47
I t is puppy day. Janey has woken up with a heavy heart.
Verity went back to her mum’s two weeks ago, at the end of the Easter school holidays, but has insisted Thalia bring her back for this.
She is clinging to Lowell and Felicity. Janey and Essie are there because Ahmed is going to give them all their vaccinations and their certificates before they get handed out to the world.
Janey cannot help but notice how affectionate father and daughter are, and how much happier Verity is.
She’s filled out a little and has some pink in her cheeks, and happily runs around through the distinctly careworn garden.
Janey pretends with all her might to be very engrossed in combing Freuchie’s beautifully lush snow-white coat, as opposed to the terrible wiry bits and bobs the others have got in odd places, when the small car draws up.
Ach, there is no doubt. Thalia is lovely-looking.
Shiny hair pinned up; a thin face with high cheekbones that Verity has absolutely inherited.
Her mouth is pursed and her eyes cool; she is wearing baggy hippy trousers rather too loose for the weather, Birkenstocks and a variety of feather bangles, and glancing impatiently at her watch, which doesn’t really sit well with the hippy aesthetic.
Janey glances at Verity, who looks awkward and torn, then looks at Essie. They share a look of deep understanding.
Verity is signing frantically to her mother, and trying to introduce her to all the puppies at the same time. ‘What’s she saying?’ Essie whispers to her mum.
‘She’s saying she wants to move here, to be nearer Felicity and Daddy,’ says Janey. ‘I’m glad she mentioned her dad.’
Thalia raises her eyebrows and signs something back.
‘She says . . . she’s saying she can’t afford to live up here,’ says Janey.
Essie looks at her seriously. ‘Is that really what she’s saying?’
‘Yes.’
Essie frowns.
‘I mean, if you knew of anywhere . . . ’ adds Janey. ‘She looks as if she likes handmade things . . . ’
‘ Mu-um.’
Verity comes bouncing over and stands in front of Essie, looking up at her.
‘Goodbye,’ she says, out loud, slowly and carefully. Thalia scowls.
Essie takes two fingers to the side of her nose and signs, ‘See you soon.’ And then they hug and Janey watches.
As the car drives off, Lowell is by her side. He can’t speak. She takes his hand and squeezes it firmly.
‘I just miss her so much,’ he says.
‘I know,’ says Janey. ‘But I once tried to keep something together that shouldn’t have been together. And that didn’t really work.’
He squeezes her hand back, and she sees tears glistening in his eyes. ‘I know,’ he says.
‘I think she’ll be up a lot more,’ says Janey. ‘Now she’s seen you’re not trying to cut her brain open.’
‘Oh, no, I did that, that’s why she’s so cheerful now.’
‘ Lowell !’ and Janey is giggling. Although her smile fades a little as Ahmed comes up the path.
‘Okay,’ she says, ‘you’re about to get your house back. Are you going to miss them?’
The puppies are all trying to eat the bees that are buzzing around the wildflowers that have sprung up as Lowell has been short of time to work in the garden.
‘Am I going to miss sharing my space with seven farting carthorses? Not really,’ says Lowell.
‘Are you absolutely sure you’re not tempted?’
He shakes his head.
‘Really?’ Janey is sad. They’ve told the village that if anyone wants a dog, they should show up at two. There are already quite a few bids in for Freuchie.
‘Apart from Argyll, you mean?’ says Lowell, with another smile, and bends down. Argyll has her wet nose on his trousers. Janey hadn’t even noticed her. She seems to stick two inches away from her master at all times.
‘I never even saw her,’ says Janey. Lowell picks her up lovingly, even though she is now extremely ungainly, even as the smallest in the litter.
She has a grey fringe over her eyes and a snout so long she looks like a cartoon and she gives Lowell several licks.
He holds her gently while Ahmed gives the jabs with speedy efficiency, and stills her surprised whimper with soothing words and cuddles, while Felicity pads around the vet, looking confused and slightly irritated.
‘And you?’ he says in return.
‘Mum, you promised,’ says Essie.
‘Did I nothing promise!’ says Janey.
Essie picks up Bute, with her big fat flolloping bum, and brings her over. Bute is wildly excited by this turn of events and scrabbles around excitedly, clawing Essie thoroughly in the process.
‘Mu-um,’ says Essie in her most wheedling tone. ‘Can we have a dog? Can we? Can we?’
Excited, Bute barks loudly.
‘Oh, lord,’ says Janey. ‘I thought my life was supposed to get quieter .’
‘Great,’ says Essie. ‘Oh, I have to take Freuchie too.’
‘ What ?’
But before she can ask any more, Essie has disappeared with both dogs.
Janey and Lowell look at each other.
‘Who’s left?’ says Lowell. ‘Eriskay?’
Eriskay is digging a large hole in the flowerbeds.
‘Ah,’ says Janey. ‘I’m afraid I rather promised him early.’
And sure enough, a car pulls up, before Lish gets out and goes round front side and opens it.
Emma is in the back and comes to help. As the dogs start yipping, very, very slowly, they raise Johnson up out of the front seat and help him with his walker.
He cracks a half-smile, and inches to the pavement.
‘Well, well,’ says Janey going forward, smiling.
‘You said come early,’ says Lish. ‘But there are no dogs left apart from the really funny-looking ones’
Johnson has a slightly worried look on his face and Janey looks around for a garden chair.
Lowell of course doesn’t own anything as vulgar as a garden chair but leads him over to a minimalist bench.
Janey starts to wonder. She had thought this was a brilliant idea, and Lish had agreed; something to take Johnson’s mind off things – his recovery would be ongoing for a long time – and get him out of the house and exercising again.
They had both been rather proud of themselves and Lish had sworn the children to secrecy.
But Johnson is frowning – his usual expression these days, such a change from the friendly face he wore before – as he sits on the uncomfortable bench.
The left side of his face is still a little droopy, Janey observes.
Emma covers his knees in a blanket and Lish and Janey swap glances, then they lead Eriskay over.
Eriskay has found something in the flowerbeds – at first Janey dreads to think, but it turns out to be a small wooden mouse; Verity must have lost it.
Eriskay drops it at Johnson’s feet and looks up, his ugly fuzzy face expectant and his pink tongue out. There is a moment of silence. Then, very slowly, Johnson leans out his right hand and scritches the dog on the head. The puppy’s tail thumps on the ground.
‘What’s his name?’ says Johnson.
‘Eris—’ starts Janey.
‘Whatever you like,’ says Lish, quickly.
‘He’s the colour of a dustbin,’ says Johnson, slowly.
‘You can’t call him Dustbin,’ says Lish. As she says this, Eriskay looks down at the wooden mouse again and picks it up, nearly swallows it, almost starts choking and has to be picked up and patted on the back. He is clearly not the smartest of the beasties.
‘Dusty?’ says Emma. And they decide, on balance, that Dusty is a very good name for their new grey dog.
There is a commotion on the street. It is a whole line of cars, and nearly two o’clock.
‘Oh, crap!’ says Janey. ‘We’ve only got Caithness left!’
Her phone pings with a message: Hi sis. I forgot to say, keep me a dog. Love you!
‘Ah.’
‘I didn’t think anyone would want one of these dogs,’ says Lowell. ‘Except for Argyll, and they can’t have her.’
He backs away protectively.
‘We’ll get going,’ says Lish, kissing Janey. ‘He’s a hunk,’ she whispers in Janey’s ear. ‘I mean it. Keep hold of him. Shame his house looks like such a mess. Also you might want to have a word about his trousers.’
Lowell’s trousers are covered in dog slobber.
‘Uh-huh,’ says Janey, as they help Johnson back into the car, where Lish throws open the boot and shows the secret cache of pet supplies all picked up and ready to go, including a seat belt.
‘I love you,’ says Johnson, haltingly.
‘Course you do,’ says Lish as they all drive off.
*
The cars are starting to park up the narrow road.
‘Oh, no,’ says Janey. ‘Me and my big mouth.’
‘That’s village life,’ says Lowell. ‘Word gets around.’
‘What shall we do?’ says Janey, watching two families – oh, my God, with children – getting out of their respective cars.
‘Let’s pretend we’re not in,’ says Lowell, and he grabs her hand and pulls her round to the back garden, entering through the back door.
They put Felicity, Argyll and Bute in the laundry together, where the puppies curl up and go to sleep, circling and clearly a bit confused as to where the others have gone.
Janey nearly tears up again, but reminds herself they’ll be seeing their siblings around town all the time, and Smokey is with Dwight.
She gets Lowell to give her a pencil and paper and writes ‘ALL DOGS GONE. SORRY’ and sticks it out of the letterbox just in time to hear some disappointed noises from outside. She winces, but Lowell looks at her and she finds that in fact she can’t stop giggling.
Lowell on the other hand is walking around as if he can’t believe it.
‘I’ve got my house back,’ he says. Then he frowns. ‘Well, when I’ve tidied it up.’
The previously immaculate empty property is no more; on every surface are pictures, friendship bracelets, bottles of nail polish. Janey knows better. She knows him. His innate orderly instincts have been overwhelmed by how much more he enjoys life with his daughter around.
‘Don’t tell me you gave her your iPad,’ says Janey.
‘I’m expecting the angry phone call in three, two—’