Alfie? Oh, he means Charlie’s cousin. Why’s he so interested?
‘Nah. I don’t think he’s my type.’
He nods, turns and mutters ‘good’ under his breath.
So that’s how I find myself taking this mad dog for a walk before my appointment at a low budget fashion magazine, after getting the thumbs up from the vets that she’s had all her vaccinations. That way, I figure if I tire her out, she’ll just sleep through the interview. She’s only small. How much bloody energy can she have?
I take her to the open park and watch all the well-behaved dogs running off-lead. I look down at her walking, pulling eagerly against the lead. She looks back at me with a smile. Well, what I think is a smile. I mean, who knows if dogs actually smile.
If I let her off-lead it would be a quick way to burn off some energy. I bought a bag full of treats on the way here, so I know I can tempt her back.
Oh, fuck it. I unclip her and watch as she runs into the middle of all the dogs, her energy surprising me. I didn’t think that was possible anymore. She starts playing with them, bouncing off them like she’s on a trampoline.
Well, this is an easy way to get her to burn off some of that puppy energy. She’s been playing freely for thirty minutes when my phone starts ringing with a withheld number.
‘Hello?’ I answer dubiously.
‘Hi, Miss Watts. This is PC Edwards.’
‘Oh, hi.’
‘I’m just calling to let you know that we’ve seized Mr Cundy’s computer, and it’s been sent to high-tech crime.’
‘Okay, great. How was he?’ I can’t help but ask. ‘Ted, I mean. Did he seem angry? Do you think I’m going to get any repercussions?’ That’s the last thing I need.
‘He was defensive, but I doubt you will. If you do, please call me straightaway. In the meantime, I’m afraid that it could take some weeks before high-tech crime find something we can use. I just wanted to keep you updated.’
I thank him and hang up, keeping a close eye on Pickles.
I watch as the dogs leave the park one by one. When there are just a few dogs left, I call her over.
‘Pickles!’ I shout, patting my thighs like I’ve seen all the other owners do.
She turns to look at me, but then carries on playing.
I walk a bit closer. ‘Pickles! Home time.’
Again, she looks before running slightly further away, playing with the two remaining dogs. The little bitch. This isn’t going how I planned.
I walk right up to her, trying to remain calm and not look worried in front of the other confident dog walkers. They’re confident because they have well-behaved dogs. Pickles seems to stay where she is. Oh, thank God, she’s co-operating. I manage to walk straight up to her and I’m about to attach her collar to the lead when she bolts again. For fuck’s sake!
‘PICKLES!’ I roar, stomping off after her. I can feel the dog walkers looking on in judgement. ‘She’s a puppy,’ I offer pathetically, as a way of an explanation. My heart is beating out of my chest and my neck is sticky with sweat.
Every time I go towards her she runs further away. Right, maybe a bit of reverse psychology could work here. It’s worth a try. Anything is worth a try at this point.
‘I’m going home now, Pickles. Bye!’ I turn and walk away, praying to God she’s following me. I walk a few more steps before glancing around to see she hasn’t moved at all.
Shit. She couldn’t care less.
The two owners call their dogs back and like perfect little things they trot off to them and allow themselves to be put back on the lead. Pickles looks on and for a moment I think she’s going to copy them.
I straighten my spine, a new confidence in me. ‘Pickles,’ I call calmly, copying how they stoop down to the dog.
She starts walking towards me. Oh my god, she’s coming towards me. It’s working. Thank the Lord.
But... then she turns and fucks off again.
UGH!
This is a disaster. I should have never taken her off the lead. This must be on page one of Puppy Disasters to Avoid. I really need to order that book.
‘Pickles!’ I look into my pocket to get the treats out. Fuck, I must have left them in the car. Fuck my life.
Instead I find a half-eaten packet of vegan chocolate biscuits. I take it out in desperation, crinkling the packet, hoping the noise alone will get her back.
She turns from a distance, tilts her head to the left, and comes bounding over. Yes! It’s working! Thank God. My heart rate is already returning to normal. This is fine. She’s going to eat a vegan biscuit and while she’s doing that, I’ll grab her by the collar and put her back on the lead.
She’s just about to get to me when she stops mid step, her left foot stopped in front of her. Wait, is she on to me?
Two men enter the park from the other end with two other dogs. They throw a ball for them and that’s it, Pickles is off to try to get it. Grr, this dog is so dumb!
I make my way over to her as quickly as I can, my pits so sweaty I’m worried the marks are going to go through my top. By the time I get to her, I see that she’s stolen the ball from the dogs. Oh, for goodness’ sake!
Now they’re chasing her around the park to try to get it back. The dogs could kill her if she stops, but she seems oblivious, running with abandon, her mouth open in glee, her tail wagging.
‘Sorry!’ I shout as I walk hurriedly over to them, my calves burning. This is the most exercise I’ve done in years. ‘I can’t seem to get her back on the lead.’ I admit, feeling a fool.
‘You tried treats, love?’ one asks, eyeing me up like the idiot I am.
Does he think I’m an imbecile? Well, look at me right now. Probably.
‘Of course. She’s just like a dog possessed.’
‘We’ll try to help.’ He pulls out another ball and throws it in the air as if to entice her. She stops what she’s doing and turns to watch him, as if entranced.
She keeps the ball in her mouth but moves towards him. He throws it up in the air again but when it falls to the floor, he quickly covers it with his foot. She tries to get it out, lowering her guard for a second. He grabs her by the collar.
‘Got her!’ he says triumphantly. Thank the Lord.
‘Thanks!’ I take her collar, and kneel down to attach the lead, but she suddenly bolts. Before I have a split second to register what’s happening, I’m being dragged on my knees across the field in the mud. It burns.
I force myself to let go so that my neck isn’t broken. I land face down in the mud. Little motherfucker! I’m going to kill her. She’s gonna wish she made it to the animal shelter when I get hold of her.
I look up to see her at the opposite side of the park, looking back at me as if laughing. That little satanic bitch. She’s finding this funny. And this is the little dog I couldn’t see going to a dog shelter. She doesn’t know how good she’s got it.
I look back to the men. They cringe, as if not sure whether to ask if I’m okay or try to pretend like they didn’t see it.
‘I can’t believe her,’ I shriek, attempting an ironic laugh, when really, I just want to burst into tears. I force my tired limbs up to standing, the mud having gone underneath my nails. How humiliating.
‘It’s alright, love. I’ll try again,’ one of them says kindly, again trying to entice her with the ball.
That little bitch. Right now, if I ever get her back, I’m dragging her home and never letting her out again. And to think I’m against animal cruelty.
The man again throws the ball in the air, drops it to the floor but quickly stands over it. Pickles goes to get it, but this time the man practically jumps on her, rugby tackling her to the ground.
‘I have her!’ he shouts.
I rush over with the lead, my frantic fumbling hands barely able to attach her lead to the collar. Once it’s attached, the relief is all consuming. I could cry. I feel as if I owe these men my life.
I stand up before she can try to drag me across the
park again.
‘Thank you so much. I really don’t know what’s gotten into her.’ A traitorous tear slips out.
They exchange a glance which I think says poor silly cow and then they’re on their way.
I drag her back to the car, cursing under my breath. The urge to lock her in a dark cupboard is strong, but I won’t let her push me. I won’t be turned into one of those mental people you see on those RSPCA programmes that have six dogs in cages full up of their own poo. No, I’m a fucking vegetarian for God’s sake.
I love animals. I love animals. I repeat it to myself over and over again all the way to the car.
With her safely in the boot, I let myself into the driving seat and allow myself a minute to collect my wits. I rest my head down onto the steering wheel and take a deep breath. It’s fine, Alice. No one died. No one got injured. Well, apart from me. My knees are throbbing from the grass burn of being dragged and my hands are slightly grazed. Just what a photographer needs.
I check my phone to see a text from Tom.
‘Have a great morning. I’ll pop home for lunch. Cook us something nice ;-)’
Gah, this bloody man!
Tom
I throw my keys down onto the hallway console table.
‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Anyone home?’
Maybe she didn’t get my text. Then I hear some sort of scraping. Pickles rounds the corner, skidding so far she hits the wall, before continuing to barrel towards me.
‘Hey, Pickles.’ I pick her up, trying to stop her from licking my entire face. I don’t doubt she’s been licking her arse today. ‘Have you been a good girl for Mummy?’
I make my way to the kitchen/diner, but instead of finding Alice in an apron (okay and in my imagination nothing else), about to serve me a replenishing lunch, she’s instead sat at the table with her head in her hands.
Uh-oh. I look down at Pickles. What the hell did she do to her? She stares back with wide-eyed innocence, tilting her head to the left.
‘Alice?’
She looks up, mud marring her forehead. Her hair is dishevelled from where it looks like she’s run her hands through it and her eyes are red and puffy. My stomach drops at the idea of her being hurt.
‘Have you been crying?’ I rush over to her, placing Pickles on the floor.
She sniffs, but quickly attempts to pull herself together, chin in the air in defiance. ‘No!’
She stands up and walks towards the fridge. It’s only then I see the bottom half of her jeans are covered in mud, her knees grass-stained. I look down at Pickles. What did you do?
‘Egg on toast?’ she offers meekly, not meeting my eyes, choosing instead to hide her face in the fridge.
‘Fuck the lunch,’ I say, taking her hand and guiding her back to the table. ‘What the hell’s happened?’
I crouch down to her eye level.
‘I’ve just... I’ve just had a shit day, that’s all.’ Her cheeks are all flushed, her chin wobbling. I can’t help but find her captivating.
‘Because of Pickles?’ I finish for her. ‘I’m assuming she wasn’t the easy breeze I thought she’d be?’
‘No,’ she sobs, tears spilling thick and fast from her eyes. ‘And... I just don’t know if I can cope looking after her.’
‘Hey.’ I place my hand over hers in what I hope is a reassuring action. ‘It can’t be that bad.’
She scoffs. ‘Ha!’
Oh dear. Underestimating a woman in this kind of situation is how men get killed.
‘Start at the beginning. Tell me,’ I plead, trying to meet her eyes.
She looks up at me with her big almond-shaped, pale-green eyes. I’ve never seen them look so vulnerable. This can’t really all be about a dog, can it?
First, she explains about Pickles being a bitch at the park. I look down at her knees, knowing I need to look at them in case they’re grazed.
‘And then I went on to my meeting. I had to go like this because she’d already made me late.’
I stand up, take my jacket off, and roll up my sleeves. ‘Take them off,’ I say indicating to the jeans.
Her mouth hangs open. ‘Ex- excuse me? Are you seriously hitting on me right now?’
Wait... she thinks...? I burst out laughing.
I smirk. ‘Alice, if I wanted to hit on you I wouldn’t just be ordering you to take your jeans off. I’d have at least thrown a compliment your way first.’
She smiles meekly, her cheeks turning pink. Wait, is she embarrassed that I’m not hitting on her? Chicks are so fucking complicated.
‘I want to check your knees out. See if they’re grazed.’
She looks down at them. ‘Oh.’
She tries to roll them up first, but just as I thought, with how skinny those jeans are it’s an absolute nightmare. Instead she reluctantly stands, undoes the button and wiggles them down her milky legs.
Do not get a boner, Tom. Now is not the right moment to get a boner.
I kneel down and take a look at them, trying to ignore her black lacy French knickers. One is fine, just a bit red, but her right-sided one is grazed, the skin ever so slightly ripped. I head to the kitchen sink to run a bit of kitchen roll under the cold tap.
‘Anyway,’ she continues a sigh. ‘So, I go to this meeting, and I’m scared to leave her in the boot in case someone calls pet services on me or something. So, I ask the receptionist and she says it’s fine, they’re dog friendly.’ She rolls her eyes as if to tell me they’re not that dog friendly after all.
I kneel down and place the wet kitchen roll against her cut. She flinches from the coolness. I grimace apologetically. I wish I could take the pain from her.
‘So, I’m waiting in the boardroom for this woman. Only Pickles will not settle, she’s going fucking nuts, wanting to be not just sitting on me the whole time, but on my fucking neck. So, in a last-ditch attempt I took this bit of material I found on the table and I made a sort of baby sling for her. It was the only way to get her to calm the fuck down.’
I grin, imagining how stressed she must have been. She wrinkles her nose when she’s stressed. It’s kind of adorable. Adorable? What the hell am I thinking? I shake my head and go back to cleaning her leg as best I can.
‘So, what happened?’ I ask, leaning over to blow on it. Cool it down a bit.
Her shoulders slump in defeat. ‘The executive came in for the meeting and... well, the product I was supposed to be photographing was the silk, very expensive scarf I’d tied around myself and this stupid fucking dog.’
‘No!’ I can’t help but shout, barking out a laugh.
‘Yes!’ She snorts a sort of ironic laugh. Or maybe it’s a cry. ‘So, I had to hand it back to her, all covered in dog hair and dried mud.’
‘Shit. Did she kick you out straightaway?’
‘No.’ She covers her face with her hands. ‘She was all polite and insisted we carry on with the interview, but it was fucked the minute that happened. I was all flustered and couldn’t get my words out. Then, just as we were leaving, Pickles decided to piss on their carpet.’
Oh my god. I rub at my eyes. What a bloody nightmare.
‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah. I had a few more choice words for her on the way home.’
I pick Pickles up. ‘Why are you such a little nightmare?’ She stares back at me, her big brown eyes pleading ignorance.
‘Don’t try to act innocent now,’ she snaps. ‘Look, we’re gonna have to sort out some sort of doggy day care for her or something. I can’t take her to work with me.’
Shit. How much is that going to cost? Another thing I didn’t bank on.
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ I nod. ‘I’ll look into it.’
‘No, I will,’ she insists. ‘I’m not having her go to any old random.’
I smile back at her. Even when she’s pissed her off this much she still loves her, deep down. Deep, deep down.
I notice a new framed photograph on the wall of Pickles. This soppy bitch is mad about her.
‘I like the new photograph,’ I say with a grin, nodding towards it.
She looks over at it. ‘Thanks, but I’m not happy with it.’
She’s such a bloody perfectionist.
I look at the time on my phone. ‘I have to get back to work. Can I please leave her with you this afternoon and then we’ll sort something?’
‘Fine,’ she sighs. ‘What’s another couple of hours of misery?’
I lift her chin, forcing her green eyes to look up at me. ‘You promise you’d tell me if something else was bothering you?’
She stares back uncertainly, her mouth slack for a second, before she forces a smile.
‘Promise.’
Why don’t I bloody believe her?
Alice
I could have told him the truth. How I also got a text from my first ever boyfriend asking if the picture he attached was me. The porn revenge picture of me with everything out. I mean, what the hell was he thinking or trying to achieve? Make me feel like a pathetic slut? Check. Want to remind me how I’ll never get away from it? Check again.
Either way he’s managed to throw me into a slump. When Tom goes, I change into my pyjamas, take my make-up off and put on a rom com. The girls are always taking the piss out of me for my terrible taste in movies, but sometimes the crapper the better. You know what to expect, you get a happy ending and there’s no drama you can’t handle. Unlike bloody real life.
Pickles jumps up onto the sofa. I go to tell her off, but I don’t have enough energy. She instead cuddles up on my lap. I stare down at her in shock. Can it be she senses I’m feeling low? I suppose she has to be good for something. It’s definitely not walking.
Thursday 25th October
Alice
Today was Pickles’ first day at her new doggy day care. She seems to have had a great time. She bloody should have for twenty quid! Not that I’m paying for it, thank God. Luckily, the dog carer agreed to be flexible with us. The days I’m not working I can look after her myself, even though she is a massive pain in the arse. I can’t make Tom pay that out every day. He’d just be working to afford the dog care. Now I see why a lot of mums don’t go back to work. It doesn’t make sense.
Bagging Alice (Standalone) (Babes of Brighton Book 3) Page 8