Wellies and Westies (2 page)

‘Yes, Emma?’

‘A whistle?’

Alison smiled. ‘That’s right, it’s a whistle. And what sound does it make?’

Emma shaped her lips into a tight ‘O’, preparing to whistle, and Cat shot from the carpet, nimbly jumping between the children to get to her handbag.

‘Cat? Where are you going?’ Alison’s tone was pleasant, but Cat heard the steel in it.

‘I – I just need to…’ She edged towards her handbag.

‘Please come and sit down,’ Alison said sweetly. ‘We’re having
so
much fun.’

Cat looked despairingly at the bag, then returned to the carpet and sat down slowly, wondering if she could delay the inevitable by freezing time. She planted a grin on her face.

Alison continued. ‘What sound does the whistle make, Emma?’

Emma made the shape with her lips and blew as hard as she could. What came out was a soft, wet raspberry noise. Emma looked surprised. ‘My mummy can do it,’ she said.

Alison nodded. ‘It takes a bit of practice, but you’re very close. Now this –’ she held up the whistle – ‘does it for you.’ She pressed it to her lips and blew.

Children shrieked, a couple put their hands over their ears and Tom shouted: ‘Dog!’

Alison frowned and gestured her palms towards the floor. ‘Dog?’

Cat risked a glance at her handbag. It was in the same place.

‘Dog!’ Tom shouted again, his bottom bouncing up and down on the carpet. ‘Dog!’

‘Well, yes,’ Alison said slowly, ‘lots of people use these to train dogs, but—’ She was interrupted by a quiet but determined yelp.

‘Dog!’ Tom shrieked again, and other children joined in. ‘Dog dog dog.’

Cat got onto her knees. If she crawled quickly, maybe she could get there in time. Children were imaginative; it would be dismissed as overexcitement. But then the little black nose, the grey fur and then the whole fuzzy, inquisitive head pushed out of the handbag’s opening, forcing the zip, and Disco was out. The puppy ran on her tiny legs towards Cat, knocking over three bottles of paint, and into the middle of the children, who erupted into delighted squeals.

Disco leapt and bounced and yipped and snuffled, exploring the sounds and smells and warm bodies around her, her little paws clambering on knees, small hands reaching out to stroke and tug her. Cat tried to gather the puppy to her, but Disco and the children were having too much fun, and so instead she turned to see her boss’s reaction, wondering fleetingly if she’d be pleased that Cat had made the children so happy, and realized she was doomed. Alison was standing with her arms folded, staring at Cat with eyes that burned right into Cat’s conscience. She gestured towards the dog, words unnecessary.

Disco was standing with her front paws on Peter’s knee, and Cat watched in horror as the patch of carpet around her back legs turned a darker shade of red.

‘Wee!’ Peter squealed.

Cat picked the puppy up and held her wriggling body tightly. The children reached out towards her, and as Cat left the carpet she caught sight of Emma. The young girl was grinning with undisguised satisfaction.

‘Right, children,’ Alison said, her voice sharp as ice, ‘that’s enough sounds for today. If you’d all like to go to your chairs, we can do some colouring-in until fruit time. Cat, go to the office and wait for me.’

‘Alison,’ Cat tried, ‘shouldn’t I clear up—’

‘I’ll be through as soon as I can.’ Alison turned back to the children. Peter was tugging on her skirt, his face bright and open. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘what is it, Peter?’

‘Allergic to fun,’ Peter said, pointing up at her. ‘Achoo!’

‘How could you do that to me, Catherine? After
all
we’ve talked about? All the rules we’ve gone through.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’ Cat was leaning against the table in the office, Disco tied to a bench outside the back door, because Alison
couldn’t stand to look at it for a moment longer; not after the havoc it had caused.
Cat didn’t think that reminding her that Disco was a she, not an it, would add weight to her cause.

‘You never do, not about the safety of the nursery. You’re imaginative, full of bright ideas, but you never stop, for one moment, to think of the
consequences
.’
Alison was walking backwards and forwards in the small, windowless space, her long plait swinging, her limbs tight with anger. ‘What part of you thought bringing a dog into my nursery would benefit anyone? The children could have been injured, infected – anything!’

‘I was helping out a friend,’ Cat murmured. ‘But I know,
now
, that I shouldn’t have done it.’ She shuffled her feet and looked at the floor.

‘Do you?’ Alison shot. ‘Really? Because I think that, given half the chance, you’d do it all over again. You’re not a
completer-finisher
, Cat, and that’s the kind of assistant I need. It’s not going to work out, but I think you already knew that.’

Cat’s stomach shrivelled. ‘If you could give me one more cha—’

‘No.’ Alison shook her head. ‘No more chances. I’m surprised you stayed in your last employment for as long as you did. You’re not reliable, you’re not supportive and, frankly, you’re downright disruptive. Your time at Fairview Nursery is over, and if I wasn’t so angry with you, I’d pity you. I can’t imagine you being successful anywhere else with this kind of attitude. Go out of the back door, and take that
thing
with you.’

‘Can I say goodbye—’

‘No. You’ll get a formal letter confirming my decision and a record of your final payment through the post.’

Cat stared at the floor, unable to respond as Alison left the room and slammed the door behind her. She pushed herself off the table and, swallowing down the sob hovering in her throat, collected her coat. Outside, Disco had managed to tie her lead round and round the leg of the bench, and was sitting with her nose pressed into the wood, as if she’d been told to sit in the naughty corner. It was exactly how Cat felt.

The sun had fully emerged by the time Cat left the nursery, the sharp frost melting into crystal drops under its rays. She wouldn’t be going back, unless Alison had a sense-of-humour transplant. She was no longer welcome, and therefore no longer employed.

‘Oh, well,’ she said to the small puppy who, now free from her handbag cage, bounced along the pavement at Cat’s feet, sniffing the grass verges, straining at her short leash. ‘At least we escaped with our lives. At one point I wasn’t so sure, were you?’

Disco yipped in response and Cat changed course, walking along the edge of Fairview Park, running her hands along the black railings. She still couldn’t get over how idyllic her new home was. She had the beach, the park, and wide, quiet roads that demanded strolling rather than hurrying. Fairview wasn’t large – it perched on the sea edge of the south-coast town of Fairhaven – and Cat was already getting to know the area’s different charms. In Fairview Park she felt as if she could be anywhere. The wide expanse of verdant grass criss-crossed with paths, the oval pond and the Pavilion
café were sheltered from the surrounding Georgian terraces and the sound of the sea, only two roads away, by tall evergreens.

At this time of the morning it was busy with dog walkers and couples strolling in the spring sunshine. Disco wasn’t old enough to walk for long periods yet, her short legs getting tired easily, even though the rest of her seemed to have endless energy. The puppy stopped, sniffing enthusiastically at the base of one of the railings, and Cat stopped to let her – there was nowhere she needed to be.

She had already begun to recognize a few of the park’s regular visitors, and she could see Mr Jasper bustling close to the trees, head down, as if he’d just put up one of his protest signs and didn’t want to be spotted by any of the dog owners he despised. Cat felt her shoulders tense; she’d had enough of dog haters for one day and, while Alison was within her rights to protest about dogs in her nursery, Cat couldn’t understand how Mr Jasper could ever think that getting rid of dogs from the park was a possibility.

A tennis ball landed heavily inside the railings, and Disco yapped loudly as a glossy border collie raced up to find it. The larger dog stuck its shiny black nose through the bars to greet Disco. Cat crouched and stroked the dog’s muzzle, then looked up to see someone watching her. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a mass of dark brown, untamed hair. He had sharp, handsome features, and even from a distance Cat could feel the weight of his stare. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of a leather jacket, the collar turned up against the cold.

The man continued to look steadily at her, not the dog – which she presumed was his – and Cat realized she was holding her breath.

Then Disco barked, sank her teeth into the sleeve of Cat’s purple jacket, and pulled. ‘Sorry, Disco,’ she whispered. She carefully extracted the puppy’s jaw, and when she looked up the man was striding away from her. He whistled, and the collie picked up the tennis ball and raced after him. Cat watched him go. ‘Was that weird, puppy, or was that me making something out of nothing?’ Disco wagged her tail. ‘That’s what I thought.’

She was still thinking about the strange near-encounter when they turned into her road.

Primrose Terrace was an elegant crescent moon of tall, stately town houses, some in better repair than others, but all with their own charm. Each of the houses was painted a different pastel colour, their large front doors raised up from the pavement, reached by three wide front steps. The grass verges were peppered with primroses in the spring, and old-style street lamps made Cat feel she was in a Dickens adaptation whenever there was a hint of fog.

She’d moved from nearby Brighton just after Christmas to be closer to her friend Polly, further from the well-meaning prying of her parents, and to start as assistant at the nursery. Well, that had been short and not at all sweet, and Cat was suddenly jobless, directionless and desperate not to have to ask Joe for an extension on her rent so soon after she’d moved in. She tried not to let panic rise up inside her like champagne bubbles after the cork has been popped. She lived with Polly and Joe at number nine, and Elsie Willows, Chalky and Disco were at number ten; the street numbers running concurrently rather than odds and evens. Despite being smaller than many of the other houses, without the customary attic conversion, number ten Primrose Terrace was one of the prettiest. It was pale blue with gleaming white window frames emphasizing the large sash windows, the front door was pillar-box red and Elsie had placed pots of budding hydrangeas at the edges of the steps.

Cat let Disco prance up ahead of her, then rang the bell. It took a long time for the door to open, and when Elsie stood in the doorway, leaning on a crutch, her short white bob, cardigan and long skirt as neatly presented as her house, Cat felt her cheeks redden.

‘It didn’t go as well as you’d hoped, then?’ Elsie said, looking at Cat’s face before opening the door wide and ushering Cat in, hobbling after her into the airy living room.

Cat let Disco off the leash, and the puppy bounded to the basket under the window, where Chalky, Elsie’s older miniature schnauzer, was having a mid-morning nap. Disco nuzzled Chalky’s face, yipped and picked up a heavily chewed cuddly pig, then stood expectantly in front of the older dog. Chalky lifted his head, looked balefully at the puppy from under tufty eyebrows, and closed his eyes. Cat laughed, but Elsie was watching her expectantly.

‘No,’ Cat sighed, her smile fading. ‘It was even more disastrous than my worst-case scenarios.’

‘I told you that Alison wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘I had hoped she would come round to my way of thinking.’

‘That, Catherine, is a triumph of optimism over common sense, and I’m being kind.’

Cat stroked Chalky and ruffled Disco’s fur. Elsie lowered herself slowly into an armchair.

‘I didn’t want Disco in the house while you went for your check-up,’ Cat said. ‘Puppies get lonely, and then they get disruptive.’
Just like me,
she thought. ‘I was going to see what mood Alison was in and then, at break time, bring Disco out to meet the children.’

‘But you didn’t get that far?’

Cat shook her head.

‘You know what Alison’s like,’ Elsie said, ‘and you know that dogs are her pet hate – no pun intended. She’s probably more upset that you actively went against her wishes, rather than for any disruption you – and my dog – may have caused. But I am sorry, because you were doing a favour for me.’

‘How was the check-up? I’m surprised you’re back already.’

‘Oh, it was fine.’ Elsie waved her hand dismissively. ‘The knee’s healing, but slowly. I have to stay off it as much as I can for another few weeks. Nothing I didn’t know already. What’s the damage to you? Suspended? Cut in wages?’

‘Fired,’ Cat said. ‘No second chances, no room for manoeuvre. Do you want some tea?’

She left Elsie gawping in the living room and busied herself in the kitchen, making tea and finding chocolate biscuits. Her insides felt hollow with panic, but already, talking it through with Elsie, she was beginning to feel better. It had only taken four days for Cat to become friends with her neighbour once she’d moved to Primrose Terrace, and what Elsie didn’t know about Fairview wasn’t worth knowing. She’d gone into hospital for a long-awaited knee operation at the end of February, and Cat was helping out, taking Disco and Chalky for walks when she could, cooking for her sometimes, keeping her company.

‘I am so sorry, Cat,’ Elsie said when she returned with the tray. ‘I didn’t think she’d go that far.’

Disco was on the sofa, performing a thorough hunt for any treasure that might be hidden between the cushions. Cat poured the tea and scooped the puppy onto her lap. Disco wriggled, licked Cat’s hand and settled down; a warm, breathing comfort blanket.

‘She was furious,’ Cat said. ‘It was a stupid idea, I know. But I just thought that once she’d met Disco she’d realize how wonderful dogs can be. I mean, how could
anyone
be annoyed at this little thing?’

‘Not everyone loves dogs, and some people actively dislike them. They can be smelly and messy and very badly behaved.’