New Beginnings for Bryony Bennett

Chapter Four

Awash with coffee and munching on a slice of dry gluten free bread—not recommended if you preferred not to clag your mouth up—it was better with at least some jam on it to help it slide down, Bryony wandered back along the lane. Mop sniffed the verge, cocked his leg every few yards, and sneezed when he got pollen up his nose. Bryony laughed at him, but apart from that she hardly noticed her surroundings as she walked, deep in thought, and pondered all Maddie had cheerfully imparted. Talk about a whistle stop tour of the area and its inhabitants. Her head still reeled from all the gossip and information.

Somehow Maddie had extracted a promise from Bryony to attend the next Village People group meeting—the name made her want to break into song and start doing the actions of YMCA— and she had a considerable amount of the down and dirty on most of her neighbours. Mr Grumpy now had a name: Dario Monk, and in what Maisie would term a weird and wonderful happenstance, her new friend was his ex. Plus, it seemed Lottie Monk was his smothering sister, who Maddie called Lottie the leech. Someone who, Bryony admitted, could be interesting to meet. After all, why support a grumpy sod, even if he was your brother? If she had a sibling who behaved like Mr Grumpy—it was going to be a long while if ever before she would be able to think of him as anyone else—she’d soon tell him where to get off. When she thought it all over, she realised Maddie had rattled on non-stop, without saying anything too slanderous, and still managed to extract more out of Bryony than she’d meant to share. She hadn’t mentioned her windfall per se, just that her godmother had left her a house that she’d sold to move to the village, and she didn’t know what she was going to do with her time once she had any to spare. Maddie had stared at her and a grin split her face.

‘Oh, I knew I liked you. Don’t worry, I’ll find you plenty to do. I need someone to manage the shop three days every other week. Local crafts and artefacts. The blue door, thatched, mini barn next to the café. Cosy Crafts. Over the national minimum wage and 11-5. We’ll swap Wednesday to Friday between us, alternate weeks, closed Monday and Tuesdays. We need girl time. Oh, and no Saturdays or Sundays, Mrs Gilchrist does them and usually has a crony or three to help. You can bring Mop. He’ll add colour or something. And I’m not anal about sticking to our weeks on or off. We work it out together.’

Bryony hadn’t been given a chance to say, how kind, no thanks, she wasn’t bothered about getting a job just yet. Instead, she’d found herself meekly agreeing to pop in at the end of the week to check the shop out and decide when she should begin work. Not what she had intended at all. She still needed to sort out the house and discover where she’d put such essentials as teaspoons and clean knickers.

Maddie Monk was a force to be reckoned with, not someone she’d try to deflect. Bryony didn’t do lost causes.

‘You were no bloody help,’ Bryony said to Mop, who ignored her and barked at a robin minding its own business on a fence post. ‘If she’d have told you dog treats were bad for you, you would have accepted it.’ Mop yipped. ‘Yeah, yeah. Right back to the boxes.’ After pizza. Thank goodness she had the makings for that. Her tummy rumbled, and her mouth watered.

She was just about to open the old fashioned French windows to sit in the garden with her pizza when the green van drove past going up the lane. Damn and hell. Thirty seconds later she would have seen who got out to open and close the gate. Now, of course, she’d jump at every little noise in case it was the van coming back. She did, and it didn’t.

Even in bed with Mop snoring from the mat, she half listened. Nothing except those snores, the owl she was getting used to, the odd aircraft high above and occasionally, when the wind died down or it came from the correct direction, the soothing swish of the sea. Bryony thumped the pillows and muttered. Another thing to add to her list of grievances against the van and its man—or woman. She was a shrew when she was tired.

Several days later, a ‘yoo hoo’ had her on her feet and looking out of the window before she’d even finished breakfast. Maddie tied the biggest horse Bryony had ever seen up to a convenient tree and hallooed again. ‘Yoo hoo, it’s me. And that’s a stupid statement if ever there was one. Who else makes such a racket at this time of the morning? But you did say you were an early riser, and it’s Dex’s turn to do the school run, so here I am. I’ve come to Mop-sit while you go and fill your fridge,’ she announced as she commandeered the coffee pot, sniffed at the contents, and filled a mug. ‘Can’t have you fading away.’

Bryony handed her the sugar bowl; relieved Maisie had left some of the sachets beloved by motorway services and chain coffee shops. She’d need to make sure she kept a bag handy now she had two friends who took sugar in coffee. Maddie did her stiff and sniff appreciatively act, before she took a large swallow of coffee and the moaned in obvious gratitude. ‘Ah, nectar, you make it just how I like it.’

Bryony smiled. There was no method to her coffee making. She just scooped some coffee into the pot and hoped for the best. Usually it worked out.

Maddie finished her drink, poured another one, and grinned. ‘Get on, we don’t want you fading away through lack of food.’ She made sweeping, go away gestures. ‘The supermarket up from the bridge is best. I don’t need to be anywhere else until two. And I’ve got an idea.’

That last sentence filled Bryony with dread. She didn’t have to know Maddie that well, to realize Maddie’s ideas would involve someone doing something they hadn’t really wanted to. And in this case that someone was probably her. Instead of arguing—she knew it would be futile anyway—Bryony meekly grabbed her purse, ruffled Mop’s fur—he ignored her— and did as she was told.

She manoeuvred a supermarket trolley around two gossiping women, smiling sweetly—and insincerely—as one backed her basket on wheels into her. Her own trolley’s wheels locked in different directions, and she tugged at it, as she smothered a curse her mum would have told her to wash her mouth out for.

And why on earth I agreed… well no I didn’t agree did I? But seriously… oh hell, I shouldn’t moan, but that woman could sell snow to the arctic. Bryony flung dog and cat food, tea bags, cereal, enough gluten free suet, gravy granules, Worcester and soy sauces, biscuits and long-life bread to keep her going for a few weeks, into her shopping trolley and did her usual fast manoeuver up and down each aisle. Goodness knows if she had everything she needed. She threw in a nine pack of loo rolls, half a dozen kitchen rolls, and a couple of sets of j-cloths, along with every cleaning liquid known to woman. Anyone would think she was messy and had a bowel problem. She didn’t think she was any messier than the next person, and her innards were as fine as they could be as long as she didn’t accidentally eat gluten. Bryony thought hard and shrugged. She didn’t have a list, would have to buy bags, and hoped to hell she could get everything in her car. The boot wasn’t made for anything other than a small suitcase or a three bag shop. She swerved away from the checkout to add some wine and chocolate—a better selection than in the village—and resolutely determined not to think of what she might have forgotten. If she hadn’t remembered it, surely it couldn’t be that important?

Bryony added a bottle of gin to the trolley—she’d got the limes— and half a dozen cans of tonic and hoped she didn’t look like a lush. Some niggling hint of trepidation made her think she might need them once she’d heard Maddie’s idea. Time for home and to brace herself. She’d rather get it over and done with and see what she was going to have to try and wriggle out of than wonder and worry for ages.

Maddie waved, and Mop hardly raised his head when the car bumped into Bryony’s garden. The horse had shifted his feet, shuffled around so his bum faced Bryony and ignored her. He seemed more interested in the hedgerow than her. It was almost a picture postcard scene. Mop and Maddie were sat together on the shorter area of lawn near the house, in the sun. Mop was as normal. Maddie had taken her jumper off and sported a fluorescent striped sports bra, somewhat incongruous next to her jodhpurs and riding boots.

‘I know,’ she said, as Bryony got out of the car and began to haul carrier bags out of the boot. ‘What if anyone sees me? Well they’d get more of an eyeful of boobs at the beach. And let’s face it, or not face it as the case may be, my 34B isn’t going to overwhelm anyone with lust. Well, except my beloved, and he’s off to Exeter after getting the kids to school.’

‘I wasn’t actually going to say that,’ Bryony pointed out. ‘I was going to say love the bra, fab colours.’

Maddie sat up. ‘From the store where most UK women buy their knickers. Last year’s sale, half price. It’s good for riding Tiny.’

The horse looked up from cropping the grass. Bryony decided she would have to ask Maddie to bring him down more often, it would save her getting a lawn mower, or borrowing some sheep. ‘Tiny?’

‘Ah well, that was my dear ex’s warped sense of humour. Dario always told me I should have a horse to suit me, and it would be Tiny. Bugger. He has a knack of getting a rise out of me. You get everything?’

Bryony was getting used to Maddie’s abrupt changes of subject. ‘Who knows? But I’ve got the basics I can’t get here. Coffee?’

‘Nope, better not or I’ll need to pee in the middle of the kids’ assembly.’ She pulled on her jumper. ‘Before I go though, I’ll help you get your shopping in. Oh, and you need to be at the Red Pig at seven.’

‘I do?’ That was the first she’d heard of it. ‘Why?’

‘Because it’s the meeting for the arts festival weekend, at the end of July, and you’re going to run a book thing.’

‘I what?’ Lord, her head was whirring. It was also the first she’d heard mention of any festival, or that she was involved. ‘Why, what is it, and where?’

Maddie grinned. Bryony was beginning to mistrust that grin.

‘Why? You worked in a book shop, ergo you know books. I assume therefore you love them. Where? In your barn. It’s perfect. We’ll do a hidden gems walk around the village with places to drop in. Like my shop - it’s a weekend and woo hoo lucky us, we don’t work weekends - which is good, because I’m the poor overworked coordinator of it all. The festival, not the shop, though I suppose I’m that there as well. I’ve even got the grey hair to prove it.’ She dipped her head.

Bryony stared at the glossy mop. ‘Nope, not a one.’

‘Ah well, there will be if lovely people like you don’t help me. Now, what else? Oh yes—your barn, the pub garden, and Mary Jane’s pub quiz of the village. Chris the farmer will open her sheds and sell her cheeses and do talks on them. The WI are going to do a stall of bits and bobs. A big, craft-fair-bric-a-brac-get-shot-of-rubbish sale in the hall. Lots of local stuff, in lots of places. And in your barn, our very own local romance author will give a talk or two.’

That was the first Bryony had heard of a local author. ‘We have one?’

‘Oh yeah. I forgot you wouldn’t know that.’ Maddie looked somewhat embarrassed. ‘Bit of a recluse when it comes to talking about it, but I can be very persuasive. Plus, I know what buttons to press and how to apply pressure when it’s needed. I’ll arrange a meeting between the two of you, before then. Might take a week or two, but never fear the author will be here. Right, I’d better go and listen to my two and a few more singing whatever. Last time when they were supposed to go ‘sing hosanna’, they went ‘sing Jo Tanner’ instead. She’s the headmistress. The mummies were in stitches, which of course made the little darlings shout it even louder. Goodness knows what we’ll get today. I don’t even know what the occasion is. The middle of May hoe down or something. They seem to celebrate everything at the drop of a hat. Got to love a village, eh? Right, see you at seven. The back snug, anyone will show you. Mind you, as there are only three doors off the bar and the other two are the loos it’s not difficult. Perfect really, because you can grab a drink on your way through. The bar, not the loo.’ She air kissed Bryony, waved one hand vigorously enough to make her bangles jingle, and mounted Tiny with her usual fluid movements that Bryony always envied. ‘I meant to say, do you ride?’

‘Only donkeys on the beach when I was eight. All that jiggling around. As I was an early developer…’ Bryony looked at her rather more obvious boobs than Maddie’s and grimaced. She loved her girls, but they did have some drawbacks. ‘Let’s just say it wasn’t comfortable.’

‘Oh, we’ll sort that. Sports bras, sweetie, and my tuition.’

‘Hell, not on Tiny?’ That thought was enough to bring any sane person out in hives.

‘No, of course not, although he is a gentle giant.’ The gentle giant snorted and fidgeted. ‘I’ll put you up on Gin. Short for ginormous.’ Maddie paused for effect. It worked.

Bryony held her breath. ‘Go on then, hit me with it.’

Maddie grinned. ‘She’s a pony.’

Figures.

What did you wear for an arts festival meeting? Bryony studied her wardrobe and decided it would have to be what was unpacked, clean, not too crumpled and didn’t have holes in it. That limited her choices somewhat. In the end it was a pair of cut offs and a t-shirt with only one tiny split in the seam under the armpit. She’d have to remember not to lift that arm. At least she wouldn’t smell. The shower and hair wash sorted that out, although she guessed washing up liquid wasn’t really to be recommended as shampoo. She had lost the shampoo bottle, and she’d not remembered to buy any more earlier. She hadn’t had time to get into a bath either, to use the expensive bottle of bubbles Maisie had given her as a moving present—along with a soap dish in a rather rude shape and a lip stick marketed as a lip dick. Neither of those were anywhere they could be seen.

It was only as she picked up her handbag and keys she remembered Mop. Damn it. She was either going to have to find a dog sitter or cage him. Damn, damn and oh hell. Someone knocked on the door in sharp staccato raps.

‘Okay, keep your hair on.’ She grabbed Mop by the scruff of his neck before he did his brave boy, attack the door act. The fact that if anyone said ‘boo’ to him he’d run and hide was immaterial. She didn’t want anyone thinking she housed a dangerous dog. Unless it was a burglar of course. Then they could gladly think the worst.

The scowl on the face of the guy outside would be enough to stop anyone or anything it their tracks. It silenced Mop mid-howl anyway. He moved behind Bryony and leaned heavily on the back of her knees. She put her hand onto the doorjamb to steady herself and ignored the amused look on her uninvited guest’s face.

‘Some guard dog you’ve got there. Are you ready?’

Bryony gaped. Mr Grumpy… no, she had better start thinking of him as Mr Monk, at least. How mortifying if her name for him slipped out. ‘You what?’ What sort of conversationalist had she become? Next she’d be grunting.

‘You can bring the floor mop; the pub lets dogs in the snug.’

‘Yes, but, sorry, why are you here?’

He stared, groaned, and looked much more approachable. ‘Bloody woman! I’ll kill her, she didn’t tell you?’

‘Who tell me what?’ But she had an idea. ‘What have I missed?’

Dario sighed. Mop farted. Bryony bit back a snigger as Dario looked at the dog and took a step back. ‘What do you feed him on? Baked beans and cauliflower? No don’t answer, I’ve a feeling it might be too much information. My beloved ex sent me a note saying you weren’t sure where to go and didn’t know you could bring the dog. Who I gather, from past experience, is an escapologist.’

‘The dog part is correct, but the rest? It’s not exactly difficult to find the pub. The one where I was in the garden with her. The only one in the village, with a bloody great sign declaring what it is hanging over the door.’ What on earth was Maddie up to? Surely not matchmaking? Not after Bryony had made her opinion of Mr Grumpy so clear. ‘That pub.’

‘Exactly.’ His expression didn’t change.

Did he ever relax and let his hair down? Not in an “over his shoulders, behind his ears” sexy way. That seemed to be natural and unnoticed by him. Do the Macarena or Conga up the street after a night of red wine and pizza? Swim naked at midnight or wave sparklers around shouting ‘yee haa’ on New Year’s Eve? Bryony doubted it, which she decided was a pity. If he lightened up she was sure a happier bloke would emerge. And still sexy, damn him.

‘This is her way of making sure we both attend. Devious sod.’ He didn’t sound too upset. ‘So anyway, are you ready?’

Bryony resigned herself to accompanying Mr Grumpy. That would get the village rumour mill up to high doh. ‘Let me get Mop a lead.’

He burst out laughing, and a hint of the more approachable man showed. ‘That’s his name?’

‘What if it is?’ Bryony bristled, as Mop looked from one to the other and sat on his haunches with a thump. Presumably he didn’t rate his chances of moving any time soon.

‘Nowt,’ Dario spread his hands out. ‘Nothing at all. It suits him.’ He looked down at the dog; who stared, unblinking, back up at him. ‘He’s got odd eyes.’

‘Wall eyed. It’s perfectly normal for an Old English Sheepdog to have one blue and one brown eye. Anything else you want to diss?’ Bryony put Mop on his lead and shut the door behind them. What a shrew she sounded, but boy did he bring out the worst in her. ‘Or is that enough for now?’

‘Not a thing more. Right then, are you ready? Is the door locked? Have you shut your windows properly? Got your keys? Phone?’

Her lips twitched, and she bit back the grin his statement made. Damn him for showing he did have a less arsy side. ‘You sound like my dad.’

He winced theatrically. ‘Ouch.’

‘You deserved it. Anyway, yes, and a hanky, and tenner tucked into my bra in case I need to get a taxi home.’ She smiled to take the sting out of her snitty tone. If he was part way nice, surely it was up to her to encourage it, not bite his head off? How not to win friends and influence people.

‘That’s nothing to do with me. Now for God’s sake, get a move on.’

Yeah, he’d not lost the Mr Grumpy attitude at all. Just let it slide for a moment. Her comment about her bra made him look at her boobs, and it was his turn to hold back a grin. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Sorry, did I miss something?’

His cheeks reddened, and he raised his eyebrows. Guilt or amusement? She couldn’t tell. He was as open as a locked door. ‘That wouldn’t get you far these days,’ he pointed out. ‘A tenner. It wouldn’t get you to Greater Brindish after seven at night.’

‘Nope, but it’s the thought that counts. Nor will looking at my boobs get you far unless you count a punch as far?’

‘Ouch, sorry no.’

Not that he looked contrite, but the platitude had at least been offered, she supposed. And if she was honest, they were difficult to ignore. ‘If you say so.’

‘Ohh, gutted. But in my defence, it was a provocative statement.’

‘True so is this. I forgot to add, the one in my knickers, one in my jacket pocket, and the one I’m not admitting to.’

He tilted his head, so he looked towards the sky. ‘Fair enough, and note I am not looking at any of those places you mentioned. So, you’re okay to walk, I guess? If we’re heading for The Pig, there’s not a cat in hells chance of getting out un-alcohol-ed. Plus, Tommy the bobby will be there.’

Bryony sniggered.

Dario grinned and appeared almost human. ‘It really is his name. Thomas William Roberts. Tommy the bobby. His nickname as a kid was Tom-Bob Robbo. He was born over the hill, went to school with the landlord’s wife, so knows us all well. Ted will stand the first round on the pub. He’s the landlord. Reckons we more than make up for his donation to the village cause.’

‘The name above the door is a bit of a giveaway.’ Bryony had noticed the sign above the door other day. ‘Theodore Marrizon Twist.’ That was a name and a half. ‘Okay, let’s get this show on the road.’

He nodded and took three or four steps towards the lane. ‘Watch out for slugs. It’s that time of the day.’

Yuk . ‘I thought that was in the morning?’

‘Probably is. I’m trying to say look out for seagull crap in a politer way.’

‘Why are you being nice to me? I’m still not going to sell, even if you become the friendliest bloke in the country.’ It was best to get that straight so there were no misconceptions. ‘And on present standing, I can’t see that happening.’

‘What can I say? I’ve seen the error of my ways?’ He shrugged. ‘None to see. I’ll be honest, I don’t like you or what you represent. However, I’ve got to walk you to the pub. You’re a pest, an incomer and not flavour of my month. I doubt you’ll stay long enough to paint your front door and let the paint dry. One good gale when the electricity goes off and you’ll run back to the city. Why not do yourself—and me—a favour and go now.’

‘Not gonna do it.’

‘So you say. We’ll see. For now, we might as well pretend to get on.’

‘Ever heard the expression you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?’ Her tone was more honey than vinegar as well. Sod you Mr I am right almighty. How dare you presume to judge me? ‘It won’t work anyway. Don’t worry, you’re not my cup of tea either. Arsy, self opinionated, up their own arse men don’t appeal to me. Take yourself and your attitude a hike and I’ll find my own way.’ She grabbed a flashlight, keys, phone, money and Mop, then seethed all the way to the village as he whistled aimlessly and followed her five steps behind, up the hill and to the village hall. Damned if she didn’t feel his attention on her bum.

If Maddie Monk ran the country there’d be no shilly-shallying, back pedalling or pissy politicians, she’d see to that. An hour later, Bryony had a headache to vie with anything short of a volcanic eruption in intensity, a sense she’d drunk too much, and a certainty she’d just ‘volunteered’—as in been manoeuvred—into doing something she really didn’t want to. Maddie the steamroller had flattened each and every objection to anything other than how she intended the arts festival weekend to go, with decisive ruthlessness and a killer smile. Even an elderly woman who Dario had muttered was Mrs Kittle, aged four hundred and eighty, their ex primary school headmistress who objected on principle to everything she herself hadn’t suggested, had opened her mouth and been politely but efficiently silenced before she spoke. Obviously, to her surprise, she’d meekly nodded her agreement to provide several dozen of her Danish pastries, and man the home baking stall.

‘No one will dare by pass her,’ Dario said quietly. Under Maddie’s eagle eye he was being semi sociable. ‘No one local anyway. It’ll sell out in half an hour, and she can then come and make everyone else’s life miserable with her snarky comments and insincere smile.’

‘She had better not try with me,’ Bryony muttered. ‘Or I’ll give her a good old London mouthful that’ll send her off reeling into the nearest bush.’ A studied cough from Maddie shut her up, and three minutes later Bryony had been browbeaten into supplying her ‘delicious’ scones for the cream teas.

‘Gluten free, of course,’ Maddie said. Someone huffed and muttered ‘stupid fads and things’. Maddie ignored whoever it was. ‘We need to be up to date with all dietary requirements. Bryony, your scones will be perfect, and of course from you they will be gluten free.’

Scones no one had ever tasted except her, her mum and Mop. And he’d snaffled his from behind a closed door. Then threw up not long after, but Bryony put that down to the quantity eaten, not the quality.

Maddie had divvied up all the other jobs skilfully and in such a manner no one had time to open their mouths much less protest. Even Dario had just grunted when she told him to work with Bryony to sort out the book shop, the contents and the author, whose name Bryony learned was one Mandi Rook. ‘Mandi with an ‘i’,’ Maddie said, with a grin. ‘Very insistent about that ‘i’ is our Mandi.’

Several people looked interested, Mrs Cherry nodded sagely, Dario scowled, but nobody mentioned anything else. Mandi Rook. Bryony knew the name well, but little else, though the books were both on her kindle and on her bookshelf, and she’d been told by Maisie the sex in them would made her wish she had a man on hand, instead of one of those readily available small cylindrical appliances Maisie had given her at Christmas. With a spare battery.

A swift perusal of the website when Ms Rook first sprang to fame told you very little. Published three years. Three books all best sellers in their genre. Erotic thriller author. A lot of chat, but short on hard facts. She’d vowed not to buy any more books until she’d cleared at least half of her to be read pile, and she was such a wuss she generally avoided thrillers, but her boss had been insistent, and given them to her. She’d left before she been grilled about them and had to confess they were still unopened. She still hadn’t read them, but she decided maybe now was the time to pull up her big girl knickers and do so. After all, she needed to know a bit about the stories if she was hosting the woman. Even if she did read them through her fingers and hoped she didn’t get nightmares afterwards. How she could enjoy climbing trees, riding her bike on one wheel and making fires in the middle of nowhere, but be a wuss when it came to needles and thrillers Bryony had no idea. As her mum said, she should have been called Contrary, not Bryony. She had better just hope she could read the books and at least sound half knowledgeable. Either that, or Maisie would be getting a lot of ‘tell me please’ emails .

For the arts festival, all Bryony knew, was the mysterious, reclusive Mandi ‘with an i’ would do a talk on the Saturday evening, the committee would provide wine and soft drinks and the villagers food. ‘A fun filled evening,’ Maddie said to her cheerfully, once the chat became general. ‘We’ll need to do it ticketed, of course. Dario will be in charge there. I’ll get him to check out the barn and sort all the health and safety and stuff.’

Damn. Bryony glanced around to check no one could hear her moan. ‘Er, is there no one else?’

Maddie raised one eyebrow in a ‘why’ manner.

‘He doesn’t seem too keen on me.’

‘Ah.’ Maddie nodded sagely. ‘Don’t take it too personally. There’s a lot in his negative column regarding anyone who tries to embrace the rural life and isn’t local. Plus, you purchased Cliff Cottage. He’ll get over it. And he is the best person to er… deal with Mandi.’ Or not, her tone intimated.

Bryony nodded and vowed to do a more detailed search on Mandi.

‘Thank you,’ Dario said sardonically, as he came up to them. ‘Still organising my life.’

Bryony went hot cold and hot again. Please don’t let him have heard me. If he had he didn’t show it.

‘I’m a big boy now, Mads, and not your responsibility anymore.’

Maddie just shrugged. ‘Someone has to.’

The words ‘other than your sodding sister’ weren’t spoken, but Bryony could imagine them in a speech bubble, hovering in the air, over their heads.

‘Mandi will pull in the crowds, so we need to be aware and all that. Limited tickets and bouncers on the door, ready to spot fakes. Such fun. Bryony, you just provide the venue and man the bookstall during the days. You can sit and enjoy the talk with the rest of us.’

Just? She’d probably sleep through it . Somehow, she’d managed not to ask when she was going to have time for a pee. She made a mental note to fill a hip flask, a thermos and a box with some biscuits in it, or she’d go hungry and thirsty as well as pee-less. Maybe she ought to see if she could buy a she-wee as well?