The Pet Shop at Pennycombe Bay

by Sheila Norton

  And then, just to spoil my mood, on my first day back in Pennycombe Bay I saw Nick. He was alone, standing on the beach at Stony Cove, staring out over the sea, a faraway look on his face, and despite everything, my heart gave a painful lurch. I couldn’t understand why. I was absolutely not interested any more. Not only was he a drinker, but he’d treated Ruth badly, and on top of that, he’d admitted he’d used PAT to try to get me interested in him. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t even like him. But there was no denying there was still something about him – a kind of chemistry, I supposed – that made me feel jittery just at the sight of him. I really didn’t want to talk to him. Should I try to pretend I hadn’t seen him? Walk back in the other direction?

  But of course, by the time I’d stood still, hesitating, he’d turned round and seen me.

  ‘Hello, Jess,’ he said, and I was struck by the flatness of his tone.

  ‘Hi, Nick.’

  There was a cold wind off the sea that day, and he was wearing a heavy winter coat, a hat and thick scarf, but despite being a big man, he looked kind of frail, as if he’d been ill.

  ‘How are you?’ I couldn’t help asking.

  ‘Not bad. Yourself?’

  It couldn’t have been a much more stilted conversation. I nodded, said I was fine and had begun to ask him about his Christmas when he suddenly interrupted me, waving an arm out to encompass the view over the sea:

  ‘I’ll miss all this.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said. ‘Are you going away, or something?’

  ‘Yes.’

  For a moment, I thought that was all he was going to say. He’d turned back to look at the sea again, his expression closed-up. So he was going away, I thought. Fine. It was unsettling seeing him; I’d prefer him to be as far away as possible. I was just about to say goodbye, as it seemed the conversation, such as it was, was over, when he suddenly went on, without looking back at me:

  ‘I’m going back to Cornwall.’

  ‘Back?’ I felt irritated now. We were talking in shorthand. Why was he expecting me to know anything about Cornwall, about why he was going there, why he’d – apparently – previously come from there? He’d never told me much about himself. I hadn’t really known him, I realised, suddenly feeling a fool, all over again, for once imagining myself in love with this man. He was a stranger, and not a particularly nice one! What was I doing even wasting my time standing here trying to make sense of his mutterings?

  ‘I’m going to start going to AA meetings again,’ he was saying now.

  ‘Oh, good. Well, good luck with that, and with Cornwall, or whatever—’ I made a move to walk away. Prudence, who’d been romping in circles on the deserted beach, had now seen Nick and bounded over to him, expecting to be greeted and patted with affection, like in the old days, but he completely ignored her. ‘Come on, Pru,’ I said, and she looked at me with a puzzled expression, her waggy tail beginning to droop.

  ‘Yes,’ Nick suddenly went on. ‘So, because I’ve promised to go back to AA, she’s taking me back.’

  ‘Who?’ For one heart-stopping and ridiculous moment, I thought he meant Ruth. Ruth, abandoning her lovely new boyfriend and taking this man back, despite everything that had happened? No! Of course not. ‘Who’s taking you back?’ I asked again, impatiently, as he still seemed intent on gazing at the sea.

  ‘My wife.’

  There was a buzzing in my ears, like you get when you’re about to faint. When I thought about this moment afterwards, I understood what people meant when they said they were struck dumb with shock. My mouth was open, but I couldn’t utter a sound. I couldn’t move. Pru had run back to me and was circling my legs, confused and unsure. I was silent for so long that eventually, Nick turned back to face me again.

  ‘My wife, Tracy,’ he said. ‘She’s giving me another chance. As long as I get off the drink again, and stay off it this time.’

  ‘Your wife,’ I spat at him, finally. ‘You’re married? You dated my cousin, you … you flirted with me … and you’re actually married?’

  ‘Separated. We just didn’t get around to the divorce.’

  ‘But you didn’t think you ought to tell Ruth you had a wife back in Cornwall – separated or not, she’s still your bloody wife! You didn’t even tell her – or me!’

  ‘Well, I didn’t think it mattered.’

  The audacity of it was compounded by the coldness, the disinterest and lack of apology in his voice. I didn’t even know how to begin to argue the point – he obviously couldn’t have cared less. I presumed he’d been drinking. He looked awful. Why was he even telling me this, now he was going away? It certainly didn’t appear to be anything to do with clearing his conscience.

  ‘OK, well, I’m going home now,’ was all I could manage to say.

  ‘Right. Have a nice life. I don’t suppose I’ll be back. Unless she throws me out again.’ He gave a short little laugh. ‘I think it’s the kids who want me back, more than she does.’

  ‘The kids?’ By now, I should have been past being shocked by anything he said. A wife and kids in Cornwall? Well, why not. Next he’d probably be telling me he was really a famous film star, or a time traveller from another century. I knew nothing about him. Nothing at all.

  ‘Three of them. Two boys and a girl. And another one on the way in the spring.’ He gave that little snort of laughter again. ‘The result of … one of my short trips home. What you might call a conjugal visit.’

  The sudden spurt of tears that I tried, and failed, to swallow back wasn’t for me. It wasn’t even for his wife, the unknown Tracy who’d been crazy enough to take him back into her bed during a ‘trip home’, despite having previously thrown him out. It was for Ruth, my poor cousin who’d fallen in love with him, who’d struggled with her alcoholism while he insulted her without admitting he had the same problem himself. Ruth who’d never know – because I certainly wasn’t going to tell her – that he’d not only been hiding the fact of his wife and kids but that even while he was actually going out with her, he had fathered another baby with that Tracy. I hated him for that. He wasn’t worth the tears Ruth had cried over him, and he certainly wasn’t worth mine. I wiped my eyes crossly and walked away, without further comment, without looking back. Prudence trotted at my side, still looking up at me in surprise every few steps.

  Don’t we like him any more, then?

  ‘I’m not sure I ever did!’ I stopped, and shook my head. It was no use pretending. I had liked him. I’d liked him a lot. I’d been taken in; fooled by his flattery, by his good looks; softened by his grieving for Buddy; even sympathetic, up to a point, when I found out about his alcoholism.

  ‘Cornwall’s welcome to him,’ I said to Pru with feeling. ‘I wish it was further. I wish he was going to Scotland. Or the North-bloody-Pole.’

  As far as I was concerned, Pennycombe Bay was going to be a much nicer place without him.

  CHAPTER 31

  During the first couple of weeks of January there were some occasional flurries of snow, mixed in with the wintry rain and sleet. Here on the south coast of Devon we hardly ever had a proper snowfall, but I’d seen on the TV news that other parts of the country were suffering heavy blizzards, with all the usual disruptions to rail and road travel and daily life. As always, Ruth and I counted ourselves lucky to be living in Pennycombe Bay. But, of course, January was still a bleak, grey month, only relieved by the occasional day of clear blue skies, stunning sunsets and subsequent frosty mornings.

  ‘I can’t wait for the spring,’ I said to Pru as we hurried through Penny Woods on our early morning walk one day when the air was so cold I could see my breath in front of my face. Bare branches stretched up stiffly towards an icy sky, barely yet daylit, and our feet crunched on fallen leaves, half-rotten, frozen into immobility on the frost-licked ground.

  ‘Ooh,’ I shivered. ‘I’ve had enough of winter!’

  Me too. It’s all right for you with your big boots on. My toes are freezing!

  �
��Oh, poor Pru! I’ll warm your paws up for you when we get back.’

  As we walked home, I was thinking, yet again, about the shock I’d had from the meeting with Nick. Combined with the previous, even bigger upset just before Christmas of seeing Liz, it had left me reeling and I was finding it difficult to keep my thoughts on more cheerful things, the way I had while I was with Dad and the family over Christmas. But the chill of the air was, in a way, making me feel sharper and more icily determined to focus on my new job and the good stuff in my life. Although I missed working with Jim, he was often in touch with me about the business, and in most ways being the manager of Paws4Thought was like a dream come true. I hadn’t realised how ready I had been to take on more responsibility. Just a year earlier, I’d have been terrified at the very idea of it, and I was convinced that taking up the voluntary work with PAT had given me the confidence in myself that I’d always lacked. For that, if nothing else, I had Nick to thank.

  Prudence suddenly gave a little whimper and, shaken out of my thoughts, I looked down at her and noticed she was limping slightly and occasionally holding up one paw.

  ‘Ah, sorry, Pru,’ I said. ‘You really have got sore paws, haven’t you? We’re nearly home now, and I’ll rub them warm and dry for you.’

  We turned into West View Hill and were almost at the top when she whined again, quite pitifully, and sat down, licking at the paw she’d been lifting.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, stopping and bending down to her. ‘I thought you were just cold. Have you got a thorn or something? Look, we’re home now. I’ll have a proper look when we’re indoors.’

  Reluctantly, she got back up and I walked her slowly up to the house, allowing her time to limp painfully beside me. As soon as we were indoors she sat down and started licking the same paw again. I knelt next to her and quickly examined the paw. I couldn’t see any foreign object or swelling, but the pad was dry and a bit cracked and red – from the cold weather, I presumed. The other pads were dry too but didn’t seem to be inflamed like this one. I bathed her paws in warm water and gave her a good towel dry, and she seemed happier.

  ‘Let’s see how it is at lunchtime, shall we?’ I said, looking at my watch anxiously. Along with the pleasure of running the shop myself came the responsibility of opening on time and being there for the customers. Jim was enjoying his retirement; in fact he was currently busy preparing to move Vera into his spare room, and helping her to put her own cottage on the market.

  I can see the sense of it, Vera had told me when I visited her just after Christmas. Two can live as cheaply as one. No point us paying two lots of heating bills, is there. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic of responses to Jim’s offer that I could think of, but at least she’d agreed to move in with him!

  ‘Have a nice rest, Pru,’ I said now, putting my coat back on. ‘Hopefully the paw will be better by the time I come back. Maybe you shouldn’t call your friends today to come and play games while I’m out!’

  Huh. I don’t know why you keep saying stuff like that. You know I don’t really have any friends round. It was always a bit of a silly little joke, wasn’t it?

  I stopped in the act of going out of the door, looking back at her as she gazed at me, blinking. I couldn’t believe those words had just come into my head. I’d always made up those little stories for myself about what Pru might get up to when I left the house, and of course I knew it was silly nonsense, but it had amused me, occupied my mind when I didn’t have much else to think about. Perhaps I was telling myself now that I had more interesting, more important things to concentrate on. Well, that was fine, it was true, I supposed I didn’t need that little bit of nonsense any more. But I didn’t want, ever, to stop my conversations with Pru, including her imaginary responses! Sometimes they were the only things keeping me sane.

  I worried about Pru all morning. When I put my key in the front door just after one o’clock, she barked excitedly as usual but instead of running to meet me and careering around my legs in her usual boisterous fashion, she merely got up from her bed and waited for me to come to her, wagging her tail gently.

  ‘Are you OK now, my lovely girl?’ I said, squatting down to stroke her head.

  She seemed happy enough, but when I inspected her paw this time, the cracked pad was red and swollen and obviously tender. Fortunately the vets in Pennycombe Bay knew us well, and I called straight away for an appointment that evening. By the time I arrived home from work again Pru was back to limping around, whimpering slightly. Without even stopping to think any further, I carried her into the car and drove her down to the vet clinic.

  Mr Poole, our vet, studied her paw closely.

  ‘Yes, the cold weather’s done that, of course,’ he said, pointing to her dry, cracked pads. ‘And this one paw is obviously a lot more cracked than the others so it’s got really sore.’

  ‘Is there some ointment I can put on it?’ I asked.

  ‘We don’t normally recommend that. She’ll only want to lick it off, as you can imagine. And she won’t want me to put her in a collar! No, just rest her until that painful crack heals – no walks, no outside exercise. She’ll need to wear a canvas boot when she goes out to the toilet.’ He smiled at me. ‘We’ve got them here, or I suppose you sell them at the shop.’

  ‘Yes, we do.’ I laughed ruefully. ‘I should’ve thought to get her one. But I’ll take one from you, thank you – I’ll need it for her to go outside tonight.’

  Feeling happier now that the vet had reassured me there was no sign of infection or foreign body, I carried Pru back out of the surgery and put her down on the waiting room floor while I searched my pockets for my car keys.

  ‘Hello, Jess,’ said a familiar voice from across the room. I looked up to find Tom Sanders smiling at me, Coco in a basket at his feet, and Jacob bouncing on the chair next to him, grinning at me and saying a shy little hello.

  ‘Oh!’ I hadn’t seen Tom since before Christmas, and the sight of him there now, so unexpectedly, made me feel as if I’d conjured him up out of my constant, unwanted imaginings. ‘Um, hello!’ I said, trying to pull myself together and not stare at him like a crazy woman. ‘Um, Happy New Year! How was your Christmas?’ Without even allowing him to reply, I went blathering on, unable to stop myself: ‘Where’s Rhianna?’

  Where the hell did that come from? Why was I even asking where she was? Why would I care?

  ‘Christmas was fine, thank you,’ he said, still smiling. ‘And Rhianna’s at home. We’re not exactly joined at the hip!’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ The smile was frozen on my face. Not joined at the hip? What was that supposed to imply? And why, as I’d already mentioned, would I even care what it meant? Wasn’t it just the sort of thing people said if they didn’t need to go everywhere together with their partner – every visit to the pet shop, every school pick-up, every appointment at the vet’s? It didn’t mean he and Rhianna were in any way not together. Although maybe it could have been the sort of thing Nick might have said, if he’d bothered to mention the little detail of his separated-but-not-divorced wife. Thinking about this, I took a sharp breath and picked Prudence up again.

  ‘Well, nice to see you—’

  ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘What? Who?’

  ‘Prudence!’ He laughed. ‘Her paw?’

  Pru was holding the sore paw up, already in the red canvas boot, looking like she wanted some sympathy.

  ‘Oh! Yes. Well, no. She’s got a sore pad. How about Coco?’

  ‘Got an abscess. I think she’s been fighting again.’

  ‘Oh dear. I hope it’ll soon be better,’ I said, allowing myself to go a couple of steps closer so that I could look down at poor Coco, who was meowing pitifully in her basket.

  ‘It’s very sore,’ Jacob put in. ‘She yowled like mad when Daddy tried to look at it.’

  ‘I bet.’ I smiled at the little boy. ‘Well, I’d better get Prudence home. See you at school on Wednesday, Jacob.’

  ‘Yes. Bye!’ he sai
d.

  ‘And Happy New Year, Jess!’ Tom joined in. ‘I’ll call in and see you at the shop in a few days’ time.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, weakly. ‘Come on, Pru. Yes, I know your paw’s too sore to walk. I’ll carry you out to the car again.’

  Mind you don’t drop me, then. You seem to be in a bit of a dither.

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’m fine,’ I said out loud, a bit defensively, as I put her in the car. ‘Why would I be in a dither?’

  Something to do with that man you’re pretending very hard not to like?

  ‘I don’t like him, not in the way you’re implying, anyway. He’s got a girlfriend.’

  Doesn’t stop you liking him though, does it.

  No, it didn’t, I thought crossly, driving home through the dark streets. But it should. And it must. I was not going to make a fool of myself, ever again, the way I had with Nick.

  One thing that had worried me when I agreed to take over the shop officially, was what I’d do about my PAT visits. Jim had always worked a half day on Wednesdays, closing the shop for the afternoon but letting me have the whole day off in lieu of Saturday. During the Christmas holidays his nephew had stepped in. But he’d be going back to university soon and there wouldn’t be anyone to keep the shop open, even just for the morning. I decided that in the short term at least, I’d have to close up for the whole day, or I wouldn’t be able to manage both my visits. It wasn’t ideal, but as it was the quiet winter season it wasn’t going to do too much harm. That first Wednesday when Pru had her bad paw, the weather suddenly improved a little. The cold wind finally dropped and there was a weak wintery sun struggling to shine through the cloud. I’d have liked to take Pru for a run on the beach as usual after our visit to Seashell Ward, but of course she was strictly off exercise. I drove back from the hospital, looking longingly out over the sea, where the sunlight was making a glimmering pathway across the calm, silver-grey waters of the sea.