Wellies and Westies (3 page)

‘Yes, but look.’ Disco was breathing softly, her small ears flopped over her eyes, her head resting on her front paws.

‘You don’t have to convince me,’ Elsie said, ‘but I don’t think you’ll be able to convince Alison either. Stop worrying about her – what’s done is done. You have to focus on yourself, and what you’re going to do now.’

Cat stared out of the window, watching as the man from a few doors down walked past, wetsuit on, a surfboard under his arm. Cat thought it must be pretty cold in the water today, despite the sun. She stirred her tea.

‘Cat?’ Elsie prompted.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘What are you going to do now that you have no job?’

Cat saw the challenge in the older woman’s eyes and knew that she wouldn’t get away with feeling sorry for herself. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. She stared at her hands and noticed that the varnish on one of her nails, the one that was orange like a tangerine, had started to peel.

‘What about your old nursery? Would they have you back?’ Elsie wouldn’t give up, that was one of the great things about her. Solutions must be found and agreed on, in this case before the sun would be allowed to set on them.

Cat thought of the tiny nursery on a sloping hill overlooking the Brighton seafront. It had been energetic and spontaneous, and her ex-boyfriend Daniel, a teacher, had recommended her to the owners because of her creativity. It had been all the things that Alison’s was not, and with its hippy attitude probably not a typical nursery. But Cat didn’t want to go backwards.

‘Yes, they would,’ she said. ‘But I moved here because I wanted to try a new view and new scenery and new people. I like Primrose Terrace, and I love living with Polly. I need to find something here.’

‘Right.’ Elsie stroked Disco’s fur. The puppy had transferred herself from Cat’s lap to Elsie’s and then conked out. ‘You’re very spirited,’ Elsie said. ‘You could set something up yourself, if that was a more appealing idea than shop work or waitressing in the short term.’

Cat ran a hand back through her short hair. ‘I don’t have the patience for waitressing. And I don’t have my mum’s artistic talent so I can’t do greeting cards, or knitting, or making hats.’

‘What can you do?’ Elsie waved her hand away when Cat gave her a sharp look. ‘I don’t mean it like that – I know you’ve got a drama degree and that you’re qualified as a nursery assistant, but what can you
do
? What do you enjoy? What about Fairhaven theatre? I’m sure they’re looking for volunteers, even if it’s just front of house.’

Cat laid her head against the sofa. ‘But I need to pay rent, and the problem with theatres is they never have any money. I could volunteer, but it would be years – maybe decades – before there was the possibility of paid work.’

‘So what else do you enjoy?’

‘Long baths, cooking – sometimes – fresh air, walking on the beach. I’m interested in people.’ She was beginning to run out of enthusiasm. The initial shock had worn off, and now all she wanted to do was to climb into one of those long baths and hide from her own stupidity.

‘That sounds like an online dating profile, and not a very original one.’

‘I can’t help it if I have the most boring CV,’ Cat said. ‘Fairly OK at most things, not exceptional at anything, good with pretending and children and animals – except that animals are Polly’s thing.’

‘Just because Polly’s training to be a veterinary nurse doesn’t mean you can’t. No misery, young lady. And it’s not a boring CV. You’ve had a blow – almost entirely of your own making – but a blow nonetheless. You’re bright and enthusiastic, you could do pretty much anything you put your mind to. What would you, Cat Palmer, like to do with your life? Take this as an opportunity.’

Elsie sat forward and poured more tea. At the movement Disco sat up, her eyes alert, then jumped to her feet and knocked Elsie’s arm, causing her to pour tea over the remaining biscuits.

‘Rascal,’ Elsie chided gently.

‘But still adorable,’ Cat said. ‘More than anything, I’d like to spend time with Disco. I’d like to bury my head in her salt-and-pepper fur, take her for walks and watch TV with her on my lap. I could do that for the next few days at least, couldn’t I?’

‘You know you can borrow Disco any time you want. But I thought Joe wouldn’t let you have a dog in the house?’ Elsie frowned.

‘No,’ Cat said quietly, unexpelled emotion rising in her throat. ‘No, he won’t let me. He’s got a cat, so no dogs allowed, apparently. I’m sure if we found the right one they’d get along fine, but he’s adamant.’

‘He’s always seemed like a very pleasant young man to me, and I know people can be sensitive about their pets – often rightly – but I’m surprised he won’t let you have a dog.’

‘Sometimes he’s nice, but most of the time he’s a grumpy sod. But I love living with Polly, and I love being here, on Primrose Terrace, and I want to stay.’

‘Oh, chin up, don’t get all teary.’

‘I’m not.’ Cat swallowed and blinked. ‘It just seems like when one thing goes wrong, it magnifies all the other little niggles into giant, immovable barriers.’ Her voice wavered at the end.

‘That’s why you need to be proactive. Keep moving forward, and have another biscuit.’

Cat looked at the plate, now swimming in tea. She shrugged and popped one in her mouth before it covered her hand in chocolate. ‘At least I can
see
Disco and Chalky, and I’ll still take them out twice a day while you’re getting back on your feet.’

‘That’s the spirit!’

‘Lots of spring sunshine and your two perfect pooches is exactly what I need while I’m working out a plan.’ Cat clicked her fingers and Disco bounced across the carpet and started licking her wrist. Cat laughed as the dog’s whiskers tickled her hand.

‘You might be right.’ Elsie drummed her fingers against her lips, her gaze fixed on the thick verge of grass outside the window, where the primroses were just starting to peek through. ‘I think, Cat, that you may have come up with your own perfect solution.’

Chapter 2

‘Dog walking? As a job?’

‘Yes, Polly. Taking other people’s dogs for walks. It’s a growing market – people who work all day, busy families, people like Elsie who might be temporarily unable to take their pets out. I bet there are loads of dog-owners out there who don’t even know it’s an option. Now it will be, because of me.’

They were sitting on the over-squashy, faded blue sofas in the living room of number nine Primrose Terrace, sharing a bottle of wine. Polly had come back late from Fairview vet’s, where she was doing the work placement for her veterinary nursing degree, and had changed into blue cotton pyjamas, her bare feet up on the coffee table.

‘And you’re sure Alison won’t have you back at the nursery, even if you grovel?’

‘I wouldn’t go back, even if
she
grovelled. I don’t think it’s the right job for me, not in a conventional nursery, anyway. Elsie’s right, this is
perfect.
Between the beach and the park this must be a prime doggy neighbourhood, and I can’t think of anything I’d like more than spending time walking other people’s dogs.’

Polly scrutinized her, her wide blue eyes unblinking in a way that Cat had almost got used to, despite the effect, along with her long blonde hair, being a bit
Midwich Cuckoos
. ‘I’m sure you can do it,’ she said slowly, ‘but there are lots of things to consider.
Lots.
How much you’ll charge, how many dogs you can walk at a time. Do the owners let their dogs have treats? If so, what kind and how often? Will you pick them all up from their houses? Will they get on with each other? And think of all the poo you’ll have to pick up. It won’t be a walk in the park.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘What, I – oh!’ Polly grinned. ‘It’s true though. I know you’ll think things through, but you can be…’

‘Impulsive, spontaneous?’

‘Excitable, a bit like a dog.’

Cat threw a cushion at her. ‘I get that I need to think about it like a business, but I’m excited, Pol. As excited as I was about moving here, finally getting to live with you. I think I can do this, and at the very least I can test the water, see if anyone nearby would be interested in a dog walker – other than Elsie, of course.’

‘You won’t charge her, will you?’

‘I said I wouldn’t, but she insists on it. She’ll be my first client and I’ll give her a special OAP rate.’ Cat sipped her wine and beamed, feeling a swell of something like accomplishment, even though all they’d really done was come up with an idea, and the hard work was all ahead of her.

‘Well, I think it’s pretty inventive,’ Polly said. ‘Inspirational, almost.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. You may not have intended to leave your job today—’

‘Get booted out, you mean?’

‘
But
,’
Polly continued, holding up a finger, ‘this could be better. And you’ll have a nearly-trained veterinary nurse on hand, should anything go hideously wrong.’

‘What’s going to go hideously wrong?’ Joe sloped into the room, sat next to Polly and poured himself a glass of red wine. He was in his usual work outfit of jeans and a hoody, the current one navy with an orange goldfish on the front, his short hair sticking up in unruly tufts as if his day had involved a lot of head scratching.

‘There’s a tsunami heading towards Fairview beach. Think of the carnage it’s going to cause.’

Joe sat up, almost spilling his wine. ‘What? Who said anything about a tsunami?’

‘Calm down,’ Polly said, pushing gently against his chest. ‘Cat was having you on. No tsunami.’

‘Right.’ Joe glared at Cat and she grinned. Joe and Polly could almost be twins. They were both blonde haired and blue eyed, Polly’s frame almost as slender as a boy’s, but Joe’s blond was more strawberry than ash, and Cat had never found him unnerving, only annoying. ‘So what’s going to go wrong?’ he asked.

‘Cat’s new business venture – except it’s not, but if it does, then I’ll be on hand.’

‘To offer moral support?’ Joe noticed Polly’s feet up on the coffee table, and gently nudged them onto the floor.

‘To provide medical assistance.’

‘Are we going back to the tsunami? Why would you need medical assistance? Do your techniques work on people as well as animals?’ Joe rubbed his forehead.

‘Not for the people, silly,’ Polly said, ‘for the dogs.’

‘Dogs?’ Joe sat up again, this time keeping careful control of his wine. ‘What dogs?’ There was an edge of panic in his voice that Cat might have found amusing, except that it was his aversion to dogs that was stopping her from having one of her own at Primrose Terrace.

‘All dogs.’ Cat threw her arms up. ‘I’m going to walk the dogs of Fairview. I’m going to look after them all, from Chihuahuas to Great Danes, give them exercise and love and the freedom they deserve, and I’m going to get paid for it!’

Joe took a sip of wine, his movements slow and measured. Cat had, in the two months she’d been living there, discovered this meant he was formulating an argument, considering his point carefully before he expressed it. Spontaneity was not Joe’s thing. Cat was expecting a carefully crafted attack on all things canine. It didn’t come.

‘So your time at the nursery,’ he said softly, ‘it’s…come to an end?’

‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. But…it seemed slightly inevitable.’

‘Why?’

Joe gave a quick smile. ‘Because every time I asked about your day, you gave me an elaborate description of all the things you wished you’d been doing with the children – some of which would have got you sued, by the way – because the real answer was too boring to talk about. I guessed that you weren’t that happy there. Sorry if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Stick,’ Polly said. ‘Ha ha!’

‘What?’

‘Y’know, dog walking, stick…we’re collecting dog puns.’

‘Not intentionally,’ Cat said. ‘But you’re right, I didn’t last at the nursery.’

Since she’d been living there, it had become an evening ritual. Cat would tell Joe all the things she wished they’d been doing at the nursery, and Joe, a freelance illustrator, would go on about how wonderfully cooperative his clients were to begin with, and how it would take him half a day to lovingly create a drawing of a single person, only to be told by the client that they looked too angry, or too insipid, or too posh. Joe was currently working on websites, marketing and branding for small companies and, at the moment, a local magazine that was probably the cause of the hair pulling.

‘Whose decision?’ Joe asked.

‘What?’

‘Did you jump, or were you pushed?’

The room fell into silence, thoughts drifting up towards the high ceiling as Cat tried to conjure up the best way of explaining what had happened. She didn’t need to.

‘Cat took Disco to the nursery in her handbag, and she escaped during music time. It gave the children more excitement than Miss Knickers-too-tight could handle.’ Polly poured more wine, put her feet back on the table and took them off again at Joe’s instant glare.

‘You took a puppy into a nursery in a handbag?’ He narrowed his eyes.

Cat nodded.

‘And expected chaos
not
to rain down upon you?’

‘I was hopeful.’

‘You were deluded. No wonder she fired you.’

Cat pressed her lips together and gave a small nod. ‘Maybe. But look where it’s led me.’

‘What, to a bottle of wine and some pie-in-the-sky idea about becoming the local Dr Dolittle?’

‘Hey!’

‘Joe,’ Polly chided, ‘that’s not fair. If Cat sets her mind to it, then I think she can do it.’

‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.’ He raised his glass, and Polly and Cat did the same, though Cat could see amusement glimmering behind Joe’s serious expression. His rather large ginger cat, Shed, took the opportunity to stalk into the room, shaking out his back feet in turn as if discarding distasteful footwear, and positioned himself on the coffee table. He nudged the bottle of wine close to the edge with his tail.

‘How come Shed’s allowed on the table and not my feet?’ Polly asked. This was not a new argument, and Shed gave her a look that said just that:
I’m allowed, you’re not. Get over it.