The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  ‘Are you all right?’ Sandra Lovejoy, Human Resource Manager, might never have heard language quite like that before.

  ‘No!’ I said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor and rub my head with my free hand. ‘I’m not! What are you talking about – offering me my job back? I was fired, two years ago! Fired for something nobody ever even proved I did, which I was damn sure I didn’t do! Offer me back my job? Just like that? You’re lucky I didn’t sue you for unlawful dismissal! I wasn’t even given a written warning.’

  This had been mentioned to me at the time, of course – by my dad, and Ruth, among other people – but back then I was too worried about how much that kind of legal battle might cost, and to be honest I just wanted to put it all behind me. Now, faced with the sheer bloody cheek of this woman suddenly calling me, two years later, to offer me my job back, presumably because they were short-staffed and desperate, I wished I’d done it.

  ‘Oh,’ said Sandra Lovejoy faintly. ‘Well, your record actually says you were fired for gross misconduct. In such cases, summary dismissal without notice or pay in lieu is permitted by law. If an employee feels aggrieved by such dismissal there are procedures whereby—’

  ‘Yes, yes, all right.’ I was in no mood to listen to her reading out the entire contents of her employment manual to me. ‘I was aggrieved, and I still am, because it was unfair. So if you think I’m going to come running back, just because you suddenly need someone to fry your onions, you can—’

  ‘I can assure you there’s a very good reason—’

  I hung up. I wasn’t going to listen to any more of it. I was shaking, and it wasn’t just from the shock of hitting my head. How dared they? After everything they’d put me through! How could they possibly think it was OK, now, to decide my gross misconduct wasn’t so gross after all, and we could all just pick up where we left off and act as if nothing had happened? How dare they assume I’d been sitting at home for two years doing nothing, just waiting for an opportunity to go back to the place where I’d had my reputation and my confidence so completely destroyed?

  ‘I’ve got a job, thank you very much!’ I said out loud.

  Prudence, who must have heard, from her bed downstairs, the thump of me falling over, had come trotting upstairs to find me, and had been listening to my furious conversation from the bedroom doorway. Now she gave a soft little whine and came running in to nuzzle her head against my arm.

  Have you hurt yourself?

  ‘Yes! No! I’m just really angry, Pru! How can they suddenly decide they want me back, after what happened?’

  Maybe they’ve somehow found out that you didn’t do it.

  It wasn’t Pru talking now, of course – well, OK, I know it was never really Pru talking, I’m not quite that daft – but on this occasion I wasn’t even trying to pretend. It was my own brain, suddenly waking up. The blow to my head must have loosened something. I sat up, staring into Pru’s eyes.

  ‘Could that be it?’ I said. ‘But how? How could they actually find out the truth about a piece of trout with almonds, two years after it was sent back and thrown away?’

  I was so mesmerised by the thought of a two-year-old trout being exhumed and examined as evidence, that the sound of my phone bursting into song again made me jump out of my skin.

  ‘Hello?’ I barked. If it was Sandra Lovejoy again I was going to tell her where to get off.

  ‘Jess?’

  I froze. I’d recognise that accent anywhere, even after two years.

  ‘Marco,’ I said faintly. Once again, What the hell? was the only thing buzzing through my aching head.

  ‘Jess, I call you because of HR woman is hopping mad. She not understand why you angry and cut her off in her calling, but me, I understand this. I know you angry to be called this way.’

  ‘Too bloody right I’m angry, Marco! What the hell is going on? Is it a mistake? I was fired two years ago – two years! – and now this Lovejoy woman just casually says I can come back! What a joke!’

  ‘Is no joke, Jess. No mistake. Mistake was then, two years ago. My mistake, my very big – how you say? – boo-boo. Trout with almonds was not your fault. I was making a very bad jump to the conclusion. You were good member of my staff. Good, quiet, very hard working. I should have been trusting you. I sorry I—’

  ‘Wait, wait, hang on, what are you saying?’ I rubbed my sore head. ‘You know it wasn’t me, now? How?’ Once again, visions of rotting two-year-old trout floated before my eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Is someone else.’

  ‘Someone else owned up to it? Who?’

  ‘Is Mrs Carberry. She gone. I give her the sack, big time, big sack. Never come back. You—’

  ‘Wait!’ I was sitting up now. My voice dropped several decibels, from loud and angry to quiet and shaky. ‘Liz? You’re telling me it was actually Liz who prepared that trout? Liz … let me take the blame? All this time?’ I added in a whisper.

  ‘Would have been longer time, much longer, probably eternity. But now, she make more mistake, worse mistake. Soup made with pork, instead of chicken – soup for the set menu, whole week supply, made up and put in freezer! Pork instead of chicken! Can you imagine, we catering for big bar mitzvah party. Pork not allowed, very bad, bad for religion! Oh my God! Is not kosher!’

  ‘I know,’ I said weakly, to shut him up. ‘I do know about kosher catering.’

  ‘Of course you do. You been to the college, you the clever girl with good exams. Mrs Carberry, her head is in the clouds, she not thinking, never thinking. Oh, she says, I thought it was the chicken. She cries, she falls into chair crying, she says she never make another mistake, it been two years since last mistake, she try harder—’

  ‘She told you? She told you, then, about the trout?’

  ‘I say to her: What is this mistake you make at the two years? Trout, she says. Almonds. She crying and crying in the chair! Tears, they dripping on the floor.’ Marco was becoming increasingly theatrical. I didn’t care about the tears, or the pork, or the chair. I just wanted to know one thing.

  ‘Did she say she was sorry?’ I asked quietly. ‘Did she say she was sorry I got the sack instead of her?’

  ‘Sorry? She say sorry a thousand times, a million times! I say to her, sorry not enough, Mrs Carberry. First the trout and now the pork, is not good enough, we are the Grand Hotel, people come here, they do not expect the mistake! You are out of the door, no more chances, no coming back. Big sack.’

  ‘But she didn’t mention my name? Nothing about me taking the blame?’ I persisted.

  ‘Your name? No.’ He paused. ‘Maybe she phone you.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, on a breath of disgust. ‘Maybe she would, if she cared.’

  ‘So you will come back, yes? Same job, same pay.’ He paused again, aware of my silence. ‘Maybe more pay. I talk to the HR.’

  ‘No, Marco. I’m not coming back. I’ve got another job, and I like it. I don’t want to work in catering again.’

  ‘But is your career! Your training, all your exams! Good cook! The trout, I tell everyone it not you.’

  ‘I don’t care. I don’t want the job back. But thank you … I suppose … for letting me know. Bye, Marco.’

  I hung up again, ignoring his squawks of protest.

  ‘It was Liz,’ I tell Prudence, stroking her ears, my mind in a daze. ‘Liz! No wonder she’s never spoken to me since. How could she do that? She was supposed to be my best friend. All those times I tried to call her, all the times I knocked at her door, sent her emails and texts and WhatsApp messages – and she was carrying on with her life, her job, knowing she’d ruined my career.’

  I laid my face against the top of Pru’s soft head. There didn’t seem to be anything I could invent for her to say, to make me feel better. I don’t know how long I sat like that for, the pain in my head completely forgotten now, compared with the pain in my heart. But when I heard the front door slamming, and the sound of Ruth’s footsteps thumping up the stairs, I finally l
ooked at my watch – and I jumped to my feet so quickly, tumbling poor Prudence off my lap, that my head spun.

  ‘Seven forty-five?’ I yelled. ‘No! It can’t be!’

  Nick would be waiting for me in the Smugglers’ Arms. I’d been almost ready to leave, before the first phone call, but the shock of the second one had made me lose all sense of time. Even if I left straight away, and took my car instead of walking, I’d still be about half an hour late. I made it to the pub with hardly a single gear change. Screeched into the car park, ran into the bar, trying to smooth my hair and steady my frazzled nerves. There was no sign of Nick at first, but I reasoned he might be in the other bar. Or outside in the little beer garden at the back, waiting for me impatiently while he enjoyed the last of the evening sunshine. When I’d looked everywhere without success, I bought myself a Coke and sat at a table in a prominent position so that he’d see me when he rushed in, presumably having been held up himself. While I waited, and attempted to calm myself down, trying to file the conversation about Liz to the back of my mind, to deal with tomorrow, I got out my phone to check for messages. Sure enough, there was a text from Nick. It must have come through while I was driving to the pub so I hadn’t heard it ping. I smiled as I opened the text, expecting to see an apology and an assurance that he was on his way. Perhaps he’d had an urgent phone call at the last minute too. I started to read the message, and felt the smile drop from my face.

  Jess. I waited half an hour. I can’t do this. I can’t be messed around right now, I feel too fragile, it’s too soon after Buddy. Sorry. Nick

  I groaned out loud, causing a few heads to turn in my direction. He’d been here? And left, without calling me to find out why I was delayed? Quickly, I hit the ‘call’ button and listened to the dialling tone, silently begging him to pick up. Voicemail. I cut off, dialled again, started to leave a message to explain what had happened, but panicked and cut off again when it seemed to come out all wrong – my words mixed up, my voice sounding whiny and pathetic. I took a couple more gulps of my Coke and started instead to write a text, but halfway through I deleted it. What was the point? He had my number. If he wanted to call me back, he would. If he didn’t …

  I’d blown it. It had happened again, just like before, with Andy in Exeter – except that this time I seemed to have been dumped without even the benefit of a first date. Despite everything I’d said about never making a fool of myself again over a man, I’d taken a chance, put myself out there, let my heart rule my head, and here I was, once again being rejected before it even got started. I drove home slowly and went straight upstairs to my room, with Prudence following behind me.

  What’s up with you? You look like you’ve lost a week’s worth of choc drops.

  ‘It’s worse than that, Pru,’ I whispered as I closed the bedroom door behind us and knelt down on the floor to put my arms around her and comfort myself with the soft warmth of her fur. I thought about the way I’d gone about arranging my non-date with Nick; the way I’d ‘borrowed’ Ruth’s phone and gone behind her back. How I’d pretended to myself that she wouldn’t mind. In all the excitement about meeting up with him, I’d managed to block that side of it from my mind. And it had all been for nothing; I’d turned up late, he hadn’t bothered to wait for me, he hadn’t even bothered to phone me or take my calls. Perhaps it served me right. I’d put my own longing for a date with Nick before my cousin’s feelings. After everything she’d done for me. ‘I’ve lost my way,’ I said sadly to Prudence.

  Lost your way? But you’re here at home. With me. Where else would you want to be?

  ‘Nowhere. You’re right, Pru. I’m not calling him again. In future, it’s just you and me. You’re all I need, and in future I mustn’t forget it. But you know, I did lose my way, and I need to find it again. I don’t want to make that kind of mistake again. Not ever.’

  PART 3

  A NEW LEASH OF LIFE

  CHAPTER 18

  September was nearly over. Pennycombe Bay had always been lovely in the autumn, and this year was no exception. The gold and russet leaves of the trees in Penny Woods, and the abundance of red berries in the hedgerows bordering the cliff path up to the top of Devil’s Peak, seemed to combine with the orange glow of the setting sun and its reflection over the darkening waters of the bay to make a glowing, warming backcloth for the walks Prudence and I took every evening. The beach was quiet, the sea not yet too cold for Pru to splash in and out of the waves, sending spray flying in all directions. At high tide, the wind sometimes whipped the waves up right onto the promenade, washing the pavement clean before the sea retreated again, leaving ripples in the sand. Everything looked beautiful, and I wanted to enjoy it the way I always had, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Liz’s betrayal. For two years, I’d lived with the shame of having been dismissed from my job, knowing I’d never get another job in catering. I’d lived in Ruth’s house in a state of constant gratitude and servitude, because she’d given me a roof over my head at a time when I had no means of support. If it hadn’t been for Jim, I might still have been unemployed. It had all turned out to be Liz’s fault! And now I had something else to blame her for: in a way, it was also because of her – because of Marco’s phone call telling me what she’d done – that I’d lost my chance of a relationship with Nick.

  Despite promising myself not to call him, and despite my shame about the way I’d sidestepped Ruth’s feelings, I’d sent Nick a couple of brief text messages during the intervening week or so, just saying that I was thinking of him and hoped he was coming to terms with the loss of Buddy. Occasionally I did also find myself hanging around the beach café at Stony Cove, hoping to see him there, but it was as if he’d disappeared from Pennycombe Bay completely. The only person I could have asked for his address, even if I’d had the nerve to go round to his home or send a letter there, was Ruth – and quite obviously that was out of the question.

  At home, alone with my thoughts, it was Liz I brooded over, even more than Nick. I was so angry with her. How had I never realised? I asked myself crossly. How had it never occurred to me that she’d been the one who’d made the mistake with the trout – that this was the reason she’d cut herself off from me ever since, unable to face me but quite happy to let me take the blame and the consequences? I supposed it was precisely because we had been such good friends that I’d never guessed; after all, nobody expects their best friend to be the one to do the dirty on them.

  Well, she hadn’t deserved me, I decided. I was better off without her. If this was how friends treated you, who needed them? Yet again, I told myself I was better off with just Prudence. Animals never let you down the way people did.

  To help me pull myself together, I decided to take a few days’ leave from the shop. Trade had slackened off, now that the holidaymakers had nearly all left the town and our only customers for the next few months now would be our regulars.

  ‘Maybe you should take a week off, Jess,’ Jim suggested, looking at me a bit anxiously. ‘You haven’t taken any holiday since the spring, and we were busy all summer. You look like you need a break.’

  ‘Thanks, Jim. Yes, I’d like a few days off, but I won’t take the whole week. I don’t want to miss my Pets As Therapy day at the children’s ward on Wednesday. I’d hate to let the children down. I’ve asked Dad if I can go and stay for a few days, so I’ll finish here on Friday and come home on Tuesday evening.’

  That Friday evening, I was packed and ready to set off for Exeter when I realised I hadn’t even told Ruth I was going. She was late home from work as usual and I didn’t want to wait any longer, so I left her a note. She wouldn’t care, anyway, as long as she’d got her vodka and her wine.

  I spent most of the weekend lazing around Dad’s house, claiming to be exhausted from work, and in fact I did feel tired. My anger with Liz was wearing me out! On the Monday, when Dad went to work, I roused myself to walk with Prudence to the local convenience store to get a few essentials so that I could cook dinner. It was goo
d to be out in the fresh air, and I walked fast, hoping the exercise would improve my temper. ‘What’s wrong, love?’ Dad asked, finally, as we were washing up the dinner things together. ‘I know you said you were tired, but you seem so preoccupied. Is there something on your mind? You know you can talk to me.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Sorry, Dad. I haven’t been much company, have I? I’m sure I’ll be fine now I’ve had a few days’ rest. Nothing to worry about—’

  ‘But I am worried, Jess. I don’t expect you to tell me everything that’s going on in your life – you’re an adult and it might be none of my business. But you’re also still my baby girl, you always will be, and it’s no good asking me not to worry, when you look like something’s happened to you. Something bad.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ I protested. ‘Stop it, you’re going to make me cry in a minute! Honestly, it’s nothing really. It’s not the end of the world.’

  It was what he used to tell me when I was little. When I’d broken a favourite toy, or lost something, or missed a friend’s party because I had chickenpox. It’s not the end of the world. But that was before Mum died – before the end of the world, for both of us, actually happened. He never said it afterwards. And yet here I was now, a grown woman with what, to many people, would seem a comparatively enviable lifestyle. After all, I was fit and healthy, I had a job I enjoyed, with a kind, appreciative boss. I lived in a nice house and had a supportive family. I needed to stop obsessing about Liz and what she’d done, pull myself together and get over it! ‘Are you depressed?’ Dad was asking me. ‘Do you think you should see your doctor?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. It’s just that I got some news the other week. It was a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  So I told him. Not about Nick, and I stayed off the subject of Ruth, too, feeling guilty because I hadn’t been able to do anything about her drinking. Perhaps I hadn’t tried hard enough. But I told him about Marco’s phone call – about Liz, and what I now knew about her betrayal. As I described all this, I could feel my voice shaking with disbelief and anger all over again.