Chapter Six #3
“Well, not much I can say. I just do the baskets, a bit of gardening, litter when there is any.” He smiles with pride at the pristine area.
“Who have you seen coming and going there?”
“Well, the girl—I see her most days.” Jim scrunches his forehead in concentration.
“That green uniform is hard to miss. The dad I don’t see much.
The Bentley is usually gone early in the morning.
Rumor is he’s a big banker and he’s loaded, but he cleans his own car; and the housekeeper—he’s cut her hours down, you know.
So maybe things is a bit tighter than they look. ”
“Any other changes you know about?” Sam asks, typing notes in her phone.
“Another bloke stays there—a brother.” Jim shrugs. “Friendly enough chap.”
“Friendly how?” Sam pushes.
“Chats, like. Comes outside to smoke. I reckon he’s not allowed to in that posh house. Mind you, if I owned a house like that, I wouldn’t let folk smoke in it neither. He never drops his butt, always uses the ciggy bin.” Jim points to a wall-mounted cigarette disposal unit at the end of the street.
“What does the uncle chat about, Jim?”
“Oh, this and that. Weather. Football—he’s a Gooner. He’s into his sports despite being a smoker—cycling, running, the usual.”
“Thanks, Jim. Do you mind if I take your number in case I need to chat to you again?”
They exchange details and Sam strolls along to stand directly outside number forty-five. Charlotte’s home. There’s a matching pair of bay trees in glossy ceramic pots flanking the door and Sam sees a woman inside, polishing a window.
As Sam begins her walk home, she emails her notes to Chloe Spears, copying in Tina, and attaches Jim’s contact details.
She’s walked a few streets when she notices that the little dog is shivering.
She glances at her watch and is shocked to see that they’ve been out of the house for two hours.
He whines and sits down, his back legs trembling.
Sam immediately curses her own stupidity.
Of course a malnourished dog can’t walk for miles across London.
As if sensing her self-loathing, he lies down on the pavement and rests his head on her old trainer.
Sam sees a bus stop across the street. “Come on, boy,” she says.
He wobbles to his feet as a bus pulls up and hisses to a stop.
They step aboard and Sam taps her debit card, then moves to sit in a seat near the front.
The dog crouches beneath her legs, making a high-pitched sound.
She lifts him gently on to her lap, opens her coat and wraps it around him.
As the remaining passengers board, Sam fiddles with Charlotte’s keyring, tightening the little chain around her finger until it throbs, and then releasing it.
She lets the conversation with Jim run through her mind.
The bus pulls off and a few stops later, the dog begins to snore. Sam notices a hippy couple staring at her. After an awkward moment the woman stands and crosses the aisle to sit next to Sam. She smells like incense and self-righteousness.
“Excuse me, miss,” she says in a northern accent—one of the friendly ones that isn’t too nasal.
“I wanted to give you this.” She hands Sam a card.
It’s pale green and proclaims We’re Here for YOU, followed by a phone number.
“We work with a Christian charity and we can help with pets, too. Food. Vet’s bills.
I can take you both for something to eat now if—”
Sam stares at the woman, bemused. She is peering at the dog with her eyes full of pity, taking in its scarred snout, the wonky leg dangling from beneath Sam’s coat, the odd clump of dirt still hanging on. The old tights instead of a proper dog lead. Sam’s frayed shoes.
When Sam finally gets it, her face turns to fire. “You’ve got the wrong idea,” she says.
“It’s OK.” The woman drops her voice. “I’m only trying to help.”
“I don’t need help,” Sam snaps, but the woman simply nods as though she’s heard it a million times.
“We really are just trying to help people who are—”
“Oh for God’s sake,” Sam hisses, standing as the bus doors swing open. “He’s wearing Chanel!”
She carries him the last half mile home, her arms burning even though he can’t weigh more than a four-pint milk bottle.
It’s growing dark and Sam notices the woman ahead glancing back to see who’s fallen into step behind her.
She wonders if Denver ever followed a woman down the street at night, making the hairs on the back of her neck prickle as she laced her car keys through her fingers or made a fake phone call.
Sam forces open her garden gate and, once inside, wraps the little dog in a blanket and lets him rest on the sofa.
She takes a seat next to him, looking around the room.
“This mess just won’t do, will it, little one?” she says. “This is no way to treat a guest.”
She pulls out her phone and, after a few failed attempts, manages to find a cleaning firm that takes bookings online.
They have a discounted cancelation slot tomorrow.
Perfect, Sam thinks, selecting the “Deep Clean” option and typing in her address.
It’s only when the confirmation email arrives that she realizes the problem: no pets to be present during the clean.
“Not to worry,” Sam says, rubbing the soft silk of his ear. “I don’t work Thursday and Friday, so we could visit the vet tomorrow and have them look at that leg.”
The dog doesn’t answer and Sam is distracted by a text message from Harry.
hello sam how was your first week back nigel m has agreed to do press conference tomorrow morning harry
Sam is about to send a thumbs-up emoji, but decides to make the effort.
Hi Harry, my first week back was fine, thanks. As I’m not working tomorrow, I’m taking the dog to the vet in the morning—I’ll be sure to catch the press conference when I get home. Sx
Harry responds immediately:
good to hear I knew you were ready to be back at work your old man used to say the devil makes work for idle hands it will be good when dog is gone nothing but hassle i am up to page 110 of denver book is he lying? how does what he is saying fit with charlotte m what are your thoughts harry
Feeling a dart of alarm at the idea of him finding out she hasn’t been able to finish it yet, she goes to her bag to retrieve the damn book. The folded corner tells her she’s up to page 109 herself. She cracks the spine and curls into the sofa.