by Gill Sims
‘But you said …’ said James.
‘No,’ I said feebly. ‘You all assumed for some reason.’
‘But why would you …?’ said Alan in confusion.
‘I don’t know!’ I said miserably. ‘I kept thinking I could just put you all right and then it had gone on too long and I couldn’t, and I liked being this new version of me that you all thought I was, and then I really couldn’t say anything!’
‘Well,’ said Alan, still looking baffled. ‘Surely that proves it then. If Ellen can have children we know nothing about and get the job done, and if James can have children and not have to vanish every twenty minutes, why can’t Lydia, without slacking off?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ said Lydia. ‘Because all she did was lie about where she was, so you were more accepting of it than you are of me doing it. And James can do it because he just expects his wife to pick up the slack.’
‘Is this true, Ellen?’ said Alan.
‘Well, sort of! I mean, I do have two children and I didn’t tell you about them because I didn’t want all the shit you give Lydia. So all those times I said I was at the dentist and you didn’t turn a hair, I was at school events, but no one gave a SHIT, because that’s OK!’
‘And you did make me feel bad,’ snapped Lydia. ‘All these months you let them throw me to the lions, while you swanned around pretending to go and do fuck knows what and letting everyone be fine about that!’
‘I know, Lydia,’ I said. ‘I know. It was a shitty thing to do, and I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t know what else to say. Except that maybe if I hadn’t, then they would still be bitching about us both, whereas now they might actually stop and look at how they treat us.’
‘Seriously?’ said Alan. ‘You think that this will make us think better of you?’
‘Well, maybe not me, but Lydia. Maybe you’ll appreciate that Lydia isn’t slacking and can get the job done. And maybe James will stop and think about how hard it is for his wife when he doesn’t help out and expects her to do everything, and that maybe there is some arse in her office who takes the same attitude to her as you do to Lydia.
‘Anyway, I’m going home now!’ I announced. ‘To pick up my children. Have a lovely weekend, everyone, I will see you all on Monday. Lydia, I would say enjoy Sports Day, but that’s unlikely if it’s anything like my kids’ one. But, you know, feel good for being there for them!’
‘Hang on!’ said James. ‘If you have two secret children, does that mean you have a husband too?’
‘Now that,’ I said sadly, ‘I really don’t know anymore.’
I picked up my bag and walked out, pausing briefly to curse the wonders of modern technology that mean you have to use your security badge to swipe in and out, as that is not nearly as effective as a good old-fashioned door slam.
By the time I had picked up the children and got home, the adrenaline from the scene in the office had abated, leaving me with a cold sense of dread about what I might have done. I was mindlessly grating the cheese for the children’s pasta, and feeling rather sick, when I realised that Judgy was not underfoot, hopefully begging for a morsel. Normally if I so much as move the cheese in the fridge he appears, staring at me menacingly until I crack and give him some, even though I know I will have to live with the rancid farts emanating from his cheesy bum, as it really doesn’t agree with him.
It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen him since we got home, when he jumped all over us in his usual guilt-making welcome, pretending he had been quite abandoned and he hadn’t been with the dog sitter all day. I looked in the garden, but there was no sign of him, and I shouted upstairs to the children to see if he was there. I looked in all his favourite spots, every bed, every sofa, but no dog. Jane eventually slouched downstairs to see what all the noise was about and said, ‘Oh, I let him out.’
‘And did you let him in?’ I enquired.
‘Um, no!’
‘Jane! You know he can’t be let out unsupervised. Despite vast sums of money, effort and fencing materials, we have still not managed to terrier-proof the garden. Oh Jesus, where has he gone?’
Having checked the back garden again in vain, hopefully calling, ‘Judgy, cheese! Come on, boy, nice cheese’ to no avail, I went to start searching the street, muttering darkly about fuckwit children who can’t follow simple instructions and bastard dogs who insist on running off and embarrassing me. Previous escapes have led to him being discovered in neighbouring kitchens, having entered through the cat flap, and scoffing the furious cat’s food, pooing on Mrs Jenkins’s prize begonias and terrorising Amelia Watson’s guinea pig. I wondered gloomily what antics he would be up to this time, and reflected that I could really do with sinking a large glass of wine right now to try to quell the worries about what I would be facing on Monday morning, not searching for a sodding ungrateful runaway bloody Border terrier.
As I stomped along, still thinking dark thoughts about wretched dogs and children, as I shouted and whistled and cajoled with more promises of cheese, a small black streak shot between two parked cars towards me. It seemed like the same instant that there was a hideous squeal of brakes and the little black shape was flung towards me and then lay still. I seemed to be running, I never run, someone was getting out of the car and saying something, but I couldn’t hear them, all I could see was a little whiskery face staring up at me, his big brown eyes no longer looking judgemental, but full of pain and fear. He whimpered as I reached him, and he still tried to give a thump of his tail to say, ‘Hello, it’s you, I love you.’
‘Oh, lie still, boy, please, lie still. I’m here, it’s going to all right,’ I whispered. Everything was strangely blurry, and I realised that there were tears pouring down my face. Judgy hates people crying. He thinks it quite unnecessary and it makes his fur wet. I mustn’t cry, I thought, I mustn’t get him wet, he will be so cross.
Someone was talking behind me again, an older lady, who kept saying, ‘I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t see him, I’m sorry.’
She was holding out a blanket and saying something about the vet. Then Katie was there too. ‘Ellen, Ellen, we need to get him to the vet, right now!’
Everything snapped back into focus, and the strange slow-motion underwater feeling stopped.
The vet. Of course. Why was I sitting holding him in the street when he needed to be at the vet?
‘This lady will drive you there, Ellen, I’ll take the children,’ said Katie firmly. Jane was there too, sobbing hopelessly.
‘I’m so sorry, Mummy, it’s all my fault, I forgot about him, I’m so sorry, will he be OK?’
‘Please, Mummy, the vet will make him OK, won’t she?’ pleaded Peter, who was white-faced and horrified. Peter, who doesn’t even like Judgy.
‘I don’t know,’ I said slowly. ‘I don’t know. Katie, can you phone Simon and tell him what’s happened?’
‘Of course,’ said Katie. ‘I’ll ring the vet and let her know you’re coming too.’
The lady who had hit Judgy kept apologising all the way to the vet, but I didn’t really hear her. All I could think of was the first time I had seen Judgy at the dogs’ home, and they had brought this bouncing little bundle of fur out, so hyperactive he was prancing on his back legs with excitement, and those bright, wicked little eyes had looked into mine and I knew I loved him. He was about eighteen months old then, and had been rehomed twice, by people who thought that Border terriers would make quiet lap dogs. He leapt onto my knee, and I promised him his forever home. And he came to live with us, and he was ruling the roost before we knew it. He is disobedient and obstreperous and frequently smelly, he considers all beds to belong to him and only lets us sleep in them grudgingly, he is the reason I have child locks on the fridge to stop him opening it and stealing cheese. I couldn’t stand the thought of those eyes going dark, of that little head never again cocking to one side, to regard me in judgement or disapproval. We called him Judgy because he made it clear from the start that he had certain views and
expectations that we were supposed to live up to, and made his feelings clear when we did not. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to him.
At the vet, we were rushed straight through. Susie the vet, who knew Judgy well from many previous mercy dashes after he’d consuming things that he shouldn’t, looked as white and horrified as I felt, but stayed calm and professional.
‘He’s still conscious,’ she said. ‘That’s something. We’ll put him on a drip to treat him for shock and check him over.’
‘Can I stay?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ she said.
Judgy looked so little, lying there on the table. Even when Susie put the needle in for the drip, he tried again to wag for her, recognising an old pal. I just wanted to pick him up and give him the most massive cuddle, the way he likes, when he can snuggle right in and put his paws around my neck.
I kept scratching his favourite spot behind his ears while Susie examined him, and he would try and push his head further into my hand, so I scratched harder, but every time he tried, he would stop and whimper again.
‘OK,’ said Susie after a while. ‘I’m pretty sure he’s got a fracture on his front leg –’
‘Oh God! But you can fix that! Can’t you? It’s just a broken leg – he’s a dog not a horse! Some dogs only have two legs! He’ll be OK, won’t he?’
‘I really hope so, Ellen, but he’s a very small dog who got hit by a large car. His leg isn’t the big problem. You’re right we can fix that, but there might be internal damage as well, and he’ll need a chest X-ray too. I can’t say for sure how bad it is until we do all that, but he’s conscious, like I said, and he’s stable. That’s all good.’
Simon burst into the room just then.
‘Oh Jesus, darling. I came as soon as I heard. How is he? Is he going to be all right?’ he asked Susie anxiously.
Susie explained again, and Simon said, ‘So what happens now? Do you put him in plaster?’
‘No,’ said Susie. ‘We’ll need to anaesthetise him, and then X-ray him to see how bad the break is and check him for any other internal damage. What happens next will depend on those results. If it’s just his leg, we actually have an excellent new orthopaedic specialist here who can operate and pin his leg back together. If there’s more damage, we’ll have to consider what’s best for Judgy.’
‘Oh no,’ I whispered. ‘No, you don’t mean put him to sleep? No, no, you can’t. Look at him! He’s been wagging his tail, you couldn’t do that! No, you mustn’t, I won’t let you!’
‘Ellen, I’m just saying that at this stage, I can’t give you a definitive answer, but whatever happens, you have to think about what’s best for him, and not you. I know you love him, and that’s why you will let us do our best for him, whatever that is. I don’t think there is severe internal damage but I can’t say for sure right now. But there is a possibility, yes, that we might not be able to make him better. And if that’s the case, the best thing to do would be not to let him suffer. But we will do everything we can to help him, and not let it come to that. The good news, if you want to call it that, is that you do have a fairly comprehensive insurance policy, thank goodness, so you don’t have to worry about the cost of all this.’
‘Fuck the cost!’ said Simon fiercely. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. Just do everything you can for him, won’t you? And if it’s …’ Simon swallowed very hard and then went on. ‘If it’s bad news, you’ll let us say goodbye first, won’t you?’
I cried harder and Simon put a tentative arm around me, and I threw myself into his arms, sobbing against his chest.
‘Of course,’ said Susie. ‘I’m going to take him through for the anaesthetic and X-rays now. You’re probably better going home. This will take a while, and whatever happens he’ll be staying in tonight.’
‘Can I stay with him?’ I sniffed.
‘Not really,’ said Susie kindly. ‘You could bring him a blanket or a toy if you wanted.’
‘We’ll do that,’ said Simon firmly, while I dissolved into more hopeless tears.
‘Look, stay in here as long as you need, and then like I said, you’re probably best going home,’ said Susie. ‘I’ll ring you as soon as there’s news.’
I sobbed and sobbed while Simon held me and stroked my hair and reminded me how tough Border terriers are, and that Susie said he probably would be all right, she just had to prepare us for the worst too, just in case. But his voice was wobbling too much to be really reassuring.
‘You don’t even like him!’ I wailed.
‘Of course I like him,’ mumbled Simon. ‘He’s the only one who’s pleased to see me when I come home. I love him dearly.’
‘You call him a buggering pig dog!’
‘So do you!’
We finally got ourselves together and went into the waiting room. The lady who had hit Judgy was still there. She had obviously been crying too, and she burst into tears again when she saw us come out.
‘Oh God, he’s not with you! Is he –?’
‘He’s having X-rays,’ said Simon. ‘They hope it’s just a broken leg, but they won’t know for sure until they’ve done the X-rays.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said for about the millionth time.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ I said sadly. ‘It was mine. I should have kept a better eye on him.’
‘It was an accident,’ said Simon firmly. ‘It was no one’s fault.’
‘Look, this is my number,’ said the lady. ‘Would you please let me know how he is?’
‘Of course,’ said Simon.
We drove home in silence. There wasn’t much to say. When we got back I collected Judgy’s favourite blanket (a very expensive lambswool number he had claimed as his own when I put it on the sofa) and his lion, which had once belonged to Jane until he had stolen it and removed the stuffing, before treasuring it. He liked to cuddle it at night, but he glared at you if you laughed at him cuddling his lion.
‘I’ll take you back to the vet,’ said Simon. ‘You’re still in shock, so you shouldn’t be driving.’
At the vet the receptionist said, ‘Oh, Susie said you might be back. I’ll just get her, if you’d like to wait in there.’
The receptionist should consider a career in poker, because she gave nothing away. I didn’t know if Susie was coming with good news or bad news, but Susie was smiling when she came into the room.
‘It was just a broken leg!’ she said in delight. ‘Quite a nasty break, but Liam the orthopaedic man is operating now, and he should make a full recovery! My goodness, he’s a lucky little dog. He must have been hit quite hard to sustain a break like that. I’m amazed there wasn’t any more serious damage. He’ll be pretty battered and bruised and feeling sorry for himself, but terriers are tough. He’ll bounce back pretty fast!’
I started crying again. ‘Sometimes he acts more like a cat than a dog,’ I wept incoherently. ‘He can be very stubborn and very huffy like a cat. Maybe he has nine lives too!’
‘Well, hopefully we won’t ever have to put that to the test again,’ said Susie. ‘I’ll call you when he’s out of surgery, and all going well, he should be able to go home tomorrow.’
Once everyone had been given the good news, and Jane had finally stopped crying and been assured that it was just an accident and no one was blaming her, and the children were in bed, Simon came and sat on the sofa next to me. It had been an awfully long time since he sat there.
‘We’ve been so stupid, haven’t we?’ he said. ‘Well, I’ve been so stupid. You’re right, things need to change round here. We need to start being a team again. All I could think today was how much I needed to be there for you, how much I wanted to be there for you, what were we going to do without him if he didn’t make it, what if it had been one of the kids, why had we been fighting about the bloody bins and childcare when it was us and our family that was important, why weren’t we fighting for that?’
‘I was so glad you were there. I was thinking the same things. I’ve hated these past week
s when we haven’t been talking and have been fighting all the time. I’ve even wondered if we were going to make it through it, or if this was the end for us.’
‘Me too,’ said Simon quietly. ‘Do you want it to be the end?’
‘Do you?’
‘I asked you first.’
‘No. No, I don’t, but if you do, then I get custody of Judgy.’
‘I don’t want this to be the end of us either,’ said Simon. ‘I can’t imagine life without you and the kids, or even without that malodorous mutt. I just never thought marriage would be this hard, you know. I thought we’d just skip off into the sunset, hand in hand, but it’s bloody difficult!’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘All the books and films finish with that fairy-tale moment and everyone lives happily ever after and the fucking pixies empty the dishwasher and clean the bogs.’
‘Well, we both just need to try harder then, don’t we? I didn’t think I’d find it so hard to adjust to you working full-time. I didn’t think I’d feel so resentful about it, but that’s not really fair, is it? I suppose I need to be less of a selfish prick and help you out more, and you need to not go on holiday without telling me, and maybe try to talk to me in a rational manner about things instead of shouting. In fact, we should probably talk to each other more, and maybe even do date nights and stuff.’
‘Can we not call them date nights, though? What with us not being teenagers in an American high-school film? It’s a bit creepy, people in their forties talking about date nights! Anyway, you might not need to worry about me working full-time anymore. There was a bit of a scene at work today.’
‘Fuck, what happened?’
‘Well, it all sort of came out about the kids. Having them, you know.’
‘You must have known that would have happened in the end?’
‘I know. I just … I dunno … I hoped it wouldn’t.’
‘So, do you still have a job?’
‘I dunno about that either. They were all looking at me and I didn’t know what else to say, so I just sort of left.’
‘You just sort of left? Darling, for someone so good at shouting, you are extraordinarily good at running away from conflict and emotions!’