Chapter Twelve
After an hour or so, Dylan and I returned to the rehoming centre with Bess and Charlie.
During this time we’d struck up conversation with some ramblers. They’d been enjoying an ice-cream while sitting at the table next to us. They’d patted Bess and Charlie and then told us about the dogs they’d once had. Consequently, there had been no personal conversation between Dylan and me – other than his earlier tale about Mabel, the puppy Rottweiler. We’d companionably enjoyed our coffee and cake, but he’d imparted no personal details while we’d sat in the pretty woodland clearing.
‘How did you both get on?’ Rachel asked upon our return.
‘Well’ – Dylan put his head on one side as he considered – ‘Maggie is a very nice lady, but it’s Charlie I want to take home. No hard feelings, eh, Maggie!’ he dimpled.
‘Ha!’ Rachel laughed.
‘Funny,’ I said, rolling my eyes. Nonetheless I grinned at Dylan’s humour.
‘And what about you, Maggie?’ Rachel gave me an enquiring look.
‘Bess is lovely,’ I said. ‘I’d very much like to rehome her.’
‘Fantastic,’ she said, taking both dogs’ leads from us.
‘Oh,’ I said. Suddenly I felt overcome with emotion. I didn’t want to be separated from Bess. Rachel caught my expression.
‘Would you like to walk her back to her kennel?’ she asked kindly.
‘I think we’d both like to do that,’ said Dylan.
‘No problem.’ Rachel passed back the leads. ‘And then we’ll do the paperwork?’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Can I take her home today?’
‘We’ll chat about that in a minute,’ said Rachel tactfully.
Bess returned to her kennel with her tail between her legs.
‘Don’t be sad,’ I said, squatting down beside her. I gave her a rub behind one ear. Wow, look at me! Up close and personal with a German Shepherd no less. ‘I’ll be back. And the next time, it will be to take you home.’
Behind me, Rachel tactfully cleared her throat. I stood up, moved out the way, and she secured Bess’s kennel door.
‘We like our prospective adoptees to take their dog for a second walk. Just to make sure they feel the same way and haven’t had a change of heart.’
‘I won’t change my mind,’ I assured.
‘That’s good to know, but nonetheless it’s this centre’s policy.’
‘Ah.’ I nodded. ‘Okay. When can I walk her again?’
‘Count me in,’ said Dylan, returning from Charlie’s kennel. ‘We could walk together again,’ he said. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. ‘I shouldn’t have presumed. If you want to take Bess out alone or’ – his eyes flicked to the gold ring on my left hand – ‘with your husband, then I’ll understand.’
‘Oh, no, it’s not that,’ I said hastily. ‘My husband wouldn’t want to come. I mean’ – I cast about wildly, unused to admitting the truth out loud – ‘it’s not his bag. Anyway, he can’t come.’
‘Busy chap, eh?’ Dylan smiled.
‘N-No,’ I stuttered. I could feel my neck prickling and becoming stained with red blotches. ‘He, er, he’s not around. I mean…’ It was no good. I just couldn’t say it. I couldn’t get my mouth to spit out the words. No way was I going to stand in this rehoming centre and tell two virtual strangers that my husband was dead. Because he wasn’t. Not to me. In my mind, Greg was there. He’d always be there. ‘I’m a widow,’ I blurted instead.
Rachel looked momentarily shocked. I’d blanked her earlier question. The one about whether there was anyone else at home. I’d simply told her that I had an empty nest. A quick look at Dylan told me he hadn’t expected to hear this either. But there was something else in his expression. In his eyes too. Understanding. He smiled sadly.
‘Snap,’ he murmured.
‘O-Oh,’ I stuttered. Suddenly I seemed to have too much air in my lungs. ‘Sorry,’ I gasped. My hand shot out and clutched one of the bars on Bess’s kennel. I steadied myself. Forced myself to exhale, then inhale again.
That’s it, Maggie. Breathe. In. Out. And repeat. Now isn’t the time to have a panic attack.
‘Sorry,’ I repeated. ‘Just’ – I struggled to compose myself – ‘still adjusting.’ I forced a smile.
‘It’s okay,’ Rachel assured. ‘Do you want a glass of water?’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, nodding frantically.
Don’t be nice. Don’t say kind words. Just let me be. I don’t know if Rachel had taken a course in telepathy, or whether she was simply good at reading body language, but suddenly she was her usual brisk self.
‘Right then,’ she said, straightening up. ‘Let’s go to my office and fill in the reservation forms. Once they are completed, we’ll get that second walk in the diary.’