by Rachel Ward
As Bea led Ant to towards the staff door, staff and customers formed a sort of guard of honour. Ant was still sniffing.
Bea gave him a squeeze. ‘Listen to that. That’s for you,’ she said. ‘You’re a hero.’ She expected him to break into his trademark grin, but instead Ant’s bottom lip wobbled and he looked quite lost.
‘Tea,’ said Bea, firmly.
George herself held the staff door open for them. ‘I saw what you did. You should be very proud of yourself, Ant.’
‘I think he’s a bit shocked,’ Bea said, steering him through the door and propelling him up the stairs. George followed them.
‘Sit down, both of you,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the tea.’
Ant sat on the sofa with his head between his knees. He sat up when George brought two mugs over to them.
‘Sugar for shock,’ she said.
Ant and Bea sipped at the hot, sweet tea. Bea’s hand was shaking now.
Anna popped her head round the doorway. ‘Got the press on the phone – they’d like to interview Ant.’
‘I don’t want that,’ said Ant. ‘I just did what anyone would. I don’t want any fuss.’
George perched on the arm of the chair opposite. ‘Can you think about it?’ she said. ‘I mean, it would help get the word out about the importance of First Aid training.’
And it wouldn’t do Costsave any harm, thought Bea, sensing a source of leverage. ‘I agree it would help to reassure customers to know that our staff here are trained,’ she said. ‘But really, given his suspension and what he’s been through, I think Ant should go home.’
George leaned forward and put her hand lightly on Ant’s arm. ‘Given the exceptional circumstances, I think we can overlook the suspension. I’d be very grateful if you were up to doing an interview, as a public service.’
They both looked at Ant.
‘What?’ he said.
‘If George forgets your suspension, perhaps you could manage a short interview?’
Bea watched understanding spread through Ant’s expression like the first light of dawn breaking through a fine layer of mist.
‘Well. Okay,’ he said. ‘I could try.’
‘Good man,’ said George. ‘Anna, can you make the arrangements, please?’
In the end both the Bugle and the Evening Post sent reporters to Costsave. Kevin McKey, the local photographer, who supplied pictures to both newspapers, turned up too. By the time they’d got there, word had reached the staffroom that Charles had been admitted to Accident and Emergency and was receiving treatment. This news, together with two mugs of tea and a couple of jam doughnuts meant that Ant had perked up considerably and was starting to enjoy being the centre of attention.
Bea went back to her checkout, from where she was able to see some of the excitement as Ant had his picture taken in aisle ten and then outside the store. He winked at her as he breezed past with a journalist and Kevin in tow. On his way back inside, he stopped at Bea’s checkout.
‘All right?’ Bea asked.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m all right but we’ve got a bit of a problem.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Charles’ dog is still tied up outside. What are we going to do about Goldie?’
8
‘What’s this?’ Queenie’s face was a picture. If Bea wasn’t feeling so stressed out by her new responsibility, she would have taken a photo and Facebooked it.
‘This is Goldie, Mum,’ she said.
Goldie had walked twice as far as she was used to. Now she plonked her bottom down on the path by the back step. She was panting hard, but to Bea it seemed as if she was grinning as she looked up at Queenie.
‘And?’ said Queenie, apparently not won over by Goldie’s doggy charms.
‘She belongs to one of my customers. He was taken ill at the store today.’
‘Bea, you can’t just take on people’s pets—’
‘Mum, he’s in hospital. There isn’t anyone else. Can we talk about this inside, please? I need a cup of tea.’
Queenie reluctantly retreated inside and Bea led Goldie into the warmth. The dog padded in and stood near the sink, huffing and puffing. Bea caught a whiff of her breath or maybe it was her rather damp fur; it had been drizzling on their walk home. Either way, there was definitely essence de dog rising up in the warm, fuggy air.
They all stood looking at each other, before Queenie started wrinkling her nose. She looked around and then focused on Goldie. ‘It smells. Honestly, Bea.’
‘She, Mum. She smells. It’s just wet outside. She’ll be fine when she’s dried off.’
Now Queenie launched into another tirade. ‘Really, Bea, we don’t know about dogs. They need things, don’t they, bowls and food and beds and that? We haven’t got any of that.’
‘George agreed to donate a load of stuff when she heard about Goldie – food, a couple of bowls,’ said Bea. ‘Bob’s bringing it all round in about half an hour.’
‘Bob’s coming here?’ Queenie started scratching at her wrist.
‘Just to drop off the stuff, Mum. He doesn’t have to come in. Anyway, you know Bob from the old days. You could have a chat. Why not?’
Queenie looked around rapidly. ‘The house is a state.’
‘It really isn’t. It never is.’
‘I’m not ready. I need to . . .’
‘You don’t need to do anything. It’s fine. Just put the kettle on. I’m gasping.’
Queenie scowled, but turned round to fill the kettle. While it was boiling, Bea said, ‘Why don’t you say hello to her properly? She won’t bite. She’s the softest dog in the world.’
‘I don’t think so. I’m not a dog person.’
‘Just stroke her a little bit, like this.’ Bea stroked the top of Goldie’s head and then ruffled the thick wavy fur where her neck met her shoulders.
‘Then I’d have to wash my hands. I’ve got the sausages to cook, you know.’
Bea sighed. ‘Okay. Shall I take her in the lounge, then, out of your way?’
‘Not in the lounge,’ Queenie said. ‘I don’t want hairs all over the place.’
‘Okay, we’ll stay here.’
‘But I don’t want hair in the food. It’s not hygienic.’
‘I’ll just take her up to your bedroom, then, shall I?’ said Bea.
‘No, Bea! We can’t have her upstairs!’ Queenie was practically screeching now.
‘I was joking, Mum. Winding you up. It’s too easy.’ Bea was laughing now.
‘Can’t she go outside?’
‘No, she can’t, it’s freezing out there.’
While they were talking, Goldie had quietly snuck under the kitchen table and was lying with her head between her front paws. Bea nudged her mum and pointed to the floor. Goldie was starting to fall asleep, her eyelids flickering open, then closing again. Queenie’s mouth formed a taut, straight line, but she stopped protesting and turned her attention to filling up the teapot, lighting their rather temperamental grill and setting out the sausages on the grill pan.
Bea sat down and found that there was nowhere for her feet to go. A retriever is not a small dog. Eventually, she kicked off her boots and put her stockinged feet on Goldie’s side. She was lovely and warm, although still damp.
They’d almost finished eating their sausage sandwiches when the doorbell rang. Goldie raised her head and gave a low, throaty growl and then a sharp bark which made both Bea and Queenie jump.
‘That’ll be Bob,’ said Bea.
‘You go, Bea. I’ll just stay here.’
Bea got up and Goldie came with her, wagging her tail. A second ring of the bell set off a volley of barking this time. Bea didn’t know quite what to do.
‘All right,’ she said to Goldie. ‘It’s only Bob.’
She grabbed hold of Goldie’s collar and opened the door. Sure enough, Bob-on-Meat was there with a plastic bag full of goodies and an enormous sack of dry dog food.
‘Ah, thanks, Bob,’ said Bea. ‘I can�
��t really let go of this one.’
‘That’s all right, love. It’s a bit heavy, anyway. Let me bring it in.’ He heaved the sack of food over the threshold and started lumbering down the hallway towards the kitchen doorway. ‘In here?’
‘Yes, please.’ Bea and Goldie followed behind. Bea could hear Queenie scraping her chair back and an awkward, ‘Oh.’
‘Hello, Maggie.’
It felt strange to Bea’s ears hearing Bob use her mum’s real name. It brought back memories of her dad, giving her mum a kiss before he went to work: See you later, Maggie.
‘Bob, I, um, I . . .’ Queenie was standing up at the table, looking distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Where shall I put this lot?’
‘That’s a good question. We haven’t really got room for—’
‘Just by the door for now, Bob,’ said Bea.
Bob dumped the sack down. ‘If I had my way I’d have brought you some proper meat for the dog. Real dog food. But if she’s not used to it, it might upset her tum.’
He handed the bag to Bea, who peered in. ‘Do you know about dogs, Bob?’
‘Yeah. A bit. We always had dogs when I was growing up. And we had a couple when Fiona was little. What do you want to know?’
Bea held her hands out, palms upwards. ‘Everything. What to feed her. How often. How many walks. Where she should sleep.’
‘Ah,’ said Bob. ‘That reminds me, I’ve got a dog bed in the car. Word got around and Kirsty brought one in when she started her shift. First things first, put some water in one of those bowls. You always need a full water bowl, if you don’t want her drinking out of your toilet—’
‘Toilet? Oh my God!’ said Queenie.
‘I’ll fetch the bed in. Then we’ll run through what you need to do. She’s not going to give you any trouble, though, is she? I mean, look at her. She’s as good as gold. Ha! Good as Goldie. Right, you do the water, and put the kettle on.’
‘Kettle? What do we need the kettle for?’ Queenie’s voice was almost a squawk.
Bob smiled. ‘It’s been a long day, Maggie. You wouldn’t begrudge me a cuppa, would you?’
9
There was a noise. It forced its way into Bea’s dreams, dragging her up to the surface. She opened her eyes. Sometimes her mum had nightmares and shouted out in her sleep, but this wasn’t the same. It was a more of a whine. It took a while then, with sickening clarity, the thought came to her that there was a dog in the house. An unhappy dog, whining in the kitchen.
Bea rolled over and squinted at her alarm clock. Eight thirty-five. Still early for her day off. She’d been looking forward to a nice Sunday morning lie-in.
The volume of the whine increased. It couldn’t be tuned out.
With a groan, Bea sat up and then lumbered out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and shambled along the landing and down the stairs. When she opened the kitchen door, the smell seemed to rush out to greet her and wrap itself round her.
Goldie was standing just inside the doorway, grinning up at Bea as though she’d discovered a long-lost friend. Bea couldn’t manage to grin back. Maybe she’d start feeling the love after a mug of good strong tea.
Bea walked around Goldie, picked up the kettle and went over to the sink. The floor was wet. It happened sometimes when she or Queenie were overenthusiastic with the washing-up. But that would have dried up overnight. And this was warm.
Bea looked down. There was a huge lake on the lino and her naked feet were slap bang in the middle of it. She looked over at Goldie who was standing pretty much in the same place, except that she had turned so she could see Bea. There she was. Grinning.
Bea didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but she didn’t have time for either, because she could hear Queenie’s footsteps on the landing above.
‘If she sees this, that’ll be the end of it. She’ll turn you out,’ Bea hissed at Goldie. ‘Stay there. Don’t move.’ She waded across the kitchen to the doorway and yelled, ‘Mum! What are you doing? I’ll bring you a cuppa!’
‘There’s no need. I’ll come down.’
‘No!’ Bea’s voice was almost a squeak. She cleared her throat and tried again, lower this time. ‘No! I want to treat you. Stay up there. I won’t be two minutes.’
‘All right. I’ll just go to the bathroom.’
Bea ducked back into the kitchen. She frantically squirted some Flash into a bucket and swished some hot water in, then set about mopping the floor. Goldie watched with benign interest, moving obligingly when Bea asked her to wait in the hall.
‘What are you doing?’ Queenie called down as she emerged from the bathroom.
‘Just a bit of cleaning while the tea’s brewing. I’m coming up now.’ She quickly dunked a tea bag in a mug of hot water and added some milk. She padded past Goldie, realising as she did so that she hadn’t washed her feet, or the dog’s. ‘Wait there. I’ll deal with you in a minute.’
‘You all right, love? You look a bit flustered.’ Queenie was back in bed, propped up against a pillow and with her puzzle magazine to hand.
‘I’m fine. Need to take the dog out for a walk. Shall I bring you some toast up first?’
‘No, I’ll get up in a minute.’
‘Okay, I’ll just go out for five minutes with the dog.’
Bea flung on some clothes and then headed back downstairs. Goldie was standing at the bottom of the stairs, grinning up at her.
‘Okay, you,’ Bea said. ‘Morning walky. What do I need?’ She found her warmest coat, her mittens and a woolly hat. She put her keys and phone in the pocket and clipped the lead onto Goldie’s collar. ‘See you later,’ she called out to her mum, and stepped out through the kitchen door.
The cold air pinched at her face. The temperature had dropped overnight and the path round the side of the house was slippery with ice. Goldie padded by her side. At least she didn’t pull on her lead.
‘Let’s make this quick,’ said Bea.
They walked past the little row of shops and crossed the road to the park. Goldie walked at Bea’s side, keeping pace. They completed a circuit of the rec without incident. No stopping. No sniffing. No ‘business’ from Goldie. When they got back to the place they started at, Bea stopped and looked at Goldie, who instantly sat down and looked back up at her, smiling politely.
‘What’s your game?’ Bea said to her. ‘One more circuit, missy, and I want to see some action.’
They set off again. This time they got halfway round when Goldie fell behind. Bea stopped and looked back. The dog was crouching with a look of concentration on her face. Their eyes met, and the contact felt very, very wrong. Bea quickly looked away. When the dog padded up to her, she inspected the results of her efforts.
‘Christ Almighty! How much have you eaten?’ said Bea, then, ‘Nooo! I forgot a bag!’
Bea searched her pockets on the off-chance of finding something suitable, but there was nothing. An old, chewed-up tissue wouldn’t do the job, and apart from that she only had her keys and phone. Goldie, having finished, moved away from the mess, but Bea stayed where she was. She couldn’t leave it, could she? She hated people who did that, didn’t want to be that person.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned round. More dog-walkers – two lads in hoodies with a Staffie-type dog pulling enthusiastically on its lead. Perhaps they’d give Bea one of their bags. As they got closer, the dog began really straining on the lead, making excited grunting noises, and Bea recognised it as Tyson, pulling Dean along. Goldie seemed unconcerned. She wagged her tail gently and smiled at the trio, but Bea stepped off the path, out of harm’s way, pulling Goldie with her.
‘Hey, Dean,’ she called out. ‘You got a bag I could have?’
The boys had drawn level now. Tyson was lunging towards Goldie and Dean was struggling to keep hold of him. ‘Made a mess, have you?’
‘Well, not me, but – can I have one of your bags, please?’
‘I don’t carry them. Only losers pick up other people’s shit.’<
br />
Bea looked from Dean’s sneering face to his companion. He was a lot taller and much more solid than Dean, but equally unappetising. He had two slits shaved in his right eyebrow, and really bad skin. She raised her eyebrows at him, asking him the same question, but he wouldn’t look her in the eye. He was carrying a large blue plastic box with a grill at one end. Bea bent slightly forward to look inside and caught a glimpse of some white fur. Dean’s friend turned the box round so she couldn’t see any more.
‘Come on, mate,’ he said to Dean. ‘Let’s get going.’
‘Is that your cat?’ said Bea.
‘No. Yeah.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Which one is it? Yes or no? What are you doing with it?’
Dean’s friend clammed up. He shuffled a couple of steps further away from Bea.
‘It’s none of your business, is it?’ said Dean.
‘It is if it’s stolen,’ said Bea. ‘Have you seen the paper this week?’
‘Who are you, the cat police?’ Dean sneered. ‘Oh no, I was forgetting. You’re not a copper, you just shag them. You’re a grass.’
‘So where are you taking it?’
‘The vet. It’s poorly.’ Dean stuck his bottom lip out and dragged his fingers down his face from under his eyes. ‘Come on.’ He and his friend started walking away, leaving Bea with her original problem and a growing sense of suspicion.
She watched as they followed the path and then left the park by a side alley. ‘They’re not going to the piggin’ vet,’ she said to Goldie. ‘Come on.’
They walked to the entrance of the alley. The two lads were silhouetted at the far end, then turned right and disappeared. Bea and Goldie followed. When they got to the end, Bea paused and peeked around the corner. Her quarry was about a hundred metres ahead of her, following a residential road that ran between some semi-detached houses and the allotments. Keeping at a distance, Bea carried on after them. At the far end of the allotments, they joined a path that led along the perimeter, with hedges and fields the other side.