CHAPTER FOUR
Gretta was a light sleeper. She hadn’t always been that way, but she’d trained herself to wake easily. Whilst her survival hadn’t depended on it (Landon had never been violent), her mental health had. As a consequence, she was easily disturbed, and a dog trying repeatedly to jump up on the bed was the epitome of disturbing.
She’d tried the kitchen thing, but before she’d put one foot on the stairs to go to bed, Bertie had started: barking first, then howling. For such a small dog, he could make an impressively big noise. So she’d resorted to taking him upstairs with her, mindful that both she and the neighbours needed their sleep. However, even though Bertie had stopped making a racket, therefore ensuring that any sleeplessness on her neighbor’s part wasn’t down to him , Gretta hadn’t slept a wink.
It was now three in the morning and the damn dog had once again jumped on the bed. She was too weary to push him off this time. At least he didn’t stink. Having had two baths, he smelt of her favourite shampoo since she’d been forced to use half a bottle on him.
Zaza was nowhere in sight. Gretta didn’t expect her to be. The cat slept in her room, but with the dog in residence, she’d buggered off and Gretta felt terrible about that.
This situation clearly couldn’t go on. If no one turned up tomorrow ( today actually, since it was already morning despite Gretta not having gone to sleep yet), she’d contact the kennels that Gio, her police officer neighbour, had mentioned.
There was no way she was putting herself through another night with Bertie under her roof, and she wasn’t taking the risk that she might be talked out of her decision, so instead of phoning the kennels beforehand, she decided simply to turn up. If she had to plead with them to take Bertie, then that’s what she would do, because there was no way she would bring him back home with her. Not after tonight.
Bertie didn’t do himself any favours in the morning either, scoffing Zaza’s food when Gretta’s back was turned, then cocking his leg against the washing machine. Luckily, Gretta saw what he was about to do and scolded him before he had a chance to water it. Then she immediately felt contrite when she realised she hadn’t let him out for a wee yet.
Forced to stand in the garden to keep an eye on him in case he decided to do some more digging, Gretta was frustrated when he took his own sweet time to relieve himself. Her disgust when she had to pick up the smelly dollop he left in the middle of her small square of lawn, knew no bounds.
She used a bag, like the man yesterday did, but still… Yuck!
After washing her hands for several minutes in the hottest water she could stand, she hoped she’d never have to do that again.
She was also heartily sick of having a dog permanently attached to her when she went from room to room. He followed her everywhere. She found herself on constant high alert and her stress levels were through the roof. It was almost as bad as when—
No. She refused to think about that. Landon didn’t deserve to be thought about. But old habits die hard, and she knew that some of the ones she’d acquired while living with him would probably stay with her for life – her inability to trust again, being one of them.
Stop it, she told herself. Think about something else. Work , that was always good for taking her mind off things, and it wasn’t as though she didn’t have any to be going on with. She had plenty, and there were more clients requiring her services if she wanted to take them on.
However, when Gretta sat at her desk, she found herself unable to settle. And neither could Bertie. Actually, Bertie’s restlessness was probably the reason why she was unable to focus, since he was padding around her office like a caged animal, and every so often scratching at the door.
She wondered whether he was bored.
Or whether he was pining for his owner. Gretta hoped it was the former. Even though she didn’t much care for the little dog, she didn’t like to think of him as grieving.
Who was she kidding? Dogs didn’t grieve.
Did they?
But whether they did or didn’t, this one was going to have to go. Today. Because if she didn’t get some sleep tonight, she didn’t know how she would cope.
Jakob heard a vehicle trundling along the road leading to The Forever Home Kennels but ignored it and carried on teaching the Doberman some basic commands. The dog was large for his breed, strong and boisterous. He was two-years old and lacked manners, so no wonder his previous owners (a family with two young children) had been unable to cope with him. Dogs were a commitment and needed love, patience and training, all of which took time and effort. Jakob knew that this one would make the right person a wonderful companion.
He hesitated to use the word ‘pet.’ Dogs weren’t like stick insects or goldfish. Dogs needed to be part of the family. ‘Companion’ was a far more appropriate term.
‘Sit,’ he commanded.
Rufus sat, his gaze fixed on the treat in Jakob’s hand. Foodies were easier to train, and this hound would do anything for a snackeroonie. He was eager to please and intelligent too: a nice combination.
‘Good boy,’ Jakob said, allowing the dog to hoover the treat off his palm. ‘Stay.’ He held up a hand and took a step back.
Rufus wriggled impatiently, his back end lifting off the ground.
‘No, stay .’ Jakob’s tone was friendly but firm.
Rufus subsided and Jakob took another step back. The dog didn’t move, so he risked another. He was pleased that Rufus’s eyes were focused on his face, and not on his fingers, which were delving into a pouch at his waist where the treats were kept.
‘Jakob? Jakob!’ He heard Maisie calling and as he gave the dog the promised morsel, he turned to see her waving.
She had someone with her, and it took him a moment to realise he’d seen her before.
It was the woman from yesterday, the one with the black and white French bulldog.
Jakob called Rufus to heel and clipped the lead onto his harness. The dog surged ahead, eager to greet the newcomers, but Jakob reined him in with a click of his tongue and a quick snap of the leash, enough to get the dog’s attention but not too forceful. Rufus, remembering his training, walked to heel, if only briefly. It was a step in the right direction.
‘Maisie?’ Jakob asked when he was close enough. His attention was drawn to the woman, who looked anxious, and then the dog, who looked distinctly unhappy. The Frenchie’s ears were down, his back hunched. He looked almost as depressed as Trixie, and Jakob wondered what was going on in his little life to make him so despondent.
Maisie said, ‘Jakob, this is Gretta Laverne. She’s here to surrender her dog.’
‘It’s not my dog,’ the woman snapped, then she caught herself. ‘Sorry, lack of sleep. He’s kept me awake all night.’ The strain around her eyes and the dark circles beneath them backed up her claim.
There was also recognition in them, and he knew she remembered him.
Maisie frowned. ‘Is he a stray?’ Crouching down, she held out her hand. The dog backed away and she straightened up ruefully.
‘No, he belongs – belonged – to my neighbour. Unfortunately, Mr Butler passed away yesterday, but before he did, he asked me to look after his dog.’
‘Yesterday?’ Jakob’s surprise was reflected in his voice. Was this her way of looking after the little fella? At least it explained the poo incident.
‘I’m sorry,’ she continued. ‘I can’t keep him. I’ve got a cat, you see and—’
‘So you said.’ His interruption was curt.
She scowled. ‘I don’t want to do this, but I don’t have any choice. My cat hates him and it’s not fair on her, even if it might only be for a day or so.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jakob asked.
‘I’m hoping a relative will turn up. I’ve been waiting all day, but…’
‘And when they didn’t, you thought you’d bring him here?’ Jakob was struggling not to let his disgust show, but she picked up on it anyway.
‘What would you have me do?’ She was shaking her head, and Maisie gave him a warning look.
Even though the animal intake side of things was nothing to do with Maisie, Jakob heeded her advice. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But it’s only been a day.’
‘And a night. Let’s not forget the night because, believe me, if I don’t get some sleep, I won’t be responsible for my actions.’
‘He’s probably missing his owner, aren’t you, boy?’ He knelt and held out his hand. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Bertie.’
‘Hello, Bertie.’ His voice was soft.
The dog stepped forward and sniffed him warily, then retreated to hide behind Gretta’s legs. He knew something was afoot.
Was that regret on the woman’s face, Jakob wondered, as an expression flickered across it.
‘I’ve spoken to the police,’ she said, ‘and they told me I should call the dog warden, then if no one came to collect him, he’d be given to an animal shelter for re-homing.’
‘So you thought you’d bypass the dog warden?’
She scowled again and addressed her next comment to Maisie. ‘Gio – I believe he’s your brother-in-law? – suggested I bring him here.’
‘Gio did? Oh, okay.’ Maisie made a face and said to Jakob, ‘We can take him, can’t we?’
‘I suppose we’ll have to.’ Jakob glared at Gretta. He didn’t see that they had any choice since she was adamant she wasn’t going to look after the poor little mite any longer.
‘Thank you.’ Gretta handed him Bertie’s lead. Her tone was pure ice.
Jakob ignored her. ‘Come on, boy, let’s find you a nice warm kennel.’
He turned to walk away, Bertie on one side of him, Rufus on the other, then hesitated as she asked, ‘Will you put him up for adoption straight away?’
‘He’ll need to have a medical first and be assessed. Then there’s the question of his ownership. What if a relative comes looking for him?’
‘I’ve left a note in Mr Butler’s house to say he’s here. And when someone turns up, I’ll point them in your direction. I’m sure it won’t be long.’
Jakob didn’t share her optimism. He’d seen far too often how easily animals were discarded by relatives of the deceased. ‘Come on,’ he repeated to the dog. But Bertie was reluctant to go with him, and Jakob could fully understand why. He’d obviously formed an attachment to Gretta, and now his life was about to be turned upside down again.
Bertie hung back, digging his paws in, and whined piteously.
If Jakob hadn’t been looking at Gretta at that precise moment, he wouldn’t have known that she was moved by what she was doing, but he noticed her eyes grow damp and her chin wobble as she said, ‘Bye, Bertie. Be a good boy.’
And then she was gone, leaving Jakob staring after her thoughtfully.
It was ridiculous how awful Gretta felt. Bertie was just a dog. Okay, not just a dog, in the same way that Zaza wasn’t just a cat. He had feelings and had made them known. But Gretta had Zaza to consider, and her cat had to come first. And it wasn’t as though Bertie was going to be at The Forever Home for long. Soon, hopefully tomorrow, one of Mr Butler’s relatives would turn up at the house, see Gretta’s note, and go fetch him. Then she could put this whole thing behind her.
Apart from the funeral, that is. Prior to finding Mr Butler on the floor of his sitting room, it would never have occurred to her to attend his funeral, but now she felt she needed to pay her respects. And if she got the chance, she’d tell him that Bertie was okay.
But Bertie wasn’t okay, was he? And far from looking after him, Gretta had broken her promise. Poor Mr Butler must have understood he was dying, and his last thoughts had been for his dog.
As she drove along Picklewick’s high street, Gretta tried to push her guilt to one side. Viewing the situation from a different perspective, she could honestly say that she had looked after Bertie. She’d made sure he was in a place of safety and that he was getting the care he needed. The dog was certainly better off with Jakob than he’d been with her . Jakob liked dogs for one thing, and he knew what to do with them and how to take care of them.
And Bertie must surely be happier in a kennel with lots of other dogs around, rather than with her and her cat. In her house he’d been shouted at, locked outside, bathed twice (which he’d loathed) and tied up for much of the time.
Now she’d thought of it like that, Gretta realised she sounded like a monster who hated him and hadn’t cared about his welfare; but that wasn’t true at all. She did care – in as much that she didn’t want him to come to any harm. He was in the best place. He was .
Gretta told herself that all the way home, and she believed it.
So why did she feel so bad?
Zaza, on the other paw, didn’t feel bad at all. The cat took a great deal of persuading to come out from wherever she’d been hiding, and she slunk down the stairs, one wary, distrustful paw at a time. She was clearly still cross and upset, but after a careful and thorough prowl around the house, during which she realised Bertie was no longer in residence, she relaxed. She did that by demanding to be fed, and hand fed at that, sitting primly by her bowl with her tail wrapped around her paws and wearing a disdainful expression.
Gretta wondered how long it would take for Zaza to forgive her. An hour? A day? A week?
Exhausted after such an emotional and disruptive day, along with zero sleep last night, Gretta made some supper, had a hot bath (trying not to think about Bertie’s mournful expression when she’d dumped him in it for the second time in a row yesterday), then retired to bed.
Back to normal tomorrow, she told herself with relief. She disliked even the minimal of disruption, so the past couple of days had been rather trying. More than trying – they’d been impossible.
But even as she snuggled into her nice calm bed with Zaza purring by her side, Gretta couldn’t help feeling guilty. She mightn’t have technically broken a promise made to a dying man, but she’d broken it in spirit . And now she couldn’t get to sleep because she felt so bad.
With a muted scream of frustration, Gretta threw back the covers.
If she couldn’t sleep, she may as well do some work. It was her go-to method of taking her mind off things she didn’t want to think about, and she most definitely didn’t want to think about Bertie’s reproachful eyes, or Jakob’s disappointed ones.