Chapter Eight #2
“Right now, it’s not your concern.” She speaks firmly. “Look, I think we both know things have been going wrong for a while. We’ve both been unhappy. And last night it came to a head. I don’t know what it all means going forward, but I need some time, and I’d be grateful if you’d let me have that.”
He stares at her. Then he just says, “All right.”
“Thank you.” She glances at me. “Thanks for letting me stay the night.”
“You’re welcome.”
She holds my gaze for a moment longer. Then she walks to the front door, goes out, and closes it behind her.
We both watch her walk away.
Jude’s the first to turn back. He picks up his coffee cup and drains it. Then he lowers his forehead to the counter and rests it there.
“Hangover?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“You taken anything?”
“Not yet.”
I open the top drawer by the sink, take out a packet of Paracetamol, pop two out, and give them to him with a bottle of water from the fridge. I then take two myself. As he takes his, he watches me, amused. “You too?”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Kinda. I didn’t want her to drink alone.”
“Yeah. I should have checked to make sure she was okay. Thanks for doing it for me.”
I wince and cough, feeling an inch high.
I should tell him right now what happened.
He deserves to know. But something inside me makes me hold back.
If I tell him, I’m going to ruin their chances of ever getting back together.
After my horrific loss of self-control, I tell myself that normal service has been resumed. I can’t put my own desires first.
“Where do you think she’ll go?” he asks.
“Kim’s, maybe? Or Isla’s.”
He scowls. “She’ll have to talk to me at some point.”
“Yeah, I guess. Maybe she just needs time to calm down and decide what she wants first.”
“Why is it always about what the woman wants?” he snaps. “What about what I want?”
Jude and I have been friends since high school.
He’s smart, funny, and hard working most of the time.
He also has ADHD, and it occurs to me that I’ve spent the best part of twenty years blaming his erratic behavior on that when I’m not sure it’s the cause.
He has many good points, and he’s been a good friend.
But he’s also selfish, obstinate, childish, and a touch narcissistic.
He’s always been the most important person in his life. And I’ve never understood that.
I should think carefully and give him some therapist-style advice, but I discover I’m not in the mood. I have a headache, and I miss Beth already, and I don’t want to spend the morning mollycoddling a guy who had it good and lost it due to his own idiocy.
“Maybe it’s time you stopped thinking about yourself and put others first,” I snap.
“You’re thirty, for God’s sake, not eighteen.
You’re a man, and it’s time you started acting like one.
If you don’t want kids, that’s fine, that’s a choice we all have to make, but you can’t go blaming Beth because she wants a family.
Most women do. And you know what? Looking after the woman in your life, treating her like a queen, and making her happy should be the most important thing in the world to you.
If you don’t feel a need to do that, then you’re with the wrong girl. ”
Silence falls between us. Eventually, he picks up his phone. “I’m going to stop off at the supermarket and pick up a few things before I go home. I’ll catch you later.” He gets up.
Fuck. “Jude…”
He stops and turns to face me. “No, you’re right. I am a selfish prick. But I thought I was sounding off to a friend, that’s all. My mistake.”
He walks out, closing the door behind him.
I lean on the counter, put my head in my hands, then slide them into my hair.
Oh, I’m really covering myself in glory today.
He’s absolutely right. When you talk to a friend, you should be able to moan and complain, even if you’re out of order.
Maybe eventually the friend can gently suggest it might be worth looking at things from a different angle, but friends don’t do what I’ve just done.
They don’t blunder in with both boots on and stomp all over your feelings.
And they don’t sleep with your girl while you’re trying to figure out whether there’s anything worth saving.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I snatch it out, nearly dropping it in the process, hoping to see Beth’s number. But to my surprise it’s Cullen. Briefly, I consider cancelling it, but I’ve been enough of a shithead this morning, and I force myself to press the green button and answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Cullen.”
“Yeah, hi. Everything okay?”
“Oh, yeah! I’m at work.” It’s Sunday, but he’s still working some shifts at the Ark, in the Forever Home.
“Hey, look, we’ve had a dog come in. She’s a Spoodle—a Spaniel/Poodle cross.
Cocker Spaniel, I think. She’s a ginger color.
About a year old. She’s here through no fault of her own—her owners have broken up, and she’s been a bit neglected. ”
I frown. “Aw.”
“Yeah, she’s real sweet. Spoodles are said to be good therapy dogs. She’s twelve kilos, so a good size, not tiny but small enough to carry. You asked me to keep an eye out for one last night and I suddenly thought how perfect she’d be, so I thought I’d see if you wanted first refusal.”
I hesitate. After everything that’s happened over the past twelve hours or so, I don’t know if I’ve got the bandwidth to think about adopting a pet.
“The thing is,” Cullen continues, “there’s a couple who are interested in her, and they’ve asked to come in this afternoon. But I think she’ll be really good at PAWS.”
“Okay,” I concede, trying to put the business first. “Shall I come up?”
“Yeah, I’m the only one here today.”
“I’ll be up in half an hour.”
“No worries.” He ends the call.
I need to do something. If I sit around and think, I’ll sink into a cycle of blame and guilt, and that won’t do anyone any good. I often tell clients that depression can’t hit a moving target, and I believe it to be true.
I take a quick shower and change, then walk up to the Ark.
The clinic is shut on Sundays, and usually there’s just a skeleton staff running the place, but today there are a few more people around tidying up after the fundraiser last night.
I suddenly realize that I left without telling anyone, and feel a stab of guilt.
Noah won’t care, but it wasn’t exactly professional. I wonder how much we raised?
I cross the Quad to the Forever Home, and go inside.
The office is empty, so I walk through to the barn and find Cullen in there.
He’s seeing to a dog who’s sitting on a table, and who looks at me as I walk in.
It’s a bitch, and immediately, her tail starts wagging.
She has curly hair like a Poodle, and floppy Spaniel ears.
“That was quick,” Cullen says.
“This her?”
“Yeah, come and say hello.”
I go up to them and hold out my hand. She sniffs me, then happily licks me, wagging all the while. Her hair is more strawberry-blonde than bright ginger. It’s quite long, and as I run a hand underneath, I can feel a couple of mats beneath her arms, and she winces as I touch them.
“Yeah,” Cullen says, “Hal’s already checked her over and she has a few sores because she hasn’t been groomed.
She’s a bit underweight, too. He wants to keep her here for a few days, feed her up a bit, give her some supplements, let her rest, and get those knots removed.
Remy will sort that out tomorrow. I think she’ll be ready to leave maybe Wednesday? ”
She seems perfect, but I’m not sure if I feel a connection with her, and I’m tired and she’s full of energy…
And then she looks up at me, and the look in her big brown eyes takes me right back to when Beth looked at me this morning across the counter, with affection and… dare I say adoration?
Well, shit.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, already lost.
“Yeah, a gorgeous little girl.”
“You prefer people to rename them, right?”
“Yeah, we think it encourages a connection.”
I bend and kiss the top of her head, and she turns and licks my cheek. Beth once told me her mother named her after Queen Elizabeth II, because she’s a fervent royalist.
“Hello, Queenie,” I say softly.
Cullen chuckles. “What a great name for such a sweet dog.”
I smile, feeling an odd lump in my throat as she leans against me. A dog’s love is so simple and unconditional. They don’t care what you look like, or what you’ve said and done. They love you whatever.
If only it was as easy as that to deal with people.