Chapter Twenty-Seven

Rain has been pouring all afternoon, trying its best to wash away the entire town, but the grey clouds have moved on by early evening, making way for a bright blue sky. There’s a nip in the air from the breeze, but I’d been dreading taking the dogs for a walk in the downpour so I’m not too bothered about a bit of cold as I head to the animal shelter.

James is waiting for me outside, his hands shoved in his coat pockets and a sage-green hat covering his curls. He pulls a hand out of his pocket when he sees me, raising it in greeting.

‘Ready for this?’ He nods towards the shelter, which is an L-shaped single-storey building with peeling white paint.

I shake my head. ‘Absolutely not. I don’t know how Gran manages to talk me into this stuff. I need to learn the word no and how to sound like I mean it.’

‘Who could say no to Cordy?’ James reaches for the door, tugging it open but hanging back so I can pass through. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Are you sure about that?’ I step into the reception area of the shelter, which is made up of a small office area, separated from the public by a high counter with dog paw prints painted on the front in a rainbow of colours, and a couple of worn high-backed chairs in front of the window.

‘Absolutely not.’ James shrugs and strides towards the desk, where he tells the woman in the royal-blue polo shirt that we’re here on behalf of Gran.

‘We’re just getting the dogs ready. Won’t be a minute.’ She steps out from behind the desk and disappears through a set of doors to the right, returning a couple of minutes later while James and I are browsing the carousel of leaflets next to the desk. ‘Here we are. Meet your new friends: Sabre, Star, Fizz and Baby.’

I look at the dogs. I look at James. I look at the polo-shirted woman and her polo-shirted companion. I look back at the dogs again.

‘ All of them?’ I look at James. Is he seeing four dogs? Hearing four names? Because Gran said a couple of dogs, not several, and not one that’s the size of a small horse.

‘I hope that’s okay?’ The polo-shirted woman – Carole, according to her name badge above the embroidered paw print on her top – looks startled. ‘We’re low on volunteers at the moment but Cordelia said you’d be fine doubling up.’

Cordelia was wrong. Very wrong. I was dubious about this whole dog-walking thing when I assumed it’d be one pup each and I didn’t imagine we’d be saddling up a horse, so I’m beyond doubtful as I take in the four (four!) hounds before me.

‘It’s fine. We’ll be fine.’

My head whips around, my mouth gaping as I look at James. Is he nuts? A cat gave me the runaround while we were contained in a flat so how am I supposed to cope with two dogs out in the open? ‘We will?’

James nods. ‘We will. Absolutely. Shall I take this beauty?’ He steps forward and reaches for the lead of the stallion. Carole hands it over, a watery smile of relief on her face.

‘This is Baby.’

I snort. Baby? Baby what? Elephant?

‘She’s a Rottweiler, around three years old, and although she looks…’

Menacing? Intimidating? As though she’d happily take a chunk out of your arse?

‘…Forbidding, she’s actually a big softie. Aren’t you, Baby?’ Carole crouches down and fusses the beast, Baby’s ears flapping about as Carole rubs and scritches behind them. ‘She really is a lovely girl, and so patient and loving. She’s got great recall but we would like you to keep all the dogs on their leads today.’ She passes the lead for one of the other dogs, a tiny blob of sandy fluff, to James. ‘This is Fizz, our six-year-old Pomeranian and the source of that thing you smell.’ Carole flashes an apologetic look at James. I’m a few paces behind and haven’t caught a hint of anything other than the general whiff of dog that hit me as I walked through the door, but I’m almost knocked backwards with the stench as it reaches me now. It’s a combination of burning rubber and rotting food waste and I place a hoodie-sleeve-clad hand to my nose and mouth to try to block it. The dog has farted and it is the most rancid thing I have ever had the misfortune to smell.

‘She does that a lot.’ Carl, Carole’s polo-shirted companion, smirks. ‘But you won’t really notice it once you’re outside.’ He holds one of his leads out to me, which is attached to the smallest of the dogs. It’s not much bigger than a guinea pig, thankfully. Maybe this will be okay. ‘This is Star, who’s a pug, obviously. We think she’s around a year old. And she’s blind.’

I hesitate, whipping away my outstretched hand. I get a blind dog? What if it walks into a lamp post? Or mistakes a leg for a tree and wazzes up it? Maybe this will not be okay after all.

‘Don’t worry. She’ll trot along happily with the others on the lead.’ Carl pushes the lead at me and I take it gently between finger and thumb, not quite committing. ‘And last but not least we have Sabre.’ Carl places the back of his hand to the side of his mouth, as though shielding his next words from the dog. ‘We’re not sure what he is – a mix of everything, probably.’ He grins, letting his hand drop. ‘But he’s a very loveable chap. He can be a bit…’ He looks at Carole for help.

‘Spirited. He’s one of our older dogs at twelve years old .’ She widens her eyes at the dog and places her hands on her cheeks. ‘But he still thinks he’s a puppy.’

He doesn’t look like a puppy. He’s quite chunky and long-legged and while his fur is various shades of brown, he has white bits around his snout and eyes. But he isn’t as humongous as the inaptly named Baby so I take the lead while Carole further instructs us about our dog-walking duties. Armed with poop bags and the four (four!) dogs, James and I head out of the animal shelter and make our way to the park. The breeze picks up the stench from the Pomeranian and delivers it to our nostrils, disproving Carl’s reassurance that we wouldn’t really notice it once we were outside, and although the park is only a ten-minute walk from the shelter, we’re assaulted six times by the stench before we hit the gates.

Still, the walk is drama-free, with Baby leading the pack, striding purposefully while Fizz and Star scuttle after her on their little legs. Spirited Sabre likes to dart off to the side to sniff damp walls or to try to snaffle the floor snacks the seagulls have yet to find but I manage to keep him mostly on course until he spots a squirrel as we’re wandering through the wooded area of the park and he nearly takes my arm out of its socket as he attempts to take off in pursuit.

‘Are you okay?’

I nod in response to James’ concern because I’ve somehow managed to keep my arm attached to my body. ‘Pity about my shoes though.’ I lift what was once a lime-green Converse but is now a sludgy brown due to the mud.

‘We picked a bad day for it with all that rain earlier.’

‘Would there be a good day for this?’ I flash James a see what I mean look as Sabre veers off to the side, nose to the ground, taking me with him. He sniffs his way around a tree, winding the lead around the trunk. James holds Star’s lead for me while I untangle Sabre.

‘I don’t know. It’s quite fun, isn’t it?’ James hands the lead back once I’ve extricated us from the tree. ‘Edith would love this. She’d love a dog but Carla was bitten by her aunt’s poodle when she was little and she’s terrified of them now, and I’m not in a position to be taking on a pet right now.’

‘What about Seth? Is he a dog person?’ I pull Sabre back as he tries to dash to the left, right into the path of Baby’s lead.

‘He’d love to have a dog but not the responsibility of having one.’

‘Sensible kid.’ I pull Sabre out of Baby’s path again before we end up with spaghetti leads. ‘What does he like, apart from video games?’ I feel like I know a lot about Edith from the short time I spent with her while I was babysitting Arlo but Seth was more of a closed book.

‘He loves basketball. He’s really good at it.’

‘He is very tall.’

James nods. ‘That helps, but he’s fast on his feet as well and an amazing shot. He’s a great team player as well.’

‘You sound very proud.’

Baby stops suddenly and squats to wee, which sort of ruins the moment of fatherly pride. We pause but avert our gaze to give her a sense of privacy.

‘I’m very proud. I go to all his games. Wouldn’t miss one.’

‘Does he play for his school team?’

James shakes his head, stepping back as Baby flicks up leaves and mud with her back feet. ‘He’s in a local league. He’s a Clifton Clipper, but he’s hoping to get into the national junior league.’

‘Maybe he’ll make Team GB one day.’ We set off again, feet splodging in the mud. My Converse are caked in it, with a sprinkling of brown leaves for added decoration. ‘I’ll be able to watch him on the telly during the Olympics.’

‘Or on MTV.’ James sidesteps a gnarly tree root stretching out of the mud. ‘As well as becoming a world-class basketball player, he also wants to dominate the world musically.’

I bump my arm against James’. ‘It must run in the family. Weren’t you in a band?’

‘I was, but Seth is much more ambitious than I ever was. My son has big plans for the future. Massive. His band’s already got its first gig coming up.’

‘Really? Wow.’ The breeze causes the leaves to ripple on the ground and I try to shake the fresh ones off my shoes.

‘It’s only at the Easter fair, unpaid, but everyone has to start somewhere and Seth’s really excited about it. I can tell by his grunts when I ask him about it. They’re much more animated than usual.’ James stops as Fizz’s lead has gone taut. She’s a few paces behind, refusing to move. Maybe she’s stuck in the mud? She only has tiny feet and it’s very squelchy. ‘I’m excited for him. He’s going to have the absolute time of his life on stage.’

‘Do you miss it? Being in your band?’

James tugs gently on the Pomeranian’s lead and makes encouraging noises until she takes a couple of steps towards him. ‘I do. I loved performing.’

‘You should get back into it.’

James scrunches up his nose and shakes his head. ‘I’m a bit too old for all that now. Too many responsibilities.’

‘Ugh. Responsibilities.’ I shudder, over-dramatically, which makes James laugh.

‘What happened to the grown-up thing?’

Fizz takes a few more steps and we start to move again. ‘It’s ongoing. In fact, I have an interview tomorrow.’ My stomach flips and I feel a bit queasy. ‘It’s my first interview since Jed and Russell sat me down in the little room at the back of the chippy and asked when I could start. I don’t think this one is going to be quite so easy.’

‘You’ll be fine.’ James stops as Fizz starts to paw at his ankle, leaving little muddy marks on his jeans. ‘Hey, what’s up?’ He stoops to stroke the ball of fluff on the head. Fizz paws at him again and she refuses to move when James straightens and attempts to continue our walk. She whines as she lifts herself up onto her hind legs so she can place both paws on his legs. She gives a little bounce and claws at his legs, as though she’s trying to climb up him like a beanstalk. ‘Are you tired, little lady?’

‘You’re not going to pick it up, are you?’ My jaw is slack as I watch James lift the furball up and tuck her under his arm. ‘It’s a stinking time bomb.’ I can smell the lingering pong of her last fart and it can’t be long before she lets another one go.

‘She’s knackered. She’s only got tiny legs.’

‘She’s only got a tiny arse but it’s foul.’

‘We’ll be fine. Won’t we, girl?’ James smiles as the pooch stretches to lick his chin with her tiny pink tongue. We set off again, me a few paces to the right so I’m not directly in the path of Fizz’s wall of funk. The wind picks up again and I pray it doesn’t bring with it a fresh wave of stink. It doesn’t, but it does cause a leaf to rattle past, which Sabre mistakes for a squirrel. The daft mutt takes off in pursuit, yanking me with him so forcefully I’m knocked off my feet and land cheek down in the mud.

‘Are you all right?’ James crouches down, peering closely at my mud-speckled face. It’s at that moment, when she’s mere inches from my nose, that Fizz lets rip, as though she’s been holding on to cause maximum damage.

‘I hate my life right now.’ Still somehow managing to cling on to both dogs’ leads, I scramble up to my feet. I’ve got mud on my face, my Converse are ruined, and my clothes are damp and grubby.

‘Shall we get these four back to the shelter and go to the old man’s pub?’

‘Yes, please.’

I attempt to hold my head high as we set off but it’s quite a difficult task when you look as though you’ve been wading through a swamp.