Love Is a Thief (32 page)

‘Oh, my God, Peter. Have you been burgled? Why didn’t you tell anyone?’

‘I’m exhausted, Kate,’ he said, slowly sitting himself down on the floor in the hallway, resting his head in his hands. ‘I had no idea it was possible to feel this knackered and this totally out of control.’

I heard scratching, a squeak, then two black and white puppies came careering into the lounge, skidding as they cornered at high speed. They both made little yapping noises before tearing past the seated Peter Parker and bolting straight down the hallway towards the lift. A rather desperate Peter Parker scrabbled after them. A few minutes later he strode past me with a snuffling, tail-wagging puppy under each arm.

‘It’s like this every single day,’ he said, marching into his apartment. ‘Cup of tea, Kate?’

There was nowhere to sit down in Peter’s flat so I perched on the edge of the coffee table in the lounge. He started clearing a space on the sofa, picking off chewed-up teddies, dog biscuits, shredded pieces of paper.

‘I haven’t told anyone about them because I still don’t know if I can keep them. I mean, look at them!’ It was Orwell’s
Animal Farm
and the humans had well and truly lost the war. One of the puppies was peeing in the middle of the room and I swear to God he was smiling as he did it. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you, I have, but I’d set myself this goal
of somehow having them slightly house-trained before introducing them to you, or at least tidying up a bit before inviting you in. But I just, I can’t seem to control them, or teach them to listen to me, or get them to pee in the right bloody place. They just do what they want, all the time, day and night. I have no idea, at all, what do with them.’ He attempted to sit down on the edge of the sofa while he continued to remove rubbish off it. ‘I don’t know how to live like this, Kate. I really don’t. I
can’t
live like this. Which means giving them up, which is, well, you don’t walk away from commitments like that, Kate. You just don’t.’

‘So having dogs is your Love-Stolen Dream?’

‘My ex hated dogs. It was never an option for us to have one but I always assumed after Jake that I would. Your idea inspired me to just go for it.’ There was a crash as puppy number one pulled a newspaper off the coffee table, taking three mugs with it and an iPhone.

‘Everything is insured,’ he muttered to himself like a mantra. ‘Everything is 100% insured.’ He looked like he was about to cry. ‘I only went to the dog breeder for some advice. I can’t do anything without ridiculous amounts of research and pre-planning and—’

‘Over-planning.’

‘There is no such thing as over-planning, Kate. So I went to her to ask some questions about care, routine, exercise, appropriate breed type, insurance policies, jabs and—’

‘I get it, Peter.’

‘But there was a litter of puppies there. So I started playing with them while the breeder talked to me. And there was this tiny little puppy, all black, with a white diamond
on his chest and one white paw. And he had these little dog freckles on his pink nose, a bit like you. Not that you have a pink nose, although it does tend to go very red in the cold, and when you have too much caffeine, or alcohol—’ I waved him on. ‘And then when I went to leave, I didn’t want to. So I sat there for another couple of hours, watching this puppy play with its brothers and sisters. And there was this other puppy he played with more than the others, a little girl puppy—they were a bit like you and me actually. He was the smarter of the two, obviously, and she was always watching him and copying him and chasing after him, trying to get his attention and—’

‘Peter, seriously, just tell the story.’

‘Well, I thought how sad it would be when it came to separate them. Then the breeder explained that sometimes it’s easier to take two puppies rather than one because they keep each other company—’

‘And she makes more money if she sells two.’

‘Don’t be cynical, Kitkat. Although you’re right, because the next thing I know I’m back in my apartment in the centre of London with not one but
two
puppies and, well, I haven’t had a night’s sleep since. In hindsight it was a rash decision involving no pre-planning, preparation or research, which, if I may say so, proves without doubt why all of those things are actually incredibly important.’ He attempted to lie down and stretch out on his large leather sofa. ‘So you see, Kate, as I have mentioned to you on numerous occasions, your Love-Stolen Dreams idea can actually cause totally bloody chaos in other people’s otherwise ordered and functional
lives.’ He pulled a chewed-up remote control from under his back. ‘I just didn’t realise how hard this would be. I didn’t realise how totally
uncontrollable
they would be. I think I just need to get some sleep. Then I can come up with some kind of puppy-training schedule.’ The puppies jumped up on the sofa, landing on Peter’s groin. He doubled up in pain and fell off the side of the sofa.

‘I’ll go and make us some tea,’ I said, leaving him lying on the floor, the puppies jumping on his head.

‘Don’t judge me on my cleanliness, Kate!’ he cried out as I walked into his kitchen, which was an absolute shit pit.

The black marble work surface was covered with dirty utensils. Every fork, knife, spoon, and plate, mug, glass and bowl had been used and not washed up. On the island in the middle of the kitchen were empty food cartons, biscuit cartons, milk cartons mixed up with old takeaway containers. At various intervals I could see open books on dog training. I spotted a self-help book called
‘Crisis Management: How to function with no sleep’
and there was a spotlessly clean litter tray by the door to the roof terrace. There were a million different things on the black stone floor, from chewed boxes and tissues, to what looked like important letters and post, to shoes and sports equipment. Everything had been chewed up, peed on, ripped up.

‘I would get a cleaner,’ he said from behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders, ‘but I’d need to clean up before the cleaner came round and I just don’t have time!’ He was squeezing my shoulders quite hard. ‘So this is how I live now. I live like this, like a, like a, I don’t even know what
the word is for someone who lives like this! I think this was a mistake. It was. I can’t do this by myself. I’m obviously limited and faulty and unable. My ex was right—I should just stick to living by myself.’

‘Why do you have to do this all by yourself?’

‘Because that’s what I do. I am self-sufficient. I’m capable. I’m—’

‘Standing in dog poo.’ He looked down at his foot. ‘Peter, you are definitely standing in a dog poo.’ He looked as if he was about to cry, again. ‘Peter, no one else does this all by themselves. No one. They have dog walkers, and vets, and puppy trainers and cleaners. Or at least everyone with full-time jobs in London seems to. You don’t have to do everything by yourself all the time.’

‘I just. Well. I always have.’

‘Peter, I have an appointment I have to go to now but, after, why don’t we take the puppies to my house for the night? There is nothing of value there for them to destroy, at all, and you can get some sleep while I look after them. I love dogs. I loved Jake.’ One of the pups was on my foot, chewing it. ‘And I know this great non-judgemental industrial cleaning company. I can arrange for them to come in and sort this place out while you stay with me. Don’t worry—their tagline is, “We won’t judge you, you dirty little fucker”.’ I snorted with laughter at my own joke. ‘Then tomorrow we can come up with a long-term action-plan. I think Grandma knows some dog trainers and dog walkers. And she can definitely organise for regular cleaners. She can organise stuff. Stuff and staff. That’s what she does. She manages.’

‘Thank you,’ he said, leaning down and engulfing me in an enormous hug. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.’

man becomes what he thinks about

‘K
ate,’ Bob began, stirring sugar into his fresh mint tea, ‘the boundaries and limits in our lives are always self-imposed. You can only live the life you can imagine. Sugar?’

‘No, thank you,’ I said, looking at my watch. I wanted to be back with Peter within the hour.

‘You are sweet enough, I’m sure.’ Bob beamed before adding another three spoons of sugar to his own tea.

I’d made an appointment with Bob (the life coach from
Fat Camp)
to discuss making a change. I told him I was ready for something new but needed help. So we met in his office in Chelsea, an airy studio space with a large glass atrium, and he’d invited me to sit on a brown leather sofa then poured me the aforementioned mint tea. We drank from tall glasses with metal handles and it reminded me of being in Morocco before all the bombings and discontent.

‘You say that you want your life to go in a different direction but you don’t quite know what that will be,’ he said, wiggling in his seat like a maths professor about to solve complicated algebra. ‘Kate, when you currently think about
your future life, can I assume you are imagining the life you have now but a slightly blacker or slightly rosier version of it?’

‘I think so, yes. Certainly I can’t imagine how anything will ever be
dramatically
different. I hope that things will improve but I can’t really see it, if you know what I mean?’

‘For me,’ he said, touching his chest, ‘I think people focus too much on what they
haven’t got
, or what they
don’t want
. They obsess over these things; about a lack of abundance; about feeling sad; or being rejected; or maybe freaking out because they don’t know
how
to achieve change.’ I nodded along. ‘And that actually keeps them stuck where they are. All their thoughts are on the negatives so life has no opportunity to manifest change. Your life is limited to the life you can imagine. If you imagine badly that’s what you’ll get. I want to tell you something, Kate. I want to tell you about a friend of mine. He said to me, he said, “Bob, whatever you think you can do, begin it; action has magic, grace and power in it.”’

I didn’t want to tell Bob that his friend was quoting Goethe.

‘The important thing here is to imagine without limits, so I want us to do a little exercise. It’s one of my favourites. Will you indulge me? Great. I want you to daydream your dream life, a day in the life of your dream life, and every time you find yourself dismissing something, and saying to yourself, “Well, that’s ridiculous, Kate,” or, “That’s not possible, Kate, you could never do that,” then consciously remove that block and let yourself keep imagining, just for a second, that it is possible and what it would feel like.’

‘I think I did something similar with my cleaner, Mary. She wanted to be a mechanic.’

‘Well, that’s great news, Kate. So let’s do it for you this time. Get comfortable in your seat.’ He started wiggling again as if he were getting comfortable on my behalf. ‘Close your eyes, relax, take a deep breath and let yourself daydream your perfect existence, your perfect day. Where does it start? Where do you wake up? What is the bed like? What colour are the sheets? When you get dressed what clothes do you put on? What would you love to wear if you could wear anything? When you leave the house turn around—what kind of house is it? What kind of house would make your heart soar? Do you get in a car? What kind of car is it? Where are you driving to? What do you drive past? What is the weather like in your perfect day? Where do you eat lunch? Who do you eat with? Does someone call you? You are really happy to hear from them. What do you talk about? What do you do in the afternoon? What are your plans for the weekend? You can go anywhere, so where are you going? If all things were possible, Kate, if you were allowed anything, if you could have anything, if you could achieve anything, who would you be, Kate? Who would you be? Who would you be? Who would you be?’ Images were flicking through my head, objects, people, places, sports, foods, colours, cities, experiences. ‘Remember, Kate. You … Have … The … Power.’ He said this last bit in a deep breathy voice, as if he were blowing the magic power my way. I hoped that he was, that clever son of a gun. I kept my eyes closed and with the magic dust all around me I let my imagination go wild: a life without boundaries, without constraints, without limits. What would I do? I happily melted away into a world of
golden happiness. After about 10 minutes I could hear Bob shift in his seat. I was pretty sure he was wiggling again.

‘And come back to reality, Kate,’ he said very quietly. I opened my eyes. ‘Welcome back, Kate,’ he cooed as if he knew where I’d been, as if he’d been there too, watching, like a Willy Wonka of dream states. ‘That exercise should start to give you a sense of the things you are drawn to?’ Every Californian sentence ended with what seemed like a question. ‘The images are all important and we will make a list of those images in just a moment. But we will also make a second list. Because the exercise should also make you aware of the
feelings
you are seeking, and by that I mean the feelings that you are wanting to experience in this life, be it feelings of happiness, feelings of strength, feelings of fitness, heaven knows, perhaps you want to feel more sexy!’ He slapped his thighs in excitement. ‘These are your cues, Kate; they are your markers. They are important. Because these feelings can be attained in a variety of different ways.’ He paused and just as I was about to ask he said, ‘Let me give you an example. An alcoholic may find an escape in his drinking. Being drunk may offer him the opportunity to run away from his problems; he feels free of life’s constraints; he feels liberated. It’s a false sense of freedom but for the alcoholic it’s the only activity that makes him feel free. A soldier in the army may crave the exact same feeling of freedom, but he gets it by throwing himself out of a plane and skydiving. A mother of three might get that same sense of freedom when she salsa dances. I might get it when I run along a beach. We are all seeking the same feeling and we have each discovered a different method for feeling it. Do you understand what I mean?’

I did, and I didn’t.