Chapter Sixty-Six
Once home, Cindy greeted me ecstatically, then rushed outside to relieve herself. Seconds later, Rambo had joined Cindy.
The dogs wagged their tails at each other, then checked flowerbeds together, looking for precise places to sprinkle their tinkle. I patiently waited at the door for Cindy to finish.
‘Tilly?’ Milo called from his own backdoor.
‘Yes?’
He began to walk along the garden pathway. As he headed over, I saw he was holding something in his hand. A key.
‘This is a duplicate for the backdoor. Can I be cheeky and ask if you would let Rambo out later? I’m not sure what time I’ll be home.’ Unspoken words hung in the air. If at all. ‘I’d be very grateful.’
‘Tell you what, let Rambo stay with me and Cindy. That way you can take as long as you like.’ I stopped myself from adding all bloody night if need be.
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Milo hesitatingly. ‘I don’t want to take advantage.’ If I end up shagging the living daylights out of Sarah, was what he surely meant.
‘I’m sure,’ I nodded. Yup, totally sure that you will be a swipe-right tart and bonk Sarah’s brains out.
‘We’re meant to be watching a movie at her place,’ he said.
‘Nice,’ I said. I really couldn’t care less what you do together .
‘And she said she’d cook me her signature dish. Something with chicken. The dinner, not the movie,’ he explained unnecessarily.
‘Well, quite,’ I agreed. ‘I don’t know any movie about, you know, chickens.’
‘I do,’ said Milo brightly. ‘Chicken Run. Remember? With our favourite movie stars, Wallace and Gromit.’
‘Ah, yes. The plot chickens,’ I joked weakly.
I felt a sharp pang of sorrow as I remembered the two of us laughing together. Sitting side by side. On the sofa. In front of the telly. Me falling asleep on his shoulder. Bittersweet. For me, a case of so near and yet so far . But not for Sarah. Bitch!
I had a sudden mental picture of a sultry brunette with Milo. There they were. Together. Consuming their chicken dinners. Curling up on the sofa. Watching a movie that featured chickens. Then pecking each other with kisses. If they went all the way, what might Sarah say as she orgasmed? Not, oh-oh-oh but cluck-cluck-cluck? But maybe they’d watch a pirate movie instead. In which case, would Sarah’s climax be an arr gasm? Or, if they instead cosied up in front of a nature programme featuring ants, might Sarah suffer an ant iclimax?
‘Tilly?’
I zoned back in.
‘Yes?’
‘Will you be all right?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I assured. ‘You go and get yourself ready. I’ll feed Rambo. He can have some of Cindy’s food.’
‘Okay.’ He paused. Hesitated a moment. ‘What are you doing tonight? Talking to Robin?’
‘Robin?’ I said vaguely. Who was he? Oh, yes, the man who’d been dumped by his youthful mistress. The guy who’d asked not just for a reconciliation, but also remarriage. Geez, what a prat. My life with Robin suddenly seemed so very long ago. Why was that?
‘Your ex-husband,’ Milo prompted. ‘You spoke of getting married again.’
‘Oh, that,’ I shrugged. ‘I’ll give him a call.’
‘Right,’ Milo nodded. ‘Well, good luck to you and Robin.’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘And, um, good luck to you and Sarah.’
‘Er, yes. Thank you.’
Suddenly there didn’t seem much else to say. Milo turned on his heel, taking the duplicate key to the cottage’s backdoor with him.
I whistled Rambo and Cindy to heel. Yes, I’d give Robin a call. I’d speak to him. But only to tell him to never darken my door again.
The dogs trotted into the studio. I shut the door after them. And, with it, I shut out all my previous hopes and dreams for Saturday night.