by Matt Dunn
“You hit me!” he whines, then he turns to Miss Harris, who’s watching the whole show from the other side of the fence with the intensity of someone seated in front of the season finale of their favorite soap opera. “Did you see that? She hit me,” he says as if he still can’t believe it.
Miss Harris nods. “I’m guessing you probably deserved it.”
Julie’s making a fist again—and ominously for Luke, with both hands. “How could you?” she says, advancing angrily toward him.
Luke takes another step backward. “I was...confused,” he says.
“Confused,” says Julie, though the look of disbelief on her face suggests that, finally, she isn’t.
She feints another punch at him, smiles as he flinches, then she crouches down to pick me up, and nods toward the gate.
“Don’t slam it on your way out,” she says, then she turns her back on Luke, and carries me toward her lounge chair.
I’m gloating a little as I watch him over her shoulder, I have to admit, but after all I’ve been through, I think I have the right to feel pleased with myself.
“Think about what you’re doing, Julie,” he warns.
“Oh, I am,” she says.
Luke touches his nose gingerly, then he scowls at the two of us. “I can make things difficult for you at work, you know?” he says, but Julie just shrugs.
“Backatcha!” she says. “Although...”
“Although what?” snaps Luke.
“I can make things difficult for you at work too. Oh, and at home.”
With a final glower in our direction, Luke turns and stalks wordlessly out of the garden, accompanied by a slow handclap from Miss Harris.
“Good for you, dear,” she says.
Then—and with a smile on her face—Julie lowers me gently to the grass, picks up her headphones, sticks them in her ears, and lies down to enjoy the sun.
As Julie dozes off, her bikini top untied to avoid tan lines, a contented look on her face, I crawl beneath her lounge chair and analyze what’s just happened.
As I see it, there are two big pluses to the end of the Luke situation. The first, and obvious one, being no more Luke, which means he won’t be able to mess Julie about anymore (and I won’t have to put up with any more of his fake throws, which—by the looks of the lines he’d been feeding Julie for the past few months—was exactly what he’d been doing to her too). The second is that Julie’s finally emotionally free to go out with Tom. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few weeks, it’s that Julie needs Tom to help her get past the Luke phase of her life.
Trouble is, Julie doesn’t seem to want to call Tom, and Tom doesn’t seem to be calling Julie. Probably because he thinks Luke’s back on the scene. And despite my best efforts, I can’t seem to find a way to get the two of them together.
Or can I?
A creaking sound from elsewhere in the garden catches my attention. It’s not Miss Harris’s arthritic joints. Rather it’s that Luke decided to take Julie’s instruction not to slam the gate on his way out a step further, and hasn’t actually shut it closed. Which means anyone can come in. Or go out.
It’s nearly lunchtime, which means Barkrun will be finishing soon, so I creep out from underneath the lounge chair and take stock of the situation. Julie still seems to be napping, plus there’s a tinny sound coming from her headphones, so I’m pretty sure my movements will escape detection. Under the pretext of a security patrol, I trot over to where the gate’s swinging gently in the breeze and peer through the gap.
With a final glance back at Julie, and before I have time to think about what I’m doing and perhaps lose my nerve, I squeeze through the gap, making it out just as the wind slams the gate shut behind me.
I swallow hard as I hear the latch drop back into place—no going back now. Then, with a hop and a skip, I’m out on the pavement.
I check up and down the road, careful I don’t lose my bearings after the excitement of my Great Escape, as this adventure will no doubt be referred to in the future. The park’s to the right, so all I have to do is navigate the three-minute walk without being run over, or dognapped, or getting lost. I’ve done it a thousand times with Julie, or Julie’s dad, after all, so making it on my own should be a piece of cake.
Which, hopefully, is what I’ll get as a reward, once Julie and Tom realize what I’ve done for them.
40
Being outside on my own feels exhilarating if a little bit scary, but apart from a slightly hairy moment on the crosswalk, when none of the cars stop for me so I have to wait for a gap in the traffic and make a desperate run for it, I make it to the park unscathed.
Sure enough, I’m just in time to see Tom clearing up after Barkrun as the usual band of breathless women make their way to the café. Excitedly, I run toward him and let out an insistent bark. The second Tom catches sight of me, he breaks into a huge grin, then straightaway he scans the space behind me for any sign of Julie, and there and then, I know I’ve done the right thing.
“Hey, Doug!” He reaches down to scratch the top of my head. “On your own?”
I bark again in an attempt to convey that yes I am because I’ve come to get him. But for some reason, the message doesn’t get through.
“Is Julie in the café with Mum?” He gets his phone out, then something seems to occur to him, so he slips it away again. “You haven’t escaped, have you?”
I spin in circles, first one way then the other, this time trying to make him understand Julie’s at home and he should come back with me. But even though these exaggerated mimes always seem to work for the likes of Lassie and Flipper, Tom doesn’t seem to get it.
As I claw the ground anxiously, wondering whether I should start writing the words follow me in the dirt, he hurriedly stows the last of the Barkrun equipment in the boot of his car.
“Well, whatever it is you’re doing here, I think I’d better get you home. Don’t you?”
I high-five him (more commonly recognized as offer him a paw) as I mentally punch the air, then allow myself to be lifted onto the passenger seat of Tom’s Mercedes. I sit there patiently as he starts the car and steers us quickly out of the park. The roof’s down, though I’m too focused on my end goal to enjoy the short, breezy drive back to the house.
This could be it, I remind myself. Tom and Julie get together, and live happily ever after, and by extension, so do I. I’m so excited by the prospect, it’s all I can do not to wee a little on Tom’s leather upholstery. And to be honest, I’m not sure I don’t.
Tom parks behind our Fiat, then climbs out of the Mercedes and lets me out, pausing briefly to inspect Julie’s car as I run excitedly toward the house. The gate leading to the garden’s still shut. So even though I run up to it and begin scratching at the bottom, Tom doesn’t take the hint and break it down like he might if this were the movies and not real life. Instead, he makes his way to the front door and rings the bell, though when there’s no answer, he bends over and pushes the letterbox open.
“Julie?” he shouts through the slot.
He tries the doorbell once more, then shouts, “Julie” through the letterbox again, though a little more anxiously this time. Then he peers back over his shoulder at Julie’s car, and frowns down at me.
“Is everything okay, Doug?” he asks, and I wag my tail as if to suggest that yes, it is, because Luke has both been given his marching orders and punched in the face, but that doesn’t seem to reassure him. He starts banging loudly on the door, and the next thing we hear is a haughty, “Can I help you?” from next door. Though it’s quickly followed by a coquettish giggle, and “Oh, hello, Doctor Tom.”
“Hello, Mary,” says Tom. “I didn’t know you lived here.”
“I didn’t know you made house calls on a Sunday.”
“I don’t. Normally. But, you see...” Tom appears to be floundering, so I bar
k to remind him I’m here, which seems to do the trick. “Doug turned up at the park. Without Julie. So I’m a little worried that she’s, you know, not...okay.”
“Oh-kay,” parrots Miss Harris.
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”
“She’s in the backyard. Looks dead to the world.”
“What?” Tom sounds panicked. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare key?”
“No,” says Miss Harris. “But if you want, you could come through to my garden and peek over the fence. Just to check.”
“Just to check. Sure.”
Tom hesitates, perhaps fearing if he disappears into Miss Harris’s house, he might not make it out again, and perhaps he has some justification given the adoration with which she looks at him.
“Okay,” he says, perhaps a little nervously, scooping me up from the path.
We make our way into Miss Harris’s front garden, and Tom hurriedly carries me through her house. Santa’s nowhere to be seen, fortunately, but it’s dark and smells so much of cat I almost can’t stand it, and when we finally emerge into her barely-cultivated jungle of a backyard, I’m nearly gagging. Then I hear a hissing from the far corner, and spot Santa: she’s shut in her cat jail, glaring malevolently at me through the bars, and I can’t help but let out a smug snort. Miss Harris is obviously punishing her for her indiscretions, which explains why she hasn’t been trespassing in our garden since her return. While it’s perhaps a fleeting victory, I have to see it as a good omen.
Tom sets me down, so I run over to the fence and peer through a crack, and he does the same. Julie’s still lying on her lounge chair, sunglasses on and headphones in, only like Tom’s car, she’s now topless.
“Julie,” he shouts, but her music is turned up so loud we can all hear it. After a moment’s deliberation, he picks me up and hoists me over the fence, dropping me gently the five or so feet onto the grass, where—and credit where credit’s due—I land with the agility of a cat.
It doesn’t occur to me to let Julie know Tom’s on his way—I’m more interested in ensuring he escapes Miss Harris’s clutches—so I stand and wait for him. After a moment, there’s a “one-two-three!” from the other side of the fence, and the next thing I know, Tom comes flying over and lands in a heap in the middle of the lawn.
I bark excitedly, and Julie sits up with a start, removes her sunglasses and her headphones, and peers curiously at me. Then she catches sight of Tom, flat on his back by the birdbath, and lets out a piercing scream.
“Tom! What the...”
As she leaps up from the lounge chair, Tom hauls himself into a sitting position. He’s obviously winded himself, though his discomfort is evidently from something else.
“Julie, I...” He puts one hand over his eyes. “You’re...”
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I...” Tom’s doing that thing where he’s doing his best not to look, though I can tell he desperately wants to. “You might want to...”
He’s pointing in the vague direction of her chest, but Julie seems to have forgotten she’s removed her bikini top. And in fact, it’s only when I retrieve it from where it’s draped over the end of the lounge chair and present it to her that she remembers, shrieks again, then does her best to cover herself up with her forearm.
“What are you? Some sort of peeping...” She stops talking, evidently realizing how stupid what she’s about to say will sound.
“Everything alright over there?” Miss Harris is peering anxiously over the top of the fence, so Tom waves at her.
“Yes. Fine.”
Julie’s expression implies the opposite. “Well?” she says.
“Doug turned up at the park. On his own.”
“Doug did what?”
“Came to the park.”
“He’s been here all this time!” Julie stares at me. “Haven’t you?”
“Actually, he hasn’t,” says Tom, getting slowly to his feet. “It was almost as if he’d come to get me.”
With a twirl of her finger, Julie indicates he should turn round, and when he does, she takes the opportunity to slip her bikini top back on. “Why would he...?”
“Well, maybe because... I mean, I thought something might have happened...”
“Which was why you decided to climb into my back garden to scare the life out of me?”
“Well...”
“To be fair, that was my idea,” says Miss Harris from the other side of the fence.
“Thank you, Mary,” says Julie, in the tone she uses when I chew something I shouldn’t.
“You’re welcome,” says Miss Harris.
As she disappears from view, Julie holds one hand up toward her and extends her middle finger, which gets an indignant “Charming!” from the other side of the fence, where Miss Harris is obviously still watching the goings-on through a gap.
Julie’s angry too, and as I trot across the garden to hide behind Tom’s legs, her terse “Stay!” seems to be directed at both of us. She nips toward the open French doors and inside the house, I imagine to get dressed, so Tom perches on the end of the lounge chair to wait.
“I think we’re in trouble, Doug,” he says to me, so I sit down next to him and give him a look to say, actually, you might be surprised. A moment later, he is when—after the quickest outfit change in history—Julie marches back into the garden wearing her best sundress. Interestingly, she appears to have refreshed her makeup too.
“So tell me again what you’re doing here?”
Tom makes to stand up, but Julie’s glare means he quickly changes his mind. “Like I said. I thought something might have happened...”
“And something might have, Tom. But instead, you heartlessly slept with me, then never called, despite it being the best sex of your life, of my life, even after you gave me that big romantic speech...”
“...to Doug.”
“To Doug?”
“Yeah.” Tom reaches down to pet me. “If I hadn’t brought him home. Because he was on his own. In the park. And he might have been run over, or dognapped, or fallen in the pond.”
“Right.” Julie’s cheeks have darkened, and I suspect that’s nothing to do with the fact she’s been lying in the sun. “Well, you’ve brought him back now, so it’s fine.”
“Great.”
“So you can go.”
Tom stands up. “Okay.”
Julie’s sounded like she hasn’t meant it, and Tom looks like he doesn’t want to, but even so, he starts to tentatively back-pedal toward the gate, just as she circles warily round to the lounge chair, almost as if they’re sizing each other up in a boxing ring.
“Julie, just...”
Julie pauses, sunglasses in hand. “What?”
“Is that really how you see...?”
“How else can I possibly?”
“Right.”
“What does that mean?”
Tom sighs. “Nothing.”
“No, go on. What were you about to say?”
“Like I said. Nothing. It’s none of my business.”
“What isn’t?”
“Your, you know...” He gestures vaguely toward her. “Love life.”
“It certainly isn’t!”
“Quite. So I’ll just...”
“Good.”
Julie slips her sunglasses back on in a that’s-the-end-of-the-matter way, so Tom turns on his heel, strides purposefully toward the French doors, and heads into the house. Julie watches him go, then stares at the space he’s just been occupying as if still imagining him standing there. Then, with a loud sigh and a snort not unlike one of mine, she sits down heavily on the lounge chair.
“It’s just, well... Luke.” Tom has just come bursting back out through the French doors, and his sudden appearance has made both Julie and me jump.
Julie peers at him over the top of her sunglasses. “Luke?”
“He’s never going to leave his wife.”
Julie pulls her glasses off, folds the arms in, and sets them down next to her. “I know that.”
“So why are you still seeing him?” says Tom, desperately.
“I’m not.”
“Because all he’s... Hang on. You’re not seeing Luke?”
Julie widens her eyes and shakes her head slowly, as if explaining something to a five-year-old. “Nope.”
“Right. Good.” Tom narrows his eyes. “So why...”
“Why what?”
“The other night. When I... I mean, after we’d...”
Julie sighs exasperatedly. “Perhaps if you could try a full sentence, I might actually have some clue as to what on earth it is you’re trying to say?”
“Right. Sorry.” Tom takes a deep breath. “When I came around the other night, Luke was here. And...”
“You came around the other night?”
“Yeah. The day after we... You know. Anyway, Luke answered the door. And he left no doubt that I absolutely was not welcome, and that you and he...” Tom looks as if he’s trying to mime something with his hands, then it turns into something rude, so he gives up and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Were an item.”
“He’s right.”
“Oh. But you just...”
“We were an item. In typical Luke fashion, he’d only come around to give my dad the opportunity to thank him for calling an ambulance when he had his heart attack.”
“That was big of... Your dad had a heart attack? Mum didn’t...”
Julie holds both hands up. “He did. A mild one. He doesn’t—well, didn’t—want anyone to know, so he swore Dot to silence. But he’s fine. No thanks to Luke.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It appears that Luke may have actually caused my dad to have the heart attack in the first place.” Julie reaches down to pat me on the head. “And possibly wouldn’t have bothered calling an ambulance if it hadn’t been for Doug here.”