Chapter sixteen #2
Marcus nodded and entered the marquee. He glanced back over his shoulder, but Rowan had chosen to wait outside. He didn’t know whether to be sad or glad.
Atlas was lying down and he lifted his head, giving a small wag of his tail when he saw Marcus.
‘Hello, boy, Don’t mind me. I’ll only be in your space for a moment longer.’
As if understanding exactly what he’d just said, Atlas dropped his snout back onto his paws.
Quickly stripping out of his top, Marcus slipped his arms into the shirt and pulled it on, looking down to fasten the buttons.
Rowan’s aftershave on the shirt’s collar caught him off guard. Marcus stopped buttoning and inhaled, instantly becoming heady.
Rowan’s voice caught him off guard. ‘Marcus, I think someone is coming to the quiet zone with their pet.’
‘Coming.’ Quickly finishing, Marcus picked up the clipboard and his top and smiled at Atlas. ‘Bye, Atlas. See you later.’
Rowan’s eyebrows went up as he ran his eyes over Marcus. ‘Hmmm. I think that suits you better than me.’
Marcus grinned and winked. ‘I might just have to keep it then.’
Rowan’s eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary.
‘You probably should,’ he said.
Marcus’s grin almost slipped into something softer, but a burst of laughter from the main ring saved him from having to answer.
Veronica’s voice carried across the beach, bright and theatrical even in full daylight. ‘Ladies, gentlemen, children, dogs, and anyone here pretending they only came for Tammy’s cake, please gather around for our first category of the day.’
Marcus glanced towards the ring, where a small crowd had already begun to form. Dogs of every size and description were either standing proudly beside their owners, sitting with hopeful expressions, sniffing each other’s tails, or attempting to drag their humans towards the refreshment stall.
The competition was truly underway.
Marcus’s heart gave a strange little squeeze.
He had been so busy worrying about whether everything would go wrong, he had barely taken a moment to enjoy the fact that so much had gone right.
‘I’d better go and look useful,’ he said.
‘That might be a challenge in that shirt,’ Rowan replied.
Marcus looked down at himself. ‘Excuse me. I look excellent.’
‘You do.’
The words were quiet.
Too quiet.
Marcus’s breath caught, but before he could ruin the moment by saying something ridiculous, Atlas gave a soft huff from inside the quiet-zone marquee.
Rowan’s gaze shifted towards him, and the softness on his face deepened.
‘Go on,’ Rowan said. ‘Your public awaits.’
‘My public is mostly here for the dogs.’
‘And the cake.’
‘And the cake,’ Marcus agreed, his grin returning.
He walked back towards the main ring with Rowan’s shirt brushing softly against his skin and Rowan’s aftershave clinging to him in a way that made concentrating an almost impossible task.
The first category was Waggiest Tail, which, in hindsight, Marcus thought might have been a mistake to hold first. It had caused absolute chaos.
A tiny terrier wagged with such determination that her whole backside shimmied.
A golden retriever knocked over a water bowl in his excitement.
A spaniel called Bertie lay on his back and wagged all four paws, which the children found hilarious and several adults insisted should count.
Veronica took her role as temporary announcer very seriously.
‘And our next contestant is Mabel, whose owner assures us her tail has been in training since January.’
The crowd laughed.
Marcus stood at the edge of the ring, clipboard tucked under one arm, barely able to keep the smile from his face.
Tammy’s stall was already busy, her dog biscuits disappearing faster than anyone had predicted.
Pippa sat at the registration table with Oliver hovering beside her like a man prepared to catch her if she so much as blinked too tiredly.
Reverend Townsend was blessing a Dachshund wearing a sunflower bandana, while the dog’s owner dabbed at her eyes as though the ceremony were a royal wedding.
Near the beach steps, Jack was speaking to a family about tide times and beach safety. Old Po had somehow produced more cable ties from his pocket than any man should reasonably be carrying and was using them to fix one of the wayward signs.
Christine caught Marcus’s eye from beside the main marquee and lifted both thumbs.
He lifted one back.
For the first time all week, Marcus did not feel as if the day was balanced entirely on his shoulders.
It was being held by all of them.
The thought warmed him more than the sun.
A round of applause broke out as Bertie won Waggiest Tail by a landslide, mostly because his owner burst into tears and Bertie celebrated by licking Veronica’s hand with such enthusiasm that she lost her place on the results sheet.
Marcus laughed until his sides ached.
Then his attention drifted, as it always seemed to do now, towards the quiet zone.
Rowan was crouched at the entrance, speaking to a woman with a nervous Collie pressed against her legs. Marcus could not hear what he was saying, but he recognised the calm, steady tilt of his head, the patience in his posture, the way he gave the dog space without making the owner feel foolish.
Atlas lay just inside the marquee, head up, watchful but not distressed.
A little while ago, that would have seemed impossible. Now he was part of the day. Not as a spectacle. Not as a story for people to whisper over.
Just there.
Safe.
Marcus’s throat tightened.
‘Marcus!’
He turned as Tammy hurried towards him, cheeks flushed and hair escaping from her bun.
‘We need more water bowls by the refreshment stall. The dogs keep sitting under the table hoping for biscuits.’
‘On it.’
He collected three bowls from the supply box and filled them from the water station. By the time he returned, two Labradors had already stationed themselves beside Tammy’s table with the solemn determination of customers who had no intention of leaving without snacks.
‘You two are shameless,’ Marcus told them.
One of the Labradors wagged his tail.
‘Don’t encourage them,’ Tammy said, though she slipped them each half a biscuit as soon as their owners gave permission.
The next category began: Best Smile.
This one was gentler. Owners crouched beside their dogs, coaxing them to show happy faces.
A toothless old greyhound won an immediate cheer simply by opening one eye.
A Pomeranian gave what Marcus could only describe as a judgemental smirk.
Rosie entered with Tom and Christine, and although she did not win, Christine clapped as if she had.
Marcus took a moment to stand back and absorb it all.
Colourful bunting flickered in the breeze. Dogs barked, children giggled, the sea whispered in the background, and Seagull Bay had gathered together in exactly the way he had fallen in love with.
This was why he had stayed after the lorry destroyed his old life.
This.
These people.
This ridiculous, beautiful, dog-loving town.
He felt someone step beside him before he saw him.
Rowan.
‘You did this,’ Rowan said quietly.
Marcus shook his head. ‘We did this. You, me and the residents.’
Rowan looked across the beach, his gaze moving from the main ring to the quiet zone, from Tammy’s stall to Jack’s safety stand, from Old Po’s signs to Reverend Townsend’s little blessing tent.
‘You let them help,’ he said.
Marcus glanced at him. ‘That sounded suspiciously like praise.’
‘It was.’
‘Say it again. I wasn’t emotionally prepared.’
Rowan’s mouth curved, and for one perfect second, Marcus forgot about everything except the fact that Rowan was smiling at him in the middle of the beach, in front of half of Seagull Bay, as if he did not mind being seen.
Then Mrs Calloway’s voice cut through the air.
‘Marcus! Marcus, dear!’
Marcus turned.
Mrs Calloway was hurrying towards him with Beau trotting beside her, looking freshly groomed, impossibly fluffy and wearing a blue bow tie that matched Rowan’s borrowed shirt far too closely for Marcus’s comfort.
‘There you are,’ Mrs Calloway said breathlessly. ‘I wanted you to see him before his category. Isn’t he magnificent?’
Marcus looked down at Beau, who gave him a polite blink.
‘He looks very handsome, Mrs Calloway.’
‘Handsome?’ She pressed a hand to her chest. ‘He looks regal. I have spent all morning preparing him. We are entering Most Pampered Pooch, Best Groomed, and Most Likely to Be Mistaken for Royalty.’
Marcus glanced at Rowan.
Rowan looked as though he was using every ounce of discipline he possessed not to react.
‘Is that last one a real category?’ Marcus asked.
‘It should be,’ Mrs Calloway said firmly. ‘I’ve just bought a new lead from one of the stalls so he can look his best.’ She took the new lead out of a bag, and bent down to exchange it with his old one.
Beau sniffed the sand, apparently less concerned with royalty than with whatever Tammy had dropped near the water bowls.
A burst of applause erupted from the main ring as the Best Smile winner was announced. Several dogs barked in response, and somewhere nearby, a child squealed with laughter as a spaniel shook sand over her shoes.
Beau startled.
It was tiny. Barely a flinch.
But Marcus saw it.
So did Rowan.
‘Careful with his lead,’ Rowan said.
Mrs Calloway looked down. ‘Oh, he’s fine. Aren’t you, my precious boy?’
She bent and unclipped his lead to exchange it for the new one at exactly the wrong moment.
Another dog barked sharply behind them.
Beau twisted.
The new lead slipped.
For one horrible second, everyone seemed to see it happen at the same time and no one moved quickly enough.
Beau darted sideways between Mrs Calloway’s legs, under the edge of Tammy’s table, and vanished behind the refreshment boxes.
‘Beau?’ Mrs Calloway straightened. ‘Beau!’
Marcus stepped forward immediately. ‘Everyone stay calm.’
Mrs Calloway’s face had drained of colour. ‘He was just here. He was right here.’
Tammy crouched to look beneath the table. ‘I can’t see him.’
‘Nobody chase him,’ Rowan said, his voice cutting through the rising panic. ‘If he’s frightened, chasing will make him run.’
Mrs Calloway pressed both hands to her mouth. ‘Oh, my baby. My baby’s gone.’
The words were so small, so unlike her usual brisk gossip, that Marcus’s heart squeezed.
He touched her arm gently. ‘We’ll find him.’
Rowan’s gaze moved across the beach, assessing everything: the tables, the marquees, the steps, the crowd, the dogs, the gaps where a small frightened terrier could disappear.
Atlas’s head had appeared at the entrance of the quiet-zone marquee, ears forward, alert.
Marcus looked from Atlas to Rowan.
For one fragile moment, Rowan seemed to stop breathing.
Everyone around them waited.
Marcus and Rowan saw that Atlas had stepped out of the quiet zone marquee. His stance was erect as he looked their way.
Marcus looked at Rowan. ‘It’s your call.’