CHAPTER THREE
Jakob knew it was better to let Trixie find her own way and settle in her own time. Fussing her would only make her more anxious. Therefore, he did his utmost to ignore her and let her get on with it. It was hard, though.
Leaving her in the car for a moment while he went into the bungalow, he spent a few minutes greeting his excited dogs, and only when they’d calmed down sufficiently did he fetch Trixie.
He walked into the kitchen carrying her, his two following on his heels, staring up at the newcomer. Both Stan and Ripley were friendly, and it wasn’t unusual for him to bring home a strange dog for a few days or weeks, so he didn’t anticipate any issues from them.
Trixie, on the other hand, might be more suited to being an only dog, so despite pretending to ignore her after he placed her gently on the floor, he was actually keeping a very close eye on the situation.
Stan, being the gentleman that he was, hung back, his golden flag of a tail waving gently, his mouth open, tongue lolling. Ripley enthusiastically sniffed the stranger, while Trixie cowered, her tail between her legs, disliking the intrusion.
Knowing that Ripley would be easily distracted by food, Jakob began preparing their meals, immediately getting Ripley’s attention as the dog sat at his feet, staring up at him intently and licking his lips, which gave Stan an opportunity to say hello to the newcomer by gently nosing her.
Trixie, bless her, looked terrified, but despite wanting to scoop her up and cuddle her, Jakob carried on measuring out the food into three bowls. He’d feed his two in the porch and put Trixie’s bowl down in the kitchen so she could eat in peace. He didn’t expect her to touch it though, guessing she’d be too anxious. If she didn’t show any interest in it, he’d offer it to her again later, and he’d keep offering it to her until she felt settled enough to eat.
Jakob had just closed the porch door, leaving his two inside eagerly tucking into their tea, when his phone rang. It was Dawn, the manager of Thornbury Animal Sanctuary, checking in.
‘I’ve brought that little terrier, Trixie, home with me,’ he told her.
‘I thought you might. Shall I see if I can find someone to foster her?’
Jakob shook his head before remembering she couldn’t see him. ‘It’s okay. She can stay with me; I want to assess her anyway.’ While he was updating his boss on the other residents of The Forever Home, Jakob kept an eye on Trixie, who had crept under the table.
As predicted, she hadn’t shown any interest in her food, so after the phone call ended he picked up her bowl, then let his boys out. He’d have a bite to eat himself, before taking them for a walk. They’d already been out twice today – he’d walked them early in the morning before work and his parents had called in at midday to take them out again – but they’d happily go for another. Trixie would come too: exercise and a chance to have a good sniff would help calm her.
And him. Because, as he’d driven home, he’d caught sight of the woman who’d broken his heart, and to his dismay the pain had been as sharp as ever.
Gretta considered herself reasonably intelligent but she had no experience with dogs. Never owned one, never wanted to own one, and didn’t know anyone who did. Even if she had known someone with a dog, she probably wouldn’t ask them for advice.
She disliked being beholden to anyone. Besides, there weren’t many people left who she could be beholden to . Landon had seen to that.
Not wanting to give her ex-partner any more headspace, Gretta busied herself by searching the internet for answers, although it was difficult to concentrate when there was a restless dog wandering around her feet.
She’d been forced to take Bertie upstairs with her, despite abhorring the thought of the dog in her office, because she simply couldn’t trust him. And neither could she cope with the unbearable noise whenever she tried to leave him on his own. Even nipping to the loo had been a trial, she’d discovered, when she’d left him in the kitchen (with the now-empty bin) for five minutes. He’d howled the place down.
Gretta was now dreading going to bed. Which was why she was in her office, sitting at her desk and feeling very despondent. Having managed to eliminate one incredibly controlling and domineering male from her life, it seemed she’d acquired another, albeit a much smaller one. Hopefully this one wouldn’t be around for more than a day or so.
After half an hour of learning more about dogs than she’d ever wanted to know, Gretta was none the wiser. Her predicament was unusual, she concluded, because the majority of references to barking and howling dogs were aimed at people who already owned the animal, or who had just acquired a puppy and were trying to persuade it to settle on its own without its mother or littermates. None mentioned how to cope with a dog you were only looking after for a few hours.
Giving up, she got to her feet, Bertie following.
Momentarily forgetting why her office door was shut, Gretta opened it to find Zaza on the other side.
Both animals froze.
Then pandemonium broke out.
Zaza, wide-eyed and panicked, fled into Gretta’s bedroom. Bertie let out a yip of excitement and immediately gave chase, bolting after the cat in a blur of black and white.
Gretta let out a scream and dived across the landing in a flying rugby tackle that missed Bertie completely, to land flat on her face with her arms outstretched. She lay there, stunned. But not for long, as her petrified cat bolted out of the bedroom to briefly alight on her back, dig her claws in and use Gretta’s spine as a springboard to launch herself down the stairs.
‘Ow!’ Gretta yelped, but before she could move, fifteen kilos of dog scrambled over her, flattening her completely and grinding her nose into the carpet.
‘Bertie!’ she shrieked, her cry losing some of its volume as the sound was muffled by the cream shag pile. It was also lost in the din coming from downstairs: frantic barking and high-pitched yowling, along with crashes and thuds.
Oh, God! If he hurt Zaza, Gretta wouldn’t be responsible for her actions!
She clambered to her feet and dashed for the stairs, lurching from wall to wall as she staggered down them and almost fell into the living room, her heart in her mouth.
Then halted abruptly at the sight that greeted her.
One of the armchairs was tipped over backwards, her bookcase was upended, and the table in the corner lay on its side. Books and cushions were scattered all over the floor, and one end of the curtain pole had come away from the wall. Zaza was clinging to the top of the other end, peering down at Bertie, who had the curtain in his mouth and was tugging it with all his might, trying to dislodge the cat.
Zaza’s tail lashed back and forth, savage growls issuing from deep in her throat, alternating between threatening hisses. She must have been aiming for the partially open living room window but hadn’t yet managed to slip through it much to Gretta’s relief, because it was directly on the road and although the street was a relatively quiet one, there was still too much traffic for Gretta’s liking.
‘Bertie!’ Gretta’s shriek was loud enough and high enough to shatter glass.
Bertie froze, his hindquarters bunched underneath him, the hem of the curtain in his mouth. He turned his head, his eyes swivelling towards her, and without moving any other part of him, he let go of the fabric. Slowly his ears came up, then drooped when he saw her appalled expression.
‘That’s it! I’ve had enough. I don’t care if you howl all night, I’m taking you home.’ Furious and near to tears, she stomped towards him.
Bertie cowered, whining as she picked him up.
‘It’s no good crying now,’ she scolded. ‘It’s too late. Actions have consequences. I can’t have you terrorising Zaza.’ She gazed up at her cat.
Zaza spat at him, her eyes flashing sparks. Her fur was so puffy, she looked twice her normal size.
Gretta, distressed and angry, tightened her hold on the dog and marched to the front door, but before she could open it the bell rang, and she hesitated.
She wasn’t expecting anyone. None of her family lived near enough to simply drop in on the off-chance and they wouldn’t anyway since she didn’t have much to do with them, and she’d lost touch with her friends a long time ago.
Wary now, she hoisted the dog into a more comfortable position, and sidled up to the spyhole, her spirits lifting as it occurred to her that it might be one of Mr Butler’s relatives. After all, she had left a note asking them to fetch him as soon as possible.
Squinting, one eye closed, she peered through the tiny hole.
A police officer was on the other side.
With a gasp, Gretta tore her gaze away and took a step back. Her heart in her mouth, her pulse hammering, she gingerly unlocked the door.
‘Miss Laverne?’
‘Yes?’ Her voice was a high-pitched squeak. A police officer at the door could only mean one thing. ‘Is it my parents? One of my sisters? What’s happened?’
‘They’re not the reason I’m here.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ She sagged against the doorframe. ‘I thought you were the bearer of bad news.’
He was peering past her into the hall. ‘Can I come in?’
‘No!’ Gretta was horrified. There was no way she was letting him see the state her sitting room was in, even if he was a police officer.
‘You live here alone, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘How do you know?’
‘I live opposite.’ He gestured to a house on the other side of the street. ‘We’re neighbours.’ His attention turned to Bertie, who was squirming in her arms. ‘Isn’t that Mr Butler’s dog? I’d heard he’d passed away.’
‘Yes. Are you here about him? Have you found his next of kin?’ Hope flared in her chest.
‘Ah, no…I’m here because a disturbance was reported at this address.’
‘ My address? ’
‘Yes.’ His eyes flickered to the window and she assumed he could see the dangling curtain pole and possibly the cat who was still perched on it. ‘Actually,’ he admitted, ‘I forgot my sandwiches and popped back home for them. It was me who heard the disturbance. Are you sure you’re alright?’
Some of Gretta’s tension eased. It was nice of him to check on her. ‘My cat had a run-in with Bertie,’ she explained. ‘He chased her around the living room and knocked over my bookcase, amongst other things.’
The officer was studying her, as though trying to determine whether she was telling the truth.
She added, ‘I’m just about to take him home. I can’t keep him here. The problem is, I’m worried he’ll bark all night. I kind of feel responsible for him because I promised Mr Butler I’d look after him. I’m praying it won’t be for long.’ She bit her lip, then said, ‘But what if it is? I can’t have him in mine – he’s a bloody menace.’
‘Is there anyone else who—?’
‘No one.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Could the police take him?’
He shook his head. ‘Sorry, no can do. You’ll need to phone the council and ask for the dog warden. They can kennel him for up to seven days.’
Eyes wide, Gretta asked, ‘What happens after seven days?’
‘A re-homing centre, I believe.’
The officer believed , but he wasn’t certain . She mightn’t be enamoured with the creature, but she couldn’t take the risk that anything untoward might happen to him if Mr Butler’s nearest and dearest couldn’t be found in that time.
Bertie whined, a pitiful sound, as though he understood that his future was being discussed.
With her arms aching (the dog, who was no stick insect, was getting heavier by the second) Gretta thanked the officer for his concern and she was about to go back inside when he said, ‘You could try giving Maisie Fairfax a call. She owns The Forever Home Boarding Kennel on Muddypuddle Lane and has recently started taking in dogs for re-homing. I’m Gio Alfonso, by the way. My partner, Nikki, is her sister.’
‘Okay, thanks. I’ll hang onto him for a day or so, see if anyone comes to collect him. And if not…’ She left the rest of the sentence hanging, undecided. If she was honest, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to manage to hang onto him for an hour, let alone a whole day.
Deciding not to take him next door after all, she returned to the living room to fetch his lead. She couldn’t think why she’d removed it in the first place. If she’d had kept it on him, the ‘disturbance’ wouldn’t have happened at all. Therefore, by Gretta’s reasoning, if she didn’t take Bertie’s lead off except for when he was in the garden and doing his business, this – she scanned the living room – wouldn’t occur again.
Zaza, she’d noticed, had descended from the curtain pole and was now perched on the back of the remaining upright chair, her fur still puffed up, her tail lashing. And when she saw Bertie in her owner’s arms, she hissed vehemently, following it up with a growl in case the dog didn’t take the hiss seriously.
‘It’s okay,’ Gretta soothed. ‘I’ve got him, and I won’t let him anywhere near you again.’
Zaza’s glare told Gretta that the cat didn’t believe a word of it. Clipping the lead onto Bertie’s harness, Gretta put him down with a relieved groan. How could one small animal cause such pandemonium? And if having him create havoc in her house wasn’t enough, other people had witnessed it too – the police officer and the man with the poo bags earlier, for instance.
Remembering how the man had looked at her, first with anger and then with incredulity, made her squirm. She couldn’t help it if she didn’t know the first thing about dogs. She’d never wanted to know and had never had to. The guy needn’t have been so snotty about it. And the way he’d jumped to the conclusion that Bertie was hers, irked her somewhat. He could have at least asked first.
She hoped he was more forgiving with the poor dog he’d been carrying. He’d had it tucked under his arm, and it had looked petrified. Gretta didn’t blame it. He was a big hulk of a man, tall and muscular, and somewhat unkempt. Good looking, though, if a bit rough around the edges with his shoulder length golden hair and wayward beard.
Bertie whined again, reminding her that she had a living room to tidy up, and she sighed.
She’d only been taking care of the dog for around five hours. It felt like five days.
‘She’s back in town.’ Jakob wasn’t talking to himself, he was speaking to the dogs, but his comment earned him a suspicious look from a woman with the smallest chihuahua he’d ever seen.
He wondered whether he should explain, but decided not to bother. He didn’t care what others thought of him, even though that had been the problem. Clare had always put a lot of store by appearances and Jakob had never measured up, although he’d tried. God, how he’d tried, but it had never been enough.
Without meeting his eye, the woman sidestepped him, clicking her tongue at her dog (who looked up at Jakob and wagged its tail) and carried on walking. Jakob knew how people viewed him, but he couldn’t do anything about his size and the rest of it – his beard and his clothes, for instance – he lacked the inclination to change. He’d tried doing that and it hadn’t made an iota of difference: Clare had left anyway. Physically only the once, but emotionally she’d left several times, and each time he’d confronted her about her infidelity she’d promised not to be unfaithful again.
The last time had been the final straw. Forgiving Clare for sleeping with some random bloke was one thing: forgiving her for sleeping with his best mate was another. No wonder Jakob preferred dogs to people. Dogs didn’t betray or ridicule. Dogs were loyal and non-judgemental. Dogs accepted people for who they were, faults and all.
A dog’s love was unconditional and uncomplicated.
In Jakob’s opinion, nothing could compare to the love of a dog. Which was why he was determined to bring Trixie out of her shell and find a loving home for her. The little dog deserved no less.
As he watched Stan and Ripley trotting ahead, tails up and heads down as they sniffed their way along the path, his thoughts flickered to the woman he’d encountered outside the post office.
She’d been clueless. Mind you, she’d claimed that the dog wasn’t hers and that she’d been saddled with it. Not for long, he hoped, because the little critter didn’t deserve to be in the care of someone who regarded him as a nuisance or a burden. Jakob hoped she treated her cat better.
He snorted: a scoop indeed! Then he recalled her face when she thought the Frenchie might poop again on the walk, and he chuckled. She’d looked horrified.
She’d also been very attractive, in an understated way. Not showy like Clare, but more natural. His ex reminded him of an Afghan hound, with her flowing silky hair and haughty expression. But that’s where the similarity ended, because Afghans were renowned for their loyalty and Clare hadn’t known the meaning of the word.
And there he was again, thinking about her. Why did she have to come back? Was his former best mate with her? The last time Jakob had clapped eyes on her was three years ago, and during those three years, he’d worked hard to forget her.
He’d hoped he was over her. But was he?