by Matt Haig
The air was becoming heavier. Not smell-heap heavy, but powerful enough to fill the whole room and cause every object within it to throb. The stereo, the TV on the wall, and other unrecognisable items of grey gadgetry which sat in each corner.
It was therefore impossible for me to sniff any potential scent of trouble. And on top of the smell, my powers of observation had to contend with the off-putting sound of whales singing their songs of death.
‘So what oil are you using?’ asked Adam.
‘I am using a blend. Lavender and patchouli. To deal with this conflict you have within your aura. The lavender soothes, it is like really good for stress, while the patchouli helps to fort- to strengthen your, you know, your whole spirit.’
‘Oh, right.’
She smoothed more oil onto his back, using long downward strokes.
‘You know, Adam, you have a really, really good body. Do you work out?’
Whether he was dumbfounded by the question or incapacitated by the scent, Adam remained silent for a long while before answering. ‘Um, no. Not . . . not really. But I do go for a jog once in a while. Do you go to the gym?’
‘Yes. There is a gym upstairs.’
‘Upstairs. My God. This house is huge. You must rattle around in it, living on your own.’
Emily paused, her mouth moved sideways and then she said: ‘I don’t live alone.’
Adam’s head shot up. For a moment it seemed he was about to leap off the table - as if he was at Nice Mister Vet’s - but Emily’s back-rubbing kept him in place. ‘But I thought -’
‘You thought I lived alone? Oh no. I could never do that. No, no, no. Oh, I’d go bonkers. Completely bonkers. No. And I wouldn’t be living here. Not unless I was the richest aromatherapist in the whole world!’
‘Um, God, yes. Of course. So, er, who do you live with?’
‘His name is Simon.’
‘But who is he? Are you married?’ Adam made another half-attempt to leave the table, but again he was thwarted.
Perhaps I should have helped him.
‘Yes. But that’s OK, isn’t it?’
‘But . . . where . . . where is he?’
‘We are not doing anything, like, wrong, are we? I ask all my clients to take their clothes off. It’s a necessary part of the treatment, especially in severe cases like yours.’
‘But, Emily, I don’t mean to be paranoid or sound ungrateful or anything but it’s nine o’clock at night. I am a half-naked stranger, covered in oil lying on a table in the centre of your living room. It wouldn’t look good, would it, if he came home to find us like this?’
Emily laughed. ‘You are a funny man. Very, very funny.’
Her hands were now on his legs, working their slippery way towards his boxer shorts.
‘Am I? . . . Look where is he, Simon, where is he at the moment?’
‘Oslo.’ It was weird the way she said it, as if her answer was also a question. She was still laughing. ‘He’s at a PR conference or something.’
‘So he works in PR?’
‘No, not really. Well, you know, I don’t think so. He’s a business consultant, he goes everywhere all the time. So I get, you know, very bored. When I am here all by my little self . . .’
‘Look, yes. Listen, I’m sure you do, but you know what? My, um, aura feels a lot . . . a lot better now, it really does, and so I ought to be going back because Kate, my wife, she will be getting worried.’
As he said these words my heart soared with blissful pride. I had coached my master well. Duty over all. This whole aromatherapy thing, it had been a blip, that’s all it was. And anyway, nothing bad had happened, had it?
I stood up and started to wag my tail.
We were going to be safe. We were going home.
But my happiness was short-lived.
‘Well, well, madwag. Well, well.’ Falstaff had returned, his panting even cheekier than ever.
‘What is it?’
‘My master,’ he said, sniffing me underneath. ‘He’s come home.’
devil
No.
It could not be true.
But then I heard it too. A car crunching its way over gravel. I started to bark.
‘Prince,’ said Adam. ‘Be quiet.’ But I carried on - bark, bark, bark - with the vain hope he would be able to translate my warning.
The car went quiet.
Footsteps.
Crunch, crunch.
Another sound. Metal. Keys.
I stopped barking.
‘Oh wow,’ said Emily. ‘He must have caught an earlier flight!’ Her voice indicated no sign of alarm. Unless wearing a full smile and clapping her hands was her normal response to a crisis situation.
Adam sat up on the table with such speed I thought he was going to fall off. I was right. He did.
‘Agh,’ he said, crash-landing on his elbow. ‘Where are my trousers?’
His trousers!
They were right under my nose, I put the crotch in my mouth and darted across the floor, without a second thought for the secrecy of the mission.
I was too late.
‘Heh heh, madwag. This will be interesting. And we’ve got front-row seats.’
I looked up with my mouth full of Adam’s trousers and saw . . .
Well, what did I see?
I saw him, Simon. But what struck me first?
His height. Yes, his height. He was the tallest human being I had ever seen. His head, tanned and confident, seemed so far away from the rest of us that at first I wondered whether it could have any real impact when it eventually spoke.
And then there was his smell which, of course, wasn’t his smell. Falstaff told me it belonged to a Japanese man called Issey Miyake. Mingled with the heavy, throbbing aromatherapy smells it felt almost toxic, burning my nostrils.
Next, the clothes. He was wearing a suit, but not the kind of suit Adam liked to wear. There were no creases. No holes. And, disconcertingly, no dog hair.
For what seemed like forever he just stood there, smelling the scene. And then his eyes locked on Adam, who was sitting awkwardly at dog-level.
I dropped the trousers and turned to Falstaff.
‘What’s going on?’
‘No idea, madwag,’ he panted, loving every second. ‘No idea.’
I looked up again to see what was happening on Simon’s impossibly high face. I don’t know what I had expected to see. Anger? Shock? Misery?
But no.
There was something else shaping his features. Something even more disturbing.
Recognition.
‘Adam bloody Hunter. My man, how the devil are you?’
I remembered something Henry had told me that morning. The Labrador is always in control. But right there, struggling even to keep my grip on that smooth, shining floor, it didn’t feel like that. Prediction equals protection. But what had I been able to predict? Even my sense of smell, usually the Labrador’s most reliable weapon, was now no use. It had been overpowered, unable to detect anything but aromatherapy oils and Issey Miyake.
Falstaff was no help either. As a Springer, or a half-Springer, it was always going to be difficult to see where his loyalties lay, if he had any at all.
Adam looked completely confused, and remained silent.
‘Wow! Do you two know each other?’ asked Emily, her eyes frisbee-wide.
‘Know each other? We were practically brothers.’
And then Adam somehow managed to speak. ‘Simon. My God. It’s you.’ At this point something happened between them. Something unspoken. I was stuck in the middle, so I could feel it. A strange, hostile energy.
‘I was . . . I was just having an aromatherapy treatment.’
‘So I see. Did you enjoy it?’
‘Yes, yes. It was relaxing.’
Emily cocked her head towards her husband. ‘Did you two, like, did you go to school together?’
Simon paused before answering, his eyes staying fixed on Adam as he spoke. ‘In a different lif
etime.’
‘Wow, really?’ Emily’s eyes were taking over her face.
Simon switched his attention, momentarily, to his wife. ‘It was a figure of speech.’
‘Oh yes, sorry.’
Simon laughed a dangerous laugh. Adam laughed too - I assumed out of fear. He wanted to leave, but probably realised that would make him look even more suspicious.
Simon explained further. ‘Same school, same class, even the same bloody haircut. Same taste in girls too, if I remember rightly.’
Adam was still laughing, as he hunted for his clothes. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘Same haircut.’
‘And then we went our separate ways,’ Simon continued, watching as Adam struggled his way into his trousers. ‘After school, Adam stayed with education and I sold my soul. Got a good price for it though, ha! So, Adam, last time I saw you you’d got a job at Rosewood. Still there?’
‘Um, yes. Yes I am,’ he said, zipping up his fly.
‘That must be bloody weird, walking down those same old corridors. Has it changed much?’
Adam was now buttoning his shirt. ‘Um, the kids have. The ones that actually turn up. Lots of problems. Drugs. Cars. Sex.’
Simon laughed. ‘Sounds fantastic. Better than going home to watch Blue Peter anyway.’ He turned to me and said, ‘No offence,’ but I didn’t understand what he meant.
Fully clothed, Adam’s confidence seemed to be partially restored.
‘Well, it’s a bad catchment area nowadays. Mainly single-parent families, high unemployment, you know.’
Emily looked confused. ‘So when did you two last see each other?’ she asked.
‘Oh God, when was it?’ Adam looked at Simon.
‘Thirteen years ago,’ Simon answered without hesitation. ‘Just before I moved down to London.’
‘It’s pretty bad, isn’t it. Us not keeping in contact. I mean, you were our best man.’
Emily’s mouth dropped open. ‘Best man. If you were his best man, why haven’t you told me about him?’
I was about to ask Falstaff a similar question, but discovered he was currently preoccupied trying to gain sexual pleasure by rubbing his belly against a cushion.
‘We used to be lovers,’ Simon said, straight-faced.
Emily stiffened. ‘Lovers?’
Simon mouthed the word, ‘Joke.’
‘Oh yes, sorry,’ Emily said.
I remembered something Henry had once said. ‘Humour is a defence mechanism for humans, and usually indicates they have something to cover up.’
I was just wondering what Simon had to cover up, when he sat down and asked: ‘How’s Kate?’
stroke
When we got home the door was already open, with an anguished-looking Kate ready to greet us. She didn’t say anything at first, and stormed back into the house. Hal was revising in his room and Charlotte was already in bed.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried out of my mind.’
Adam avoided eye contact and placed the lead back on its hook with greater care than usual. ‘I told you. I had to take the -’
‘Well, that should have only taken five minutes, Adam. What’s going on with you at the moment?’
‘Please, Kat. Not now. I haven’t got the energy to row. I’m shattered, I really am.’
‘You’re shattered? Well, how do you think I am? I’ve had to deal with Hal stressing about the exam he had today, then him and Charlotte tearing each other to pieces all night, I’ve had my mother crying her heart out, and I’ve nearly had to place my husband on the Missing Persons list after taking the dog for the longest walk in history. And the house, the house has been such a . . . mess.’
‘I’m . . . sorry.’
I wagged my tail diplomatically to try to smooth things over. It seemed for a second that I might have been successful. Kate’s face softened, Adam bit his top lip in apology. But then this happened:
‘What’s that smell?’ She leaned forward, twitching her nose.
‘I don’t know, I can’t smell anything.’ Adam teetered backward.
‘It’s on you. Lavender or something.’
‘It’s probably that new shower gel.’
‘No, no. It’s not. It’s something else.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, darling, but I can’t smell a thing, perhaps there’s something wrong with your nose. Or perhaps you’re about to have a stroke.’
Kate frowned, folded her arms and stared straight into Adam’s face. ‘What’s going on, Adam?’
I had to do something, I knew that. Of course I did. I still hadn’t worked out what had happened, back with Emily and Simon and Falstaff in the new house, but I could sense that within the space of one evening the harmony of the Family had come under threat.
When a wife becomes suspicious of her own husband, things have a tendency to descend into chaos. Henry had taught me that during one of my earliest lessons.
I decided to divert Kate’s attention by jumping up and resting my front paws against her stomach. The strategy misfired. I was escorted, by the collar, to the utility room, where I was shut in, leaving Adam in the kitchen to fend for himself.
I could have barked, I suppose, but that would have only made things worse. The best I could do was stick my ear to the door and listen closely to every word. Lapsang, purring loudly in her basket, raised one eye wearily.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked me.
‘I’m trying to listen. This is important, please be quiet.’
‘Prince, darling. I’ve told you before, you mustn’t get too close.’
‘Listen, Lapsang, I’m sorry, but you don’t understand.’
‘I pity your species, I really do.’ And with that, the eye closed and she went back to sleep.
Adam had said something. What had he said? Damn that stupid, selfish cat. I caught Kate’s response halfway through.
‘- recently, that’s all. Don’t you think?’
‘OK, OK. I’ll tell you. I was at the park and I bumped into someone. Someone who has just moved into the big, new house I always go on about. Anyway, she -’
‘She?’
‘Yes . . . Emily, I think her name was. Anyway guess who she’s married to? Guess who’s returned here?’
‘So you’ve been all this time chatting up some married woman in the park? And anyway, that doesn’t explain why you smell like that.’
‘Guess.’
‘Look, I’m not going to stand here all night playing your little -’
‘Simon Hotspur.’
‘Simon -’
There was a pause. No, it was more than a pause. It was an interval between conversations. For ages, I couldn’t hear a thing other than Lapsang’s pneumatic purr. When Kate eventually spoke her voice was completely different. She wasn’t angry any more. She sounded dazed, each word taking forever to leave her mouth.
‘Simon. Hotspur. Has. Come. Back. Here?’
‘Yes, and he’s flasher and smugger than ever. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine. Absolutely. Fine. I’ve just got a headache, it’s just come on. What . . . what is he doing here?’
‘He’s working freelance. He’s a management consultant, goes all over. Finally sold his soul.’
‘He’s . . . um, he’s got a wife?’
‘Yes. Emily. A bit ditsy, about half his age. She’s an aromatherapist. She gave me a sample.’ The truth, Adam, there’s a good boy. ‘And you know what, the house isn’t too bad from the inside. A bit sterile and too many boy’s toys lying about for my liking, but his wife must have added a few warm touches.’
‘Right, er, yes. I see.’
‘Anyway, they’re coming to the barbecue.’
The barbecue, which the Hunters held every year on their lawn, was only two days away - on Sunday.
Panic-smells filtered through the door.
‘Yes, he said it would be good to catch up properly. He’d like to see you too. He sent his love.’
Another pause: ‘Oh. Right. But -’
> ‘Yes, I know, I know what you’re going to say. And you’re right. The way he treated Sarah was terrible. And never hearing a word since, even though he’s Hal’s god-father. And, yes, I haven’t forgotten about my stag do either. But he didn’t mean it, you know. He always liked you, you know he did. He just used to be one of the lads, didn’t he? Didn’t want to see any of his mates getting hitched. It never worked though, did it, that’s one thing he couldn’t have talked me out of. Anyway, he doesn’t seem to be against marriage any more. Emily’s his third.’
‘Third?’
‘Yeah. He was with someone in London. A solicitor or something . . . but now he reckons it’s the real thing. But honestly, you should see them together. Talk about chalk and cheese. Mr Slick and Mrs Hippy-Dippy . . .’
They carried on talking, and although Kate continued to sound dazed, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Everything was out in the open. OK, not everything, but as good as. I know it sounds foolish now but at the time that is what I thought. The Family was safe to rest in its beds.
I strolled over to my basket, smiling to myself.
‘What have you got to be so happy about?’ Lapsang gazed down at me, both eyes now open.
‘Everything is going well, that’s all.’
She looked at me, with what I thought was a flicker of compassion. ‘Just be careful.’
I sighed. ‘Listen, Lapsang, I appreciate where you’re coming from. I really do. But the thing is, and I don’t mean any offence by this, you’re a cat. Cats have never understood about loyalty or duty, have they?’
‘No, darling, but we understand about pain. We understand about Families. We understand that if you stay around too long you will get hurt.’ And with that she stood up, yawned, and walked majestically along the unit with her tail held high. She pawed herself down to the ground, landing light on her feet.
‘Good night, Prince,’ she said, before pushing open her cat-flap. ‘Just be careful.’
I watched her brown tail rub against the top of the flap and disappear out of view. ‘Good night, Lapsang.’