It is 9am on a bright and sunny Saturday morning, and I am suddenly hugely relieved that I am meeting Noah. I mean, I do realise that he’s there purely on a dating advisory basis, but surely, he can’t object to acting as a dog anchor at the same time?
I seriously hope he isn’t allergic to dogs or scared of them – although he didn’t object when I mentioned Hugo over the phone.
‘Big? Oh, good heavens no, dear.’ She laughs, rather heartily. ‘He’s quite small for his breed,’ she puts her hands over his big floppy ears, ‘a bit of a disappointment if I’m honest, after the amount of money we spent,’ she removes her hands and raises her voice, ‘but you’re such a darling, quiet as a mouse, aren’t you, Hugo? In you go, sweetie.’
Hugo steps inside what, up until now, I’ve thought of as a reasonably sized hallway, and flops down. He takes up the entire doormat and creates a pony size barrier between me and his mum. He is like a donkey, but without the sticky up ears.
‘You’ll hardly know he’s here!’
He shakes his head and I have to jump back to avoid a drool-shower. My suede boots, lined up neatly under the coat hooks, are never going to be the same again.
I bloody well think I will know he’s here.
On paper, Hugo was the man of my dreams. Well-bred, tall, aristocratic and two years old. In real life he’s a bit scary. As in scarily ginormous.
I might have made a mistake. I’d signed up for doggie borrowing on impulse, without thinking it through. It had been a bit alarming how quickly I’d had a response, and once I’d said yes, I couldn’t back out and say ‘well actually I’ve decided to stick with the man dates’, could I? So now I have a potentially disastrous double date. I might have to call Noah and warn him. Or then again that might be a mistake: he might back out.
Maybe everybody needs a Hugo so that they can test out a man’s mettle? The Hugo test could be part of my armoury, if I ever get an actual date. If a guy backs down when faced with this, then I know they lack guts and will be crap in an emergency. I’ll be abandoned to my own devices. It’s not that I want a man to save me, but a bit of teamwork is always good.
‘Oh, totally forgot to mention it on the form, but he’s scared stiff of umbrellas! I know, incredible, isn’t it?’ Ophelia guffaws loudly. ‘He’s such a baby still, aren’t you, Hugh-gy woogy? Just hang on tight if you spot one, haw-haw! But you’ll be fine, the sun is out. It’s so good of you to do this at such short notice; the girl who normally has him has got flu, and the other one has had to work overtime, and I was beginning to panic!’ I think she’s talking fast so I can’t get a word in. A word like ‘no’. ‘Peregrine was sure I was going to have to miss the first race, and he knows I can’t take Hugo with me as he’s scared of horses! Isn’t that a hoot? Who would have thought it! Honestly, you’d never know his ancestors could bring down a wild boar, would you?’ I don’t have time to say he’s unlikely to be challenged by one of those as she’s throwing food and dog accessories in all directions. ‘Right, sorry, have to dash, I should be back by ten o’clock. That is okay, isn’t it? Oh, you’re a star. See you later, Hugo, sweetie. Be a good boy.’ She kisses his noble head, reaches over him so she can press his leash into my hand and dashes off to her sleek and polished Jaguar F-Type, which is parked in the no-parking spot. ‘Probably needs a wee, we didn’t have time for walkies!’ She yells out of her window as she’s pulling away.
Bugger. How do I get past him to close the door? I step one leg over, and he shifts. For one horrible moment I have a vision of him rising up underneath me, leaving my feet dangling, so I go for it. Shoot over the top and land half in and half out of the door.
‘Well hurdled! Didn’t know you had a four-legged beastie!’ Yells the middle-aged man from next door, who is putting his bins out. He’s taken to dressing, and talking, like an army major lately. I’m not quite sure if he’s practising method acting (he’s in the local am-dram group) or trying to impress the lady who has just moved in three doors down, but it is weird.
‘Not mine!’ I yell back, retreating on all fours.
‘Damned fine specimen. Watch out for rear guard action, m’dear. Might see that pretty backend of yours as an invitation!’
‘What?’ I roll over, alarmed. But Hugo shows no sign of any kind of action. He has his large head resting on his enormous paws. Drooling jowls flopping down to the floor.
I think I’m going to have to mop the floor as well as the walls once he has gone home.
I take a deep breath and pat his head. He grins up at me, then abruptly struggles to his feet, wags his tail and nearly takes my legs out from under me. Nobody said doggie daycare involved body armour.
Today could be trickier than I thought. Why on earth didn’t I stipulate a maximum size of dog? I think my flamboyant, doesn’t really matter attitude, might well backfire on me. Though I hadn’t planned on anything as big as a Great Dane.
At least it’s taking my mind off Noah.
‘I was thinking we could get to know each other over breakfast.’ Hugo flaps his tail, but this time I successfully dodge. ‘But if you need the toilet, I suppose we should go for a walk straight away? We can saunter round for,’ I glance at my watch, it’s not far off the time I said I’d meet Noah. I can survive that much time solo, surely? ‘a little bit before Noah arrives and do our, er, business?’ He cocks his head on one side and stares at me with the most gorgeous brown eyes. ‘I suspect a Great Dane size wee would flood the kitchen?’
I suddenly feel slightly queasy at the realisation that he might need a number two whilst in my care. Do I need binbag size poo bags?
Chapter 8
I would never, ever classify myself as a tree hugger. No way Jose. I appreciate a forest as much as the next person, but I have no wish to bond with one. Except right now, I am hugging a tree. I blame the fact that it’s a lovely day, and the park is crowded. Absolutely heaving, with picnic goers and small children who seem intent on scaring my dog.
He’s not even thought about emptying his bladder yet; he’s been far too busy trying to spot scary things. Then he spotted a sun parasol and mistook it for an umbrella and bolted. Who knew I could cover 100 metres quicker than you could shout ‘for fuck’s sake stop!’?
Anyway, he slowed down, and I was just congratulating myself on passing the first test and not letting go of the leash, when a flaming magpie squawked and gave him the evil eye.
I swear it was nought to sixty in less time than it takes to take a breath. And this time we were heading back in the opposite direction. At least we were en-route for the entrance, where I’d arranged to meet Noah – every cloud has a silver lining – it was just the thought of the gate (he might clear it, but those spikes on the top would be my downfall) and the crowded pavement on the other side that was making me lean back with all my force as though I was water skiing.
I lunged for one tree as we passed, soil spewing out from my heels, the branch coming off in my hand, so when he slowed down next to a particularly sturdy specimen ten yards away from the boundary, I thought all my prayers had been answered. I’m not religious, but I have been praying, believe me, repeatedly under my breath as I’ve been carted from one end of the grassy field to the other.
He’d dived around the tree so fast, my instinct had been to grab his ear with my spare hand as he reappeared on the other side. But before you call the pet protection squad, I did slide my fingers down into his collar.
The problem now is that the tree is the filling in a dog and Rosie sandwich, and I daren’t let go.
If I let go of his collar, and a squirrel coughs or a leaf moves, he might take off again and I’ll end up with my face mashed against my saviour tree, or have my other arm ripped out of its socket. Not good.
But no way am I letting go of the end of the leash and risking him shaking free of his collar. I am taking my duties seriously. Losing my first dog within an hour of taking charge of him will see me blacklisted, or blackballed, or something. Nobody will ever let me borrow
their doggie again. Though to be honest that sounds like the most brilliant thing ever right now.
Oh God, what am I going to do? I close my eyes, bang my forehead against the bark and regret it. ‘Think, Rosie, think!’
‘Is this a new game, here we go round the mulberry bush with dogs?’
My knees go all wobbly as the familiar deep voice tinged with laughter breaks through my head-banging reverie, and it is not because he is looking more gorgeous than ever (I can only squint at him out of one eye anyway, as the other side of my face is squashed against the tree), it is because I am about to be rescued!
‘Oh my God, I am so pleased you’re here!’
Before I can object, Noah leans in so close his breath fans my neck and sends goose bumps down my arms and sets up a quiver in the base of my stomach. ‘Wow, I knew you’d be a quick learner, flattery will get you everywhere!’
I fight the groan that is threatening to break out. This is terrible. I am stuck; I can’t back off or wriggle out of reach. I am stuck between a tree and a dangerous place! People will think we are lovers!
‘You’re already getting the hang of this,’ luckily he backs off slightly and I breathe again, ‘and we’ve not even started. Top marks for that. Let me just make a note.’
‘Don’t you dare make notes!’ I scream as he reaches for a notepad in his back pocket. ‘Just rescue me!’ He doesn’t seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation here.
‘Straight on to lesson 2, Rosie, my girl.’ He kisses me on the cheek whilst I can’t escape. With the exertion and embarrassment, I didn’t think it was possible for my cheeks to heat up anymore, but I think they just have. ‘Great to see you again.’
There is something wrong here. The whole Hugo thing has left me weak at the knees. I am not going to be weak and feeble; I am not going to beg. I am also not going to kick him in the shin.
I try not to grit my teeth. I try to smile. ‘Please help me!’
‘Wow, you really are getting good at this stuff!’
‘What?’
‘Pleading for help, giving me the chance to act all strong and manly. Are you sure you don’t mind me taking notes?’
‘I am not pleading!’ I should have kicked him. I knew I should. Karate Kid all the way. ‘Don’t you dare write any of this down!’
‘I mean,’ he sinks down onto his haunches and looks up at me, his head tilted to one side, ‘we all love an independent woman, right? But feeling needed, indispensable, well, woo.’ He shoots his hand up in the air, and Hugo flinches. ‘Ego right up there moment. Me Tarzan!’ He winks at me, beats his chest and Hugo trembles. I lock my knees. I am not going to wobble. ‘Aww mate, sorry.’ Noah leans in and fondles his ears, and just like that the tension goes from his big dog body.
Hugo has fallen in love.
‘So, I take it this is Hugo?’
‘Yup.’ I’m fine when he’s not directing his kisses at me. Absolutely fine. Just a little bit weak.
‘And this isn’t some weirdo planned game?’
‘Nope. Dropping the lesson stuff for a moment and helping would be much appreciated.’ I’ve felt surprisingly more relaxed since he arrived: reassured, but awkward. Like you are if you’re wrapped round a tree in public view.
‘You got it. Hang on while I work my manly magic.’
‘I can’t do anything but hang on!’
He chuckles. I’d forgotten what a sexy, disturbing sound it was. Robbie never chuckled like that.
I do actually want to scream out ‘hurry up my boob is getting bark rub’ but I don’t. That would be flirtatious and possibly encourage the type of response I don’t have an answer to.
I wish I had a thicker bra on.
‘Let go of the end.’ Noah gently prises the leash out of my fingers – which seem to have developed the digit equivalent of lockjaw – unwraps Hugo and gently strokes his head, then runs the palm of his hand over his large ears. I wish he’d do that to me. The head bit, not ears, I need soothing. I am more traumatised than Hugo, I’m sure I am.
‘Are you a vet or something?’ I ask, surreptitiously rubbing my boob as we set off down the path. Hugo has transformed into the perfect pooch. Totally chilled. He is plodding along at Noah’s side with not a care in the world. A noisy kid whizzes by on a scooter, dragging a balloon in their wake and he doesn’t as much as flinch. Why do some people breeze through life, and the rest of us have to feel as if we’re wading through treacle half the time?
‘No, an architect,’ he says, one eyebrow raised.
‘Oh yes, of course you are!’ How could I forget the only fact I knew about him? My cheeks, which had chilled down to normal temperature, heat up to a gentle glow.
He winks to soften the blow. ‘But one with special animal powers. Just call me Crocodile Dundee!’
‘Croc for short? Or do you prefer Dundee?’
‘Mmm, think I might stick with Noah. One sounds a bit snappy and the other makes me sound like a fruitcake.’
I grin, feeling a bit more chilled myself. ‘With added nuts on top!’ As a kid my nana always bought Dundee cake, and I’d take the nuts off the top. It took longer than eating the cake.
‘Sure.’ He gives a wry smile. ‘Seriously though, my kid sister’s always been animal mad. She’s a vet now, but when we were kids, she did her best to fill the house up with four-legged furries. Guess getting them on my side was a survival instinct!’ We walk on in companionable silence until we reach the gate. ‘Do you fancy a coffee, or …?’
‘Do you mind if we head back? I can make you a drink?’
‘Sure.’ He smiles. ‘Guess the big fella’s shaken you up a bit. Not nice being taken for a ride.’
‘Nope, not nice at all,’ I say, and just like that an image of my dad jumps into my head. It’s like a slap in the face, which kind of ruins the happy vibe I’d been feeling.
If I carry on seeing Noah, then I’m heading into shark-infested waters. I don’t want to be the sprat that is swallowed whole.
To be honest though, Noah untangled me from the tree pretty quickly. Dad would have still been taking photos of my predicament and sharing them on Twitter. He’s also being really gentle and nice and seems genuinely concerned that I’m okay.
‘Aww don’t be sad.’ Noah’s arm has snaked round my shoulders somehow and he squeezes me into his side. ‘It could be worse!’
It could. ‘Ouch!’ As hugs go, it was a nice gesture, but bloody painful. My skin smarts all the way down my left side. At least it’s given my dad a firm kick up the backside and out of my head!
‘Close encounter of the tree kind?’
‘Haha you’re such a comedian!’ We share a grin and I feel myself relax again. Despite the pain. Noah’s easy company.
‘Moving over to the bark side?’
‘Stop!’ I cringe and put my hands over my ears. ‘No more! Eek, that is seriously bad. Hilarious you are not.’
He gives me a thumbs up. ‘Can’t beat a bit of Yoda!’
‘Whatever, you do promise me you won’t give up the day job and move onto stand-up.’ He has, however, made me laugh, and forget (well almost) my dad, and my raw, prickly skin.
Oh, bugger my bloody dad. He’s done it again. Why can’t I just forget about him? Never quite banished. You can guarantee that every time I start to chill a bit he will pop into my head and I’ll remember not to get carried away and fall for a charmer.
I guess you could say that my relationship with Dad is complicated. He does and says things sometimes that should make it easy to hate him, but he has a knack of making me feel important (well I bet he does it to everybody he wants to charm) when it suits him. He has always been able to make me feel like I am the centre of his world, that I matter to him. So, when I was a kid, it didn’t matter that I was mad at him because he hadn’t been home for days, or upset that he’d missed my birthday (again). All of that was forgotten when he turned the charm full on, when he tickled me, or told a funny joke, or laughed in a way that I had to join in with. Or
gently smiled, cupped my face in his big, warm hands, looked me straight in the eye and told me he’d always love me.
And now Noah is making me laugh at his ridiculous puns, just like Dad used to do.
And all I can see is that Noah is not for me. That I’m heading for danger if I carry on playing this game.
Except I want to. Well to be honest, I have to if I stand any chance of taking a date to my parents’ anniversary party.
I know that Noah is not my type at all, but right now, just at this moment, I’m enjoying forgetting my quest for the right man and just enjoying being with the wrong one.
Really enjoying it.
It’s not like being on an awkward date; it’s like being with Robbie, but better.
And to be honest, he seems unselfconscious when it comes to his bad jokes. Dad never makes fun of himself. Everything is pretty measured and about making you laugh in the right places – not about making you feel better.
I concentrate on Noah’s hand, which is swinging in time with my own. Parallel, not quite touching. Agony and ecstasy, pain and pleasure. Yin and yang. Oh lordy, I’m going all existential. I must be in shock. It must be the pain. And it is going to be a pain, literally. I like to sleep on my left side; my right side doesn’t work the same.
‘Are you sure you’re okay, Rosie? You seem a bit quiet?’
I glance up and he is studying me with his clear grey eyes.
I want to blurt out, don’t look at me like that. But instead make do with, ‘Don’t take your eyes off Hugo! He might bolt.’
‘He’s fine, aren’t you, mate?’ He chuckles, and Hugo guffaws back and a bit of normality is restored. ‘My sister’s still got a right menagerie now. I’m used to them.’
The First Date Page 8