Janet Jackson Superhost: Warmth, humour and romance for a gorgeous heroine forced to reinvent hersel

17. The Dogs

The Dogs

The next day, I wake up at 5 a.m., log on to all the apps and suspend all bookings for the cottage going forward. It’s a gigantic feeling of relief. My heart’s not in it any more. I’m way more excited about being a café Superhost from now on. Chloe and Spencer have taken the puppy’s bed upstairs with them as he’s so young and needs a lot of care and attention, plus of course house training, for which Spencer has brought a big pack of puppy pads– who knew there was such a thing? We’ll keep him out of the way of all the visitors for as long as possible.

By ten o’clock, the garden is busy with customers. The weather forecast is a bit dodgy for this afternoon, but the sun is out this morning and people are making the most of it. It’s the novelty, I reckon, a café in a garden. The customers consist of a mixture of local couples and families, walkers, some Scones Spirits followers looking for a gong bath, and a couple of random passers-by in search of a loo. I also reckon there’s a fair few have wandered down to take a peek at Vale Villa. Laura has inadvertently been great advertising for us.

As I move around, serving, chatting and taking away dirty plates, I receive lots of compliments for my cakes, along with plenty of gossip about the Watsons’ sex scandal. I get very welcome help from Chloe, and even Mitzi jumps in and does a bit of waitressing, though it’s not long before I notice she’s giving someone a Tarot reading. Never one to miss a business opportunity, my sister.

I know this is outrageous, but I’ve even knocked up a few dog cakes! I love the idea of being able to treat my customers’ dogs too, so I found a recipe online last night and I’ve stuck it on the bottom of the menu for ￡1 a time. The cakes are going like Hot Dogs!

After a couple of hours, Chloe wants to go off with Spencer and I agree immediately. Why not– they deserve it. I think they’re off for a quiet snog. I ask if they can take the puppy with them, for another little walk. They brought him down to the garden, where he is being very well-behaved, but gets over-excited when a couple of customers arrive with their own small terriers.

But it’s a no go. Chloe explains, ‘We can’t take him, Mum, because we’re going to this thing where dogs aren’t allowed. I promise we won’t be long. We’ll look after him when we get back.’

Meanwhile, the poor pup– we’re going to have to give him a name soon– is under my feet in the kitchen as I fill a couple of tea pots and pull everything together on the trays. I find the customers outside and, although I could swear I shut the door properly behind me, the spaniel follows me out, wrapped around my ankles like a Slinky.

I pick him up and cuddle him while I stop to have a chat with Judy from Valley Dental. It’s great to see her: she’s turned up to give me some moral support.

‘Miles is in such a mess,’ she tells me. ‘Can you believe it? He’s on the third girlfriend this month. What’s more, without you there, the place is a mess. The booking system’s gone to pot, and did I tell you the fish died?’

It’s ever so mean, but very gratifying to hear that your presence is missed. I knew I was the only one who looked after those poor bloomin’ fish! Just then, the puppy wants to go and sniff a guest who is keen to stroke him, so I put him down, still holding the lead, and I’m busy telling Judy about the canal incident and she’s hooting with laughter, when there’s an impressive roar of engine as a motorbike pulls into the drive.

Could it be Malky? The old flame that never quite burned out?

I’m so busy focusing on who’s going to emerge from the helmet that I loosen my grip on the lead, and the spaniel, terrified out of his wits by the growl of the bike, races through the tables and bravely starts defending us all by barking at the rider. I hurry over and catch up his lead, and I try to calm him down, but once more he wriggles out of the collar and flies off at speed, pelting down the drive. At any moment, he’s going to get run over.

Oh God! NO! ‘DOG!!’ I scream, and run after him, but it’s too late, he’s up at the end of the drive and is turning right onto the road.

‘I need to go and get him,’ I cry desperately.

At that moment, the visor on the helmet is pulled up and there are the sparkly blue eyes and the grizzled chin I remember. Malky.

‘You need a lift somewhere, gorgeous?’

‘Yes, please. I need to follow that dog!’ I run to Judy and Mitzi, panting, ‘Watch the café for me. I’m going for the dog.’

Malky hands me a helmet and I climb aboard. He confidently turns the bike round and pumps it into action. I wrap my arms around him and as soon as we reach the bottom of the road, I freeze.

‘Stop, Malky. STOP!’

‘Eh?’ he shouts back at me. ‘Already?’

‘Yes, I want to get off.’

He reluctantly slows and pulls into the kerb. I take the helmet off and hand it over.

‘Second thoughts,’ I say breathlessly. ‘Sorry. Bye, Malky.’

He looks confused, but I don’t try to explain. Instead I cross the road and step in behind Mitch who is carrying the pup in the direction of my home.

‘Excuse me, are you kidnapping my dog?’

Mitch turns, sees me and laughs. ‘I was coming up to visit you when I saw him racing towards me. I thought, I know who you belong to, young fellow-me-lad.’

I am so relieved. ‘Yes, I don’t know how it happened,’ I reply shakily, ‘but he’s definitely mine. And first thing tomorrow, he’s going to get a new collar and lead.’

Mitch tucks the dog under his arm and in the most natural and comforting way, he takes my hand. I hear the roar of a motorbike engine behind me but I don’t turn around. Instead I look at Mitch and give him a peck on the cheek.

‘What’s that for, Janet?’

‘Rescuing my dog.’

‘Fair enough. I’ll have a piece of cake too, if there’s one going? I hear there’s a really good new café opened up in t’village.’

‘Yes, it’s brilliant. And you can have as much cake as you can eat.’

‘What an offer.’ He grins.

I feel a spot of rain, and then with all the energy of a summer monsoon, it tips it down. We race hand-in-hand up to the house, both laughing and absolutely drenched, the pup warm and dry beneath Mitch’s jacket. Once in the garden there are customers everywhere, sheltering vainly underneath half-open umbrellas and overhanging trees. Mitzi and Chloe have their hands full, rushing back inside the kitchen with plates of cake.

I take a decision and don’t think twice.

‘Follow me,’ I call out to all our guests, then throw open the door to Lavander Cottage, upon which everyone gratefully scrambles inside. I drag in a chair, and then a table, give them a wipe with a towel. After putting the puppy back in his bed upstairs, Mitch comes back and wrestles multiple chairs and tables in at a time. In just a few moments, there’s nothing left outside. The tables and chairs are all wiped down and rearranged comfortably into the downstairs area. A couple of old boys have already picked up the pool cues and are setting up for a game.

It doesn’t take long for everyone to get settled again. Chloe winks at me as she comes in with Spencer. She’s carrying a big Brown Betty tea pot and delivers hot tea to any available tea cup. With the rain pouring down outside, I flick on some lights left over from her birthday, which gives the room a party glow. Mitch, I see, is chatting to one of the customers. He registers my stare, looks up and gives me a broad smile that could melt an iceberg. Oh wow, this is so nice.

The cottage door creeps open and Carl edges in with a dripping folded umbrella and an overloaded tray of scones and cakes. Like a good husband should, he traipses after Mitzi as, clipboard in hand, she walks around the tables demanding names and delivering their orders. Chloe and Spencer get to work collecting up any used crockery. Everyone’s relaxed and happy, and as gentle chatter fills the room, I take a moment. This feels so good. It looks like a café... and I realise that this could possibly work.

I’m pulling tight a window-catch as the rain dashes against the panes when the door crashes open and a crowd of older women all pile in. In a whirl of jazzy raincoats, laughter and loud voices, they shake off their hoods and umbrellas.

‘This it then? The new café?’

‘Better be, Joyce, I’m bloody soaked.’

‘Hello love, we’ve done the gym so it’s cake time now. Have you room?’

‘Of course, let me organise you a table.’

Mitch helps me push together a couple of tables and put some spare chairs around them. The ladies gratefully unwrap themselves and the steam of their wet things hits the warmth of the room. Without taking a breath, they launch into a full-throttle natter, one voice on top of the other as they get comfy and peruse the damp laminate menu. I reach over and give it a wipe with a dry tea-towel.

‘This is lovely,’ one of them says to me. ‘Is it your place? What’s it called?’

I’m stumped. I look at Chloe and shrug. What is it called? It can’t be the Secret Garden Café any more– for one thing, the weather up here in Hebden Bridge is too unreliable. We’ll have to think again.

I watch out of the cottage window as Chloe dodges the rain while carrying a tray of dirty crockery back home to wash. As she opens the front door, the naughty pup appears and tries to get round her feet to escape outdoors. Quick as lightning, my daughter dumps the tray and runs to pick him up, ignoring his whines of frustration. Carrying him over to Lavander Cottage, she pops her head back in, as the dog, defeated, does a shake of his fur, sending droplets everywhere.

Chloe shouts over to me, ‘I know– let’s call it The Rainy-Day Dog Café!’

I take it in, for all of a second. It’s perfect.

‘Yes, that’s it! “The Rainy-Day Dog Café. Open every weekend”.’

‘Lovely name, but what about during the week?’ one of the ladies calls over. ‘We do Over-Sixties Keep Fit every Tuesday and Friday, so you’ll be open then?’

I smile. It’s less of a question and more of a demand.

‘Yes, of course I’ll be open then.’

Another voice pipes up: ‘We do swimming Wednesday, we always need something after swimming.’

‘Right– so Wednesdays too, you reckon?’

Mitch, overhearing the conversation, starts to laugh, as do I.

‘Thursday morning it’s Pilates, more of a soup day,’ another one of the ladies advises sagely.

‘Well, that’s no problem,’ I reply. ‘It can be Thursday Soup Day.’

Mitch, Mitzi and Carl are laughing and I join in too, as I get strong-armed by this gang of fabulous ladies. I give them all a full-beam smile.

I’m excited, I’m grateful, I’m lucky.

Here we go.

Another Janet Jackson adventure is about to begin.

Chocolate cake– worth the calories. Genoa scones– a revelation.

We look forward to Soup Day.

Upgrade your dishwasher. Consider making Dog Cakes.

Do what you love.