I washed Prudence, gave her a rub down with a warm towel, filled her water bowl and watched her settle down in her bed.
‘There you go, Pru,’ I said, giving her a quick stroke before I left. ‘Have a nice rest, and I’ll see you later.’
She wagged her tail at me. OK, Mum. Off you go to work, I’ll be fine!
‘Don’t give me that look,’ I warned her, smiling. ‘I know you’re probably plotting to get all your little doggy friends round here as soon as my back’s turned. I suppose you’ll have a party here and finish off all the drink in the cupboard!’
It was a little joke we shared. Well, I suppose I shared it with myself. That’s what happens when a dog is your closest friend – you not only talk to them, you imagine them replying, and make up imaginary lives for them too. Of course, Prudence knew I’d be coming home at lunchtime, as I did most days, to let her out in the garden. That was another reason to appreciate my nice life, I reminded myself: working locally, only a short walk into town from here. It wouldn’t have been fair to have a dog if I’d worked long hours in the city like Ruth did. Not that Ruth would want a dog, anyway. She just about tolerated Prudence, as long as I kept her clean and quiet, which wasn’t always easy.
I walked quickly into town, enjoying the breeze on my face, the blue sky and sunshine. As usual, I stopped off at the newsagent’s, which was the shop next door to ours, where Mr Patel had my paper ready and waiting for me.
‘Anything else for you today, Jess?’ he asked, smiling at me.
‘No thanks, Mr P.’ I fumbled in my purse for the right change. ‘Have a good day.’
‘You too, love.’
It was pretty much the same quick, uncomplicated conversation we had every morning, and it suited me perfectly, not having to worry about what to say or how to say it. Mr Patel was a nice guy who knew all his customers by name, and he stocked a few convenience items like tea, coffee and biscuits alongside his newspaper business. So I was often sent next door to his shop for supplies during my working day too.
‘Here you are, then, Jess,’ said my boss, Jim Meacham, looking up with a smile when the door chimes alerted him to my arrival in the pet shop.
He said the same thing every day – as if I’d turned up unexpectedly an hour late, or as if he’d been wondering whether I was coming in at all. In fact, I was there on the dot of eight forty-five every morning, giving us fifteen minutes to have coffee and a chat before I turned the Closed sign on the door round to Open. Every day I performed the same small ritual, watched by Jim with an expression of genuine anticipation, hands on the counter, poised ready for his first customer. Actually, we both knew it could be hours before anyone came in to buy anything. Sometimes we’d have a rush – two or three sales within the first hour of opening. Other days, we’d close for an hour for lunch without having served a single customer.
Jim was getting on a bit now, but he’d owned Paws4Thought for over thirty years, and worked there as an assistant to his father before that – ever since he was a young boy. Back then, it had been a traditional pet shop called simply Pennycombe Bay Pets and Supplies, selling kittens and puppies as well as smaller animals like mice, hamsters and gerbils. I remembered being brought as a child to the shop on rainy seaside day trips, to coo over the cute kittens and fluffy bunnies, while we sheltered from the weather and my dad chatted to Jim about the latest scandal in the town. They were old friends; Dad knew everyone around here in those days. He was born and grew up in Pennycombe Bay, only moving to Exeter when he married my mum, so he always enjoyed bringing me back here for our days out together.
Of course, pet shops didn’t tend to sell puppies or kittens any more, and Jim had changed the shop’s name about ten years earlier to reflect the changing times. He apparently asked the local school to hold a competition for the kids to come up with a quirky new name, and no doubt it was actually the parents who put forward their suggestions. Paws4Thought was the result. We now stocked pet food – every brand under the sun – and flea powders and shampoos, toys and beds, leads and collars for dogs, scratching posts and litter trays for cats, cages for mice and birds, books on pet care – you get the picture. Everything but the animals, who would have made the job halfway interesting and fun.
But again, I knew I should appreciate what I had. It was a nice job, after all, and Jim was lovely. I was pretty sure he didn’t even really need me, but he’d stepped in when he heard I needed a break, probably out of loyalty to my dad. And I worked as hard as I could to make his life easier and repay him for his kindness. I stacked the shelves, did the stock ordering, balanced the books, did the banking – letting him sit in his chair behind the counter chatting to his regular customers. Sometimes I felt that we were as much a meeting place of pet owners as a shop, but that was Pennycombe Bay for you. Longstanding friendships going back for generations; old-fashioned slot machines on the pier and boat trips from the harbour; traditional fish and chips, and cream teas. The British seaside at its best. Some of my friends back in Exeter wouldn’t have come near the place. They thought it was dull. I wasn’t sure what it said about me that I loved it so much.
‘Two sugars and a digestive biscuit as usual, Jim?’ I called out now, as I finished making our morning coffees in the little kitchen at the back of the shop.
‘Lovely, Jess.’ He came to take the steaming mug out of my hands, and as we both went back through to the shop to start another day, the stranger on the beach slipped to the back of my mind.
THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING
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Copyright © Sheila Norton, 2020
Cover illustration by Dawn Cooper
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Sheila Norton has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental
First published by Ebury Press in 2020
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ISBN 9781473564046
The Lonely Hearts Dog Walkers Page 34