Chapter 3
Tuesday dawned with a sky the colour of porridge. In a way it was a relief. If you were going to feel crap, you might as well do it on a crap day. No point in wasting a blazing blue sky and dazzling New Year sun on a big grump.
‘You’ll have to put up with a blow-by-blow account of her renovations – nobody gets away without that, God forbid,’ warned Mam.
Cassie didn’t care.
After a breakfast of a boiled egg and half a slice of toast in an attempt to be good, even though that probably meant she’d be starving by eleven, she packed up her leads, dog treats and roll of poo bags – the tools of her new trade – and set off towards her first job. Today was the first day of her life without illusions, she told herself. She remembered what Josie had said earlier: ‘Whatever it is, just do it. Let go of your expectations. Expectations are disappointments waiting to happen.’
Which was a quote Josie had stuck to her fridge.
Stop expecting life to deliver exactly what you want, and just get on with it. She was decked out in her warmest of clothes against the frosty January weather: polo neck, Aran sweater, long puffa coat, sturdy boots and a woolly hat – it all added a good three sizes to her figure and none of it in the right places. Oh well, bugger-all difference it was going to make at the dog park, she thought gloomily as she stomped up the hill towards Patricia’s. The front door had a touchpad that apparently recognised her fingerprints.
‘For feck’s sake,’ she’d overheard Mam mutter, ‘if you’re too fancy for a keyhole, what’s next?’
She pressed the doorbell and waited for Augusta, Patricia’s cleaning lady. She was led into what looked like an unprepossessing hallway, but when you went through a nearby door, it opened out into what looked like a full-on tropical glasshouse straight out of the Botanic Gardens, but was in fact the kitchen.
‘Cassie, love, is that you?’
A hand waved from behind a wingback armchair. ‘Come round here and let me have a look at you. All muffled up like a Christmas turkey, aren’t you great? Well, I couldn’t be happier to see you. The boys and girls haven’t had a proper walk for a week. And tell me, how is poor Iris? I think of her down there on her own sometimes. Tell me, is she doing all right in that little house? Sad, really .?.?. Gosh, dropping in there is a walk down memory lane.’
Mam obviously hadn’t said a word about Eric, and it wasn’t her place to blab about her mother’s love life, but in a flash, she could see exactly why Mam had it in for Auntie Patricia and her condescending attitude. You had to admit, though, her house did look like something straight out of Grand Designs.
Without warning, she roared over her shoulder, ‘Augusta, let them in.’
A moment later a cacophony of frantic barking ensued as a pack of white fleecy bullets tore into the kitchen and began doing laps of the kitchen island, skidding around the corners.
‘Oh .?.?. I thought there were only one or two.’
‘No, we’re six little rascals, aren’t we? But we’re going to be very good for our auntie Cassie, aren’t we? Because she’s new at this and mightn’t be very used to it.’
Finally, after an exhausting ten minutes, between herself and Augusta they managed to wrangle the spring-loaded Bichons onto leads. All the while, Patricia regaled her with the names and personalities of each one: ‘This one is Snow, short for Snowdrop – don’t be fooled by her, she’s very entitled.’
‘Little feckers,’ muttered Augusta at the back of the armchair.
By the time she’d steered them down the hill and across the road towards the park, Cassie was already overheating. Surely it couldn’t be the perimenopause yet. The sun had come out and the morning had grown unexpectedly warm. Far too warm for her outfit. She desperately needed to snatch the bobble hat off her head, not to mention scratch her nose, but with three dogs in each hand, all trying to go in opposite directions, she felt like something out of Ben-Hur .
She lifted the latch on the inner gate, only to notice at that moment that there were about five large energetic Labrador types joyfully lolloping around as their owners watched listlessly. The Bichons were beside themselves with excitement and, taking pity on the little things, she reached down and unclipped the leads, causing them to shoot off in all directions, diving and rolling. Soon they were soaking brown blobs, almost indistinguishable from the sticky, thawing mud. This was Pandora’s box in action: how the hell was she going to get them back? Apart from that, the big bouncy Labradors seemed totally oblivious to their size and were joyfully launching themselves on the tiny bodies. She noticed to her further horror a frisky black Labrador attempting an intimate act with one of her charges.
‘Oh God, no, please, help, they’ll be killed.’
If there was one thing Cassie hadn’t banked on, it was the possibility that things could go horribly wrong with her aunt’s babies. She felt panic rising in her chest.
‘Napoleon!’ projected a booming woman’s voice. ‘Desist at once. You’re embarrassing me and, what’s more, you’re embarrassing yourself!’
Cassie opened her mouth to intervene when, from nowhere, a massive dark shape filled her field of vision. She felt an almighty thump in her solar plexus, which knocked the wind clean out of her. Next thing, she was lying flat as a plank, staring up at the wintery sky. Scraggy blades of grass framed her face as everything felt very peaceful. A deliciously cool feeling was spreading along the back of her head and neck, and she’d the distinct feeling of water trickling into one of her ears.
‘Woman down!’ bellowed the hearty voice as Cassie realised her hat had flown off and she was lying on her back, partially sunk in mud. A group of ladies and a tall figure in a balaclava were staring down at her.
‘Thor, bad boy!’ admonished the tall figure to a crestfallen Great Dane who, Cassie now registered, was wearing a Superman outfit complete with little cape. The figure, evidently male, held out his hand to her.
‘I’m really sorry. Thor’s not vicious, he’s just super excited to see a new person.’
Cassie registered that she was staring into blue-grey eyes with surprisingly long eyelashes.
‘Wait,’ projected the hearty lady. ‘Step back, sir.’ As she said that, she kneeled down in the mud and produced a safety pin from the pocket of her waxed coat.
‘Don’t move a muscle, dear. I’m a trained army nurse.’ She proceeded to jab the pin into Cassie’s hands and lower legs, causing her to yowl with pain. ‘There’s no obvious spinal damage anyhow,’ she pronounced rather terrifyingly.
‘Thank you all, thank you so much,’ said Cassie, attempting to scramble to her feet. Unfortunately, she found that the suction power of mud combined with the bulk of her outfit left her struggling like an upturned beetle.
‘Never mind,’ declared the hearty lady, whose name turned out to be Phyllis. ‘We’ve all taken a tumble at some time or another. Rite of passage around here.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Cassie could see the figures of a man and a dog slipping through the gate. On a positive note, word appeared to have spread among the Bichons that there was a human face at ground level, and she felt her face plastered with tiny licks.
‘Grab them, please,’ she wailed, and between the assembled crowd, they gathered up the tiny brown blobs and clipped them back on their leads. Finally, she managed to roll over and scramble to a standing position. Mam had suggested that she bring cards and hand them out, but with a layer of mud drying on her back like an off-duty hippo, it just didn’t seem like the moment to mention Waggy Walks or her supposed professional status. Timing was everything. She resigned herself to thanking the ladies and squelched off with what was left of her dignity.
Limping back up the hill, she registered the tall balaclava-clad figure loping off in the opposite direction with the chastened shape of Thor. A surge of fury ran through her. There was no way he was getting off scot-free like that. No way. ‘Excuse me,’ she heard herself bellow across the grass. ‘Excuse me!!!’
That tall figure looked around in confusion, then spotted her and waved slightly. Idiot, he didn’t seem to have a clue how serious this was.
‘I just think,’ she roared as she approached him, ‘that you should have a lot more control of your dog. He’s enormous and very dangerous.’
It seemed to be taking a moment for the penny to drop, though it was hard to know for sure under his balaclava.
‘Yeah, sorry, he gets excited.’
It was a pleasant voice, which wasn’t making it easy to stay cross with him, but she wasn’t giving up that easily. ‘Yes, well. I could have been badly injured and I think we all need to be more responsible. That’s all.’
It sounded a bit self-righteous, but she was totally in the right, she reminded herself.
‘OK, sure. You’re right.’ He nodded and looked decidedly contrite. ‘I’ll remember that for next time.’
He trudged off up the hill, leaving her feeling annoyingly guilty.
‘OK, well .?.?. Bye, then,’ she called after him, for no good reason.
At that moment she caught sight of her shadow and realised with a shock that she looked like a hot-water tank in boots. Yes, well. She wasn’t trying to impress anybody. At least she’d made her point with Mr Balaclava.
The stares at her dishevelled appearance didn’t bother her at all. Today had gone about as badly as it possibly could have and yet she’d survived.
Back at her auntie’s house, Cassie registered the horror on Augusta’s face when she and the dogs appeared at the door.
‘It’s all right, nobody’s hurt.’
She soon realised that Augusta wouldn’t have given a shite if the whole lot of them had sunk in quicksand.
Cassie was led into a delightful wet room lined with sand-coloured Italian tiles; the sort of bathroom Mam could only dream of. This, she was informed, was the dogs’ bathroom. The next half hour was spent showering the dogs, which resulted in her getting fairly soaked herself. Still, as the room was warm and steamy, it proved a dizzying if not totally unpleasant experience.
‘Heaven help you,’ said Patricia, seated in her beautifully appointed conservatory, when she handed Cassie a fifty-euro note. The six little bodies were now snow-white once again and curled up in their beds, fast asleep like little angels.
‘You’ve obviously done a great job with them.’ Patricia was dressed in cashmere leisure trousers and a voluminous cashmere sweater which engulfed her like an exquisite beige hug. She appeared to have absolutely no idea of the chaos going on in the outside world.
‘I’ll see you back here tomorrow,’ she purred.
Cassie inhaled with the intention of explaining that another day might actually be more than her nerves could stand, when something stopped her. She’d no other source of income. Life had to be lived, after all.
‘Sure, thanks, I’ll see you then.’ She beamed at Patricia before heading as fast as she could towards the statement front door.
*?*?*
‘Holy God, what happened? Were you dog walking or mud wrestling?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘What did that old wagon have you doing? Was it desperate?’
‘No, actually, it was great,’ she heard herself reply.
The image of the mysterious Mr Balaclava flashed in front of her eyes, much to her annoyance because, frankly, he’d no right to be there.
Now she was home, with the prospect of her own hot shower and a mug of coffee, the day felt more like a little adventure.
That evening she offered to make dinner for Mam and Eric. Chicken curry and rice. She found it a strange experience to see the two sixty-somethings settled on the plush sofa side-by-side with a gin and tonic, talking through the Irish Times crossword together.
They’d clearly established themselves as a steady couple somewhere in the months since she’d been home on a flying visit during the summer. Whenever over the years Mam had asked her why she could only stay a few days, she’d always replied, ‘I’m so busy. I’ll stay longer at Christmas.’
But then Christmases had come and gone, and it was always the same story. What had she been so busy doing? Waiting tables. Waiting to hear if she got the part. Waiting for Gav to come home from tour. A lady in waiting. And in the meantime, she’d had a static view of home preserved in her mind. Funny, wasn’t it? Like in dreams, where you remember places as they were in the past, preserved forever. She knew Da was gone but in her mind the picture had remained exactly the same, just without him. It was only now, watching the two of them together, that it struck her that Eric wasn’t the visitor. She was.
*?*?*
The following Friday she was heading back into the dog park, as had become her routine. By then the weather was milder, so she’d shed her heavier layers and was now dressed in a pale-pink fleece and jeans, and feeling a bit less like a hot-water tank than on her very first visit. To her relief the place was almost deserted, although she had to admit that she felt just the smallest pang of disappointment not to see Napoleon and Phyllis, as well as a certain tall someone and his dog – but she rapidly quashed that feeling. An uneventful half hour followed, watching dirty snowballs delightedly chasing each other round the field as she lounged on the bench, scrolling on her phone, watching influencers suggest outfits she couldn’t have afforded if she’d sold an organ. Finally, she began to scrabble around, trying to gather her charges up to leave, when she noticed the tall figure approaching in the distance. He was accompanied by his equally tall dog, who this time was kitted out in tartan. Involuntarily, she felt a lurch in her heart and a flash of heat whoosh up her face.
‘Stoppit,’ she warned herself severely. ‘None of that shite now, just cop yourself on.’ She deliberately busied herself with clipping on leads, her face studiously turned away from the gate, all the time furious with her heart for insisting on beating like a marching samba band.
‘Glad to see you’re showing them who’s boss this time,’ came a voice from behind her. Feck off, she thought. Who actually needed smart-arse comments on a miserable Friday in January, when it was his actual freaking pony-sized dog who’d caused all the trouble in the first place.
‘Excuse me?’ she replied, feigning confusion, though there wasn’t anybody else he could possibly have addressed.
‘I hardly recognised you without the mud,’ he said with a boyish laugh. Which made it even harder to feel indignant.
‘I hardly recognised you without the balaclava,’ she retorted, then kicked herself for the lame comeback. She had to admit he was good-looking, with wavy reddish-brown hair and blue-grey eyes that changed colour depending on the light and drew you in – if you were of a mind to be drawn in, which, of course, she wasn’t. Why were men given false-looking eyelashes like that when they patently didn’t need them? A clear misallocation of resources in the grand scheme of things.
‘Well, I’m fine after being knocked flat by your dog, thanks for asking. Except that it took a week to get the mud out of my hair.’ What was she telling him that for? She kicked herself. This guy was a stranger, for God’s sake.
He exhaled a little laugh. ‘Yeah, look, I’m really sorry. I felt bad afterwards, so did Thor, but he just doesn’t know his own strength.’
‘Yes, well. No harm done. Just a bit of mud, even if I did look a total sight.’ As she said that, she noticed she reached to just the height of his ear .?.?.
‘I’ve played Gaelic football for years. I can tell you, a bit of muck doesn’t faze me.’
‘Really? I played hockey but I was very bad. I’m more of a swingball girl myself.’ What sort of weirdness was she spouting?
‘Not so much into contact sport, then?’ He seemed to be focusing mainly on his mucky Timberland boots. He’s shy, she realised.
‘No, I’ve always been afraid I’ll get hurt.’
‘That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?’
‘Spoken like a real man.’ She was trying hard to keep her mouth straight and not to smile at him, which was proving increasingly difficult.
He took a deep breath, as though about to hurl himself into empty space. ‘Would you .?.?. fancy a coffee?’
‘But you just got here, what about Thor’s exercise? Maybe somebody else will turn up that he can flatten?’
The Great Dane looked mournfully at her. Perhaps he was missing his superhero costume. Balaclava man shrugged.
‘We can come back.’
This was new, this was good, this was somebody actually changing their plans to accommodate her.
‘Well, this sure is thirsty work,’ she quipped in a Wild West accent. Jesus, just be freaking normal, or is that too much to ask? She kicked herself. ‘What I mean is .?.?. Yes, thanks, I’d love a coffee.’
Ten minutes later they were settled at a little round table in the courtyard of the café, as Cassie tried to ignore the glares from other customers. The place was allegedly dog-friendly but in moderation, for God’s sake. Thankfully, the six little Bichons had exhausted themselves and were quite happy to flop in a twitching, snoring heap. Thor, on the other hand, proved to be an extremely neurotic dog with a bad case of separation anxiety and refused to be comforted until his dad returned with a skinny latte – extra hot – and coconut milk cappuccino.
He put down the takeaway cups and a plate with two slices of cake – one carrot, her favourite, and one lemon. Presenting not-previously-agreed-to cake demonstrated a certain confidence, she decided. Balaclava man then reached out his hand for a handshake, which struck her as quaint and sweet.
‘I’m Finnian, but people call me Finn. It’s after some saint, though that’s not really me.’
‘You’re not saintly, then? Glad to hear it.’ She smiled. Cheeky cow, be cool, she scolded herself .?.?.
‘I’m Cassie, short for Cassandra. I’d love to say it was because they were really into Greek mythology or something, but I think it was just that my mum was watching Only Fools and Horses while she was pregnant.’
Finn smiled. She knew in that moment that secretly she’d only ever be able to think of him as Mr Balaclava, dog-father and man of mystery. He pulled off his heavy gloves and she found her gaze swivelling like a lighthouse beam to his left hand. Bare. You are so shallow and pathetic , she scolded herself. You are meeting this person for a random experience and without expectations, with an open mind, simply as another human being. But on the other hand, no rings – this was great. She took a sip of the hot foamy drink and, sighed. The sun had come out and, despite it being midwinter, there was a glow of heat. Some consolation at least for living in one of the few countries on Earth which could actually do with a bit of global warming.
‘So, do you come here often?’ she said, ironically, of course. They both laughed.
‘Far too often.’
‘How come I’ve never seen you before, then?’
As Josie would say, if she could’ve turned round fast enough, she’d have kicked her own arse for being too forward. Did he raise an eyebrow? Too subtle to tell.
‘I work shifts, so poor old Thor here gets a pretty chaotic walking routine.’
‘I’m hardly one to point fingers at chaotic dog walking.’
‘I didn’t like to bring it up but with the six dogs you just reminded me of a really old movie set in Antarctica. It was these scientists with a team of sled dogs—’
‘ Eight Below , you saw it? Nobody else I know has seen it. I watched it with my dad one Christmas, both of us were crying, even though my dad tried to pretend he had an allergy. Especially when the dogs—’
‘Were left behind to cross Antarctica alone in the storm of the century.’ His eyes glittered with intensity.
‘But the scientists flew back in to save them, no matter the danger,’ she finished.
‘Leave no one behind.’
‘That’s right.’
Oh my God, Finn had got it. He’d had the same reaction as herself and Da, maybe even at the very same moment. For a while they looked at each other, and then she laughed.
‘That was our all-time favourite. I just didn’t think I’d find myself accidentally re-enacting it in my mid-thirties .?.?. Does thirty-seven still count as mid-thirties?’ Damn , did I actually say that out loud?
‘Really?’ He gazed at her with his head on one side, as though he were trying to choose between two televisions in a shop. ‘I’d have given you thirty-one .?.?. thirty-two max.’
‘Thank you. That’s what my agent always says – or said, before she passed.’ She was taken aback by the catch in her voice. Why was this happening? Finn tactfully took a sip of coffee.
‘Sounds like you miss her.’
Nobody else had mentioned this and she felt a glow of gratitude.
‘You know what, it sounds so stupid. Like when a pet dies and people don’t get it. She was kind of like a second mother to me. Just a chain-smoking one on the other end of the phone.’
‘It’s not always the obvious people, is it? I think love turns up in random spots and they’re not always where you expect.’
‘I remember phoning in on the Monday morning as usual and getting Sunita, her assistant, which was weird. And she just blurted out that she’d found a message on the phone from her son to say that Bea had died that night. Of nothing. She just died. And then it hit me that this twenty-something kid was standing in that cramped little office by herself with this terrible news and I just said, “Hang on, I’ll be there in an hour.” And I remember the two of us looking at Bea’s desk with the lighter in the little penholder and her favourite mug that she’d never use again, and the ashtray with the last stub of a cigarette with the lipstick mark, and all the hopeful headshots on the big noticeboard behind her chair. And it felt like the end of an era .?.?.’
It was only then she felt a tear rolling down her cheek and swiped it away quickly.
‘So, I suppose that’s why I’m back here. Well, that and .?.?. something else.’
Finn wordlessly passed her a handful of paper napkins. She blew her nose.
‘I’m sorry, that was .?.?. a lot, I don’t know where it came from. Who was it said that life is just a list of things you’ve lost? But that’s ridiculous. Most people don’t think that.’
‘You’d be surprised.’
‘How did we get from old movies to death?’ She snorted a laugh which turned out to be snottier than expected. She blew her nose again but somehow didn’t feel as embarrassed as she might have with someone else. He picked up a fork and began on the lemon cake. She found herself smiling.
‘How did you know that carrot cake is my favourite?’
He shrugged. ‘Hunch.’
Her coffee was getting a little cold in the January air.
‘I don’t know a thing about you, sorry – all I’ve done is blather on about myself. What do you work at?’
‘Tech – I’m an electrical engineer.’
That was good, and simple, and something about the way he said it didn’t invite much investigation. He had a bare ring finger and a steady job. Jeez, Mam would be on the blower to Auntie Patricia before the day was over. She’d better keep her trap shut. It turned out he lived in one of the apartments not far away. Nice apartments. She liked the thought of him living in one of those upmarket places. She liked to think of him happy. Just then one of the Bichons stirred, causing a chain reaction among the other five. They’d timed out.
‘Like kids.’ Finn exhaled and she was so distracted by untangling the leads that she didn’t think about that until afterwards.
‘Can I see you again?’
She could feel his shyness, which made the invitation more affecting. ‘I’d really like that,’ she said and couldn’t help her smile.
‘Have you got an Insta handle?’
This was just a little looser than she’d hoped, but yes, she did. And for a tech kind of guy that was probably absolutely normal.
‘I’ll DM you.’
‘And I’ll reply,’ she quipped in a voice that was more carefree than she felt. ‘Ciao, and thanks for the coffee.’
‘Thank you,’ he said with a wave, before heading off with the anxious Thor.