Chapter Fifty-Three
Fifty-Three
Rescue
I run up the side of the ramps until I reach the furthest one, where his ball bounced over the wall.
There he is, six feet below me, tiny tennis ball in his mouth, on a ramp so steep that only the truly fearless would try to skate it. It’s a ‘bowl’ arrangement of slopes with an almost vertical incline the whole way around.
‘Come on, Ted, come up!’
I know even as I say it that the request is futile. Maybe a greyhound could leap up from this concrete prison, a large lurcher perhaps, possibly even a tall springer spaniel, but a miniature Shih Tzu who stands eight inches tall at the withers? Not likely.
He deposits his ball at his feet, perhaps so that his mouth is clear for deep breathing, and gives it his best shot.
His claws do not make traction on the smooth concrete and, though he tries, he fails to progress more than two feet. What goes up, must come down, and Ted slides back down every time.
He looks at me so reproachfully that my heart breaks a little. Still, I give it one last go in my best motivational speaker voice and Ted gives it his best burst of athleticism, but there’s nothing for it: I have to get down there too.
I sit on the top lip of the ramp and slide myself down.
Ted greets me joyfully, doing what I’ve started to think of as his happy dance – a sort of stylised trot that you see dressage horses performing in Olympic competitions. I bend down to pick him up and he immediately licks me on the forehead.
Reaching up on tiptoes, I deposit him on the top of the skate ramp, and he opens his mouth, showing me all his teeth, not just the underbite. If I believed dogs could grin, I’d believe it of Ted now.
‘Okay, you stay there,’ I say, passing him his ball before walking back a few paces. I’m going to have to take a run at this ramp if I have any chance of getting up it myself. The main problem is that I’m wearing flip-flops, which is going to make scrambling difficult, and I recently Ped-Egged my feet, so they’re not as grippy as usual either. If only I’d thought to wear my hiking trainers. But no, the decision was made, and now I just have to do my best with it.
I throw my flip-flops up to where Ted is sitting watching the proceedings. He immediately picks one up and begins to shake it savagely, like a wolf trying to break the neck of a mountain hare.
‘Stop that at once,’ I say, firmly, and he stops it. ‘Now stay BACK.’
He takes two steps back. He’s obviously got the ‘back’ command nailed as well as the ‘come’ command. Ten points for Ted.
Barefoot, I run at the ramp and hurl myself at the lip. My fingers close on cold concrete. I’ve done it. I begin to pull myself up. I can do this.
Except, I don’t seem to be making any progress – beyond shredding the tendons in my forearms and shoulders, I’m achieving nothing.
No matter how I wrangle my body, I can’t seem to get my leg over.
Ted steps forward and gives my hand a little lick of encouragement, which makes me laugh, and all the strength drains out of me. Releasing my grip, I slide back down.
I try again… with the same result.
I think – and I’m very prepared to admit I might be wrong – that I am stuck.
What time would the local Loor children arrive at a place like this, I wonder? I suppose they might stop by before school? But there aren’t many locals. The school has twenty-eight pupils.
Oh god. I could be stuck here for hours.
I forgot to bring my phone so there’s no way to alert anyone and who would I even alert anyway? The only person who’s given me their number is Betty and I don’t think she’ll be able to haul me out; she’ll just get her grandson to help, and I couldn’t stand the shame.
It’s not even as if I can tie a note onto Ted. I could beckon him back down here again, I’m sure, and pop him back over the ledge, but I don’t have a pen and I couldn’t give him instructions to go home. He’s not Timmy from Famous Five. He’s not Lassie. He’s a handbag dog.
‘Hello, little brown dog,’ I hear a man’s voice say and I stiffen.
Is it my neighbour? I don’t think so, but it’s hard to be sure from down here in the concrete prison.
I suddenly feel vulnerable. I’m basically trapped in a hole, and though this is probably not a ‘put on the lotion or get the hose’ situation, I feel a bit uncomfortable.
Ted doesn’t. He runs away from the ledge to where I can’t see him, but as he goes, I note that his curly pom-pom tail is wagging. Traitor.
‘Are you lost, boy?’ the man’s voice says, echoing weirdly around the skatepark, and since Ted can’t answer, I do.
‘Um, no. He’s with me,’ I call out.
A man carrying a red skateboard appears at the edge of the bowl and looks momentarily startled as he spots me down below. It’s the sexy surfer. Joshua.
‘Hi there,’ he says, and then adds, ‘It’s more fun if you bring a board.’
I smile ruefully. ‘Ted slipped in here. I came to help him, but now I’m stuck.’
‘Oh, right, yeah, there’s an art. You need a good run-up.’
‘And serious upper-body strength to pull yourself over. Which I apparently do not possess.’
‘Need a hand?’ he says, resting his board on the concrete beside him and reaching down to help me.
‘Yes, please.’
Even with him using all his might to haul me up, mine is still a sprawling, undignified exit, and I swear at one point, he almost loses his balance and falls in with me.
When we’re both up, I hazard a glance at his face. Now that he’s not wearing head-to-toe neoprene, his sexiness – already high – has tripled.
He’s wearing a T-shirt and boardshorts slung low on his hips. He has incredibly wide shoulders, a narrow waist and hair that’s damp and falls in waves to his jawline. He is the epitome of cute surfer dude and, if I was a few years younger, I think I might have genuinely swooned in his presence. As it is, my twenty-six-year-old self is anxiety-sweating and blushing.
‘My hero,’ I say, then instantly and deeply regret it. What an entirely stupid thing to say to a man who you find wildly attractive, who’s just helped you out of a tight spot. He’ll think I’m a bunny boiler.
‘Hi, again,’ he says, smiling down at Ted. ‘Your dog seems to have warmed up to me.’
‘He’s not actually my dog,’ I say, too sharply. ‘He belongs to the man whose house I’m currently living in.’
Oh god. That sounds like I have a boyfriend I’m planning on dumping any minute now.
Joshua raises his eyebrows.
‘I’m a petsitter. Ted’s owner isn’t my boyfriend or anything – I’ve never even met him and, actually, I think he’s married to a man,’ I say, which only adds to my embarrassment, because I’m sure this is absolutely inconsequential to this guy, and he’s probably wondering why the hell I’m telling him any of this, which takes me right back to bunny boiler.
‘Cool,’ he says, sounding entirely unfazed by my spinning out.
‘He has eighty-seven snakes, and a tortoise that’s nearly a century old. Plus, I brought my own cat, who hates Ted.’
‘Fuuuck,’ he says, exhaling through his teeth as if I’ve just described his own worst nightmare. ‘You’re, like, in the Thunderdome.’
It takes me a second to get what he means, and then I recall one of my dad’s favourite films from the eighties, which featured to-the-death cage fights.
‘I guess so,’ I say.
‘I love snakes,’ he says, suddenly. ‘If you ever need a hand with feeding or whatever, just ask.’
‘Really?’ I say, genuinely shocked, because everybody else I’ve told about the snakes has sort of shuddered and backed away.
‘Yeah, I had a ball python when I was a kid. I know how much work goes into keeping them happy and healthy.’
‘That would be great,’ I say, feeling myself flush with pleasure, instead of embarrassment. How refreshing to have a person volunteering help without my even dropping a hint of needing it.
How different to Betty’s awful grandson.
Ted is looking up at me with that reproachful look again, as if he disapproves of my planning a sort of date with the sexy surfer.
‘I’d better get back,’ I say. ‘I have mouths to feed. Dozens of them.’
‘You’re not injured from the fall?’ he asks.
‘Oh, I didn’t fall,’ I reply, a little affronted. ‘I slid down, purposefully.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘Let me give you my number and if you ever slide down and get stuck again, you can give me a call.’
‘Okay, that would be great.’ I search my pocket for my phone and then remember I don’t have it.
‘No problem. We’ll swap numbers the next time we meet,’ he says.
‘It’s a date,’ I say, and cringe.
‘Oh, and when I come over, I’ll be sure not to wear a hat.’
I smile tightly, remembering my lie on the beach.
He picks up his skateboard and readies himself to start zipping around the skatepark, which I take as my cue to leave.
‘Thanks for getting me up!’ I call out as I walk away.
He pauses.
‘Any time.’
I can hear the smile in his voice.
I walk home in a daze, not totally sure what just happened, but I think I might have made a new friend. Maybe even, one day… a special kind of friend.