by CJ Morrow
I make my lunch and eat it, while keeping a listen out for the door, for evidence of a delivery lorry, for anything.
And, of course, the sofa arrives just before one. They bring it in, position it, unwrap it and ask for my signature in what seems like seconds. Once they’re gone, I sit on it, lie on it, roll around on it. I love it. I imagine how it will be even better in this room once the second sofa arrives. Shadow comes into the lounge and sniffs the air and then the sofa, walking around and around it with a mischievous glint in her eyes. She finally comes to a stop and hovers in front of the seat next to me.
‘No, Shadow,’ I say, my voice as firm as I can make it because I know she’s planning on leaping up here. ‘Not for you. No.’
She tilts her head to one side, turns tail and trots off to the kitchen where I can hear her scrabbling around. I’m about to get up to see what she’s up to when she returns with her tartan lead in her mouth.
‘Clever girl, Shadow.’ I pat her and rub her chin. ‘Clever girl.’ The lead had been on the kitchen worktop, hence the scrabbling. ‘We’d better go then.’ I stand up and hope I’m not going to regret not waiting for the retractable lead.
∞∞∞
Once in the park Shadow really goes for it, dragging me around behind her. At this rate I’m going to be super fit. We get around the park twice in record time and she’s ready to go again. I pull her back; I’ve had enough and I want to get another coat of paint on my bedroom wall and then sit on my new sofa and watch TV.
I pull Shadow towards the entrance and, though reluctant at first, she complies. Her tail wags and I think she’s pleased to be going home.
Stupid me.
Spice man is sitting on the park bench again with his dog at his feet.
This time Shadow will not be deterred and bolts towards them. At the same time, Spice man’s dog leaps up in anticipation of Shadow’s arrival and I’m dragged along in Shadow’s wake.
We reach them and despite my efforts to prevent it, Shadow and the other dog are soon entwined, wrapping themselves around each other, Shadow’s tartan lead entangling itself with the string.
‘Shadow,’ I shout, to no avail.
Spice man looks up at me and I think he smiles, not that it lasts long.
I look down at Shadow and the white dog and they look like a furry yin and yang sign, each with their nose to the other’s tail, and their bodies close together.
‘Shadow,’ I shout again. No reaction.
‘Sit, Betty,’ Spice man says, sounding shockingly coherent for someone on Spice.
Betty duly sits.
Shadow does not, instead bouncing around like a mad thing and definitely not a dog who’s been on a very long walk.
‘If you can get your dog to sit, we can untangle their leads,’ Spice man says.
‘Shadow, sit,’ I say, imitating his tone. No reaction from Shadow. I try again to no avail.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘This makes it tricky with your dog moving around so much.’
He’s right, and Shadow is super excited and is now jumping around with her tail wagging making funny little barking noises, which I’ve never heard her do until now.
‘If Shadow would just calm down,’ he says, gently pushing on Shadow’s rear end.
I swallow hard. I hate doing this.
‘Sheba, sit,’ I mumble. And Sheba sits. Little traitor.
‘That’s better.’ He starts to untangle his string from my tartan lead. ‘I thought your dog’s name was Shadow,’ he says, mocking me.
‘It is. Or at least I want it to be. But she’s a rescue dog and was previously called Sheba.’ At the mention of her name Sheba tilts her head at me and I swear she smirks.
I don’t know why I’m explaining myself to a druggie tramp who spends his days sitting on a park bench.
‘And did you want to call her Shadow because she’s black?’
‘What?’ Did I? Oh my God, he thinks I’m racist. ‘No, no. It’s because she darts in and out of the shadows.’ Oh, how pathetic does that sound?
‘Good, because that would be like me calling my dog, Whitey.’ I swear he smirks but there’s a bit of defiance there too.
I glance down at his dog, white isn’t really how I’d describe her, more grubby, more off white, more creamy. ‘Creamy.’ It’s out of my mouth without me realising. Creamy, isn’t that what the Australians used to call mixed race Aborigine and white children? I’m sure I remember it from that film with Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman. Oh God, I am a racist.
Spice man looks at me and blinks several times. Maybe he’s never seen that film and doesn’t make the connection. Then he shakes his head. So maybe he has seen it. ‘There you go,’ he says, handing my lead back to me with a sigh. ‘Hey, don’t I know you?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Oh my God he’s seen me screech-singing on Facebook.
‘You look very familiar.’
‘I walk the park every day and you sit here every day, maybe that’s where you know me from.’ Why am I being so nasty? What’s wrong with me? I can’t blame him for Shadow’s antics or my casual, unintended racism. And if he has seen me on Facebook, it’s not his fault. ‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘That was mean of me.’
He looks at me through his bloodshot eyes, looks me up and down even. ‘Yeah. Well. I do know you. It’ll come to me.’
‘Thanks for untangling,’ I say, pulling Shadow to heel and striding off.
I feel mean when I get home. Did he deserve that? Have I allowed myself to believe he’s a drug addict when he may not be? Who knows why he sits on that bench? Not me. Does he sit there all night too? They lock the park at dusk, does he hide? Is he there through all weathers? Am I getting carried away with my assumptions?
Too many questions. I’ll avoid him tomorrow. Whatever his problems are he doesn’t need me being nasty and judgemental added to them. I’m supposed to be a caring professional. Then I remember his comments, and decide that he was just as judgemental as me, if not more so.
And when he remembers me from Facebook, he’ll certainly judge me then.
I’m beginning to think going to that park is fraught with problems.
There’s a knock on the door and when I answer it, it’s my new retractable lead being delivered. Would it have helped today? Or would it have made the tangling situation worse?
‘And as for you, you little traitor,’ I say to Shadow. ‘Just so we both know; your name is Shadow. Right. Shadow. Shadow, sit,’ I command. And Shadow sits.
∞∞∞
Another coat of paint on the wall and an evening in front of the TV – which will definitely be better once it’s on the wall – lolling around on my lovely new sofa. I’ve even retrieved the rest of Ken’s chocolates and am indulging myself as I stuff them into my mouth. It’s only as I finish the last one – I’m going to feel sick later – that I notice Shadow has settled herself next to me on the sofa and gone to sleep.
‘No,’ I mutter, more to myself than Shadow. ‘I don’t want dog hair all over it, it’s new.’ Who am I kidding?
∞∞∞
‘I saw Spice man again today,’ I tell Cat when I talk to her the next day. He’s always sitting on that bench so seeing him in the park is almost unavoidable. Cat’s rung to see how much I’m enjoying the new sofa.
‘Give him a wide berth.’
‘I did, I do. But Shadow has other ideas, she’s attracted to his dog.’
‘The one on the string?’
‘Yes. They’re like twins, in different colours. She belted over to them again, but I did manage to stop her getting too close, which was just as well, unlike yesterday when their leads got tangled up.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Cat says, but I don’t think she’s really listening, her voice has that air of disinterest about it.
‘Yeah, he was crying, and I mean really crying, great bit sobs, snot and all. But silent. Amazing that.’
‘Eugh. Probably the Spice.’
‘I don’t think he is on Spice, or anything els
e. He just looked so sad, well, no, heartbroken. I felt sorry for him. And mean.’ He seems to be able to make me feel mean every time I see him.
‘You don’t know what he’s on. It’s not normal to sit and cry in the park, is it? Keep away.’
‘I will.’ But there have been times since September when I’ve cried in public, admittedly I’ve attempted to be discreet about it, but it has happened. Maybe, he just couldn’t rein it in, or maybe he doesn’t care.
‘Still on for your date with Ken?’ Cat says, pulling me back to the here and now.
‘It’s not a date, just dinner, with a friend.’
‘Does he know that?’
‘Of course he does.’
‘I mean,’ Cat continues, ‘I know you’re single and so he is, but do you really want to get involved with your erstwhile brother-in-law?’
‘He wasn’t my brother-in-law. Not officially, anyway.’
‘Splitting hairs.’
‘Look, not that you need to concern yourself, but I’m sooo not looking for a man. I’ve just got my independence, my own place, my own mortgage even, everything. I’m not looking for a man.’ I’m not. I don’t need a man.
‘Good. Only the other day you didn’t sound so sure.’
‘It’s just dinner.’ It is. ‘Did I tell you I bumped into my neighbours? They were on holiday when I moved in but they’re back now, lovely, semi-retired couple. They said they’d pop in and let Shadow out if needs be when I’m at work.’
‘That’s handy.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘What about the other side?’
‘Oh, young couple with a toddler. Just said hello and nodded at them when I’ve been taking Shadow out.
‘Anyone else?’
‘No, not really. I think they’re all out at work during the day.’ It’s true I haven’t seen anyone else; the street is like a ghost town.
‘Oh, got to go. We’ll see you Sunday morning, bright and early.’ She ends the call before I have a chance to reply.
When Ken arrives to pick me up it’s with another bouquet of flowers and another box of chocolates.
‘Wow,’ I say. ‘You’re spoiling me.’ And making me fat because I don’t have the willpower to resist chocolates.
‘Nothing is too good for you.’
I smile. I don’t know what to say. I don’t want him to say things like that to me.
‘You look lovely,’ he says, blatantly appraising me.
‘So do you.’ He does, male model lovely – I feel quite frumpy next to him – and he smells divine, better than me which is annoying because I’m wearing my favourite perfume and a dress I felt very pleased with, but now…
I climb into Ken’s lovely two-seater car, expensive and elegant, just like him, and lean back in my seat. When he starts the engine there’s an impressive roar; it feels as though we’re preparing for take-off.
‘I hope you like Italian.’ How does he manage to make that sound suggestive?
‘I do. It’s my favourite.’ He must know this, I’m sure I’ve said it in front of him. Probably moaned about it because Leeward hates Italian so we never went to an Italian restaurant together. His preferences were steakhouse, Chinese, Indian. And I do love pasta, definitely my favourite Italian dish, and I have been known to devour a whole pizza to myself given half a chance.
Once in the restaurant we’re shown to the perfect table and it’s obvious from the way the waiters talk to Ken that they know him. I bet he brings all his girlfriends here.
I study the menu, unable to choose between the many pasta dishes available. I’m frowning as I debate with myself; shall I have fettuccine al salmone or penne al gorgonzola or ravioli de pesca or…
‘Let me choose for you,’ Ken’s liquid voice interrupts.
‘Oh. Um.’
‘Please. I know the menu well and I can definitely pick the perfect dish for you. Let’s skip starters so we have plenty of appetite for the main.’ He smiles sweetly and I feel my stomach flip.
‘Okay,’ I say, wondering if this is a good idea.
He mutters something to the waiter, which I don’t catch then turns his attention back to me.
A bottle of wine appears on the table and Ken pours us both a glass, his tiny, mine large. That’s when I realise he’s expecting me to drink damn near the whole bottle because he’s driving and has already poured his quota.
‘I can’t drink all that,’ I say, sounding ungrateful.
He smiles. ‘Don’t worry, we can take it with us.’
I don’t think I like the sound of that either.
He raises his glass, prompting me to do the same. ‘To Lauren, her new home and her happy new beginning.’
‘Thank you.’ Now it’s my turn to smile sweetly. I am grateful, this is a nice gesture but I can’t help remembering Cat’s warning about Ken’s intentions.
Our meals arrive. I stare at mine for too long.
‘All right?’
‘Yeah.’ No. There is no pasta. None, not one tube of penne or piece of ravioli, nothing, just a big slab of meat and some vegetables and fried potatoes. I love veg, of course, but this is an Italian restaurant, what’s the point if you don’t have pasta. Whiney, ungrateful bitch. I smile a little too brightly and pick up my knife and fork.
‘You’ll love it. Veal. Melts in your mouth. I almost always have this when I come here.’
‘Cool. Do you come here often?’
He makes that face that suggests he’s thinking about his answer before laughing. ‘Most weeks.’
With his numerous girlfriends, no doubt. I wonder if he chose veal for Suzi, for all of them?
What do I care?
‘Yeah, usually during the day,’ he continues, ‘Business lunches, always impresses the clients.’
‘I bet,’ I say, cutting a tiny slither of my veal, which isn’t my favourite choice of meat, in fact, I tend to prefer fish, but I don’t feel I can say anything without sounding ungrateful. Why didn’t I just refuse his offer to choose for me? Just because he’s paying doesn’t mean he can dictate what I eat. I pop the veal into my mouth. Oh God, he’s right, it does melt in my mouth.
‘Gorgeous, eh?’
‘It is.’
‘I meant you.’
‘What?’
He looks at me, assesses my reaction, smiles. ‘Just joking.’ Then he laughs just as a waitress comes over to fill up our drinks.
She lets her eyes linger on Ken. I wonder if she knows she’s licking her lips. He refuses a top up and so do I as there’s nothing to top up, I’ve only taken the tiniest sip of wine so far. I ask for a jug of water and two glasses, she looks to Ken for approval. Damn cheek.
I agree with Ken that the meal is good, very good, because it is. I don’t whinge about the absence of pasta and, in general I am gracious and charming. But I can’t help feeling a little uncomfortable, manipulated even, especially when Ken suggests we share a pudding, he even has one already picked out.
‘Oh, not for me,’ I say, as pleasantly as I can. ‘I’m full up from all that meat, lovely as it was, I’m stuffed.’ I know stuffed doesn’t sound very elegant, but I don’t care.
‘No problem.’ He lifts up the wine bottle and moves it towards my glass.
‘Oh, no more for me,’ I say, putting my hand over the glass just as he pours. ‘Oops,’ I manage as we watch the red stain spreading across the white tablecloth, and I stain a napkin as I wipe the wine off my hand.
‘No probs. We’ll take it with us.’ He puts the cork back in and plonks the bottle down.
‘Would you like coffee?’
‘No, thank you. Caffeine keeps me awake.’
He grins and, I think, he flashes his eyes. It’s such a subtle gesture that it could be my imagination. Is this how he charms the ladies? Right on cue the waitress arrives – where’s our original waiter, that’s what I want to know – and, as she’s asking about our order, I’m sure she winks at Ken.
‘Just the bill,’ he says, smi
ling at her and I’m sure I see her dip as her knees go weak. I know he’s good looking, well, more than good looking I suppose, but really, what a way to go on.
Once we’re in his car, and I have my seat belt on, Ken thrusts the wine bottle at me. It’s two-thirds full and although I had more in my glass than Ken, I didn’t drink it all.
‘It’s a super wine that,’ he says, as I nurse the bottle on my lap.
‘Yes, it was, very nice.’
‘But you didn’t drink it all?’
‘God no. I don’t want a hangover in the morning.’ I try to keep my voice light, but I’m actually a bit annoyed with him. I feel as though he was trying to get me drunk. ‘I’ve got an early start.’
‘Have you?’ He starts the great, roaring engine.
‘Yes, Cat and Paul are coming round early tomorrow with some more furniture. I’m getting a table and chairs.’
‘Cool. Maybe next time you could cook for me.’
‘Maybe.’ I smile. Yeah, and it will be pasta, pasta and pasta, masses of it.
As we pull up outside my house I already have my keys in my hand, having fumbled them out of my bag while juggling the wine bottle.
‘I’d invite you in, but I’ve got this early start,’ I say, watching Ken’s face drop.
‘But it’s barely ten.’ He pulls up his sleeve and shows me his rather lovely watch resting on his rather lovely wrist. God, he is so attractive.
He’s Leeward’s brother.
He leans in to kiss me goodnight and I make sure we exchange cheek kisses. I yank open the door and leap out as quickly as I can.
‘I’ll message you about that meal,’ I say, sounding jovial. Then I stuff the wine bottle into the door pocket.
‘You take it,’ he says.
‘No, I won’t drink it. It’ll get wasted. I don’t really drink much.’ Liar, liar.
‘Oh. Ah.’ I know what he’s thinking, that after the wedding escapades I’ve become some boring teetotaller who can’t handle the hangovers, but he couldn’t be more wrong. I didn’t dare drink too much wine, because I really cannot trust myself around Ken.
‘Night.’
And I’m gone, inside my house and leaning against my front door just as Shadow comes bounding out of the kitchen to greet me.