The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  CHAPTER 8

  I walked home slowly with Prudence, trying to decide which had shocked me the most: Nick declaring his feelings to me like that, when he was still supposed to be my cousin’s boyfriend, or his claim that Ruth was an alcoholic. I just couldn’t believe it: surely, I hadn’t been living with her for over two years without noticing such an important thing? Was I blind? She might have been amazingly clever at hiding it, but shouldn’t I have picked up hints? Or was Nick just making this up, exaggerating the little things I was aware of, like the disappearing bottles of wine, to give him an excuse for finishing with her? After all, most people liked a drink, didn’t they – some more than others. It didn’t mean she was an alcoholic, did it?

  ‘I’m going to have to start watching her more closely,’ I told Prudence as we turned away from the beach. ‘If it is true, I feel bad for not noticing.’

  Me too. Maybe I should stop inviting all my friends round for raves when she’s out. Leaving traces of beer in the dog bowls.

  ‘Oh, Prudence!’ I sighed. ‘It’s all very well for you to joke about it. But what am I going to do about Nick? It makes me feel sick with guilt, even though I’ve done nothing wrong. Not really. I fancied him, of course – who wouldn’t? – and I like him. But I’d never have acted on it.’ I paused, my mind racing. ‘He can’t really feel like that about me, can he?’ I added in a whisper.

  Why not? You’re quite OK-looking, really, for a human.

  ‘You’re probably the only one who thinks so. Look at Ruth, how beautiful and clever she is – and look at me! I still can’t help wondering if he just thinks I’d be grateful to go out with him. The sad thing is, if things were different, I would have been, too! But he’s Ruth’s. And if he finishes with her – oh, God, it’ll be the end of the world, for her. And she’ll blame me,’ I added as an afterthought. ‘Whether I deserve it or not.’

  By now we’d turned the corner into West View Hill and were starting to climb the road up to our house, so I didn’t have enough breath to talk any more. When I got home, Ruth was still in bed. After washing Prudence and wiping the floor of the utility room, I had a look in the fridge. I was pretty sure I’d left half a bottle of wine in there, but it had gone. Well, we did normally share things, I told myself. But a little voice at the back of my head was reminding me: yes, we shared most things – apart from alcohol. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I liked the odd glass of wine and, in the past, I’d always quite enjoyed an occasional gin and tonic. But these days I wasn’t earning much more than the minimum wage as a shop assistant, so I couldn’t often afford such luxuries. What if that was what I sometimes heard clinking in the carrier bags Ruth brought home with her – gin, or vodka, or perhaps whisky? She’d definitely be squirrelling that away in her room somewhere. And although I cleaned the rest of the house, I never went in her bedroom; she kept the door locked when she was out. I was beginning to wonder if she had a good reason for that.

  I was looking for empty bottles, in the recycling bin outside the back door, when she found me. I hadn’t heard her coming downstairs.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Nothing. Well, just looking for something,’ I stuttered. And then I stood up straight, determined to have this out with her. ‘I was wondering what happened to the half bottle of rosé I left in the fridge last night.’

  ‘Bit early to start drinking, isn’t it?’ she said, and I flushed.

  ‘I just wondered what happened to it, that’s all,’ I said, trying to make eye contact with her.

  ‘You must have finished it off without realising.’

  ‘Or maybe you did. By mistake.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, maybe I did – so what? It was only a cheap supermarket plonk, wasn’t it? For God’s sake.’

  ‘Yes, it was. But as you know, I’m not earning a fortune so I can’t really afford a bottle of wine.’ I paused. Despite everything, I was worried about offending her. ‘Look, I’d obviously be happy to share with you,’ I said carefully. ‘Maybe we should have an agreement: you buy a bottle one weekend, I buy one the next, and we drink it together.’

  ‘If you like,’ she said with a shrug. She went back into the kitchen and I heard her put the kettle on. ‘Honestly, what a bloody fuss about half a bottle of cheap plonk,’ she muttered, half under her breath.

  I had no idea where to go from there. I could hardly accuse her of being an alcoholic on the strength of her drinking half a bottle of leftover wine. I was too nervous to mention the clinking carrier bags. I’d just have to wait till I got a chance to do some detective work. More than anything, I hoped to be able to prove Nick wrong.

  I tried to put it out of my mind for the rest of the day. It had started to rain, so I stayed indoors, looking at the PAT website again, beginning to feel a kind of nervous, jittery excitement at the thought that, once I’d had Prudence assessed for suitability, I might actually be able to start volunteering with them.

  Ruth went out later and returned with another carrier bag of clinking bottles, which she carried straight upstairs as usual.

  ‘And we’ll never know what’s in them, or where they end up, will we?’ I whispered to Prudence, who was lying at my feet, dozing.

  She opened one eye, twitched one ear at me, yawned and shifted position.

  They might just be soft drinks. Or water! The expensive type that comes in glass bottles. Stop fussing.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. If she hasn’t got a drink problem, no wonder she’s upset with Nick for accusing her. But why would he accuse her, unless he had good reason?’

  Quiet. She’s coming back downstairs.

  I looked up to see Ruth walking into the kitchen holding a single bottle of rosé wine.

  ‘I’m putting this in the fridge, as per your suggestion,’ she called out. ‘To share this evening, right?’

  ‘Oh! OK, thanks.’

  Prudence lifted her head and gave me a look.

  See? What’s the problem?

  So perhaps it was just Nick making trouble. Ruth and I cooked pasta together that evening and shared the wine while we watched a film. She seemed to be in a calmer mood but she wasn’t very talkative. When I tried to ask if she was OK, she just shrugged and sighed, shaking her head. I knew she was still pining for Nick; I wanted to ask her why she didn’t just call him, but I knew from experience it was better to keep my nose out of it. After she’d gone up to bed, yawning ostentatiously and saying she was exhausted, I crept upstairs and listened for the sound of a cork being popped or the glug of something being poured. But after a while I gave up and went to bed myself.

  Another week passed without Nick coming to the house, and judging by Ruth’s miserable mood, he hadn’t called her either. When it was my turn to buy the bottle of wine we’d agreed to share every Saturday evening, I suggested we get a pizza delivered and have a cosy night in.

  ‘It’s ages since we just spent an evening chatting together,’ I said lightly.

  ‘What d’you want to chat about?’ she asked suspiciously as I put some slices of pizza on our plates.

  I sighed. ‘Well, look, to be honest I’m worried about you. You seem so unhappy.’

  She looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected me to notice.

  ‘I’m all right,’ she said, but there was a catch in her voice and she had to turn away.

  ‘You’re not, really, are you?’ I said gently. I took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to like me mentioning his name, but: ‘Why don’t you call Nick?’

  ‘Call him?’ she retorted. ‘I’m calling him every bloody night! Every day!’ She started to cry. ‘He doesn’t pick up. He won’t talk to me! What am I supposed to do?’

  I put down the pizza cutter and put my arms round her.

  ‘Do you know why? What’s gone wrong?’

  She pushed me away. ‘No! He just … he got funny with me when we were in the Cotswolds. And he hasn’t spoken to me since. Oh, leave me alone, Jess. I don’t want to talk about it.’


  ‘All right. I’m sorry. Look, just come and eat your pizza. We’ll talk about something else.’

  But we didn’t. We ate in silence; I couldn’t think of a thing to say, and Ruth merely nibbled at her pizza, sniffing miserably. She downed her wine, then said she was tired and went off upstairs.

  ‘I feel a bit out of my depth,’ I said to Prudence. ‘I really want to help her, but short of admitting I had that conversation with Nick, or coming right out and asking if she drinks on her own in her bedroom and hides the evidence, I don’t know what else I can do.’

  She needs a dog. Or even a cat. It’s ridiculous expecting a human to be happy when they haven’t got a pet to look after them.

  ‘I know. You’re right, of course, but Ruth isn’t a pet person. Oh well, at least I’ve tried.’

  I went to bed myself soon afterwards, and read my book for a while as I wasn’t tired enough to sleep. Round about midnight I heard Ruth’s bedroom door open and her footsteps going down the stairs. I presumed she was going for a glass of water or something. I turned out my light and fairly soon I must have fallen asleep – as the next thing I was aware of was Prudence, barking fit to bust. I jumped out of bed and ran downstairs in a state of panic, half afraid of finding an intruder in the house.

  ‘What is it?’ I cried out. Prudence was running from the living room to the stairs and back again, still barking her head off. I was grateful to see the front door didn’t seem to have been smashed in. ‘What’s happened, Pru?’ I shouted above her barking.

  And then I saw her: Ruth, lying on her back on the sofa, her arm across her head, groaning. By her side, an empty vodka bottle. No glass, from what I could see. She must have been drinking straight from the bottle.

  ‘What are you doing down here?’ I began, and then I stopped, horrified. There was vomit on her face, in her hair, down her pyjamas and over the sofa. With an involuntary spasm of her body, she started to retch and cough at the same time. I ran for a bowl; I wasn’t fast enough but I reached her again in time to help her sit up.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she spluttered, trying to push me away so that she could lie down. ‘Go away!’

  ‘No! I’m not leaving you: you mustn’t lie down or you’ll choke. You’d have choked already if Prudence hadn’t—’

  ‘Bloody dog!’ she yelled. Prudence had stopped barking now and was whimpering unhappily around my feet. ‘Bloody woke me up! Get her out of here!’

  ‘All right, Pru,’ I told her gently. ‘Come on, we’re all right now, good girl.’ I led her back to her bed in the kitchen, where I gave her a quick hug. ‘You did well. Don’t listen to her. Good girl.’

  By the time I got back to Ruth she was lying down on her back again. Ignoring her protests, I propped her up once more, and did my best to clean her up. I then spent the rest of the night sitting with her, making sure she didn’t choke when she was sick again. In return for this I was shouted at, sworn at, told that Prudence was a horrible animal and that we could both clear off out of her house and never come back. In the morning she calmly got up and went upstairs for a shower, ignoring me completely.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I said when she came back down.

  ‘No, we don’t.’

  ‘Ruth, you need help. You’ve got a drink problem.’

  She stared at me. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never been drunk?’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying. Look, last night you must have … had more than usual. A lot more, right? Because normally, you don’t even get drunk, do you? You’re too used to it. I know, Ruth. You drink upstairs in your room, on your own. You hide the bottles somewhere. I know.’

  She turned away. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes you do! Look, I’m not judging you, I’m worried about you. For God’s sake, you could have choked to death last night if it wasn’t for Prudence—’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for her,’ she retorted, wheeling back to face me again, ‘I’d have been able to sleep it off peacefully through the night, instead of having you coming down and bloody well shaking me and pushing me around, making me sick—’

  ‘What?’ I gasped. ‘That wasn’t what happened, Ruth! You’d already been ill – you were choking—’

  ‘Oh, be quiet, can’t you? You’re giving me a headache. Take your stupid dog and get out of here. Go on, leave me in peace.’

  ‘OK, I will!’ I said, angry beyond measure now. I’d had next to no sleep, I’d been keeping an eye on her all through the night, Pru had possibly saved her life, and this was the thanks we got for it! I might have been a quiet, shy little mouse all my life, but I’d always hated being treated unfairly. It was the only thing that made me lose my rag, and in fact I had to be careful, because it had been my downfall in the past. Well, it was quite obvious now that Nick had been right about Ruth, but she was completely in denial and it seemed nothing I could say would change that.

  ‘I feel sorry for her, I really do,’ I told Prudence as we set off for a long walk to get away from Ruth’s temper. ‘I understand that she can’t help it if she’s got a drink problem. But for God’s sake! I’m not taking the blame for last night, when all I did was try to look after her. And you! You saved her life, and she just called you horrible names!’

  She’s never liked me. I’ll get over it.

  ‘But it’s not fair, Pru! I don’t know if I can put up with it, if this is how she’s going to be. She’s been a moody cow a lot of the time recently, and I’ve put up with it because I still loved her. But this is the limit, it really is. Nick won’t ever come back to her, and she’ll never get over it. Her drinking’s just going to get worse, and she’ll get more and more bad-tempered.’

  So what do you suggest we do? Live on the beach?

  ‘Ha! That sounds nice right now, in an August heatwave, but summer will be over soon and then it’ll be too cold! No, I think we might have to move out, before she ends up throwing us out.’ I sighed. ‘I’ve had enough of her, Prudence, and to be honest, I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I’m still doing here in Pennycombe Bay. Working in a shop, earning next to nothing? No social life, no friends – not since Liz seems to have abandoned me. Let’s face it, it’s not exactly the life I imagined for myself when I moved down here. I’m really starting to wonder if I’d be better off going back to Exeter.’

  Prudence looked up at me, her soulful big brown eyes full of sadness and sympathy. I sat down on one of the benches overlooking the sea and stroked her head. She always seemed to understand me. It felt like it was only when I was talking to her, that I could explain how I really felt, and come to any kind of decision. I loved Pennycombe Bay, but perhaps it was time for me to face up to the fact that it didn’t seem to love me back.

  ‘Thanks for listening, Pru. I know what to do, now.’ And I pulled my phone out of my pocket and hit my dad’s number. ‘Hi,’ I said, and a kind of lightness of relief filled my mind when I heard his voice. ‘Dad, I need to talk to you. Can I come and see you?’

  ‘Of course you can, Jessie, love. When?’

  ‘Today?’ I asked in a small, tired voice. ‘Please?’

  ‘I’ll get some extra potatoes in the oven. Drive carefully.’ He hesitated. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dad,’ I said. ‘I think I might have to leave Pennycombe Bay. I think I might need a fresh start.’

  PART 2

  PAWS FOR THOUGHT

  CHAPTER 9

  As I turned off the M5 for Exeter I took some deep breaths to calm myself. Coming home tended to stir up mixed feelings in me. It was always lovely to see Dad, to be back in the comfort of my childhood home – and yes, I still referred to it as ‘home’ even though I hadn’t lived there for about four years – I’d lived for nearly two years at the Pennycombe Grand Hotel before I even moved in with Ruth. But it always felt strange to be back in the city after the slower pace of life at Pennycombe Bay, the sea views, the beach, the clifftop country walks.

  Dad must hav
e been watching for me from the front room window; by the time I’d got out of the car he was already on the doorstep, holding out his arms to me for a hug.

  ‘Sorry about the short notice,’ I said. ‘I just … needed to talk. It’s—’

  ‘Ssh.’ He stroked my hair as if I were still a little girl. His only child. I swallowed hard. I tried to come home on Sundays as often as possible, but sometimes several weeks went by without a visit, and we missed each other. It was another reason why perhaps I should come back to stay. ‘You can tell me all about it in a minute. Just come in and let me make you a cup of tea, first. And let’s get some water down for this one!’ He bent to stroke Prudence, who was skipping ecstatically around his legs, her tongue out, panting with excitement. She missed him too!

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ I watched him making the tea. Warming the pot, stirring the tea leaves, leaving it to brew while he put cups onto saucers, and poured milk into a little jug. No chucking a teabag quickly into a mug, for my dad! If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly, he used to tell me when I was younger, as well as a whole host of other similar words of wisdom. Did I ever listen? Did I ever learn? Probably not.

  ‘Now, come and sit down,’ he instructed me, leading the way through the lounge into the little conservatory on the back of the house. His favourite room, especially in the summer, it was only big enough for a small sofa, one cane chair and a little low table – but it looked out over the garden, his pride and joy, with its well-kept lawn, tidy flowerbeds and ancient fruit trees. ‘Dinner’s in the oven,’ he said as he put down the tea tray and opened the door onto the garden, allowing in a soft, warm breeze and the buzzing of bees around the honeysuckle over the fence. ‘But first, I want to hear all about it.’

  I sat down, smiling out at the garden and at the memories that came rushing back to me, every time I was here. My happiest memories, from way back, when Mum was still here. Playing with my doll’s pram, or climbing the big apple tree and swinging from its branches. Mum picking me up and comforting me if I fell.