than you.’
‘So your battles are based on the effort it takes to achieve the required results? That’s a hopeless way to live your life, Joey.’
‘Yeah, well. I’m older than you are.’
‘But not wiser.’
‘It’s my lease, so I get to make the decisions.’
‘I’m paying the same amount of rent.’
‘Do you always have to be so argumentative?’
‘Only when I’m standing up for my rights.’ Polly crossed her arms.
‘Your rights to have your feet on the table?’
‘I had a shower when I got in, so they’re perfectly clean. Cleaner than Shed’s, I bet. And he’s got his bum on the table.’
Joe looked sideways at his sister. ‘Fair point. Come on, Shed.’
He prodded Shed’s back, and the cat glared at him and stepped onto his knee, kneading his paws into Joe’s jeans.
‘Ahhh – aaaaaaaaaah, not there, Shed!’ Joe tried to move the cat but he refused to budge, and Cat hid her laughter behind her glass. She made the mistake of catching Polly’s eye, and they both shook silently while Joe tried to rescue his private parts. Small portions of near-harmless revenge were very satisfying, even when they came from an unlikely source.
The bottle of wine was empty, Cat’s eyes were blinking sleepily and Joe had long since disappeared to do more work or fume, silently, behind his office door. Polly switched off the television and drummed her fingers on the table.
Cat sat up. ‘What?’
‘He’s not always been like that, you know.’
‘Who, Shed?’ Shed was asleep in Joe’s place on the sofa, a big orange fuzz, his face buried under his tail. Cat imagined he was secretly plotting ways to get her into trouble, playing the perfect pet against her role of irritating new housemate.
‘Joe,’ Polly said. ‘You’ve got the worst of him at the moment, that’s all.’
‘The two-month bad patch?’ Cat raised an eyebrow and grinned at her friend’s exasperation. ‘Sorry, I know things weren’t that great for him before I moved in, but I – I mean, I don’t know the whole story.’ She spoke gently, thinking of all the times she’d tried to get the truth out of Polly, knowing that it wasn’t fair to level her curiosity at her new landlord, but unable to help it.
‘It’s probably time to tell you. He was really stung by Rosalin. No, not stung, that’s not fair. Sometimes it’s easy to think of Joe as a grumbling, emotionless lump, but he’s not like that. He’s broken-hearted.’
‘She left him?’
Polly nodded, hesitated for a second, and then sighed. ‘For his business partner,’ she added. Her tone suggested she still couldn’t believe it, and Cat could understand the incredulity.
‘Alex did the first break-up. They’d been running Magic Mouse Illustrationsfor nearly five years, and he told Joe he’d been headhunted by a company in London, some global corporation with a fat salary and all the extras, and he was going to take it. That was hard, not only because Alex was leaving, but because Joe thought he wouldn’t be able to do it without him. Alex was always better at the graphic design – Joe’s skills are mostly straight illustration, which he’s worried is a dying art. It’s crushed his confidence to think Alex got poached, even though I’m pretty sure Alex wasn’t telling Joe the whole truth.’
‘What do you mean?’ The temperature had dropped, and Cat put a cushion over her feet, too wedged into the sofa to go and get warmer clothes.
‘I think Alex was exaggerating. I think he wanted out – he was about to steal Joe’s girlfriend – so he applied for the job and got it. I’m sure there was no headhunting. Anyway, a few days after that Rosalin told Joe she was leaving him, that she was moving to London with Alex Duhamel, smooth and French and, from that moment on, no longer Joe’s friend. It’s put him off French things for ever – Brie, Paris – and women, and…some other things.’
‘That’s horrible.’ Cat felt instantly guilty, felt the usual sweep of shame at her curiosity.
‘He lost everything in a few days,’ Polly continued. ‘He’s kept Magic Mousegoing, he’s got his head down, but he’s not coping as well as he’d like us to believe. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I don’t like introducing him as “my heartbroken brother”. People shouldn’t be judged on their back story, so I didn’t fill in the blanks.’ Polly sat forward, elbows on her knees. ‘Also, I didn’t want to worry you. It used to be me, Joe and Rosalin here. Joe was fine about you moving in – or he claimed he was – but you’ve still replaced Rosalin in this house, so you might be getting a harder time of it than you should.’
‘He’s not being actively mean to me.’
‘But he’s miserable, sarcastic, pessimistic. I thought it was about time I explained. I don’t want you thinking I’ve mis-sold you the Primrose Terrace experience.’
Cat laughed. ‘You haven’t, and I’m really happy here, I promise. If I wasn’t then I’d be in Brighton trying to get my old job back. But I’m really going to give dog walking a go. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before – it’s perfect for me! And your brother may be down in the dumps, but he sometimes makes an effort to be nice to me, and he’s definitely got his uses.’
