‘Over we go, let’s get those upper arms working with a few press-ups. Legs straight, up on your toes.’
I can’t keep my legs straight; I have gone all floppy. Even my feet are floppy.
I don’t know how long he tortures me – sorry, ‘puts me through my paces’ – for.
When I have collapsed on my back, gasping for breath like a stranded goldfish, he straddles my body and grasps my hands in his.
They’re firm and dry, not all sweaty like mine are.
‘I think I’ll just stay here for a while, if that’s okay.’
He chuckles. ‘You’re funny!’
‘I’m not funny, I am wrecked. I wish I’d kept my pyjamas on!’
‘Can’t disagree with that! I quite like you out of uniform!’
If I wasn’t already burning up from over-exertion, I would be now. As it is, I think I’m as hot and red-faced as is possible.
‘Same again in a couple of days?’
Any other suggestion would be tempting. I’d quite like to be manhandled by Ash again. They do say no gain without pain, but…
‘Sorry, I’ve got a lot of work on, I’ll let you know,’ I say weakly. Never. I am never doing this again. Five days, ha! There are easier ways of getting fit. Swimming. I’ll try swimming. That involves floating and not having to move much.
‘See you soon then!’ He waves a hand as he backs off, still grinning.
He is hardly sweating. Obviously, I have done more work, but he joined in a little.
It is so unfair.
‘Sure. Thanks.’ It’s only polite to thank people, isn’t it? It’s not his fault he has actually no comprehension of the level of fitness of a person who hasn’t been to a gym for over five years (though I have joined many, and even had an induction to find out how all the scary equipment works) and spends the majority of their day sat at a desk, moving only when they have to go to the loo or eat and drink.
I wait until he has gone and then roll over and crawl back towards the house on my hands and knees. I need coffee, a long soak in the bath and a lie-down. A long lie-down.
I think I have a love–hate relationship with Ash. Much as I would love to get my hands on his fit body, I’d rather sit back eating pizza and admire it, than go through the agony of trying to tone up bits of myself that are quite happy wobbling about on their own.
Chapter Seven
Yesterday was a good day. On balance.
Ash did not come crawling through the undergrowth. Which was good because I did not have to worry about guarding Bella, also good because I could sit still and move very little – every time I moved it hurt. How can you ache all over? I didn’t even do anything with some parts of my body that are complaining. And as for my calves, the muscles seem to have curled up into tight bundles that make it agony to even straighten my legs. I can’t walk! How can that be right? Ash helpfully told me at the end of the session that the next day I might be uncomfortable, but the day after would be worse. Ha. How can it be worse?
Remind me never to take on any challenge set by an SAS man.
However, it was bad because, well, he did not come crawling through the undergrowth. Even though I did regularly glance that way. He’s good company, when he’s not trying to improve my cardiovascular health (his words, not mine); he’s fun. A bit like Bella.
Bella lay quite peacefully stretched out on her back, legs akimbo, warming her belly in the shaft of sunlight by the window (very good).
And Mum didn’t call.
This meant I got lots of work done.
It started off with a doodle of Bella, a daisy dangling from her mouth, it was only a rough sketch, but it made me smile and reminded me of her delighted frenzy when she spotted Ash. She might be a bit loopy, but she’s also very loveable. I guess I’m beginning to understand why Georgina and her ex are having a tug of war over her. But if she’s Georgina’s then she’s Georgina’s – and possession is nine tenths of the law, isn’t it? I’ll check with Abby, but I’m pretty sure. And when I googled daisies I got the perfect quote to add underneath the sketch:
The daisy is a happy flower,
And comes at early spring,
And brings with it the sunny hour
When bees are on the wing.
John Clare
How perfect is that? Bella’s a pretty little dog, and it suited her. ‘You’re a happy flower yourself, aren’t you?’ I showed her the picture. She wasn’t impressed. She’ll be comparing it to the filtered Instagram photos that Georgina posts.
I liked it though, and I actually enjoyed doing it – which makes me realise how much I’ve had to compromise when I’ve worked with Teddy. Sure, I want success. But when I went to art school it was to follow my heart, and maybe recently I’ve forgotten about that.
She nudged my leg, so I let her jump up onto my knee. ‘Well you’re certainly inspirational, aren’t you?’ She licked my nose. ‘I’ll do a better one, then we’ll send it to your mum, yes?’ Who’d have thought that all I really needed was a dog – to force me to get up early each day, take some exercise, and act as a muse? Not that drawing pictures of a cockapoo is going to make me rich, Teddy made that crystal clear. I try and stop myself sighing inwardly. Bloody Teddy. I’ve got to stop thinking about what he said I should be doing.
As I doodled, I have to admit I did think of Ash in passing, but then before I knew it I’d had a brilliant idea for the cover of Mischief the Magic Pony, one of my non-Teddy pieces of work. Definitely not something he would approve of. But thinking about Ash made me not think about Teddy which kind of gave my imagination permission to take flight (along with Mischief). It was almost like I’d told myself I was allowed to follow my heart and not feel guilty. To actually immerse myself in my work and believe in myself, like I used to do. How weird is that? I also forgot all about muscled-up men ravaging me in my sleep (or making me do press-ups), and was transported into the world inside my head – where pretty fell ponies with manes down to their toes flew over the mountain tops and tiptoed their way over the deep water of the lakes, saving stricken squirrels and rabbits as they went. Yeah, I know that’s a bit strange, but it’s how my mind works. The imaginary world of a book wins over imaginary hot sex any day. Once my creative juices get flowing. Once I manage to forget my failures.
I didn’t stop working until my back had totally seized up and it felt like somebody was stabbing me every time I moved, and Bella was nudging my knee again. ‘Oh bugger, you need a walk.’ She whined. ‘We’ll have a play in the garden, then I promise I’ll take you for a proper walk tomorrow, okay?’ If I can walk again by then.
Oh my God, every time I changed position, I felt new pain.
Not only had my back seized up, so had the rest of me. I staggered, stiff-legged and robot style into the kitchen for a drink of water, then hauled myself up the stairs by the banister and lowered myself gingerly onto the toilet.
By the time I got back downstairs everything was miraculously starting to loosen up. I could walk, I could bend over and do my shoelaces!
We had a long play in the garden with her favourite squeaky toys, which meant it was too late to open a bottle of wine by the time we finished. But at least it meant I didn’t feel as guilty. And I didn’t have time to think about all the shit things in my life. Because to be honest, if I’ve not got the Magic Pony right, then I’m a bit screwed. Where do I go from here? Designing business cards?
So, I was able to report quite truthfully to Georgina yesterday that all was well, and that today I would be taking Bella for the long walk I promised her.
I also sent her a photo of Bella lying on her back (to show how chilled she was), then sent a message:
I’m sure she’s missing you like crazy, but she seems happy to accept me as substitute mummy!
* * *
Aww isn’t she a babe, tell her I’ll Zoom her tomorrow!
This was followed up ten seconds later with:
You won’t post that photo of her anywhere, will you?
* * *
Oh no, just took it for you!
She’s a bit weird. I mean, Bella isn’t exactly going to care if people see funny or unflattering pics of her, is she? She’s a dog! I think you can carry this whole caring-about-your-pet’s-feelings thing a bit too far.
Despite Georgina being a bit of a pain in some ways though, she’s thorough. In her file of information there are several walks with notes beside them on necessary footwear (flip flops fine/I do it in my Converses or sneakers/proper boot territory unless you want to break your ankle!). I do wonder if Georgina has ever walked the final category as I just can’t see her in full hiking gear, but maybe Ash has advised on those routes. And I suspect I’d need a year’s worth of his bootcamp sessions before I’d be up to that particular challenge. Which I am not going to do. I do not have time. It is nothing to do with the fact that at one stage during our session I seriously thought I was going to expire and be buried in my sweaty workout gear. It is all to do with work, and what I need to do while I’m here, and how busy I am walking Bella – who will not benefit at all from crunches and jogging on the spot. Honestly.
Ash is definitely a mountain gear type of guy. He probably carries emergency rations and a tent, just in case.
Anyway, there are also notes on the scenery and best weather to experience each walk in – so as it is a lovely sunny morning I’m very tempted by the one that promises ‘spectacular views on a sunny day’, plus a tarn, the perfect waterfall, peregrine falcons and red deer.
The photos do look a bit daunting though; ‘spectacular’ views kind of suggests being pretty high up. Which means steep. I think I might have to work up to a walk that involves hill climbing, and I might have to order some proper boots.
My body has also turned into one that belongs to somebody ten years older than me. Ash did promise that I’d really feel the aches not the day after the exercise but the one after that. So I should keep the exercise up (haha) and do lots of gentle stretches (even more haha). I don’t think he meant I should spend the first day with my bum glued to the seat and only move for essential refreshments, and then spend the day after scaling a mountain. You might call them hills round here, but they are definitely mountains. I think they use the word ‘fell’ to lull you into a false sense of security.
Anyway, ignoring the state of my body, the app on my phone also warns of a risk of showers, which convinces me (or rather gives me the excuse I need) to plump for a ‘Converses or sneakers’ walk which will give us both some exercise.
It also means I’ve got the energy to carry a rucksack full of sketch pads and drawing stuff. I feel like I’m on a bit of a roll and don’t want to stop. In fact, to be honest, I daren’t stop in case I can’t get going again.
The drawings I did yesterday were my best for a long time, and I’m convinced that sitting in a shady glade will be the perfect inspiration for finishing them off. I’d also quite like to do a few more sketches of Bella, if there’s time. Drawing her seems to help bury the doubts, and makes me feel I still at least have some talent.
‘What do you think, Bella? Waterfall, woodland, a picnic spot and squirrels?’ She perks up at the word ‘squirrels’ and wags her tail, then leaps in the air. She’s funny. It’s hard to stay miserable and gloomy when she’s displaying so much happiness.
I really am going to have to make a sign and pin it above my bed – be more dog.
Apart from the chasing squirrels bit.
Bearing in mind the death threats issued by Georgina, I hunt out the long lead that she told me was stashed with the rest of Bella’s many belongings. I don’t expect her to be able to climb the trees after squirrels, but what if there’s a particularly stupid one that decides to just leg it across the countryside with the dog in hot pursuit? I think tethered but free to sniff around a bit is the best compromise for both of us.
I have discovered my own little slice of heaven. The view from the cottage is amazing, but this is a whole different world. And I would never have discovered it if I hadn’t had to walk Bella. In this sheltered spot, I can’t see the looming multi-coloured crags, or the vast lakes, that make the area so breath-taking. I’m tucked away from all the spectacular scenery and am surrounded by the gentle side of nature.
I take a deep breath and sigh. For all its glory, I think a quiet spot like this has to be as good as it gets when you want solitude but comfort at the same time.
I have to admit, when we’d set off, I’d been thinking about what the hell I was going to do next, if my Mischief ideas were laughed at. Like Teddy would do if he saw them. Then Bella pounced on an imaginary animal, before spinning in circles chasing her tail, and I had to smile. Then she shot off round a bush and it took ages to untangle her long lead, especially as I was laughing all the time.
My face ached. Probably because I haven’t laughed this much for ages. In fact, I can’t remember when I last had a good giggle, let alone a laugh that gives you a pain in the stomach and makes you cry.
Anyway, I was still grinning as we rounded a bend in the path, Bella tugging me along as she bounded ahead. And it was there. I stopped smiling, not because I was worrying but because it took my breath away.
The sound of the tumbling waterfall echoes from some distant place, but right here there is just the mesmeric sight of the stream meandering its way in almost respectful silence, its surface only broken by the insects and birds that plunder it, and the occasional stone that breaks its path.
Above my head there’s a canopy of green, like a crocheted blanket with its holes to let in the gentle sunlight and flashes of white and blue as clouds scud over the sky.
It’s too late in the year to see Wordsworth’s yellow daffodils; the brash and glorious colours of early spring have long since given way to the subtler colours that May and June bring. In the garden the bright orange, red, violet and royal blue bedding are already king, but here where the sun struggles to make itself seen, the muted pinks and reds of rhododendrons and azaleas are still at their wonderful best.
There’s been no sign of a red squirrel yet, but it doesn’t matter. Within ten minutes of settling down on my blanket, there was a flash of coppery orange breast and iridescent turquoise and I sat motionless, willing Bella not to move as the beautiful kingfisher zipped its way up the stream.
Of course, I knew now that the turquoise was an illusion. I was devastated when I was at art college, and a particularly nasty and vindictive cow laughed like a horse at my watercolour of a beautiful kingfisher lurking in the shade.
Apparently, it’s a trick of the light. The fabulous colouring. They’re brown, so need to be in the light to look blue. I never forgave her and hated her even more when I saw her snogging the hunk who’d been our life model. He’d been the first male under sixty-five we’d seen in months. Apparently, it was more valuable to study bodies that demonstrated the ravages of age than the beauty of youth. They told a story. Yeah, right, a tale of saggy balls and greying skin. I mean, fine, study ravaged people with their clothes on. But naked?
Anyhow, to discover the kingfisher was as much an illusion as what I’d hoped was my irresistibility to the opposite sex (he’d raised his eyebrows and smiled at me several times as I’d wielded my paintbrush) was annoying. Until I remembered that good art is all about magic and illusions anyway, but it was too late for a smart retort.
I hoped his big cock was also an illusion, and more about positioning and perspective than real life. Or he had a splint on it, and it would flop over like a dying tulip when he wasn’t posing.
‘Oh heavens, that is magnificent.’
I jump at the unexpected sound of a human voice. My musings about life models are interrupted by a man togged out in those big, baggy walking shorts with lots of pockets, chunky socks, brown boots and a checked shirt. He looks so stereotypical that for a second I just stare. He is studying my picture.
‘Is that Ash’s little dog?’
Bloody hell, I can’t get away from Ash even if I try! ‘Georg
ina’s,’ I correct him with a smile. ‘It’s Bella, I’m looking after her.’
‘Ahh.’ He raises an eyebrow, then taps his lips with one finger. ‘Well, it’s splendid. You’ve really captured that cheeky look of hers, not easy with a black dog, eh?’
Bella chooses that moment to emerge from the trees behind, where she’s been pottering about on her lead, and lollops up to him.
‘Talk of the devil, here’s the little lady herself! And how are you, trouble?’ He strokes her head, and she licks his hand before having a sniff around his pockets. When she realises there’s no food on offer, she heads towards the stream.
‘It is good.’ He nods again.
‘Thank you!’ It’s refreshing to have a real person say they like one of my pictures. Normally these days it’s all commissions for books. I’m not saying publishers aren’t ‘real people’ but most of it is done remotely, and nearly always includes required changes ‘to fit the brief’.
To do what I want to do, just because the fancy has taken me, is nice, and to have somebody like it as well is a bonus. ‘It’s my job. I’m an illustrator. I do book covers, illustrate children’s books, stuff like that.’
‘Would I know you?’
‘Maybe not, unless you read women’s fiction, or books for the under sevens.’ We share a smile. ‘And my credits are pretty small if I get them at all.’
‘You do commissions?’
‘Not often, I’m pretty busy. Though I am taking it easy while I’m house- and dog-sitting for Georgina.’
‘And you’re here for…?’
‘For a month, at least.’
‘Beautiful spot, isn’t it?’
‘Gorgeous. It’s really inspirational, it’s given my creativity a bit of a kickstart.’
‘I bet. I bet. Now…’ He starts to delve about in his pockets, first one, then another. It goes on for a while, until he gets back to the second one and flashes something triumphantly. ‘Here we go, my card! I’ve got a little art shop in the village, very popular with the visitors. If you had time, I’m sure your pictures would go like hot cakes! One like that one of Bella, with the stream behind, would go like that.’ He clicks his fingers.
The Dog Sitter: The new feel-good romantic comedy of 2021 from the bestselling author of The Wedding Date! Page 7