by Gil McNeil
I’m in the shop on Thursday morning making up an order for a beach-bag kit and trying to find where Elsie’s put the scissors when she rushes in looking flushed and breathless.
‘You’d better come, it’s Mr Pallfrey. That silly dog’s had him over, in the middle of the road. It’s a miracle he wasn’t killed. I’ll stop here – he’s outside the baker’s, and he’s asking for you.’
‘Is he all right?’
‘Well, he’s a funny colour, but I think so. They’ve called an ambulance, to be on the safe side, and he was sitting up, but you never know.’
The ambulance has arrived and there’s a small crowd, including Betty and Mrs Davies, both looking worried.
‘Here she is, Arnold. Now don’t you fret.’
He’s lying on a stretcher, with an ambulance man putting a needle in his arm, and Trevor lying beside him, being unusually quiet.
‘Hello, Mr Pallfrey.’ I don’t think I’ll call him Arnold. It seems a bit cheeky somehow.
He smiles, very faintly.
‘Hello, dear. Sorry about this. Silly fuss about nothing, I’m sure. I only took a little tumble.’
I kneel down, which takes a bit of doing, and I notice the ambulance man glancing at my stomach.
‘No need to upset yourself, love. He’s a tough old bird, aren’t you, Arnie?’
Mr Pallfrey looks faintly embarrassed, and nods.
‘Broken his elbow and his wrist, if I’m not mistaken. Must have gone down quite hard, banged his hip too, and they can be tricky. We’re taking him to the General.’
‘Is there anything you need, Mr Pallfrey? Would you like me to go home and pick up a few things for you?’
‘Would you, dear, and could you ring my Christine? She’s in Spain but I’ve got her mobile number in the book by the telephone. I’ll give you the key.’ He winces as he tries to reach for his pocket, and the ambulance man puts a rubber-gloved hand in and retrieves the keys for him.
‘Here you go, love. Need a hand back up? Don’t want to end up taking both of you in, do we? Not feeling any twinges, are you?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
‘Shock can be dangerous, you know. Long time since we delivered a baby – be handy to get some practice in. Usually get in the papers if there’s a baby putting in an appearance.’ He’s grinning, and I think this is all part of his upbeat banter. But it doesn’t seem to be doing a great deal for Mr Pallfrey.
‘I’m fine. I’ve got ages to go yet.’
‘Well, you can’t be too careful.’
The other ambulance man has wandered over now, holding a nylon bag.
‘You don’t want to listen to Dave. He likes to tout for extra business when we’re out and about. Now then, Arnold, that’s you sorted. Let’s get you off to the hospital. I’ll put the sirens on, if you like. No need, of course, but if you fancy it I’m game. What do you think?’
Mr Pallfrey smiles.
‘So what are we doing with the dog then?’ He looks at me.
Bugger.
‘Shall I take him home with me?’
‘Would you, dear? Only until I get home. I couldn’t think who else to ask and he’s so fond of you and your lads.’
‘Of course, no problem. I’ll see you later, and try not to worry, I’m sure it’ll be okay.’
‘I’m sure they won’t keep me in.’
I bet they bloody will.
‘Try to relax and I’ll see you in a little bit.’
Betty walks back to the shop with me, with Trevor trotting along quite sedately, making the occasional lunge.
‘Silly thing will pull you over in a minute as well.’
‘Don’t worry, Betty. We’ve got an understanding, haven’t we, Trevor?’ I yank on the lead.
‘Walk, Trevor, or I’ll sit on you, like last time, and I’m a lot heavier than I was then. Okay. Walk.’
He turns and licks my hand, which makes Betty laugh.
‘Well, he does seem fond of you, I can see that. And I bet your boys will be pleased.’
‘Pleased? They’ll be bloody euphoric’
It’s nearly eleven by the time I’ve gone to the house with Betty, who’s insisted on coming too so she can hold Trevor, but really so she can have a quick look round. She’s very impressed by how clean everything is, and apparently Mr Pallfrey has got the same washing-up brush as hers.
Elsie’s agog back at the shop. I’m hoping she might dog-sit while I go to the hospital to see Mr Pallfrey, but she’s not exactly volunteering, and Trevor’s already half terrified Mrs Marwell when she came in for some more peach four-ply and he got up from his newly designated space behind the counter.
‘I’ll put the kettle on, dear – you look like you could do with a cup. Does he like biscuits, do you think?’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll take him some biscuits and fruit, when I go in.’
‘No, dear, I meant Trevor.’
‘I don’t know, but don’t give him any. The last thing I need is something that size with a sugar high.’
We both look at Trevor, who’s now lying prone on the floor, having edged himself out from behind the counter. He yawns, showing a row of rather big teeth, and Elsie takes a step backwards.
‘Well, he can’t stay in here, you know – some of our ladies won’t like it. I’d take him home myself, you know I would, but my Jeffrey’s never liked dogs. I’ll go and make that tea, shall I?’
I stand behind the counter with Trevor giving my ankles the occasional lick, while I try to work out how much damage he could do to our back garden if I left him out there while I go to the hospital. I could tie him to something solid, I suppose, but I’m not sure if that’s allowed and I really don’t need the RSPCA turning up to report me on top of everything else. Bloody dog.
I’m really starting to panic when Gran arrives. Hurrah. Finally, the cavalry have turned up.
‘There you are. What a terrible thing. Betty’s just come and told me at the Lifeboats. So I’ve swapped with Mrs Tanner and I’m here to help.’
‘Thanks, Gran.’
‘I’ve called Reg and he’s on his way.’
‘Great. Look, could you go up to the hospital for me, take him in his things, so I can get His Lordship out of here before he frightens any more customers?’
‘Of course I can, pet.’
‘And tell him Trevor’s fine, would you? He’ll be worried.’
Trevor sits up, and Gran tuts.
‘You go home and have a bit of a lie-down. Shut him in the kitchen. And I’ll be round later.
Shut him in the kitchen? Is she mad?
Bloody bugger and damn it.
Trevor’s in the back garden lolloping about, while I’m trying to work out where on earth he’s going to sleep. Definitely not upstairs. Definitely. Even if I have to lie across the landing all night.
I call Ellen at work.
‘You’ll never guess what?’
‘It’s twins.’
‘No. And that’s not funny. I’ve got Trevor to stay. Mr Pallfrey’s had an accident.’
‘Christ. Is he going to snuff it?’
‘Ellen!’
‘Sorry. But is he?’
‘No, but I think he’ll be in for a while.’
‘Fuck.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘The boys will so love it.’
‘You think?’
‘I’ll bike Harry down to help out, if you like. He’s been really annoying me lately.’
‘Why?’
‘General boy stuff. He left some dry-cleaning out for me yesterday, like I’m suddenly in charge of his clothes. Christ. The honeymoon’s definitely over.’
‘And?’
‘And I’m still not pregnant.’
‘Sweetheart, you’ve only just started trying. Give it time.’
‘No. Now I’ve decided I want it, I’ve started looking at pregnant women in the fucking street.’
‘Come down for the weekend. You sound like you could d
o with a break.’
‘Maybe. I might try to get down for your fête, see you dressed up as a white elephant.’
‘Milkmaid.’
‘Trust me, darling, with that much muslin it’ll come to the same thing.’
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘Any time.’
‘Good luck with the dog.’ She’s laughing.
‘Ellen?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘Piss off.’
I’m lying on the sofa while Trevor digs a hole in the garden. Mr Pallfrey’s been digging over the flowerbeds recently and I think Trevor wants to carry on the good work. I’m watching a bossy woman on telly showing everyone how to customise their picnic tables with stencilled napkin rings. If only. Since I’m not in the shop I should probably be making a start on the epic ironing pile, but I just can’t face it. Maybe a light doze would be good; a snooze and then a snack. Perfect.
I’ve just got comfy on the sofa with strategically placed cushions when the bloody phone rings. It’s Martin, which is ideal because obviously what I really need now is another discussion about the bloody website, or Wood.
‘Sorry, Martin, I haven’t had a chance to catch up with Gran, but I’m sure she’ll do it at some point.’ I’m meant to be getting her to write down her pattern for the frilly tea cosy.
‘Oh, right, well, good, but actually I was calling about something else. I gather there’s a dog going spare?’
‘Sorry? Oh, you mean Trevor?’
‘Yes, and well, the thing is, I’d love to have him, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Don’t tell fibs, Martin. Has Elsie been on the phone to you?’
‘I’ve always wanted a dog, honestly, and this would be a good way to try it out, owning one I mean, but the thing is I’ve got a bit of freelance work on at the moment, to help with the finances for the barn, so could we share? Until Mr Pallfrey’s back in action. His daughter works in Spain now, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s on her way back, but she can’t stay for long, she says, or she’ll lose her job.’
‘And your gran says they think he’ll need an operation on his hip, and his arm too. Apparently they’ve got to put a pin in or something. So it might be weeks rather than days.’
‘So when did you talk to Gran?’
‘Bugger. I wasn’t supposed to say that bit.’
‘Martin.’
‘I really do want him. I was thinking of getting a puppy – I thought maybe a Labrador. I’ve always had a soft spot for them. But having Trevor would be great practice, as long as he can stay with you when I’m working. I don’t think it would be fair to leave him at the barn by himself, would it?’
‘Not unless you’ve got a lot more demolishing you want doing?’
‘Could you have him when I’m away working?’
‘Are you really sure about this, Martin?’
‘Definitely.’
‘Well, yes, that would be great.’
‘Right, I’ll pick him up later this evening then, shall I? I’m in London at the moment, but I’ll be back around ten. I thought I’d get him a present, maybe one of those chew things so he’s happy to come with me. What do you think?’
‘Bless your heart. The saint of pregnant people will smile on you for ever.’
‘Good. You never know when that sort of thing’s going to come in handy.’
Gran arrives as I’m starting on the ironing, and pretends to be surprised that Martin has offered to dog-share Trevor.
‘That was nice of him.’
‘When did you call him to tell him to volunteer?’
‘From the hospital, and I didn’t tell him anything, but I remembered Elsie never let him have pets, wouldn’t even let him have a rabbit, poor little thing.’
‘Did he want a rabbit then?’
‘Not as far as I know, but I know he wanted a dog, Jeffrey did too, but Elsie wouldn’t hear of it.’
‘I don’t blame her.’
‘Well, at least you won’t have a great big dog cluttering up the place for weeks.’
‘I know, Gran, and thanks. How was he in the hospital? Do you think he’ll be in for long?’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. He’ll be quite poorly when they do his hip, you know, and with his arm out of action I don’t think they’ll let him home until they’re sure he can manage. When’s his Christine arriving?’
‘Later tonight. She’s going straight to the hospital and then I’ve invited her here for supper. If I’m still at Stitch and Bitch there’s quiche and salad in the fridge.’
‘Right you are. I’ll get some cake in case she’s eaten and only wants a cup of tea.’
‘Thanks, Gran.’
Trevor’s inevitably the star attraction when I collect the boys from school, although I keep a tight hold of the lead so he can’t bowl any toddlers over. He’s pretty good with small people, and tends to lie down so they can tickle him, but he sits up attentively as Annabel walks past, and I’m pretty sure I hear a tut. The kids take turns holding the lead as we walk back home, with Marco and Nelly badgering Connie to buy the largest dog she can find, immediately.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, Archie.’
‘This is my best day ever. Ever.’
‘Well, it’s not been poor Mr Pallfrey’s best day.’
Or mine, come to that.
‘I know, but it’ll be nice for him knowing Trevor is with us. Because he loves us, Mum, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, but he’s not staying with us all the time, Archie. It wouldn’t be fair on him when I’m in the shop working. He’ll be with Martin for some of the time.’
Actually, most of the time, hopefully.
‘But he’s staying with us some nights, isn’t he?’
‘Yes. Some.’
He beams.
‘It’s marvellous, isn’t it, Mum?’
‘Yes, love.’
Christ, I wonder what’ll be next; now I seem to have landed myself with a semi-detached dog, maybe Bruno would like a weekend retreat for Tom and bloody Jerry. I’ll end up on the beach looking like those nutters trying to take packs of dogs for a walk, tangled up in leads with dribble all over my coat.
It’s the morning of the Summer Fayre and I’m stuffing kapok into the last of the white knitted elephants before I sew them up, whilst simultaneously trying to persuade Archie not to eat his breakfast in the Cath Kidston dog basket Ellen has sent down, as a surprise present to make up for cancelling coming down this weekend. She’s on some story, so it arrived in a courier van, and Archie slept in the bloody thing last night, which gave me a hell of a fright when I got up for one of my increasingly frequent trips to the loo. There’s nothing quite like patrolling a house in total darkness looking for a small boy who’s meant to be in his bed to make you completely wake up and contemplate dialling 999, until you find him curled up in a dog basket in the kitchen.
‘Come on, Archie, please, and sit up at the table.’
‘It’s not fair. You said we’d have Trevor for some of the time, and we haven’t. Hardly any. And that’s a lie.’
‘We had him on Tuesday, Archie, and Martin’s working again next week, so we’ll probably have him then as well.’
I think Mr Pallfrey will be in hospital for quite a while yet: I went in to see him yesterday, and he was marooned inside vast pyjamas, which Christine bought for him before she had to go back to Spain, trying to be brave but wincing every time he moved.
She’s coming back for him when they let him out, and taking him to Spain to convalesce. So it looks like we’re going to be dog-sitting for a bit longer. Talk about the thin end of the bloody wedge.
‘It’s not fair. Martin’s greeding him off us, and he was our dog first.’
‘He’s Mr Pallfrey’s dog, Archie, and he loves all the space at Martin’s house, you know he does.’
‘We should get him some toys at our house like Martin has. I can use my pocket money.’
We collected Trevor from Martin
before school on Tuesday, and found him having a brilliant time with an obstacle course of planks and a growing collection of partially mauled squeaky toys.
‘Okay. How much have you got saved up?’
‘Nearly 50p.’
‘Right.’
Excellent. Not enough for anything too squeaky then.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes, Jack?’
‘I might buy Trevor a toy too. How much do you think they’d be?’
This is getting serious; if Jack’s considering parting with some of his carefully saved funds then I’m really in trouble, especially when Trevor finally goes home and we’ve got the toys, but no sodding dog. Damn.
‘I don’t know, sweetheart. A lot of money, I think. I’m going up to get ready now. Finish your breakfast, Archie.’
Victorian milkmaid, here we come.
Oh God.
Connie and I are standing behind our stall at ten to two, and I’m still fretting about burgeoning cleavage issues and my inability to keep my blouse from slipping off my shoulders in the manner of a Victorian street walker. I’m doing my best with a black cotton shawl, but Mr Nelson’s already been over twice, offering to help us unpack.
‘Hand me a safety pin, Con – I think I’ve just had a brilliant idea.’
We’ve got a Tupperware box full of safety pins for attaching price tickets to things, which we haven’t actually used because we’ve decided everything is going to be £2. After reuniting my bra strap with the shoulder seam inside my blouse Connie asks me to fix hers for her, and I’m delving down her front when Mr Nelson comes over again, with an old ice-cream tub full of change. He stands watching us, leaning forwards slightly with an unpleasant leer on his face. This is probably going to be the highlight of his week.
‘Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Annabel asked me to remind you that your target for the day is £95, and here’s your float. Quite a tall order, I’d say, but I’m sure you’ll manage. Two lovely ladies like you.’
It’s a pretty hefty target for a load of old tat at 1 Op a go, so it’s a good job we’ve got a cunning plan.
He puts his hands in his trouser pockets and jingles his change; at least I think that’s what he’s doing. He’s in Victorian costume too; all the PTA people are, although the teachers are sensibly pretending they didn’t realise Annabel meant they had to dress up as well. She’s livid about it, according to Jane Johnson. Mr Nelson’s wearing a suit with a cravat and a top hat and appears to be channelling Leslie Phillips. Annabel is in pink ruffled splendour with a bustle and matching parasol, and there’s a definite swish when she walks past, which I think she’s loving, although Mrs Nelson seems to have drawn the short straw in a rather sickly green, and she seems to be having trouble with her bustle, which has gone rather lopsided.