Sunshine and Spaniels (2 page)

Cat gave her Chips’s lead and snaked through people and dogs towards the café. It was cooler under the awning, but only just, and Cat spotted Joe at a table with a glass of iced water. There was no sign of Jessica. He was wearing a grey T-shirt and dark cargo shorts and, despite being blonde and blue-eyed like his sister, he had tanned arms. Cat had imagined that, with all the time he spent hidden up in his office creating illustrations, he’d be as pale as a ghost. He didn’t look like a ghost.

‘How’s it going?’ she asked. ‘Not regretting giving up your Saturday to spend it with your least favourite animals?’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘There are worse ways I could be spending my weekend.’ He grinned, and Cat was surprised how relaxed he seemed.

‘That’s very magnanimous of you.’ Ever since she’d moved into number nine Primrose Terrace, they’d had a battle of wits about her new business and ultimately – although she wasn’t sure Joe knew this yet – about when Cat could have a dog of her own. Joe had made his feelings about dogs perfectly clear, and had put an obstacle firmly in the way. That obstacle was grumpy and ginger, liked Whiskas and went by the name of Shed. ‘Is all this contact starting to turn you, Joe? I mean, look how cute this one is!’

Joe sat up and peered over the table at where Cat was pointing.

‘Hello, what’s your name?’ She crouched down and the tiny dog trotted up to her. It was white and tan, with eyes too big for its pointy face, and huge ears that had their own furry tassels. ‘You look like a princess, don’t you? Your ears look like those hats.’ The dog looked up at her, as if expecting her to clarify. ‘Oh, you know. Joe?’

Joe frowned, thinking. ‘A hennin. That cone-shaped princess hat, that’s what it’s called.’

‘Exactly. See? You’re a princess. Who do you belong to?’ The dog sat in front of her and put her paw over her nose, just as a man with white hair and half-moon glasses bustled through the crowd. ‘Is this little dog yours?’

The old man nodded and sat down opposite Joe. ‘Hot, isn’t it? Phew. Shouldn’t have layered up like I have. Hard to break a habit and go without a vest, though.’

‘It is quite warm,’ Cat said, suppressing a smile. ‘What’s your dog called?’

Joe disappeared inside the café, and Cat turned her attention to her new visitor.

‘Paris,’ he said. ‘She’s a papillon. Marie Antoinette’s favourite breed. There’s a Papillon House in Paris, still. Seemed appropriate.’

‘She’s very well behaved.’

’She’s a perfect little butterfly. But sadly, a miserable one.’

‘A miserable butterfly?’

‘
Papillon
. It means butterfly in French. Don’t you young people go to school any more?’

‘That one must have passed me by.’

‘But you’ve been to Paris?’

‘Once. A long time ago.’ Cat had been with her parents when she was small. She didn’t remember much beyond the endless rain and straining her neck to look up at the Eiffel Tower, bearing down on her like a giant steel monster.

He smiled, a hazy look on his face. ‘Most romantic city in the world. You should take your chap with you, visit all the sites – Papillon House included.’

‘My chap?’

‘Your young gentlemen there,’ the man said.

Joe returned and put a glass of water in front of him.

‘Thank you, son, very kind. Seems very well behaved too,’ he said to Cat with a wink. ‘A trip to Paris would be just the thing.’

‘Oh, no, no, I—’ She glanced at Joe, saw him silently ask a question and turned back to the gentleman. ‘I’m Cat,’ she said. ‘I run Pooch Promenade
.’
She held out her hand, and he took it.

‘Oh, yes, I know all about you. I’m Arthur, but people call me Captain.’

‘OK,’ Cat said quietly. ‘Can I ask—’

‘Why I’m called Captain?’

‘How you know about me?’

‘Elsie told me. We’re back-garden buddies, we chat over the wall. She said anyone and everyone with a dog would be here today, that I’d better hotfoot it down with my Paris. Don’t know why though, she doesn’t need more walks, doesn’t seem to want to do anything at the moment except hide under the sofa. Butterflies don’t do that, generally.’

‘I wonder why?’ Cat crouched and stroked the little dog, who was still trying to hide her nose under an inadequate paw. She started shaking. ‘She’s not unwell?’ Paris had a thin red collar, a tiny Eiffel Tower charm hanging off it in place of a name tag. Cat smiled at the old man’s romanticism.

‘Doesn’t seem so. I took her to the vet’s a couple of weeks ago, and they weren’t sure. She’s eating OK, she’s affectionate with me, but it seems she’s got that – arachnophobia thing.’

‘She’s scared of spiders?’ Joe peered down at Paris. ‘I guess she is quite sma—’

‘No no, not that. Going outside. When you don’t like going outside.’

‘Oh,’ Cat laughed, ‘agoraphobia.’

Joe shrugged and crossed his arms. ‘
Arachnophobia
is spiders.’

‘I am seventy-eight, boy,’ Captain scolded. ‘I can be forgiven for getting a word wrong here and there.’

‘Of course, I didn’t mean to—’

‘You young studs don’t like to be embarrassed, do you?’ He wagged a finger at Joe and Cat turned her attention back to the sad dog, hiding her smile.

‘Maybe I could ask my friend Polly to take a look at her? She’s a vet’s nurse, so—’ Cat was cut off by a loud squeal from somewhere beyond the periphery of the veranda. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, getting up.

Joe was already ahead of her, and Cat followed him back to where she’d left Polly and Chips. She stopped in her tracks when she saw that her friend was completely drenched, her mouth open aghast, water running off her and onto the hot grass. Chips was trotting backwards and forwards, her fur glistening. Cat thought she’d probably enjoyed the soaking more than Polly.

‘What the hell?’ Joe whispered. ‘Pol, are you OK? What happened?’

Cat took a step forward and then stopped. Mr Jasper was standing at the edge of the crowd that was beginning to form, holding an empty bucket. Mr Jasper, ex-headmaster and local dog hater, had a tendency to let his views be known in sneaky, underhand ways. This was the most public thing he’d ever done.

‘Oh my God,’ Cat said quietly, and then, much louder, ‘Mr Jasper, can I ask what that was in aid of? Because the last time I checked it was cats that didn’t like water and not dogs.’

Mr Jasper fidgeted, dancing backwards and forwards like one of Jessica’s Westies. She could see he was wavering, desperate to run away but knowing he couldn’t. ‘We don’t want this many dogs here!’ he shouted.

‘Who’s we?’ Cat asked.

‘Lots of us.
Lots
of people. They’re a menace. Pooing and biting and making a mess.’

‘It’s a park! It’s not like we’re traipsing them through the local museum! Where else should dogs go, except the park?’

Mr Jasper gave a smug little smile. ‘They should be in your homes, in your gardens. Leave the public spaces for the people.’

‘Even if that is your opinion – and it’s a pretty unrealistic and narrow-minded one – did you really think the best way to express that opinion was coming here and throwing a bucket of water over my friend? What
possible purpose
could that serve, except making a scene? It’s an unprovoked attack, it’s got nothing to do with dogs, and you don’t even have a banner!’

‘Yes, we do,’ said a familiar voice, and Cat shivered as she realized who it was.

Alison Knappett, Cat’s old boss at the nursery – otherwise known as Knickers-Too-Tight. Short and prim, her dark fringe low over her serious eyes, she stepped out from behind Mr Jasper and raised a cardboard placard. She was wearing a blue dress and flat, sensible shoes, as usual looking far older than her mid-thirties. The placard was white cardboard on a wood support, and the writing was bold but neat. It said,
Say NO to dog walkers in Fairview.

Cat faltered. Mr Jasper she could face, but not Alison. Cat knew she didn’t like dogs – she’d found out to her cost just how much she hated them. But to go this far? To fire her and then try to sabotage her new business, felt very personal. ‘O-one banner?’ she stammered. ‘It’s not a very big protest, is it?’

‘But we’ve got everyone’s attention.’ Alison gestured around her, and Cat realized they were in the centre of a large circle of people and dogs, all waiting to see what would happen next. Polly was standing at the edge of the space and someone had got her a towel.

‘Go on then,’ Cat said. ‘Now you’ve got everyone’s attention, now you’ve ruined what was a perfectly good-tempered event, say what you wanted to say. Go on.’

Alison stepped forward but Mr Jasper put a hand on her arm.

‘We believe,’ he said, ‘that the recent trend for dog walkers is a growing menace to our society. Dogs are a part of life, I accept that, and so does my friend. We may not like it, but we accept it.’

‘No, you don’t,’ someone called, but Mr Jasper ignored them.

‘What we can’t accept, in our public spaces, where children and vulnerable people come to enjoy themselves, to get fresh air and a sense of calm, is the walking of multiple dogs in large and unruly packs. It’s a recipe for disaster. If you can’t control your dogs – and I defy anyone with more than four to be fully in control – then they will get loose, they will bite people, they will foul the grass and the paths where toddlers play, and they will ruin the serenity of this place.’

‘Nonsense,’ someone muttered.

‘I have already witnessed this woman struggling to keep control of a pack of dogs, in this very park! I have
seen
the damage that can be caused, and we will not stand for it!’

‘Dogs are dirty,’ Alison shouted, her prim voice straining to be heard. A few people had started to make low noises of dissent. ‘They’re dirty and they’re messy and they’re pests.’

‘Of course they’re not! What on
earth
are you talking about?’ A tall woman stepped forward, her black hair in corkscrews around her striking face, and Cat recognized her as Juliette Barker, one of her newest clients. She was half Jamaican and not, in Cat’s limited experience, a shrinking violet. ‘This is ridiculous,’ Juliette added.

‘You’re imbeciles,’ the man with the boxer said. ‘My Molly’s clean and smart and much better company than you.’ Cat noticed that Molly now had a Magnum wrapper sticking out of her mouth.

Mr Jasper and Alison exchanged an uneasy glance, and tried to step back into the crowd.

‘We will petition this,’ Mr Jasper said. ‘You just watch.’

‘Watch the signatures
not
roll in, you mean?’ boxer man said.

Captain appeared, holding Paris in his arms, her head nestled into his chest as if she couldn’t bear to watch. ‘You did set yourselves a hard task,’ he said in a friendly tone, ‘coming as a twosome to a dog lovers’ event.’ Alison blushed. Cat knew she hated to be wrong, and Captain’s words set a new fire under her.

‘Well, you can’t trust her,’ Alison screamed, pointing at Cat. ‘She is disorganized, and a danger to young children, and completely incompetent
.’
She spat the last word and Cat gasped. ‘Don’t trust this woman to walk your dogs. Don’t trust her for
anything.’

Cat opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

She felt a warm hand on her bare shoulder and suddenly Joe was in front of her, between her and Alison. ‘You’ve taken it too far,’ he said calmly. ‘You know as well as I do that what you’ve said about Cat is a lie. Nobody incompetent could have organized this event. She’s received nothing but praise for her dog walking – you guys aside – and if you want to talk about disorganized, then take a look in the mirror.’

The park was hushed, everyone straining to hear these quieter remarks. Cat took a step forward but Joe grabbed her hand.

Alison glared at Joe, and Joe looked steadily back at her. Cat knew that Joe would win any staring match.

‘You haven’t heard the end of this,’ Alison screeched. ‘And if you think you’re getting my business after this, Joseph Sinclair, then think again.’ She turned abruptly, her placard bashing Mr Jasper in the knees, and tried to push her way through the crowd. ‘Let me
through
!’

‘Are you OK?’ Joe turned to Cat and released her hand. ‘Sorry I stopped you. I was trying to defuse the situation and after what she’d said, I wouldn’t have blamed you for punching her in the face.’

‘No, you did the right thing. I didn’t realize she—’

’NO!’ Alison squealed, ‘get away!’ They turned to see Chips standing in front of the two protesters, looking up at Alison, a tennis ball at her feet. Alison moved back into the crowd and Chips trotted forward, putting the ball down in front of her again.

‘She loves you,’ someone laughed. ‘Though God knows why.’

‘This dog is harassing me!’ Alison moved further back and Chips followed, her tongue lolling out. She lifted her paw and looked up at Alison expectantly. Alison, her cheeks red, turned and pushed through the laughing crowd. Mr Jasper followed her, their placard discarded. Chips lay on the grass and rested her nose on her paws.

‘What was that all about?’ Polly was drying off quickly in the sun, her blonde hair forming wispy tendrils around her face. ‘I didn’t know Alison could be so cruel.’

‘I took Elsie’s puppy into her nursery,’ Cat shrugged. ‘She obviously holds grudges. But I’m so sorry, Joe, about your—’ She turned but he was no longer next to her. ‘Joe?’

Polly pointed to where Joe was crouched in front of Chips, laughing and rubbing her ears. ‘Good dog,’ he said. ‘What a clever dog.’

‘Oh my God,’ Cat whispered, ‘why is he doing that?’

Polly shrugged.

‘He’s not a dog person.’

‘I never said he wasn’t—’

‘He won’t let me have them in the house. Joe?’

Joe’s shoulders tensed and he stood up quickly, flashed them a quick smile and disappeared into the café.

Cat shook her head, feeling a mixture of confusion and relief. Maybe she was right, and that by coming into contact with so many dogs, he was slowly realizing how lovable they were. But he’d seemed so easy, so comfortable with Chips. ‘I don’t understand your brother, Polly. Either there’s something I’m not getting or that kiss with Jessica turned him into some kind of dog-loving wonder boy, like a modern-day princess kissing a toad.’