Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Jamie
Daisy shuts the gate behind her with a wave, bags crashing against her thigh, and when I see her disappear into the house, I reverse out of her driveway and head down the street to park in my garage.
I leave my stuff in the car, too tired to deal with it now, and enter the house through the door in the garage, slipping off my shoes and rolling my neck. To cook or order food? I open the fridge and purse my lips at the offerings. Do I follow the nutritionist’s instructions or make my life more difficult tomorrow and go off-book? My phone buzzes in my pocket and I fish it out, expecting the call to be one of my sisters or Mum. I frown when the screen lights up with Daisy’s name. Why is she calling me? She never calls me, and I saw her less than five minutes ago when I dropped her off.
I accept the call and don’t even get a word out.
Her tear-filled voice gasps, “I can’t find Westley.”
Tension shoots through me at the sound of her voice so distressed. I’ve never heard it like that before. Tight and high. “I’m coming up.” I grab my keys and slam the front door behind me.
I jog up the dark street and find her waiting by the gate, phone clutched to her ear, even though we haven’t said anything since I left and the only sound is our ragged breathing. I end the call when I reach her and take in her face. My chest clenches, and I fist my hands to stop myself from reaching for her. She looks awful. Pale and drawn, almost green, freckles stark against her skin, and her whiskey eyes are wide and glow with unspilled tears.
“I can’t find him, Jamie. He isn’t here. He didn’t say hi when I arrived like usual and wasn’t on his bed where Poppy leaves him.” Her voice grows tighter as she speaks until she can barely talk.
I take her phone from her shaking hands and ask, “Did you check Poppy dropped him off? She didn’t get caught up with anything?”
“I don’t know!” She tugs a violent hand through her hair, and I frown when she rips strands from her scalp. I take her hand and squeeze it. It shakes in mine.
“I’ll call Poppy and check.” I wait as she puts in her password and finds Poppy’s contact. Right below mine. Apparently we text more than her family, but I realise it vaguely as I click the call button.
“Hey, Daze, everything okay?”
“Hi, Poppy, it’s Jamie.”
“What’s the matter?” she asks sharply. “Is Daisy okay?”
“Everything’s fine, hopefully. We’re having trouble finding Westley and wanted to check you dropped him off.”
“I dropped him off a while ago. I set him up in the outdoor kennel and made sure the gate was closed. He’s gone?”
“Looks like it. Thanks, Poppy, see you later.” I hang up to update Daisy, who’s been clutching my hand the whole time, her glassy eyes fixated on me. “She dropped him off and put him in the kennel.”
Daisy’s chin quivers, and she whispers, “He’s gone?”
“We’re gonna find him,” I promise and hope it’s true. “You’ve checked inside and the garden?”
She nods. “Whenever I come home, he runs up to me. He’s always done it. He’s not here.” She takes a shaky breath and bites her lip. “Once, when he was really little, he escaped under the gate and I found him across the road.”
There’s enough light to see a gap between the gate and the concrete path. Fuck. This is going to be a long night.
“Okay, so we search the streets.”
“Okay.”
I keep hold of her hand and begin the walk to the end of the street and back, keeping an eye out for a small, red body and call his name. Daisy is panicked. I can hear it in her voice and the fact she hasn’t realised she’s still holding my hand.
I hiss when I step on a rock and discover I’m not wearing shoes. Hearing her upset on the phone centred my focus on her, and I left my shoes in the garage. Can’t go back now. I’m not leaving her on her own to search for her missing pet while I find shoes.
The path is damp with rain from a few hours ago and wind tunnels down the street. Streetlights cast shadows on Daisy’s face, highlighting the tightness around her mouth that’s usually quick to spread in a smile.
We reach the bottom of the street and make our way up the other side, checking under trees and peering into dimly lit front gardens.
“What if he’s cold? Or hurt?” she says at the top of the street when we haven’t found him. She’s clutching my arm now, holding on for dear life, and I can’t help tugging her into a hug. Our first hug and it’s an attempt to stop her from crying.
My chin rests on her head and I tuck her into me, enveloping her entirely in my arms. “He’s smart. We’ll find him, or he’ll find his way home by himself when he gets bored exploring and wants dinner. Is there anywhere he’s particularly interested in?”
She sniffs and rubs her cold nose against my chest and shivers. “Not that I can think of.”
“What about the bush reserve a street over?” I wrap my arms tighter around her shoulders and waist, trying to make sure she’s warm. She’s still in her uniform, but the wind’s clearly burrowing through the material, leaving her skin chilled.
She stiffens and lifts her head so our foreheads press together. “But it’s so big, we’d never find him.”
“We will.” I grab her hand again and tug her towards the next street. To the bush with winding dirt pathways and wooden bridges that need maintenance with rivers below them a puppy could be swept away in. “We’ll find him.”
We reach the entrance to the reserve and wash our shoes, or feet in my case, so we don’t bring unwanted diseases to the native trees, and call for Westley. I flinch when a ruru swoops over us with its eerie screech. Wind whistles through the trees as we move deeper into the bush, careful to stay on the track, and I turn my phone torch on as we leave the streetlights.
As we get to the first fork in the track there’s a faint yip, and Daisy gasps and yells his name. We follow the pathway with the scared yapping and reach a bridge.
“Westley,” she calls and he barks and then whines, high-pitched and panicked. “Westley, where are you?”
I edge around the short bank leading to the water and shine the light under the bridge. “He’s down here.”
His whines get higher when he notices me, and his shaking body topples with the force of his wagging tail.
“Hi, Westley. Hi, baby.” Daisy appears over my shoulder. “Can you reach him?”
“I think so.” He’s wedged under the bridge on the slight hill before the water. There’s not much of a current, so he could get out if he wanted. Looks like he climbed through the triangle of wood bracing the bridge and hasn’t realised he can get out. I hand the torch to Daisy who shines it directly at Westley so I can see everything.
I reach my hand out to Westley, who licks it enthusiastically. My hand scoops under his tummy, and I slowly carry him out over the water. He stays still as I hold him one-handed, as if he knows he’ll fall in the water if he struggles, and then I have two hands on him and he’s safe in my arms, licking all over my face.
I take my phone back and hand Westley to Daisy, who takes his wriggling body and bursts into tears. Westley licks her tears away, and I can’t stop myself from drawing them both into my arms. My hand rests on her hair and sifts through the escaped strands of her plait, and my other arm wraps loosely around her hips. Westley squirms between us, and when he trembles and Daisy shivers in my arms, I decide we need to make our way back to warmth. They can continue their reunion in a heated house. Walking barefoot through our neighbourhood and into the bush was not on my agenda tonight, and I’m starting to feel the cold now. Shorts, bare feet, and a T-shirt is not a good uniform to find lost puppies and keep short women warm.
“Let’s head back.”
She nods against my chest, and I keep an arm looped around her hips as we walk slowly to my house; her shivers becoming more violent as we get closer. We make a quick stop at her place, and I grab the bags she dropped before she got into the house, food for Westley, and go further down the road to my place. She makes a half-hearted protest when I tell her she’s staying at mine, but when I point out she’s still crying and trembling, she follows me down the street and into my home without protest.
I quickly rinse off my feet with the freezing hose water before I follow her inside and find her shoes neatly lined up beside mine.
She’s standing in the middle of the lounge, holding Westley to her chest, who’s turning his head every which way in the new space. “His paws are dirty. Is there somewhere I can wash him?”
Her tears have stopped, which is a good sign, but her cheeks are red and splotchy and her eyes are brighter than usual, almost feverish.
“Yeah. Bring him through here.” I take her to the guest room and into its ensuite. I set her bags by the door. “Feel free to use anything in here.”
“Do you mind if I shower?” She looks smaller in the large bathroom with tears staining her cheeks.
“Go for it. This is your space. Use it however you want.” I tug her into another hug when her chin quivers at the simple sentence. Everything’s hitting her at once, and I can’t stop myself from touching her, from trying to keep her warm and let her know I’m here if she wants me. “I’ll order dinner, okay?”
She nods and pulls away from me. “Thanks, Jamie. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She sniffs and says, “I think you’re my best friend.”
Warmth rushes through me, chasing away the chill from the walk, and I smile at her faintly and swipe a stray tear from her face. “Good, because you’re mine.” And she is. Even if I have more feelings than her, it doesn’t mean she’s not also my best friend. I just happen to have extra feelings on top of it. “I’ll see you soon.”
I change into track pants and a long-sleeved shirt before ordering dinner, deciding we need the comfort of pizza, and ignore what’s in my fridge.
The food arrives, and I set everything on the coffee table and turn the TV on to play reruns of a sitcom. Mindless joy for us to calm down to.
Westley reappears first with damp paws and sniffs out the food I put in a bowl for him and scoffs it happily, clearly recovered from his impromptu frolic through native bush. Daisy follows him with tangled wet hair, making her look a little bit like a drowned rat, wearing a bright pink loungewear set and fuzzy white socks that look as soft as her skin. I’ve never seen her like this, not relaxed exactly, considering everything that’s happened tonight, but soft and comfortable, ready to curl up on the couch and go to sleep.
She’s never looked more beautiful.
She gives me a tiny smile and collapses on the couch beside me, resting her head on my arm with a sigh. I force myself not to tense in surprise. It’s not that I don’t want her pressed against me with her head on my arm, her wet hair making my sleeve damp. I just didn’t expect it. Didn’t expect her to want more physical affection after she calmed down, but if she’s comfortable with it, I’m definitely onboard.
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” she mumbles through a yawn, “but I texted Poppy that we found him.”
“Good. Eat some food and then you can sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow.” I hand her a plate and she stacks it with food while I do the same.
She relaxes against the couch, keeping herself close enough to touch, and we eat dinner together with the TV on in the background. Something I’ve dreamed about before but never thought I’d have. And now it’s happening because her puppy ran away and she’s traumatised by tonight, not because she wants to be here curled up beside me.
It leaves me disconcerted. I’m happy she’s here and want her to stay, but I’m worried she’ll feel uncomfortable tomorrow morning when she realises how physically affectionate we’ve become in such a short span of time.
Yes, we have our handshake, but we don’t sit beside each other on couches, and we definitely don’t hug each other or eat dinner together.
After we’ve eaten, we stay on the couch as one episode turns into another and another until her head keeps falling off my shoulder as she shocks herself awake.
“I think you need to go to bed,” I say quietly.
“Hmm. You’re probably right,” she responds, but doesn’t move.
I nudge her off me to see her face properly, her heavy eyelids swollen from crying. “Then how come you aren’t moving?”
“Because you’re warm and the sheets will be cold.”
“The sooner you get in them, the sooner they’ll warm up.” And I ignore the offer I want to make to get in them with her and warm her up. Now is not the time.
She pouts at me and sighs heavily. “You’re right.”
Daisy stands and takes a step towards the bedroom, but turns back to me. She bends and presses a fleeting kiss on my cheek. “Thank you for tonight.”
The bedroom door clicks shut after Westley skitters inside with her, and I stay on the couch and watch another episode with the feeling of her warm lips on my cheek.