Wrapped up against the cold in a houndstooth jacket with a wide belt, Cat strode into Fairview Park, the Westies bounding at her feet. She tried to clear her mind of her worries, but kept circling back to them: Polly’s anger, Joe’s cartoon, Juliette’s fury at her interference, and Mark’s absence. Everything felt in a muddle. She spent as long as she could with Coco, Valentino and Dior, letting them off the leads, giving them treats, indulging in their needs for cuddles and conversation. She talked to all her dogs, and she was sure they understood her.
As she began to make her way back to Primrose Terrace, she saw Mr Jasper. He was shuffling along the path around the park’s perimeter, handing out leaflets, a satisfied smile on his face. Cat changed direction, intent on avoiding him, but a moment later there was a tap on her shoulder.
‘Good to see you’ve only got three dogs today,’ he said. ‘You’re being responsible for once.’
Cat turned round, gritting her teeth. ‘Glad that you approve,’ she said. ‘Not that it’s up to you.’
‘No,’ he said, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels. ‘No, not up to me at all. But I do have some sway.’
‘With what?’ Cat asked. ‘Your protest was weeks and weeks ago, and nothing’s come of it. I haven’t seen any signs, nothing in the paper.’
‘Oh, you just wait,’ Mr Jasper said, his eyes flashing. ‘You’ll see.’
Cat felt a jolt of worry. She couldn’t face the thought of this man threatening her business, not on top of everything else. ‘Look, Mr Jasper, can’t we talk about it, hear each other out and come to some kind of truce? If you got to know the dogs, then—’
‘Sorry, young lady, I have to go. Things to do, people to see.’ He gave her a saccharine smile, glared at the Westies and hurried down the path towards the Pavilion café. Cat watched him go, her eyes narrowed, and resolved to find out if he was being serious, or if it was just another scare tactic.
As darker clouds rolled in overhead, Cat dropped the Westies off, using her key so as not to disturb Jessica, and gave them each a brush. The dogs raced to their baskets, snuggling down by the French doors that overlooked Jessica’s beautiful garden.
Cat shoved her hands in her pockets as she made her way up Primrose Terrace. The grass verges were still green and lush, but Cat knew that, really, summer was over. It was another thing to add to her misery.
This wasn’t like her. She usually made the best out of a bad situation, but things were getting to her. She’d made mistakes, she felt out of sorts. She went past the bed and breakfast, saw Bossy sitting in one of the windows, his exaggerated Frenchie frown giving her a moment of amusement. She waved at the dog, but he stayed stock-still, as if he was an expensive statue.
Next to them was Mark’s house. Cat glanced up at the windows, her heart rate increasing as she saw the living-room light was on. A quick glance confirmed that the Audi was parked outside. Mark was back? She checked her messages, determined not to jump to any conclusions, but there was nothing.
Brilliant – he was back and he hadn’t told her. She started walking again, the wind getting into her eyes, making them sting.
She’d almost made it to the Barkers’ house when she heard footsteps behind her, but she kept walking until a hand landed firmly on her shoulder.
‘Cat Palmer, will you please stop for one second?’
She turned and looked up at Mark. Mark with his soft brown wool jumper, his dishevelled hair and those dark, amused eyes. He looked tired, maybe, a slight pallor to his skin, but that could be due to the absence of the sun.
‘You’re back,’ she said.
‘I’ve been back thirty minutes. I’m back and I’m staying.’
‘For good?’
‘For the foreseeable future.’
‘What about your film? Jessica told me things had gone wrong, that—’
‘Let’s not talk about my film.’
‘But that night, when you left, you were so off.’
‘Off?’ He frowned.
‘With me. You barely said hello, acted as if I was a stranger. The day after our date. You’d had some bad news, I get it, but even so.’
‘I wasn’t thinking.’ He rubbed her arm. ‘I was distracted, I’d just had a shitty phone conversation. I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you now.’
She stared at him, wondering whether to believe him.
‘Come on,’ he continued. ‘I want to hear how you’ve been. I want to immerse myself in Fairview, and all it has to offer. That’s mainly you, Cat, in case you were wondering.’ He grinned down at her, but Cat couldn’t raise a smile.
‘What’s wrong? I was counting on you to fill me with enthusiasm and happiness. Are you really that mad at me?’
‘Sorry,’ Cat said, sighing. ‘It’s not just you. It’s not you at all, really.’
‘What is it, then?’
‘Long story. Lots of them, in fact. Lots of little stories that culminate in the fact that I’m an idiot.’
‘Don’t hold back on the self-pity for my sake, please.’
Cat glared at him, but a smile was tugging at her lips.
Mark took her hand. ‘Come in and tell me about it.’
Cat glanced at her house, where exam-free Polly could be waiting to confront her about Owen, or Joe could be waiting to be kind to her while drawing her falling head first into a pond, or getting her fingers burned. Number nine was complicated, but wasn’t Mark complicated too?
‘Come on, Cat,’ Mark said softly. ‘These last few weeks have been tough for me. I know we can make each other feel better. And Chips is dying to see you too. Come and say hello to her, at least.’
Cat narrowed her eyes. She had to give it to him – he knew how to get to her. ‘OK,’ she said, ‘lead the way.’
Mark’s front room was sparsely decorated and a little on the soulless side, with black leather sofas and a huge television on one stark white wall. But there was tea, and some fancy chocolate-covered coffee beans, and Chips had been eager to say hello to her and now, warmer and with Mark’s full attention, Cat had to admit she was feeling better.
‘You’re too generous for your own good,’ Mark said, once Cat had told him her sorry stories, including that she and Joe weren’t getting on as well as they could be, but with no mention of cartoons. ‘You spend too much time thinking of other people, and not enough about yourself.’
‘I’m not sure that’s entirely true.’ Cat shuffled round to face Mark, to look into his dark eyes. ‘I hate people being unhappy, I hate unrest and disquiet, and so I…fumble my way through things, focusing on what I want to happen but not the fallout, the unintended consequences.’ Wasn’t that what Alison, nursery owner, ex-boss, dog protester, had said about her? Had she been right all along? Cat closed her eyes. ‘Ugh.’
‘No “ughs”,’ Mark said, lifting her chin. ‘You’ve told me what’s wrong, now we have to come up with a way to forget about it.’
‘What happened in London?’ Cat opened her eyes. ‘What’s happening with your film?’
‘It’s on hold,’ Mark said. ‘Not yet the final curtain, just a longer interval than I’d planned. But let’s not talk about that either. Forget about the sadness.’
‘How do you propose we do that? Isn’t this the last of the chocolate?’ She held up the bowl with the few remaining coffee beans in it.
Mark smiled at her and shook his head. ‘You, Cat Palmer.’
‘Me, what?’ Cat returned his smile.
‘That’s how we’ll forget – by focusing on you.’
‘But I’m the cause of my sadness, so how can I use me to forget about it?’
‘Don’t be so difficult,’ Mark said, leaning in and kissing her. Although she had known it was going to happen, the thrill of his touch went through her like lightning. She let him kiss her, let it transport her back to hotter weather and Mark’s front doorstep, his touch as gentle and as tantalizing as the summer breeze that had wrapped itself around them.
Was it really this easy?
A month without speaking, then straight back to this? But, as Mark’s kiss intensified and she responded, she felt everything else slip away, felt all her worries disappear as his presence, and his lust, took her over. Yes, she decided, as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, it was this easy. After all, they were only carrying on from where they’d got interrupted last time.
It was starting to get dark when Cat gave Mark a final kiss in his hallway – this time just inside the front door, unseen by neighbours. The orange glow of a streetlight slipped through the decorative glass panels, casting Mark in a soft light, marking him out amongst the shadows.
‘When will I see you again?’ he asked.
‘When do you want to see me?’
‘Now. Tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.’
‘I could probably do one of those,’ Cat said, pretending to consider it. Mark rolled his eyes and kissed her again, pulling her towards him. Cat resisted, slipping out of his grasp and bending to stroke Chips, who had joined the small farewell party. She looked back at Mark, standing in his jeans and an open shirt, and then, smiling to herself, she stepped out into the night and closed the door gently behind her.
Her hair was still wet from the shower, the chill finding her head, and she wrapped her coat around her and dawdled back to her house, to Polly and Joe, and all the niggles she’d left behind.
She should feel elated that she’d taken the next step with Mark, and that he didn’t want to forget her now they’d made their way into his bed. She should be skipping down Primrose Terrace. And she couldn’t deny that sex with Mark was as incredible as she’d imagined, that it was fun but intense, with no room for awkwardness after the months of building desire. His confidence was infectious, and they just seemed to get each other. Even thinking about it made her breathless.
She glanced up at the Barkers’ house, thought she saw the curtain twitch, and sighed to herself. Were her other worries clouding her happiness at being with Mark? Was she chronically down in the dumps? Mark was gorgeous and attentive, sexy and charming, and – despite earlier concerns – definitely into her. What was there to feel weird about?
Trying to shrug it aside, she climbed the steps of number nine and unlocked the door, stepping into a pool of light spilling out of the front room. Joe and Polly were laughing at something on television, Shed stretched out between them, his eyes closed. They looked up when she came in.
‘Cat,’ Polly said enthusiastically, ‘where have you been? We’re getting a takeaway.’
‘You’ve waited for me?’
‘Of course.’
‘And you’re not mad at me?’ She glanced at Joe, who was looking at her, his blue eyes narrowed.
‘No,’ Polly sighed, ‘no, I’m not.’ She got up and gave Cat a tight squeeze. ‘I was a bit last night, but only because I was tired, and surprised. Owen and I, we…we like each other, and I guess I was being a wuss about it. And you sprang it on me – if I’d had the choice, I wouldn’t have been wearing my jogging bottoms. But I had a great time and so I want to thank you, and apologize.’
Cat’s chest contracted with relief. ‘Oh, Polly. There is nothing for you to apologize for. I’ve been so worried.’
‘You silly Cat,’ Polly murmured, standing back. ‘Hey, your hair’s soaked. Is it raining? I can’t hear it.’
Cat glanced behind her as if, on cue, it might start raining and give her the perfect alibi.
‘Noooo,’ she said, drawing the word out, ‘it’s not raining.’
Polly and Joe both looked at her, waiting for the end of the sentence. ‘I…uhm, Mark’s back, and so I…’
‘Cat!’ Polly squealed. ‘Seriously?’
‘You went swimming together?’ Joe asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
Cat tried to smile at him, but he looked defeated, his gaze not quite meeting hers. Her stomach gave an unexpected twist, and she didn’t know what to say. ‘Something like that,’ she murmured, flopping onto the sofa opposite them.
‘So you and Mark, you’re serious then? After all this time.’ Polly shook her head. ‘I’m so happy for you, so happy!’
‘Me too,’ Cat said. She knew she didn’t sound convincing. It was a big change, she told herself. It would take a bit of getting used to, that was all.
‘That’s great,’ Joe said, matching Cat for enthusiasm. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘And,’ he sighed, ‘perhaps it will soften the blow.’
‘What blow?’ Cat saw Polly and Joe exchange a glance, and her stomach twisted harder. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
Joe picked up a leaflet from the dining table. He came over and crouched in front of her. She resisted looking at the piece of paper and instead looked at him, at his short blond hair in thick, untidy tufts, his skin holding onto the brown glow, the smattering of freckles he’d acquired over the summer. His too-blue eyes were looking at her with undisguised sadness. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, his jawline, the sparkle of blond stubble.
She inhaled and reached out for the paper. Joe let go of it, but didn’t drop his gaze.
‘What is it?’ she said again. She wanted him to tell her and protect her all at the same time.
He broke his hold and glanced down, and Cat read the words once, twice, three times.
Only some words stuck in her mind:
Notice from Fairhaven Council…in response to petitions…meeting to decide…Fairview Cove…dogs…no longer allowed…hours of nine a.m. and six p.m.… all year round.
‘W-what?’ Cat looked up. ‘Is this a joke?’
Joe shook his head. Polly looked upset.
‘Dogs might not be allowed at the cove any more? Why didn’t we know about this? Why haven’t we had a chance to protest?’ She thought back to Mr Jasper’s words in the park, and realized that this was what he’d been talking about. Not just an empty threat. A real, heartbreaking one.
‘It seems Mr Jasper has gone about it in a pretty underhand way,’ Polly said, ‘though I’m not sure how he’s managed to get so far with it under the radar.’
‘It’s awful,’ Cat said. ‘It’s the same hours as the main beach, so there won’t be anywhere we can take dogs during the day. They love the beach, they love the water. During the winter it’ll be dark at the times they’re proposing, and you can’t take dogs on the beach in the dark.’
‘I know, Cat,’ Polly said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Cat felt her anger rise, her hands gripping the paper tightly. Joe reached out and put his hand over hers and, feeling a spark she didn’t want to acknowledge, Cat flinched and drew back. She glanced him a silent apology, but he sat back on his haunches, wiped his hand over his face.
’Sorry, Joe,’ she murmured. ‘I just can’t believe that he would go this far. Or that the council would even consider approving it.’ She read the leaflet again, forcing herself to take it in. ‘The council meeting’s on the first of October,’ she said. ‘That’s so soon. God, Disco and Chalky love the cove.’
‘It’s crap,’ Joe said, ‘but Cat, there’s still the park, and there isn’t much we can do about it.’
‘Isn’t there?’ she said, defeat creeping into her voice. She thought of Alfie and Effie playing in the waves, Zara saying that Paddlepuss loved the water, Will telling her that all the surfers looked out for each other. Dog walkers were the same – she only had to remind herself of her Pooches’ and Puppies’ Picnic to know that. ‘Isn’t there?’ she said again, waggling the leaflet, her eyes lighting up with a kernel of an idea.
‘I don’t think so,’ Polly said. ‘I mean, what could we do?’
‘Hang on, sis,’ Joe said, ‘I know that look on Cat’s face.’
‘What?’ Polly said. ‘What is it, Cat? Joey?’
‘There is something we can do,’ Cat said. ‘I mean, we can’t guarantee it’ll work, but we’ve got a month to show the council that this isn’t what we want, that Mr Jasper’s not representing the views of the whole of Fairview.’
‘What, Cat? What
are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to do what I do best,’ Cat said, grinning. ‘I’m going to interfere.’
Chapter 6
Cat was on a mission, and she only had a month to achieve it. She set about it with a fervour she hadn’t felt for years, and with the knowledge that what she was doing was right for Fairview.
At the beginning of the year, when she’d first moved to Primrose Terrace, would she have been as concerned? She’d always loved dogs, but they hadn’t been a part of her life then the way they were now. Now she was a dog walker, she was part of the community, and she would stand up to anything that threatened them.
She started an online petition, wrote letters to the council and the Fairhaven Press, set up a @dogsatthecove Twitter account and Facebook page. She had clients and friends she could call on to help spread the message throughout Fairview and, as outraged as Cat, Jessica had used her influence to talk about it on the local radio stations and promote the campaign to her thousands of followers.
In a short amount of time, Cat had built up momentum. She’d had one meeting with a local council officer who had spent an hour not meeting her eye and giving her vague, unsatisfactory answers, but after some follow-up emails she’d convinced them to send someone to attend the event she was organizing.
More than anything else, she’d been walking the dogs at the cove. She’d talked to as many people as possible, giving out flyers with petition links and the council’s email address. And when she was dogless – and despite September continuing to be colder than usual, with strong winds and sporadic sunshine – she was on Fairview’s main beach, convincing those without dogs that it was still important, asking them to support her, to let her show them that dogs had as much right to a beach as people did.
But she needed more of an incentive for her grand finale than just the beach and a variety of different pooches, especially if she wanted to do more than preach to the converted – so she needed to speak to Will.
Raincoats and Retrievers, A Novella Page 8