She managed to make Scarlett feel welcome and talked-down-to all at once. She must get that from her father, too. ‘Margaret is doing really well with the training.’
‘Thanks to you!’ Cleo said.
‘No, thanks to Margaret, actually. Training is only as good as the person spending time with the dog. Biscuit’s progress is all down to your mum.’
‘Aren’t you a clever Mummy?’ She kissed the side of Margaret’s head. ‘I’m off. Nice to meet you, Mrs Fothergill.’
If that was the kind of person Margaret had to deal with day in and day out, no wonder even the dog bullied her.
Margaret stuffed a pile of whites into the washer beneath the worktop. ‘Bugger,’ she said, shaking the empty bottle of fabric conditioner.
‘Oh, I never bother with that,’ Scarlett said. It was enough that their clothes were clean. Sometimes musty-smelling from a few days left in the washer, but technically clean.
‘Arthur notices, believe me. It was on the list, too, I just didn’t have the cash.’ She rooted around in the shopping bags on the table till she found what she was looking for. Popping open the lid on some L’Oréal hair conditioner, she squirted a blob into the washing machine.
‘Because he’s worth it,’ Margaret said, turning to fill the kettle. ‘Tea, yes?’
Scarlett stifled a snort. ‘Thank you. How has Biscuit been?’
‘Do you know what? I don’t want to jinx things, but she’s actually listening to me sometimes.’
Scarlett smiled. ‘That’s because she’s starting to see you as top dog. We’ll reinforce that now, and we can work on any other behaviour issues she’s having. The heavy lifting is done, so this is where we get to do the fine-tuning.’
‘I’m really so grateful to you, Mrs Fothergill.’ She pulled an armload of washing from the tumble dryer and folded it as she talked. ‘It’s nice to have something going well around here. Archie’s taken the car back to school and doesn’t seem to want to return it, no matter how nicely I’ve asked.’ She turned all the socks right-side-out before pairing them. ‘I understand he wants his freedom, but I really do need that car. I’ve told Arthur I’ve let him take it so I can’t even get him to talk to Archie. Not that I would. Things are strained enough between them without this, too.’
Scarlett looked around the large kitchen. She had a lot of house to run. ‘So how are you managing without the car?’
‘Supermarket delivery, and I’ve been taking taxis a lot, though there really isn’t money for that.’ She ran her hand through her hair. No matter how frazzled Margaret got, she always seemed to have time for her hair and make-up. Now knowing her a little bit better, Scarlett guessed that came standard as part of the Perfect Wife package. She peered at her own reflection in the bi-fold doors and smoothed her hair.
Outside, Biscuit was no model student, but at least she’d toned down the sullen dog routine. And she’d mostly stopped viciously barking whenever Margaret corrected her. ‘From now on, Margaret, Biscuit is going to have to earn.’
‘Great, we need all the bloomin’ money we can get.’ Biscuit nosed Margaret’s hand. She patted the dog’s head.
‘Starting with attention,’ Scarlett said. ‘Whenever Biscuit wants something – a pat, a treat, her breakfast, a walk – I’d like you to make her sit. When she makes her demand, if you give in to her automatically it tells her she’s the boss. You’re going to flip that on its head, and let her know you’re the boss. Okay? Let’s grab some toys. When she reaches for one, make her sit before you give it to her.’
‘Sit. Biscuit, sit. Sit, Biscuit. Sit. Biscuitsit.’
Biscuit stopped reaching for the toy in Margaret’s hand and turned away from her owner in a perfectly executed snub.
‘It’ll take some practice. Just remember. No matter what she wants, she has to sit before she gets it.’
Biscuit was stubborn, but she was still a dog, and dogs liked to play. After a moment she made another bid for the squeaky orange turtle in Margaret’s hand. ‘Sit, Biscuit.’
She took her time about it. ‘Good girl! Give it to her now, Mrs Fothergill?’
‘Yes, as soon as she does what you want, you reward her.’
Biscuit chewed her turtle prize with delight.
‘My bum is ringing.’ Margaret grabbed for the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. ‘It’s the caterer. Hello, Octavia. Mmm hmm. Yes, it’ll be painted by the weekend. Oh, tomorrow? I wasn’t planning to– It’s just that I didn’t think you were setting up until closer to the party. It’s still a month away. No, I know how busy you must be. Of course. Will all the tables be set, too? I guess we could eat in the kitchen. Oh. The fishbowls as well? I sort of thought they’d just come on the night. How often will I feed them? Will you supply– No, of course. I can pick up some food.’
She put her hand over the phone, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. ‘But the final payment isn’t due till after the party. Yes, but I thought that’s how catering worked. You’re paid the final amount after you’ve done the party… I’m sorry, I’m not trying to tell you how to run your business.’ She listened to Octavia speaking. ‘It’s gone up by how much? Including VAT? Plus. I see. No, I didn’t know about El Niño last year. It has that much effect on prices? I feel sorry for the farmers, then… how do they survive from wheat to wheat? No, you’re right, drought is definitely no laughing matter.’
She looked completely downhearted as she hung up. ‘Wherever am I going to find the money? And how am I supposed to paint our hallway by tomorrow?’
She sat heavily on the grass.
‘Isn’t that wet?’
Margaret nodded. ‘Yes, it is.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t do anything right. I can’t even sulk right.’
Scarlett put her hands out to help pull Margaret to her feet. ‘It sounds to me like you’ve bent over backwards to accommodate this Octavia person. What kind of caterer sets up for a party a month in advance?’
Margaret showed Biscuit another toy. ‘Sit, Biscuit. Good girl. The kind that knows she can. She’s fitting us in around her other clients. Let’s face it, Mrs Fothergill, she’s shovelled shite over me for months because she knows I’ll take it.’
‘Then stop taking it. It doesn’t sound like you can afford to pay her any more anyway. How much have you paid her?’
‘Just the small deposit. I’ve been putting off the next payment because I haven’t got it. She asked for it early, though it’s not due till tomorrow, actually.’
‘It sounds like she’s just taking advantage of you. And she’s got you repainting your house to fit in with her theme?’ She thought about the Bickle Sisters, the lovely caterers they’d used for her parents’ anniversary, two sixty-something siblings who’d decorated the house with a minimum of fuss and delivered big homely trays of delicious comfort food. Even Felicia, who was definitely the queen of her kitchen, had been impressed. ‘You shouldn’t be fitting in with the caterer’s theme, Margaret. They’re supposed to be fitting in around you.’
‘Mrs Fothergill, I ended up hyperventilating in Homebase at the weekend. I got so anxious about choosing the right colour for Octavia. Do you have any idea how many shades of purple paint there are? They had to take me into the break room to calm down. It’s all a bit much, to be honest.’ She frowned. ‘It’s all a bit too much. I’d love to never see that woman again.’ She laughed. ‘Arthur might have a stroke if I fired her. Blimey, it would feel good, though… How would it work, practically I mean?’
‘I guess it depends on what your contract says. When we did our parents’ party it was for a fixed price. It sounds like your contract doesn’t have that.’
‘It would be easier if I had a contract! At least then I could understand why there are all these price increases. But Octavia wanted to keep things flexible.’
Scarlett just bet she did. ‘Margaret, without a contract you’ve got no guarantee that she’ll even show up to cater your party. You could end up with a house full of people and no food on the night
.’ She shrugged. ‘On the other hand, there’s nothing saying you can’t fire her either.’
‘How might I do that, exactly? Firing her?’
Scarlett knew she was giving a desperate woman a push, but god, if anyone needed it. ‘If there’s no contract, then you just tell her you won’t need her for the party. That’s it. You’ll probably lose your deposit, though.’
‘But maybe gain back my sanity.’ She paced the length of the kitchen with Biscuit, newly outranked by her mistress, following at her heel. Those two might end up making a good team after all. ‘It’s my party,’ she said to herself. ‘I don’t want the flippin’ Arabian Nights in here or fishbowls all over the place. I didn’t even want a party. Who wants to celebrate a decade of wrinkles and menopause? Do you know what I wanted for my birthday, Mrs Fothergill? A spa weekend. I’ve never had one in my life. They look so nice and relaxing, shuffling round in your dressing gown and slippers all weekend. Imagine sleeping in as late as you want and someone else doing the cooking and the laundry! That’s all I wanted. Not this bloomin’ party.’ She grabbed her house keys from the blue speckled bowl next to the hob. ‘I’m sorry, I know this isn’t normal, but if I pay you extra, would you come with me to tell Octavia we don’t need her?’
Scarlett didn’t need to be paid overtime for that!
Their Thelma and Louise double act lacked a little something on the Tube, but without a car they did their best to keep the spirit of the adventure going. ‘Wouldn’t you rather have Cleo come with you?’ Scarlett wondered as they walked from the Tube towards Octavia’s address.
‘No, she’d only make things worse. I need an impartial backup for moral support, not someone who’ll undermine me left, right and centre. Thank you for doing this.’
Scarlett knew Octavia wouldn’t be working from slick offices. The Bickle sisters had a warehouse under the arches in Whitechapel that was part storeroom and part kitchen.
Octavia met them at the garage door where they were buzzed in. She was obviously confused to see Margaret on her turf. ‘Did we have an appointment?’ she asked, ignoring Scarlett.
‘No, sorry. I mean, no, we didn’t.’ Steely intention might have propelled her there, but an apology habit was hard to break. ‘I’ve come to let you know that, thank you ever so much, but we won’t be needing your catering for the party. Thank you, though. Very much. Thank you. Bye.’
Scarlett could hear Margaret’s voice quivering, but she’d done it!
Octavia’s black eyebrows turned down. ‘Of course you need me. You do, Margaret. Arthur hired me for your party. We’ve been planning it for months. I’d say you need me very much.’
Margaret’s shoulders slumped till her handbag slid to the crook of her arm. She put her hand over her mouth and nodded. ‘Octavia, you’re right, I do need you,’ she said between her fingers. ‘I’ve got nearly a hundred people coming to my house expecting a party. I’ve never had a party for that many people before and I wouldn’t know where to start doing that on my own.’
The caterer’s smile was triumphant. She knew she’d won.
Margaret straightened her back. ‘But I very much don’t want you or your constant price increases. You should be feeding us caviar off gold spoons for the money you’re charging. So please take this as formal notice that I won’t be hiring you for my party.’
‘Oh, really? Margaret, how are you going to pull off a party for a hundred people? Have you thought about that? Does Arthur know you’re firing me? I bet he’ll have something to say.’ She crossed her bony arms.
Margaret’s face blanched. ‘I don’t know yet how I’ll do it, but I’ll figure it out. And no, Arthur doesn’t know I’m here. But Octavia, he also doesn’t know that you’ve asked for triple the money. How do you think he’d feel about that?’
It was Octavia’s turn to look shaken, though she recovered fast. ‘Who are you?’ she snapped at Scarlett.
‘This is my friend, Scarlett.’
‘You’re the dog walker.’ It sounded like an accusation.
‘She’s my friend,’ Margaret corrected her. ‘And she’s a dog behaviourist, actually. Now, I think we’re finished here.’ She flashed Scarlett a wobbly smile as they turned to leave.
‘Good luck with your party,’ Octavia said to their backs. ‘It’s going to be a total disaster.’
‘Maybe so, but at least you won’t be there,’ Margaret mumbled.
‘Now all I have to do is figure out how to throw a party in a month,’ she said to Scarlett.
‘You can do it, Margaret.’
‘Do you know what? I’m starting to think maybe I can.’
Scarlett put off ringing Margaret till late the next afternoon. ‘I’m afraid I have bad news,’ she said. ‘The Bickle Sisters aren’t in business anymore. I’ve just got off the phone with one of their daughters. I’m sorry, Margaret, I feel responsible for you firing Octavia.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Fothergill. I’m the one responsible, and actually it still feels good! I hope nothing has happened to them. You said they were in their sixties when they did your party?’ She left the question hanging in the air.
‘Something happened, but it’s not bad. I shouldn’t be surprised because they played every single week, but they finally won the lottery! Not a huge rollover or anything like that. It was the People’s Postcode. The daughter said they’d won enough to set them up in the Costa del Sol, so unfortunately they’ve hung up their pots to sun themselves in Marbella instead.’
‘It’s unfortunate for us, but good for them,’ said Margaret. ‘The People’s Postcode, you say? I’ve not played that one. Probably too late to fund the party now, though. S’pose I’ll need another plan.’
‘There might be other caterers you can try.’ She didn’t even sound convincing to herself. Who’d be free to pull together a party for a hundred guests, on a Friday night, with such short notice for a cut-rate price? Maybe she shouldn’t have stuck her nose into Margaret’s party in the first place, but she couldn’t let the woman deal with Octavia alone when her own family was about as supportive as a stretched-out bra.
Chapter 23
Summertime finally came to the park. Blowsy cherry blossoms gave way to a canopy of green running up to the ornate wrought-iron gates, and inside the rhododendron were blooming – all along the borders their papery pale pink flowers popped with colour against deep green leaves. On sunny days like that, Scarlett couldn’t imagine having a better job.
Charlie jogged over with Barkley waddling behind. ‘Uh, Scarlett? Would it be all right if Naomi stuck around for class today?’ He couldn’t stop smiling.
Scarlett glanced at the young woman at the edge of the enormous lawn. Her hand found Hiccup’s wiry coat as the little dog eyed them. Instead of ignoring her like she usually did, Naomi returned Scarlett’s smile. The ice queen was melting. ‘Has she decided to join us?’ she murmured to Charlie in her best ventriloquist impersonation. Azz zhe decided oo oin us?
‘Not exactly. She dropped us off and I said it would be good to hang around for a while just to see what the session is like. Maybe if she realises how much it helps then she’ll try it? Would that be okay?’ His face was as optimistic as Barkley’s was when there were treats within snaffling distance.
‘It’s more than okay, Charlie. That sounds like there’s hope yet.’ She bent down to scratch Barkley’s ears. ‘Have you been a good boy?’
‘Mostly,’ Charlie answered for his dog, who was exercising his right to remain silent. ‘He ate a whole box of Kleenex. Not just the Kleenex. The box, too.’
Barkley didn’t look at all embarrassed by this. Charlie might have to accept that Barkley would always have a penchant for paper goods. Early on in her career she’d had a sheltie whose sworn nemesis was the toilet roll. That dog had eaten her weight in Andrex by the time Scarlett met her. She managed to diffuse her obsession, but Scarlett was sure she’d always have a taste for loo paper.
If they could just get Barkley to stop snacking on things tha
t put him in hospital, then that would be progress.
‘Hi, Naomi!’ Scarlett called. ‘Why don’t you come a bit closer? Just stop and turn Hiccup around when she gets agitated. Don’t move away; just turn her around so she doesn’t see us. When she calms down you can turn her towards us again.’
Naomi and Hiccup came closer. When Hiccup’s whines started to float over the twenty feet between them, Naomi turned her around.
‘Alright, mate!’ Max waved energetically as he joined them. ‘Alright, Scarlett?’
She held her palms out to Murphy. ‘Someone’s full of beans today.’
‘Absolutely. It’s a good day. Wait till you see who I’m meeting after. It might be a perfect night! I was thinking of bringing Murphy, what do you think? Women like dogs, yeah?’
‘Mate, I don’t think you can generalise,’ Charlie said. ‘Honestly, it’s like saying blokes like beer.’
Max shrugged.
‘That’s a bad analogy. It’s like saying… Scarlett?’ Charlie looked to her for help.
‘Mightn’t it get complicated if Murphy is with you and things go really well?’ she asked. Imagine Murphy’s joy at the prospect of a ménage à trois. ‘Or if you want to go to dinner or to a bar where dogs can’t come? I’d let Murphy sit out your first date, if I were you.’
Max nodded. ‘Her flat might not allow dogs anyway.’
Well, someone is certainly confident of his chances, thought Scarlett.
He frowned. ‘Though that won’t work in the long-term. I’d need to bring Murphy over sometimes. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him alone for whole weekends… though I guess we could stay at mine.’
‘Just checking, mate, that this is a first date?’ Charlie asked, throwing a treat to Barkley when he sat.
‘Am I getting ahead of myself again? Typical me!’ Max sang. ‘It’s just that I have a really good feeling about Natasha. Wanna see her?’ He pulled the phone from his pocket.
Murphy wasn’t about to miss out on a spontaneous huddle. He was on Barkley faster than mangoes through the poodles.
Love is a Four-Legged Word: The romantic comedy about canines, conception and fresh starts Page 18