The Lonely Hearts Dog Walkers

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Sorry,’ he said quietly as I opened the front door to see him out. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I just think—’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ I returned. ‘It’s too late, Josh.’

  He looked so dejected as he walked back to his car, I almost called him back. If only he hadn’t started talking like that – bringing up the one thing he knew I could never even think about, much less start talking about now – if he hadn’t done that, I might have suggested he stayed a little longer, had a coffee, played with Mia in the garden. But perhaps it was just as well, I thought, closing the door and turning to catch up with my daughter. What would be the point? It was nice of him to buy me a birthday present. Nice that he knew who my favourite author was. But it didn’t mean I had to start spending more time with him, talking about things I’d successfully buried. That ship had sailed.

  I’d forced myself to put the episode with Josh behind me by the time Gran came round for Sunday dinner. She seemed much more like her usual self, chattering away about how Lazy Lizzie had been pretty much marched off the premises, her bungalow (according to Gran) having to be ‘fumigated, because she’d left it in such a filthy state’, and telling us that the new, temporary, replacement warden was a nice ‘young lady’ of about fifty who had already called on all the residents to introduce herself and assure them that they could turn to her whenever they needed help with anything.

  ‘I hope she stays on,’ she said. ‘She’s already fixed Sidney’s curtain rail. I tried, but I couldn’t reach it, and he wouldn’t let me stand on a chair.’

  ‘I should think not!’ Mum said, horrified – but I was just amused to think of Gran being ready and willing to get stuck in with the curtain-rail fixing.

  ‘You could probably do that warden job yourself, Gran,’ I teased her – and then regretted it instantly when she nodded thoughtfully and said she might apply, if the new ‘nice young woman’ didn’t stay on.

  ‘Gran,’ I said a little later, while Mum was in the kitchen, turning the roast potatoes and refusing to let me help because it was my birthday, ‘can I ask you something?’

  ‘’Course you can, sweetheart. Not that I know much about anything, these days, mind. But fire away.’

  ‘Well, it’s just about Mum,’ I said more quietly, sitting down closer to her on the sofa. ‘Mia,’ I added, seeing her looking up with interest, ‘why don’t you go and help Nanny? She might let you stand up on a stool and peel the carrots.’

  ‘So what is it about your mother?’ Gran said as soon as Mia had skipped off into the kitchen. ‘Is she driving you mad?’

  ‘No.’ I laughed. ‘We get on pretty well, you know that. But I do worry about her. Do you think she’ll ever move on, from what happened in Ireland? Not that I blame her, but—’

  ‘No, Nicky,’ Gran said before I could get any further. ‘I don’t think she ever will.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But it’s her own silly fault, if you ask me.’

  ‘What do you mean? None of it was her fault,’ I protested.

  ‘Not the stupid man – your father – leaving her, of course not. He was always a bloody idiot, that Phil. Sorry, I know he was your dad, but I warned her when she first set her sights on him: That one will never be faithful, Ros, I said. He always had his eye on every pretty girl, weighing up his chances.’

  This was all news to me, of course. Nobody ever talked about my dad, especially not if Mum was in the vicinity.

  ‘He got her pregnant, so fair enough, he married her,’ she went on – and I sat up, staring at her.

  ‘She wasn’t pregnant with me before they got married,’ I said. The dates didn’t add up.

  ‘No, no. She lost that first baby. Miscarried at three months or so.’

  ‘Oh.’ I looked away. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Gran gave me a look.

  ‘No, well, there are subjects we don’t talk about in our family, aren’t there. Subjects some of us might feel better about, if we did talk about them, if you ask me, but—’

  ‘We’re talking about Mum at the moment,’ I said, turning away, the conversation with Josh coming back at me in a rush all over again. ‘Not me.’

  She sighed. ‘Yes. Well, she lost the baby just after they got back from honeymoon. I wished it had happened before the wedding – then he might have not bothered marrying her.’

  ‘Gran!’ I said, shocked.

  ‘Well, let’s be honest, it would’ve saved her a whole load of misery. But then again, we wouldn’t have had you,’ she added with a sudden smile. ‘You made everything all right for her again.’

  ‘That’s nice.’ I managed to say, still feeling somewhat shell-shocked.

  ‘Well, it would be, if only she’d pull herself together and get over it – your father and that woman. That’s what I meant about it being her own fault. She’s always wallowed.’

  ‘But … OK, I know she’s still bitter about it, and I suppose she always will be. I don’t really blame her, Gran. But at least she’s enjoying her life now, isn’t she? She likes being single. She likes going out with her friends and having fun—’

  ‘Does she hell!’ Gran said vehemently. ‘Don’t tell me you’re really taken in by all that girls having fun nonsense? It’s all a big act, Nicky. It’s … her armour.’

  ‘Armour against what?’

  ‘Against the world. Anyone getting too close – men in particular. Anyone finding out that really she’s not having fun at all. She’s lonely. She might be happy enough now, singing around the house, cooking for you, having you and Mia to look after again. Having you for company.’ Gran paused, giving me a warning look. ‘But it’s not good, Nicky. It’s not healthy. She won’t let you go, you know. She won’t want you to have a life of your own again, now you’re back here in Eagle House.’

  ‘Of course she will!’ I laughed. ‘She’ll be glad to see us go, eventually. Not that I’ve got any idea yet how I’m going to afford it—’

  ‘And the longer you’re here, the less she’ll want you to go. Trust me, I’m her mother, I know her. Before you came back, she was lonely, but she won’t ever admit it, because it might mean dropping the big act and admitting she liked someone enough to share her life with them. And she’s too scared to do that.’

  ‘Someone?’ I said. ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘Oh, you know who I mean. What’s-his-name: Simon. Nicest man you could hope to meet. Would have laid down his life for Ros, but she sent him packing rather than admit she felt the same way.’ Gran shook her head again. ‘I told her at the time she’d live to regret it. She lost her chance. She’ll never meet anyone better than him. Not going out to bloody clubs and bars and whatnot with that Gruesome Twosome, she won’t.’

  ‘He’s told me he still loves her,’ I whispered. I could hear Mum coming back from the kitchen, Mia chatting excitedly to her about the dessert she’d been helping to make. ‘I just wish she’d give him another chance.’

  Gran shrugged. ‘Waste of time talking to her,’ she said. ‘She’s in denial.’

  We had roast beef with all the trimmings, followed by apple and blackberry crumble with custard, and the conversation around the table was light and easy, all of us laughing, Mum telling Gran about the barbecue, the prosecco, and how one of our neighbours, who was a bit overweight, had sat on a rather flimsy garden chair and fallen straight through it. Mia, giggly and excited, told us about her weekend with Josh, how he’d taken her to the park near our old home, and she’d seen Polly and Jamila and how ‘It was funny: it was nice to see them, but it didn’t really feel like they were my best friends anymore, they seemed … just like ordinary people.’

  But every time she mentioned Josh, I remembered the look of sadness on his face earlier, the way he’d handed me that carefully wrapped birthday present, and most of all the way he’d tried to raise the one subject we never, ever discussed. To keep my mind from dwelling on it, I kept sneaking looks at Mum – so rosy and contented-looking, serving up the food, carryi
ng in the dessert, looking after us all as usual – and wondering if Gran was right, that underneath it all she’d be lonely and miserable if Mia and I left again. And if so, was there anything any of us could do about it? Perhaps I was destined to stay at Eagle House forever. I could think of worse fates. But no, it probably wouldn’t be the right thing – for any of us.

  CHAPTER 38

  October arrived, with a flurry of sunshine and showers that made it feel more like April. The evenings were dark earlier, the lanes and footpaths muddy again, and there was a chill in the air that made us all start to think about the winter ahead.

  ‘If I hear one more person talking about how many weeks it is till Christmas—’ Louise began as we walked home from school towards the middle of the month.

  ‘Or if I see one more TV advert for the latest toys, encouraging children to start talking about what they want already…’ I joined in.

  And we both laughed, because – annoying though it was – we knew it would always be the same. As soon as summer was over, the marketing for Christmas began. Personally, though, I had enough to think about without getting started on that already.

  School was busy, with most of my reception class now settled in, fewer tears and upsets to deal with, which was always a step in the right direction, but still a long way to go before the random little selection of four-year-olds became fully confident and integrated into school life. Mia, though, was going from strength to strength, getting all sorts of commendations for her work and coming out of her classroom every afternoon beaming, holding hands with Olivia and looking out for Eddie. Her popularity with other children in her class seemed finally to be growing too, and her teacher told me she was particularly good with the younger ones – my previous reception class – who’d joined them this year.

  Smartie too was growing up. Still a puppy, but bigger and stronger now and loving our long walks more than ever, he was good company, especially during the weekends when Mia was with Josh. He seemed to have accepted Monty the cat surprisingly well, and we often found them curled up asleep together, Monty with his paws across Smartie’s back. If Smartie even recognised that Monty was a cat, he certainly didn’t treat him like one, but more like a fellow dog with a few strange habits. Monty liked trying to lick Smartie clean, for instance, and after a while Smartie seemed to give in, and put up with it.

  Gran still seemed to be enjoying her occasional evenings with Sidney, taking it in turns to choose what kind of film they watched together, and sometimes playing cards instead.

  ‘Why don’t you bring him round to dinner one Sunday so we can meet him?’ I suggested. But she just laughed and said she didn’t want Mum terrifying the poor man.

  A week or so later, she also told us she’d been to see the doctor about her memory. Although there hadn’t been any further incidents that had particularly worried her, she’d still been feeling a little anxious about the fact that she’d become, as she put it, daft as a brush, forgetting where she’d put things, or why she’d walked from one room to the other.

  ‘The doctor said it’s just my age,’ she said indignantly – but at the same time she sounded quite obviously relieved. ‘I told him it was not as bad as before, when I was awake half the night listening to those cats screaming and wondering what it was. He said that the lack of sleep would have made things worse.’

  ‘Well, of course it would. You’re better now, aren’t you, Gran?’

  ‘Yes. Still daft as a brush, though. I made a cake the other day and put it in the fridge instead of the oven to cook. When it was due to come out of the oven, I couldn’t believe it wasn’t in there. Anyway, I’m glad the doctor doesn’t think it’s dementia. He asked me a lot of silly questions about who the queen’s oldest son is, and who the prime minister is, and what day it was. I told him it was the twenty-first of October, Trafalgar Day, and he said ‘Is it?’ So I’m not sure who was testing whom, to be honest.’

  I laughed. ‘Well, I’m glad you feel better about it now, Gran. I didn’t know it was Trafalgar Day, either, so you know more than me and the doctor.’

  I was actually far more concerned with the plans for the fifth of November than with the current day’s date or its significance. Everything was coming together well for our Guy Fawkes party. The fireworks had been purchased, Simon had been saving wood for the bonfire for weeks now, and we had a good number of volunteers, some of whom would be building the bonfire during the last days before the event, and covering it with a tarpaulin. Other volunteers would be manning the gate, and selling food and drinks on the night. Finally, we were canvassing the whole village again, reminding them about the evening and asking them to please make sure their pets were kept safely indoors.

  At our final planning meeting, the week before, Craig had some good news for us.

  ‘I’ve heard back from the council about my draft plans,’ he said, a huge grin on his face. ‘They’ve said in their letter that they’re very impressed. And of course, they’re particularly interested in my firm’s proposal – the advertising deal. I spoke to someone on the phone about it today, and he said there would be a further meeting soon about whether they’re likely to drop the proposal to sell the land. He wouldn’t commit himself on that yet, needless to say. But we’ll be told the outcome of the meeting.’

  ‘Oh, that’s marvellous,’ Sara exclaimed. ‘It sounds pretty encouraging, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Let’s not get our hopes too high,’ Simon warned. But he was having trouble keeping the smile off his face too. ‘Well done, Craig.’

  It was good to see the two guys back on amicable terms. To be fair, Craig had been completely different ever since the showdown with Sara and myself. He’d dropped the whole flirtatious routine, and although he’d gradually recovered his usual confident manner and was enjoying a joke again, he now had a far more polite, respectful attitude. Of course, whether his behaviour with other women, apart from us, had changed, we had no idea. But it would be nice to think he might have grown up a bit because of what had happened. Drawing up the plans for the park, getting the advertising deal from his company, and now having had a good reaction from the council, had at least shown he was on board with the rest of us and was trying hard to redeem himself in our eyes. And that was without us even knowing for sure whether he was in fact putting up some of the funding himself. We’d probably never know.

  The weather on the fifth of November was, fortunately, dry, and not too cold. Once Mum was home from work, I left Mia with her so that I could go along to the park, where a large group of volunteers had convened to finish the preparations. A young man called Oliver Prentice turned up from the council, holding a clipboard, to check we’d followed all the necessary safety regulations. At first he seemed rather officious, but having done his tour and saying he was satisfied, his manner changed completely.

  ‘This all looks great, guys,’ he enthused. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Oh – you’re coming back this evening?’ Sara said.

  ‘’Course I am. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Nothing like this happens in my village.’ He mentioned a small hamlet about five miles away. ‘It’s brilliant what you’re doing here. There’s a whole crowd of us coming tonight.’

  ‘Great!’ We all grinned at each other, pleased that our efforts at promoting the event to surrounding areas seemed to have worked. ‘We’ll see you later, then.’

  We were starting at seven o’clock, so once we were satisfied that there was nothing more to be done for now, we all headed home for a quick break to have something to eat. Simon and I walked out of the park together.

  ‘Mum’s coming tonight,’ I said, giving him a pointed look. ‘A chance for you to chat, at least?’

  He sighed. ‘I see her around the village all the time, Nic – it’s not as if we wouldn’t get a chance to chat, but she never wants to. At your birthday barbecue she was sitting just yards away from me, and still managed to ignore me. It’s no good, she made it perfectly clear when she finish
ed with me: she’ll come out with me occasionally for lunch, as a friend, but she doesn’t want anything more than that. She enjoys the single life too much.’

  ‘That’s not what my gran says, and she reckons she knows Mum better than anyone.’

  ‘Why? What does she say?’

  ‘That it’s all a big act. That really, she’s lonely. Or at least, she was, until Mia and I moved back in with her. Gran thinks she won’t want us ever to move out, now.’

  ‘If she was lonely, why did she turn me away?’ Simon said, frowning. ‘It doesn’t make sense. I always made it clear I’d be happy with just friendship – companionship – if that was all she wanted. I’d never have pushed her into anything more serious unless she was ready for it.’

  ‘She’s still got trust issues, Si. Even after all this time. She’s never got over what my dad did to her. If you ask me, she must have felt a lot for you, even if she won’t admit it. That’s why she couldn’t keep seeing you. I reckon she was frightened of her own feelings.’

  He shook his head. ‘She gave me the impression she was bored with me. She kept saying she just wanted to have fun.’

  ‘I know. It’s what she says all the time. But the longer I’ve been back in the house with her, the more I’m beginning to wonder about this fun she keeps on about. I think it’s just an excuse. Gran calls it her armour. Mum pretends she’s enjoying this single girl thing, but … to be honest I think it’s just sad, and desperate. They never seem to actually meet any men – her and her friends. They dress up, go out, all giggly and excited, and come home pretending they’ve had a ball.’ As I was saying this, the truth of it was becoming more and more obvious to me. ‘It never rings true,’ I said, feeling suddenly terribly sad as I turned to him and added: ‘There’s … no light in her eyes. No joy in her smile. It’s fake.’

  He stared back at me. ‘You don’t think she’s happy?’