A Christmas Tail: A heart-warming Christmas romance

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‘Like what? Scooping up unfinished wine? Being gullible about natural disasters?’

‘Those too,’ Cat said. Her mind was whirring – it hadn’t stopped since Elsie had suggested that she could strike out on her own and do something she really believed in. ‘But I’ve also heard he does quite a good job of prettying up websites.’

‘Ah.’ Polly’s thin, pearly lips lifted at the corners. ‘Yes, he does have that going for him, whatever his insecurities are. And he is throwing himself into work to take his mind off things.’

‘So his heartbreak could play to my advantage?’

‘It could, but I wouldn’t start your negotiation with that. “Hi, Joe, seeing as you no longer have a girlfriend to spend time with, could you just…” Maybe focus on his skills as a designer, his great visionary mind, his intellect in general.’

‘Good plan.’ Cat leaned forward and fist-bumped Polly. ‘The two of us could really make a go of this dog-walking thing!’

‘Two of us?’

‘Of course. If you want to be a part of it?’

Cat and Polly had lived together at university in York ten years earlier, and discovering that they had grown up only a few miles apart had made their friendship stronger. After graduating, life had inevitably got in the way, but they’d remained firm friends, meeting up regularly. Cat had jumped at the opportunity to move the short distance from Brighton to Fairview and move in with Polly, and including her in her business idea was the logical next step. Polly was calm, measured and organized. Cat thought they would be a perfect match.

Polly chewed her lip. ‘I – I’d love to, but at the moment I have so little time. Studying, the work placement. I’m so close to graduating now, I can’t mess it up.’

‘Just get involved when you can. And it’s not all about the walking. There’ll be admin, marketing, accounts. There’s loads of things to consider – it’s not going to be a walk in the park. Now,’ Cat raised her eyes to the ceiling, ‘which clever person told me that?’

‘All right,’ Polly laughed, ‘you’re on. I’d love to be involved. And first, the most important decision for any new business.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A name. What, Cat, is your dog-walking business going to be called?’

‘“@PoochPromenade. For all your dog-walking needs in the Fairview area of Fairhaven. No dogs too small (or big).” What do you think?’

‘Sorry?’ Joe turned over a page of the newspaper, his head bent towards it as if trying to block out the rest of the world. He was sitting at the dining table which, along with the sofas, was in the house’s one giant living space. Cat thought it must have been two rooms that had been knocked through by some previous owners, or maybe the landlord Joe rented the house from.

‘For my bio, for Pooch Promenade. I’m setting up Facebook and Twitter accounts.’

Joe took a moment – Cat thought he was probably counting to three – before looking up at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees. ‘Read it again,’ he said.

She did. ‘So, what do you think?’

He nodded, lips pressed together. ‘I’m impressed. Hardly any flippancy at all, a bit of humour, striking the right balance between friendly and businesslike.’

Cat grinned. ‘Thank you.’

‘Apart from the name, of course, which could still do with some work.’

‘But your suggestions were worse than ours!’ Cat said. ‘This one feels right.’

It had been a week since Pooch Promenadehad been born, though it had taken a further four days to come up with the name. Polly had texted her suggestions from work: Doggy Daycare, Wonderful Walkies, Puppy Perks.They had interrupted favourite television shows, and Cat had woken in the middle of the night when an idea pushed its way to the surface. Joe had even got in on the act, though Cat wasn’t sure the Post-it note he’d left for her to find when he’d gone out for a run had been a serious suggestion. It said Bitchin’ Walks, next to a brilliant cartoon of a dog, lead in mouth, looking pleased. Cat had stuck it on the wall above her dressing table.

Polly had come up with Pooch Promenadewhile they were watching a period drama, the main characters strolling in the grounds of a grand stately home, parasols shielding them from the sun.

‘Does Magic Mouse have a Twitter account?’ Cat asked Joe.

‘Yup.’

‘So you’ve got lots of local followers?’

‘Yup.’ His head was back down, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. Cat made a face at him and started searching for it online.

‘I saw that,’ Joe said.

‘Good,’ Cat murmured, her attention drawn to the 2,500 followers Joe had managed to accumulate. ‘Wow.’ She began scrolling through them, clicking ‘follow’ on any that were obviously local to Fairview or Fairhaven. She recognized a couple of names, businesses mostly: Spatz Restaurant, the local library, Capello’s Ice Cream Parlour – Not Just for Sundaes. She found the nursery, hovered over the ‘follow’ button and then clicked on it. Alison could find out how proactive she was being.

She scrolled down through photo avatars and the occasional cartoon picture. Magic Mouse Illustrationswas represented by a simple cartoon of a mouse – half computer, half cheese-eating. It made Cat smile every time she saw it, and she wondered if she could convince Joe to draw something for Pooch Promenade.Her company would be so much more recognizable if she had a cute cartoon dog as the logo.

‘You can’t just follow people,’ Joe said, ‘you need to say something useful.’

‘I will. But there’s no point saying it if nobody’s listening.’

‘Very philosophical.’

Cat was trying to come up with a witty reply when her eyes snagged on a familiar name. Jessica Heybourne. Why did she know that name? She clicked onto her page, where there was a photo of a glamorous blonde, probably a few years older than Cat, smiling warmly at the lens with a confidence reserved for the frequently photographed. She had pale skin, heavily lined eyes and fair hair piled and teased like a cloud of candyfloss around her face. She had 22,000 followers, and her bio read: Bestselling cookery writer, total foodie, love my Westies and living by the sea. THE HEART OF FOOD out now.

That was it! Westies.

Elsie had told Cat that Jessica Heybourne should be at the top of her list of potential clients. She was a well-known author, popular in the community as well as further afield, and had three West Highland terriers and the potential to provide Cat with more word-of-mouth custom than the Fairhaven Press. And, as Elsie had told her gleefully, she lived at number one Primrose Terrace.

Cat had walked past it often, her eyes lingering over the elegant primrose paint, the large porch and the gleaming glass extension that was just visible from the side of the house. Cat sat back and sipped her tea, wondering how she should approach her. Jessica would never notice a general tweet – she probably didn’t have much time to read Twitter, though she used it to promote her books and hook her adoring public. She’d have to send her a direct tweet. She could always follow it up with a personal visit.

Abandoning her laptop, Cat walked to the window. The rain was falling in a solid sheet, the terrace barely visible beyond the raindrops slaloming down the glass. It was a typical March day, and Cat didn’t mind it – she would have to embrace all weathers if she was going to be a successful dog walker – but she wouldn’t give a good impression if she knocked on Jessica’s door looking like a bedraggled Great Dane.

She returned to her computer, followed Jessica and began composing her tweet. Half an hour and two bitten nails later she clicked the ‘tweet’ button, sat back and waited.

‘What are you looking so nervous about?’ Joe picked up her empty mug.

Cat shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just…looking for some clients.’

‘Inside your computer?’

‘That’s where it’s at these days,’ Cat said breezily, just as she remembered Joe’s insecurities about traditional illustration being sidelined by digital design. He disappeared into the kitchen and Cat heard the mugs hitting the sink with excessive force. ‘Shit,’ she whispered, then called out, ‘but how do you do it? You’ve got so many followers.’

Joe appeared and leaned against the door frame. He shrugged, his blue eyes fixing on Cat. ‘I put stuff out there – what I’m working on, links to clients’ websites and work I’ve done for them, chat to people when they ask a question. Just be open, friendly and professional, funny sometimes. And always talk about key things – mention Fairview a lot, and dog walking. Gradually people will pick it up, find out about you through searches or retweets.’

‘Oh,’ Cat said, surprised by Joe’s openness and lack of sarcasm. ‘Thanks, that’s really helpful. Funny?’

‘Funny’s good. Funny will get noticed much more than a straight tweet. And I know you can be funny.’

‘But…funny to you, maybe. Not intentionally.’

‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Try it, see what happens. I’ve got to get to work.’

Cat listened to him pad gently up the stairs. His office was at the front of the house, above the living room, as it had the biggest windows, the most natural light for him to work with.

Once he’d gone, Cat felt the silence like a weight. She wasn’t used to being at home during the morning. And Joe thought she was funny? She rubbed her forehead, reached out for her mug that was no longer there, and hit the ‘load new tweets’button.

Jessica Heybourne had followed her – and replied! Cat bit her lip. @PoochPromenade: A dog walker in Fairview? Are you new? I need to know more! Message me. Cat’s triumphant squeal filled the room, echoing off the high ceiling, and she thought she heard Joe’s office door open, wait a beat, then click shut.

Twenty minutes later, against a darker sky and even heavier rain, the doorbell rang. It was a high, optimistic trill and Cat rushed to answer it. In a series of direct messages, Jessica’s enthusiasm for Cat’s new business had almost surpassed her own, and the celebrity author had insisted on visiting her personally, right away. Cat had changed out of her dressing gown into a cream ruffle-collared shirt and smart jeans, run a brush through her short hair and framed her large dark eyes with mascara.

She opened the door to see Jessica – even more attractive than her photo – smiling up at her from beneath the hood of a wide-belted navy trench-coat, a cloud of white, soggy fur at her feet.

Cat glanced behind her, listened for a second and then welcomed them in a little way. ‘Hi, Jessica, thank you so much for coming. I’m Cat.’

‘Lovely to meet you.’ Jessica slipped off her hood, and her blonde hair cascaded down her back. ‘And this is Valentino, Coco and Dior.’ She gestured to the Westies in turn as they snuffled at Cat’s bare feet, their wet noses tickling her skin, and explored the new space with enthusiasm. One of them took hold of Joe’s running shoe, and Cat gently prised it from the dog’s mouth, checked it for tooth marks and put it on the stairs. She prayed that Shed wouldn’t appear, that Joe wouldn’t decide he needed a top-up of coffee. If he realized she’d let three dogs into the house…she pushed the thought away and stroked each of the dogs in turn. They responded without a hint of shyness, all keen to lap up the extra attention.

They were wearing different-coloured velvet collars dotted with sparkling stones, which Cat thought probably weren’t made out of glass. One of the dogs – was it Coco? – had his right ear bent over, as if affecting a slight vulnerability. Cat stroked the ear; the fur was unbelievably silky. They were friendly, pure white bundles of love, and Cat could feel her heart giving way.

‘They’re beautiful. How often do you walk them?’ Cat stood so she was back at eye level with Jessica.

‘Well, at least once a day, and it’s easy having Primrose Park so close by, but I do sometimes run out of time, and I’m sure they’d like more.’ Jessica’s voice was low and breathy, even though she’d only walked a few hundred yards, and Cat wondered if it was deliberate, along with her ditziness – she’d lived in the area long enough to know what the park was called – as part of a persona. ‘I’m on my own, you see,’ Jessica added, ‘and it’s hard sometimes.’

Cat nodded. ‘I know what that’s like. Is it…recent?’ She held her breath, wondering if she’d pushed it too far.

Jessica studied her dogs for a moment. ‘Quite recent. I…I’ve had a bit of a time of it, but I’m coming out the other side, emerging, slowly, from my chrysalis. Things are looking more positive, exciting almost. But I couldn’t have done it without my designer dogs. They’ve kept me sane, and they deserve the best.’

‘Well, I can definitely help with that,’ Cat said softly. ‘I’ll treat them as if they were my own. I – I’m sorry I can’t invite you in. My housemate’s working.’ She gestured towards the living room.

‘Oh, no, of course. I can’t stay long anyway, but I did want to meet you. And I wanted you to meet my boys.’ She gave an exaggerated flourish, but her smile was warm, her pale eyes meeting Cat’s easily.

‘They’re lovely. Really, really lovely. I’d be very happy to walk them as frequently as you needed – on a trial basis, and then more permanently if everything works out. I can’t see why it wouldn’t, but the trial is just so we’re all happy – you, me and your Westies.’

‘What other dogs do you have?’

‘Two mini schnauzers at the moment, but I’ve only been going…’ She stopped, thinking about Joe’s insistence that she be professional. ‘We’re a very new business, so we’re still building our client list.’

‘Sounds perfect! I love mini schnauzers.’

‘They belong to Elsie, next door.’

‘Oh, I think I’ve seen them – one’s still a puppy.’

‘That’s Disco,’ Cat said. ‘She’s a handful, but worth every bit of trouble.’

‘They all are.’ Jessica’s beautiful face broke into a grin, and Cat felt herself warming to her. ‘So, how about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘I have to go to London, and these poor poppets will be left alone. Your tweet has come at the perfect time! Could you collect them about eleven? I’ve got a spare key.’ She pulled it out of her pocket and dangled it on an elegant finger.

‘Of course.’ Cat took the key, surprised that Jessica was so instantly trusting. ‘And they’re OK with treats?’

‘They’re smothered in treats,’ Jessica confirmed. ‘They’ll be very put out if you don’t give them any. Won’t you, darlings?’

Valentino looked up at his owner, waggled his hind legs and let out a short, loud yip.

‘Fantastic!’ Cat squealed, glancing behind her, and Jessica took a step backwards. ‘That’s brilliant. Thanks so much for coming, Jessica. I’ll pick up Valentino, Coco and Dior tomorrow.’ She grinned, hoping her words would have the desired effect. ‘We can sort out payment and a proper schedule after that.’

‘Perfect,’ Jessica said softly. ‘Lovely to meet you, Cat.’

‘And to meet all of you.’ She bent, ruffled each of the Westies behind the ears, then felt her shoulders relax as Jessica put her hood back up and opened the door. The dogs trotted happily out into the rain and Jessica turned, planted a highly perfumed kiss on Cat’s stunned cheek, and stepped into the shallow porch leaving a trail of Coco Mademoiselle behind her. She made her way carefully down the front steps, and Cat saw that she was wearing boots with four-inch heels. Cat gave the author a final wave, closed the door gently behind her, leaned against it and shut her eyes. She exhaled loudly, and felt her breath catch as the landing floorboard creaked.

She opened her eyes.

‘Joe.’

He had his arms folded, his blond brows lowered. ‘Was that dogs? In here?’

‘Joe, I’m so—’

‘You know how I feel about them, Cat. And what do you think would have happened if Shed had come in? For God’s sake, don’t you ever think? How many were there? More than one from all the snuffling and the – the smell.’ He came slowly down the stairs, and Cat could almost feel his fury growing.

‘Three,’ she said. ‘They belong to Jessica Heybourne and she – she wants me to walk them. I’m sorry they had to come in, but it was raining, and it was only for a few minutes. She’s my first proper client.’

He was one step above her, looking down, and Cat could see more than just anger in his expression. She felt her excitement shrivel, Joe’s disappointment crushing her more than she had thought it could. He nodded, and for a second Cat thought he was going to back down, to agree that yes, it had been justified, and hooray for her new client.

‘Don’t bring dogs in here,’ he said instead. ‘I don’t ask too much – I think I’m pretty reasonable – but please, please don’t bring dogs into this house. If you think that’s going to be hard because of Pooch Promenade,well then…’ He glanced away, looked back at her and then slid past her into the living room, his shoulder grazing hers.

Cat stayed where she was, feeling hurt and wronged and indignant, and pretty sure that she understood what Joe’s unfinished sentence meant: work out a way to run Pooch Promenade without bringing dogs here, or find somewhere else to live.