Chapter 15
15
Seven days and an away win later
I’ve been searching for Roudie for over an hour. Logically, I should go back to the cottage. Last time Roudie dug an escape tunnel, I found him on the doorstep, tapping his paw over being kept waiting. But what if he’s not? What if he’s been run over? What if I go home and find him lying on the verge, hurt or worse? I try to push it out of my mind, forcing my way along an overgrown path leading deeper into the woods.
There’s a rustle. I stop dead, praying that it’s Roudie. But it’s only branches I’ve pushed aside, swinging back into place. I try calling again, my voice ragged with desperation. I should never have gone for a run this morning, not when I’ve been late home every night this week. I should have taken Roudie for a proper walk first thing. I should have locked the dog door. I should…
‘Genie, it’s all right, I’ve got him.’ It’s Tony, shouting from the main path cutting across the woods from the lodge to the road.
The relief is so intense, I’m dizzy. I fight my way back through the brambles, then sprint over the rutted track towards Tony’s voice. There’s one bend, then Roudie, wagging wildly and straining on the lead to jump up at me. I sink down next to him, cuddling him close, which he takes as an invitation to lick my face. When I do finally look up at Tony, it must be hard for him to see how angry I am, I’m so sticky.
‘You need to tell me if you’re taking Roudie. I thought he was lost. I thought…’
Tony scowls. ‘No, you needs to stop screening your calls. He was on my drive. I’ve been calling you over and over, trying to let you know he was OK.’
‘But…’ I touch my thigh, expecting to find my phone in the pocket of my leggings. It’s not. It’s on the kitchen work surface, next to the leaning pile of letters. Where I always put it when I get in. Where I left it when I went tearing off to find Roudie. I feel awful. ‘Oh. I…’
‘Was too busy worrying ’bout the pup to remember your phone?’ Tony asks.
‘Um, yes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped.’ I try to smile, but it comes out more cringing, which fits exactly with how I feel inside.
Tony shrugs. His face is involved, and his hands follow behind, giving extra emphasis to how little he cares. ‘Don’t matter.’
I gnaw at my cheek. I suppose it doesn’t, now we’re work acquaintances. Because Tony has kept on dropping by the office, but it’s to banter with Sky. All I get is a curt ‘hi’ and ‘bye’. Which is more than I deserve after Monica’s party. The hollowness in my stomach wells up into my throat, blocking the words that I want to say, about how I really am sorry, not only for losing my temper just now, but for taking all my self-loathing out on him.
Tony stares at me, head on one side, then crouches down and lifts Roudie’s nose until they’re eye to eye. ‘This, mate, is why you don’t go running off. Cos it gets Genie all upset, and we can’t be having that. Understood?’ He gently nods Roudie’s head, then smiles at me. ‘See, lesson learnt, no harm done.’ He looks back to Roudie, his face mock stern. ‘And you could’ve told me Genie weren’t blocking my number. Cos that would’ve saved me some anxiety and all.’
‘Of course I’m not.’ I can’t believe he thinks I’m that bad at my job. What if he needed something? ‘What possible reason would I have for doing that?’
‘You tell me.’ Tony shoots me a sideways glance, then shakes his head. ‘Actually, I dunno this is the time for a deep and meaningful. How about we get the pup home instead?’
Standing is making me woozy, part blood pooling in my feet, part post-run, no-food light-headedness. Tony’s hand tightens on my bare arm, pulling me in. The warmth of his body creates a lurch of desire strong enough to push back the little black dots clouding my eyes. Then the washing-powder-fresh smell of his discreetly logo-ed designer t-shirt reminds me that my running vest is coated in sweat and my skin must feel all clammy and disgusting. I step away but Tony keeps his fingers wrapped around my arm.
‘You all right?’
I nod.
‘And it’s OK, is it, me walking back with you?’
I should say there’s no need. He’s going to want me to explain about the other night, and I’m so muddled about it, about him, I don’t think I can. But Roudie’s glued himself to Tony’s jeans, and I’m not sure I could tempt him away, even if I wanted to.
‘We’d like that, if you’ve got time.’
He smiles at me, a proper, big, Tony smile. It’s the first time he’s done that since the party. A wave of relief washes over me, every bit as strong as when I first saw Roudie. And maybe it’s because I exhausted all my available panic hunting for Roudie, but strolling back is absolutely OK. It helps that Tony keeps up a steady flow of talk. It’s nothing that matters, just him telling me he picked up the bracelet for his niece, and that she loves it and he can see why I’m so into the stuff Claudia makes. But Tony should get a tie-in with one of those meditation apps, the gravel rumbling under his soft vowels is the definition of calming.
He waits until we’re leaving the dappled shade of the woods to ask, ‘Do you know how he got out?’
My shoulders get super tense. Here we go. This is the start of the ‘unless we know exactly what went wrong, mistakes will keep happening’ talk. ‘No, I didn’t leave the gate open, or anything like that.’
Tony holds up the hand that isn’t busy persuading Roudie to abandon an interesting hole in the verge. ‘Course you didn’t.’
I’ve got to stop snapping at him over nothing. I’m about to start apologizing, but he’s already talking, voice gentle. ‘Even if you had, it’d not be my business. He’s your dog.’
I grimace. ‘I think he’d rather be yours.’
‘He’s not an idiot. He knows he couldn’t find anyone who’d look after him like you do.’
‘Except he came to find you, didn’t he? And I can see why. I mean, I have been walking him. Every day. But they’re not like the walks you’ve been doing with him.’
‘Then it’s my fault, isn’t it? Cos I saw you was working all hours, but I didn’t wanna, like, assume you was still OK with me taking him out. If you are, he’ll be back on his regular schedule Monday.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want it to become a burden.’
‘Nah. I’ve missed this fella all right.’ Tony scratches between Roudie’s ears, earning an adoring look from both of us. ‘And how ’bout I take a quick look at the back yard, see if I can’t work out how he got out?’
‘I can’t ask you to do that.’
He reaches out and ruffles my already messy hair. ‘Then it’s a good thing I’m offering, huh?’
I’ve been banished to the kitchen while Tony repairs the gap in the fence. My offer of help was declined with a ‘Nah, I’m fine. It’s a while since I’ve done anything handy. I don’t reckon an audience’ll help.’ And he doesn’t exactly look the part, since most handymen don’t dress in Dolce. But the rips in his jeans are sort of appropriate, and from what I can see from the kitchen window, he’s making a surprisingly professional job of it.
It’s extremely kind. Only it’s a bit unclear exactly how I feel about that. Part of me is definitely grateful. Another bit is all neon-sign glowy over Tony being willing to do manual labour. But they’re fully occupied, trying to throttle the side of me that’s dying to stalk out and remind Tony that I’m paid to take care of other people’s problems so I’m more than capable of handling my own.
The stupid thing is, I know that’s about Gavin. He’s the one that taught me that helpfulness might start out as cooking dinner, but it becomes little reminders about healthy eating, and if you don’t pay enough attention, a fertility-maximizing food delivery service. And if instead of being grateful, you start hiding chocolate in your wardrobe, it ends up with your husband screwing your boss. None of which has anything to do with Tony mending a fence. So I need to go out and thank him like a normal person.
It helps that when I do, he’s keen to show me, in minute detail, exactly what he’s done. I wait for the usual Tony-style jokes and innuendo, but he’s disarmingly earnest. It fits with his hair, which is nowhere near as pristine as usual, thanks to the head scratching that went on during the initial measuring phase. A strand that should be swept up has migrated across his forehead. It’s the perfect match for the lopsided smile, when he asks, ‘So you reckon this’ll keep him in, do you?’
‘Yep, you’ve achieved doggy Alcatraz.’
Tony’s smile turns into the one he usually reserves for hat-tricks. He directs it to Roudie, lying on his left foot, ‘Hear that, mate? No more ducking out for you, OK? And maybe your mum’ll follow your example.’
‘I didn’t…’
‘Yeah, you did.’ He pushes the stray hair out of his eyes. ‘But I get it. I needs the odd reminder sometimes, I can’t click my fingers and get whatever I want, straight off, every time. Not even off a genie.’
‘It wasn’t that.’ I flail around, searching for some sort of justification for how I behaved after Monica’s party.
Before I can come up with anything that adequately hides the crazy, Tony asks gruffly, ‘But it’s not been too bad, has it? Having me around this afternoon?’
Letting me off the hook is the nicest thing he’s done all day. I bump my shoulder against his arm. ‘It could’ve been worse, I suppose.’
He shakes his head at me. ‘And to think I’ve missed you.’
We’re laughing, too much for the joke, and it’s mixed in with him grabbing my waist and me wriggling away from his fingers, which are tickling me under my t-shirt.
‘OK, OK, I missed you too.’
His hands stop still against my skin. My lips part.
There’s a shout from the front of the house.
Damn, it’s Chrissie. Tonight is yoga and dinner. I jump away from Tony, just in time. Or I think so, anyway. If not, Chrissie’s doing a fantastic job of pretending she didn’t see anything, brandishing her neon-blue mat and calling hellos.
I’m saying hello back, stopping Roudie from racing over to jump up at Chrissie, and finishing thanking Tony, all at the same time. I think some of the thank you must’ve got lost, because Tony’s face is stony as he starts gathering his tools together.
I abandon Chrissie to Rouden and focus on Tony. ‘Stay. Eat with us.’
Tony backs away, like he’d rather swim through snake-infested waters. That’s understandable. Chrissie’s a medic at the club. I wouldn’t be crazy about having dinner with my doctor either, and she doesn’t spend her whole time poking at wherever I’m sore.