Walking Back to Happiness (13 page)

There was no budget for builders. Most of his life-insurance pay-out had been swallowed up by the mortgage – and that made Juliet’s mind turn uncomfortably to the other matter she’d been trying not to think about: her job.

Juliet had worked for her friend Kim’s catering company, Kim’s Kitchen, since she’d left college. They’d built up a reputation for wedding receptions, mainly because of Juliet’s intricate cupcake towers, which had become their signature. Kim had other caterers working for her, but she and Juliet were old friends, and when Ben died, she’d generously given her leave with some pay, even though she didn’t have to.

It had been awkward, extending her time off, but she wasn’t sure she could work anyway: Juliet’s tastebuds had completely gone. She didn’t want to eat anything, or bake anything, or cook anything, now Ben wasn’t here to taste and enjoy her meals. There didn’t seem to be any point. And for someone as keen on their food as Juliet, that was a genuinely disorientating sensation.

But Ben’s life insurance had only paid for the house, not her bills. She’d have to get some money coming in at some point, now what little savings she’d had had almost gone. She wasn’t eating, but Minton was. Like a king, as she tried to make up for his loss with sell-by-date steak and sausages.

Juliet looked at Lorcan’s estimates again. Daytime-television wisdom used to say that doing up a house and then selling it could be a worthwhile job in itself, but the experts had gone quite quiet on that front lately.

‘No money in dream homes any more, Minton,’ she said, then rolled her eyes at herself. When had she started talking non-ironically to him? That was a sign that it was time to turn in. ‘Bedtime.’

Minton leaped happily off the sofa and they headed upstairs together.

Chapter 9

When the doorbell rang at eight in the morning, it cut through a dream Juliet was having about Ben’s funeral. This time, she wasn’t just sitting in the front pew like a statue; she was standing up at the lectern, saying all the beautiful, honest things that only occurred to her later, when her brain emerged from the haze of Xanax, and it was too late.

Everyone was crying as she spoke, and when she looked up from the shiny black coffin, covered in flowers from Ben’s old clients’ gardens, she saw Ben himself at the back of the church, listening, crying, smiling at her, in his favourite old shirt. It was the green one.

The doorbell rang again.

She struggled to consciousness and realised Minton was curled up on her chest. When she moved, he jerked to life.

‘Who the hell’s that?’ She checked her watch. ‘At this hour?’

It was warm under the duvet, and snug. Juliet considered pretending she wasn’t in, but the doorbell rang more impatiently. Then someone knocked, for good measure.

Minton leaped down to investigate, and with a sigh, Juliet threw back the duvet and followed him downstairs.

Outside, she found Diane on the step, plucking dead heads off her climbing rose while Coco watched. Diane looked perky and upbeat in her new Power Granny outfit – nothing dangly, flat Clarks pumps and dark trousers. All very wipe-clean.

‘Hello, love! Oh! Did I wake you? Are you . . . up?’ she added, frowning at her pyjama bottoms coupled with an outdoor fleece.

‘I‘ve been out already this morning.’ Juliet rubbed her bleary eyes. She’d tossed and turned for hours; then when she’d given up and gone downstairs for some tea, there’d been no milk or biscuits, so she and Minton had driven over to the all-night Tesco, where exhaustion had finally ambushed her at the self-checkout. Her moonlit wanderings round the supermarket weren’t so comforting now she was keeping daylight hours too.

‘Not Tesco’s again?’

‘Does it matter?’ Not that she was going to tell her mother, but Juliet planned to make up the missing hours on the sofa, with Coco.

Diane pulled a worried face. ‘Well, talk about it later – I can’t stop. I thought I’d bring Coco to you this time. Save you driving over to Louise’s.’ She handed Juliet a zip-lock bag of food, with a separate one of treats. ‘Make sure she gets her full walk, darling. She’s got her weigh-in at the vet’s tomorrow – she’s on their diet plan. We both are. The surgery’s in league with the vet.’

Diane looked a bit shifty and handed Juliet a plastic clip. ‘Oh, and . . . would you mind popping this on?’

‘What’s this?’

‘A pedometer. I’m supposed to wear it then times it by three for Coco.’

‘But, Mum, that’s cheating!’ Juliet protested. ‘You can’t—’

‘Bye!’ And Diane was gone.

Juliet, Coco and Minton stayed under Juliet’s duvet for a soothing hour of antiques and toast. Minton and Coco ate most of the toast.

Sewing boxes were bought, then sold. The TV sun shone. The dogs snored, content, and Coco’s warm bulk soothed Juliet in a way that made her pathetically grateful to the big Labrador. There was something comforting about being lain on; it wasn’t quite as good as a human cuddle, but it was enough.

The three of them could have stayed like that indefinitely, but they were disturbed at eleven by the sound of drilling from next door. Drilling that the television couldn’t drown out. Just when Juliet thought she might be able to cope with earplugs and subtitles, Roisin and Florrie arrived on the doorstep with a slice of sponge cake covered in green icing and coconut.

‘Are you not up yet?’ demanded Roisin. ‘Why aren’t you up? Grown-ups should be up and dressed before children. It’s the law.’

‘Mum’s sent you some cake,’ said Florrie, proffering the plate.

‘Is this to do with that noise?’ Juliet asked. She had to raise her voice.

‘What noise?’ yelled Roisin. ‘We’re not having building work done!’

Juliet narrowed her eyes. That sounded like a practised response. It made her wonder about building regulations. She was pretty sure this was a conservation area.

‘Is this Salvador’s birthday cake?’ she asked. If it was, it was several days old.

‘Yes,’ said Florrie. ‘Mum says it’s a bribe. But it’s nice cake. Roisin ate some of the icing off it, sorry. Hello, doggies!’ She shoved the plate at Juliet and bent down to stroke Minton, who’d appeared like Juliet’s shadow.

Juliet grabbed him with her spare hand before he could sniff out any pet rodents concealed about Florrie’s person. ‘Mind out for your mice.’ She scooped him up awkwardly under one arm. ‘How long’s this going on for? This not-building work?’

‘Till Lorcan’s put up the big plank.’

‘Right.’ What was that? Juliet’s heart sank. ‘Are they knocking down walls in there?’

‘Do you want the cake?’ asked Roisin. ‘Because I’ll have it if you don’t.’

‘I’ll have it,’ she said. ‘Tell your mum thanks, but I hope this won’t be going on all day.’ Juliet paused. ‘Tell your uncle Lorcan that too.’

The girls eyed her, not suspiciously, but with a curiosity that seemed beyond their years.

‘What do you
do
?’ Roisin went on. ‘Why aren’t you at work?’

Florrie nudged her. ‘Rois-
in
.
Questions
.’

‘I’m going out,’ said Juliet. ‘With my dogs. And I hope it’ll be a bit quieter when I come back.’

A quick shower later and Juliet stood by the front door, readying herself for the outside world. She stuffed a bag of kibble, some poo bags and Ben’s whistle into her jacket pockets, then checked her bag for her phone, her purse, her hankies, her mints, her keys, the Rescue Remedy she’d need if she bumped into someone she knew who’d ask her how she was getting on . . .

Don’t bother, said a silkily persuasive voice in her head. There’s a St Trinian’s film on at two. Just put Mum’s pedometer on Minton and make them run round the garden. Give Roisin and Florrie a quid each to throw balls.

She closed her eyes and fought to keep the energy going, but when she opened them, Minton was gazing up at her. He was actually trembling with excitement at the prospect of going for a walk, even with his harness on, but even so, he wasn’t pawing the door or tugging at the lead.

Even Coco looked quite excited.

‘Oh, Minton,’ she said, feeling bad. His world used to be the whole of Longhampton and all the gardens within twenty miles. Now it was just the house. And the towpath, if he was lucky.

I’ll take my iPod, she thought. If I put that on, I won’t have to talk to anyone. I’ll be out, but not open for chatting.

‘Step on it,’ she told the pair of them, over the sound of renewed banging next door. ‘I want to be back for
Flog It!
’

Juliet parked in the free car park by the library and set off on Diane’s prescribed route towards the municipal gardens, then out of the gate at the end of the park and up the hill into the Forestry Commission trail.

The path was quiet, but Juliet put her iPod on, anyway – music blocked out any real thoughts, and sent out a ‘not for chatting’ message to other walkers. She walked briskly, to keep up with Minton’s bustling investigations, and let her eyes drift around as they turned down towards the canal. The route was familiar now, but her eye, sharpened by Ben’s enthusiastic botany lessons, spotted the difference in the wild hedges: the blackberry bushes and nettles were taller and lusher after a few days’ rain, and white flowers had spread out along the hedgerows.

Coco and Minton obviously saw changes everywhere, stopping every hundred metres to sniff furiously at nothing and, in Minton’s case, leave a calling card. ‘Pee-mail’, as Diane had put it, indulgently.

Juliet did not want to turn into
that
sort of dog owner. The pun-making kind.

As they got nearer the town centre, they passed a few people she recognised by sight – the woman who owned the café in town that let dogs in being towed along by a basset hound, a man with a Border collie – and all of them would have stopped to pet Minton, but Juliet smiled politely and kept walking. She didn’t mind them smiling at her dogs, but she wasn’t ready yet to talk to anyone herself. The outside world, in its unpredictability, was something she wanted to keep at arm’s length.

Juliet stopped at the coffee stand by the wrought-iron gates and ordered a cappuccino to drink as she did a lap of the park, to keep herself awake as much as anything. She was juggling leads and bags when she heard someone call her name.

‘Juliet!’

Juliet spun round, but she didn’t see anyone she knew.

‘Your change?’

‘Oh. Right, thanks.’ She turned back to put her purse in her bag, with two leads over one wrist, when a woman in a quilted jacket and knee-length skirt came right up to her.

‘Juliet!’ She was beaming as if they were old friends.

Juliet tried a cautious smile, but felt herself retract, like a crab pulling itself inside its shell. I don’t want to talk to anyone, she thought. Isn’t it obvious from my face?

‘I’m so glad I saw you. I was hoping you’d be around. Hector! Hector, stop that right now. Oh, you are a one for the pretty girls!’

When Juliet looked down and saw the lascivious dachshund sniffing Coco’s ample rear end, the penny dropped. It was . . . She had to cudgel her brains not to think, Mrs Hector . . . Barbara Taylor.

‘I just thought, spotting you there, it’d be a good idea for you to take him for a bit of a trial first, before you have him next week. Make sure you two get on. And if you could get him walking a bit more obediently, I’d be ever so grateful.’

How was she meant to do that? Juliet wasn’t sure what she could say. She wanted to point out that she was no expert, but did Barbara honestly think she was? Was this another of her mother’s interferences?

‘As it happens, I’ve got to nip into town now,’ Barbara went on. ‘I was going to leave him up at the rescue-centre crèche for the morning, but since I’ve bumped into you, maybe you could have him instead? Just for an hour or so, time for a w-a-l-k.’

‘I’m not—’

‘I’ve got your number, haven’t I? I’ll give you a ring when I’m done and we can meet up!’

Juliet guessed that Barbara Taylor had a large family. She delivered all these instructions in a manner that sounded like they were only suggestions but actually didn’t leave any room for discussion. And somehow, Juliet’s fall-back Angry Widow persona wasn’t coming through. How annoying – just when she could have done with it.

‘I don’t live in town,’ she said weakly. ‘I’ve just brought the dogs in for a walk, and I wasn’t planning to be out long . . .’

‘No problem! Whizz him round the dog trail and I’ll be back in no time. Be good, Hector! Bye now!’

Juliet found herself standing by the coffee stand with three leads, one cooling coffee, her change and, now, a pile of poo to clear up.

‘Do you need a hand?’ asked the coffee girl kindly.

The only advantage Juliet could see in walking three dogs at once was that at least no one was coming anywhere near her with the dog world’s answer to Russell Brand at the end of an extendable lead.

It was bad enough trying to find a pace that suited Coco on one hand and Minton and Hector on the other, but finding a way of walking them so Hector wasn’t constantly doing the dog equivalent of bottom-pinching at Coco – and any other passing bitch – was harder.

‘Get
away
from her,’ said Juliet, yanking Hector back from a Yorkshire terrier. ‘She’s not your type. I’m sorry,’ she added to the owner. ‘Sorry!’

‘Hello, Hector,’ said the owner, and walked on with a sympathetic smile.

‘You are showing me up,’ hissed Juliet. ‘Get a hold of yourself.’

Hector strutted on regardless, his beard bristling with confidence.

They were out of the paint-box flowerbeds of the municipal gardens now, heading up the path towards the forest behind. Every so often yellow signs steered them between the different trails on offer, and red dog-poo bins gave a not-so-subtle reminder of who the woods really belonged to.

Minton loved Coneygreen Woods; they were riddled with squirrels and rabbits, and Juliet knew that if she let him off, he’d be gone in a flash. Hector, too, strained at his extending lead, wriggling under bushes on his short legs.

This had been a favourite Sunday walk for her and Ben, a leisurely stroll around Coneygreen, Ben testing her on her tree knowledge and letting Minton dig to his heart’s content, then back down into town for sausage sandwiches at the Wild Dog Café, where you could bring man’s best friend inside while you had brunch.