by Matt Dunn
Because the answer to that is “the right thing.”
15
It’s a long few days before phase two of Operation Julie and Tom can take place (i.e. until I have my stitches out)—a long few days during which not much happens. Julie calls in sick, and in a rare show of decency, Luke appears to have fucked off, as per Julie’s request (or at least, he’s not been back to the house). And while at some point she’ll have to go back to work, hopefully by then I’ll have worked my matchmaking magic.
As an unexpected bonus, and in what could be regarded as a strange, dogs-looking-like-their-owners type thing, Luke’s disappearance from our lives has coincided with Santa going missing. I know this for two reasons: firstly, the multitude of Lost Cat posters taped to pretty much every lamppost between here and the park, and secondly because Miss Harris is giving me the evils every time she sees me, almost as if she suspects I’ve had something to do with it.
“Any sign, Mary?” Julie calls magnanimously over the garden fence, as we head off to the corner store.
Miss Harris pulls herself unsteadily to her feet from where she’s been weeding her already weed-free flowerbeds. “Not yet,” she says, and the hope in her voice almost breaks your heart.
“Has she gone missing before?” says Julie, probably out of politeness more than anything. I suspect she won’t be disappointed if Santa doesn’t return either, if only for the sake of her plants.
“Not like this,” sniffs Miss Harris.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up,” says Julie. “Especially with all those posters you’ve put up.”
Miss Harris nods. “Hopefully they’ll do the trick,” she says, as we make our way toward the front gate.
I try and fail to hide a skeptical snort—after all, it’s not as if cats can read—and as Julie looks down at me, I do my best to look as innocent as possible.
“Hoping Santa’s gone for good, eh, Doug?” she says, and I give a flick of my tail. If only I could be sure the same thing was true of Luke, then all our problems would be sorted.
* * *
“Morning, Julie.”
Sanj, Priya’s husband, and the store’s owner, beams at Julie from where he’s stacking a shelf behind the till. “Morning, Doug,” he adds, so I snort a greeting up at him as we walk in—there’s a No Dogs sign on the shop’s door, but we’ve long ago established it doesn’t apply to me.
Obediently, I follow Julie to the fridge in the back of the store, then let out a sigh when she picks up a carton of skimmed milk instead of her usual whole. Every time a relationship ends, Julie mistakenly correlates her size with how attractive men find her, and I can only assume somewhere deep inside she feels the Luke scenario has played out this way because of it. What’s worse is, Julie on a diet severely limits the number of snacks and biscuits in the house. Just because she’s trying to lose a bit of weight, I don’t see a reason why I have to.
She stops in the vegetable aisle to collect a packet of something leafy, and I realize I’m going to have to rely on Julie’s dad’s café trips for my treats for the next few weeks—or at least, until Julie and Tom get together and she puts an end to this nonsense. All the more incentive for me to get a move on, I suppose.
After grabbing a box of something I’ve tasted before called Special K—that isn’t that special—she deposits her armful of shopping on the counter next to the register, where Sanj takes it all in with a knowing look.
“Priya told me,” he says, the equivalent for him of climbing a conversational Mount Everest. Sanj usually prefers to keep out of Julie’s love life. And I’m sure there are times he’d prefer Priya to do exactly that too.
“Right.”
Sanj looks like he’s hoping that’s the end of it, although he also looks like he knows it perhaps shouldn’t be. “So, um, how are you doing?”
“It’s for the best,” Julie says, still sounding like she’s trying to convince herself, and Sanj nods in agreement.
“You’ll meet someone else,” he suggests, then a worried look crosses his face. It’s justified because Julie’s expression has suddenly turned to thunder.
“I don’t want to meet someone else!” she says. “At least, I didn’t!”
“That’s not what I...” Sanj looks down at me, but there’s not a lot I can do to help him out of the hole he’s digging for himself. “I meant someone different. Someone who wasn’t...”
“Married?”
“Who wasn’t Luke, I was going to say. But now that you mention it.”
“Why does no one have a good word to say about him?”
“Well, perhaps because only bad ones can be used to describe him?”
Sanj has probably meant it as a joke, but Julie doesn’t look like she’s found it funny in the slightest. “He had his good points.”
“Which were?”
Julie stares at him for a moment, then for another moment longer, and then, it looks as if she’s having some kind of breakthrough. Either that, or a seizure.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“Like what? None of us like your boyfriend, Julie?” he says, doing bunny ears around the b word. “We think he’s a total dick? That’d be like me saying I don’t like Doug,” he adds, and I snort at the preposterousness of the idea.
“Well, yes.”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“Well, yes,” Julie says, again. “Though I thought that was because he was, you know...”
Sanj looks at her and smiles. We all know there are a number of words that could complete that sentence. “Come on,” he says. “How many times did we ever go out? The four of us?”
“Well, there was that time we went to the pub together. When Luke and I had been dating for a month or so.”
“That was by accident. The two of you walked in when Priya and I were already there. And he didn’t look at all happy to see us.”
“Well, that was because it was...” Julie frowns. “I mean, he was...” She clears her throat. “We invited you round for dinner.”
“And we couldn’t make it. Ever. What does that tell you?” Sanj shakes his head. “I couldn’t stand him, Jules. Sorry.”
“Why ever not?”
Sanj takes a deep breath. “Well, seeing as you brought it up, that time at the pub, when Luke and I went to the bar to get the drinks? Aside from his making no move to pay for them...”
“He’d forgotten his wallet, he said.”
“...He spent the whole time checking out the other women sitting there. And flirted with the bartender.”
“I’m sure he was just being...friendly.”
“And when I told him Priya and I had an arranged marriage, he said ‘yeah, well, Jules and I have an arrangement too, if you know what I mean?’”
I can sense Julie’s hackles rising. “Maybe that was just banter. You know, boys will be boys, and all that?”
Sanj just looks at her, and Julie’s mouth falls open. “You should have told me,” she says, a little testily.
“Told you what, exactly? The man you’re seeing is a letch, and never going to leave his pregnant wife for you?”
“She wasn’t pregnant then!” says Julie, then she hesitates, maybe wondering whether that makes it better or worse. But Sanj has a point, and Julie knows it. She purses her lips, shakes her head, and nods down at her shopping. “No chance of that now, anyway,” she says, curtly.
“No,” says Sanj, and the two of them stand in silence for a while, before Sanj remembers what his job is, and rings up Julie’s items. He points at the card reader, evidently doing his best not to restart a conversation, though as Julie inserts her card, he clears his throat gingerly. “Did you want a bag?”
“Unless you think Doug can carry it all?” snaps Julie, so Sanj peels one off from the roll behind the till.
“It’s, um, five pee.” He holds
the plastic bag up, then points to a brown material one on a hook behind him. “Or you can have one of these. They’re recyclable. You know, save the planet.” He does a little dance, though what that has to do with anything ecological I’m not sure. “For the sake of our, you know...” He swallows so hard you don’t need hearing as good as mine to hear it. “Kids.”
Julie glares at him as she roots around in her handbag for a five-pence piece, slamming it down on the counter before snatching the plastic bag from his hand, stuffing her groceries into it, and storming out of the shop.
And as we walk briskly back home, Julie muttering angrily to herself, I’m even more resolved to get this resolved.
16
Today, finally, is Friday, which I’m happy about, because it’s Stitches Out day, which means I’ll finally be rid of this ridiculous plastic cone. And though it necessitates another visit to the V-E-T, that V-E-T is T-O-M, and I’m even more determined he’s the one who’s going to finally get Julie’s mind off Luke.
Perhaps in sympathy with my injury, Julie’s not been back to work all week, which has helped in that aspect too, as has the fact that Luke’s not dared to come around since her ultimatum the other day. This is something I suspect Julie’s equally relieved and unhappy about.
“You ready, Doug?” she says, once I’ve finished my “usual” breakfast, and I snort appropriately in response. Julie doesn’t look ready, however. She’s still in the sloppy jogging pants and loose-fitting sweatshirt combo she’s been wearing all week—hardly the correct attire for meeting her future husband-to-be. Even her ripped jeans might be preferable, but Julie doesn’t seem to feel a visit to see Tom warrants the same amount of effort an encounter with Luke used to.
At least not yet.
It’s a short drive to Tom’s office, which is just as well because the cone makes it impossible to stick my head out of the car window given how it catches the wind. When we get there, the waiting room is the usual mix of subdued dogs, along with a couple of cats in those plastic carrying cases, or “cat jails,” as Julie’s dad refers to them, and a parrot which keeps swearing, much to the amusement of the five-year-old boy with a cocker spaniel sitting opposite with his mum.
“Name?” says the receptionist brusquely, as we march up to the counter.
“Doug,” says Julie, and the woman narrows her eyes.
“Full name,” she says, and Julie hesitates.
“Um, Doug... Las?”
“Your name,” says the woman, not even raising a smile at Julie’s faux pas.
“Oh. Right. Sorry. Julie. Julie Newman.”
The receptionist taps something into her computer, then frowns. “Any other name?”
“Well, my middle name’s Elizab...”
“That you might be booked in under.”
“Oh. Sorry. Um, no.” Julie leans over the counter and peers at the screen.
“I don’t see an appointment,” the receptionist says, tilting it out of view, implying she’s the only one important enough to look at it.
“Right. No. Well, Tom said we should just pop by today and...”
“Tom?” I can almost hear the boom from breaking the sound barrier the receptionist’s eyebrow makes, given how quickly she raises it. “You mean Doctor Armstrong.”
Julie frowns. “I might. I don’t actually know his name. Surname, that is. He stitched Doug’s ear up last week, and...”
The receptionist gives Julie a look that suggests she’s accustomed to Tom’s shenanigans playing havoc with her booking system. “Right,” she says. “If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll do my best to squeeze you in. Although there are quite a few appointments to get through before he’ll be able to see you.”
Julie looks at her watch, then glances at the door, then at me, and then at her watch again, in the manner of someone who’s debating the merits of spending a morning in a V-E-T’s waiting room versus a bit of DIY surgery back home. For a moment, I fear we’re about to leave, then all of a sudden, I hear a familiar voice call, “Doug!” from across the room. The cone’s still obstructing my vision, so I attempt a slightly tricky reverse three-point turn, and by the time I’m facing in the direction the voice came from, Tom’s kneeling down in front of me.
“How are you doing?” he says, scratching me affectionately on the top of my head.
“He seems fine,” says Julie.
“Any problems with him otherwise?” says Tom, gently inspecting my ear. “I’m guessing he hasn’t been off his food?”
Julie snorts with laughter at this. I can’t imagine why.
“Well, his ear seems to be healing nicely.” He climbs back to his feet and smiles at Julie. “I’ll just get those stitches out, and...” Tom stops talking.
The receptionist has just pointedly cleared her throat.
“Who was next?” he asks her, though it’s obvious it’s going to be us.
“Well, Mrs. Waters has been waiting for a while.” She nods across to an old lady sitting in the corner, next to a Great Dane who’s big enough for her to have ridden it here.
“Right. Thanks.”
Tom beckons for us to follow him, then he flashes Mrs. Waters that smile, tells her he’ll see her in a moment, and escorts Julie and me into his consulting room.
“So, have you had a good week?” he asks, lifting me up onto the examination table.
“Sorry,” says Julie, after a moment. “Were you talking to me this time?”
Tom laughs. “Unless Doug here has suddenly developed the power of speech, I’d better have been. That is unless I’m going a bit...” He puts a finger to his temple, spins it rapidly round, and crosses his eyes. “Anyway,” he says, as he unfastens my cone and removes it carefully from around my neck. “Freedom!”
Tom’s just mimicked Julie’s dad’s Scottish accent, and Julie says, “Braveheart?” and Tom grins and nods, and I understand it’s a reference to the film rather than an appreciation of how stoic I’ve been. I snort encouragingly, then shake my head rapidly from side to side, glad to be free of my plastic prison.
“Better?” says Tom, definitely to me this time, then he peers at my ear, and says, “You didn’t answer my question,” so I give Julie the side-eye to indicate he is, in fact, now talking to her.
“A good week?”
Julie harrumphs.
“What?” says Tom, picking up a pair of tweezers, and gently taking hold of my ear with his other hand.
“Are you genuinely interested, or is this just some bedside manner thing?” Julie says. “You know, small talk to put me at ease, distract me before you pull those stitches out without warning.”
As I wonder why on earth Julie’s the one who needs to be put at ease seeing as I’m the one undergoing surgery, Tom leans in close with the tweezers and yanks the first stitch out. It smarts, and as I stare at him in shock, Tom grins down at me. “Sorry, Doug. No easy way to do that, I’m afraid.”
I let out an exaggerated sigh, then brace myself for the rest.
“It wasn’t. You know, bedside,” says Tom, synchronizing his conversation with stitch removal. “Because you’re not, you know...the one who’s technically...in bed.” Tom pulls out the last stitch, then produces a cotton wool swab and a bottle of some liquid which I’m not looking forward to him applying. There may be a small logo featuring some bones on the bottle, but there’s a skull above them too, which kind of transforms it from potentially tasty treat to a little bit scary. “So?” he says.
“Well, no, actually. Luke and I... We split up.”
Tom looks up sharply, an expression of genuine concern on his face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“No, you’re not!”
“I am, if it’s made you unhappy.” Tom dabs my ear with whatever the liquid is. It smells pretty bad, and stings a little, but I’m far too interested in what’s going on between him and Julie to
let it bother me. “Did you want to talk about it?”
“Not really. I mean, I know it was the right thing to do, so...”
“Not even over coffee? On me?”
“Isn’t that a bit...unethical?”
“Me asking you for coffee?” he laughs. “Again, if I was asking Doug, then maybe. If not a bit weird.”
“A lot weird.”
“Fair point.” Tom laughs again—it’s a cheeky, infectious laugh, and I can’t help but pick up on the mood, so I wag my tail, and he frowns at me. “It’s the strangest thing, but I get the feeling that Doug understands every word I say.”
A broad smile appears on Julie’s face, and I’m pleased, because it’s the first time I’ve seen that in a while. “He has that effect on people.”
Tom turns his attention back to swabbing my ear. “So?”
Julie sighs, and it’s one of those sighs she often makes through her nose that’s usually followed by something negative. “Listen, Tom,” she says, even though he’s already listening. “I’ve just been through a painful breakup, and I’m sure you’re very nice, although if you were then you’d be disproving what I currently think about all men, and it’s extremely kind of you to treat Doug like this, and for free, and I’m flattered that you asked me out, even though despite what you said, it might be a bit ethically suspect, but...” She stops talking.
Tom’s holding a hand up.
“What?”
“I didn’t ask you out.”
“Pardon?”
“You said I asked you out. I didn’t.”
“You just did!”
“When?”
“Just now. You asked me if I wanted to talk about it. Over coffee.”
“Oh, that.” The smile appears again. “Right. Well, I can see why you might have thought that was me asking you out, but it wasn’t.”
Julie’s cheeks darken. “It wasn’t?”
“No. You said you’d...” He hesitates, perhaps not wanting to remind Julie about Luke. “Had a bad week. I wondered if you wanted to talk about it. Over coffee.”