Sitting Pretty Page 5

  After being dragged around most of the lake, I was dusty, sweaty, and five minutes late, by the time I got Wendell back to his owner. An extra minute to apologise for being late made me six minutes late getting to the Parkers to walk Bubbles. And that was pretty much how the rest of the morning went along. When it was time to break for lunch I felt too dirty, even by my usual dog walking, cat cuddling, and poo scooping standards, to risk offending Dominic’s customers by going there for something to eat, so I drove back to the Sitting Pretty office and ordered a pizza.

  It’s funny how the smell of freshly delivered food brings everybody out of their hiding places. The office had been empty apart from Davina, who was allergic to carbs unless it was a special occasion, so I’d just ordered an individual ham and bacon with a side salad and a diet Pepsi. As soon as it arrived, however, Katya and Natalia appeared, both hung-over and hungry. Natalia, the bed thief, was first to reach out her hand towards my little box.

  ‘I don’t bloody think so! You … you …’ I squeaked, pulling the box out of her reach, realising full well that she wouldn’t have any idea she’d done anything wrong.

  ‘What is matter?’ She did indeed look completely baffled.

  ‘You took my bed last night!’ I tried for a slightly lower register but it still came out as a squeak. ‘I had to sleep folded up on that hard arm chair, like …’

  ‘Why you don’t sleep on sofa?’

  ‘Katya was passed out on the sofa and …’

  ‘Why you don’t sleep in Katya’s bed?’ They looked at each other as if they couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought of that for myself.

  ‘Because that other girl took it and …’

  ‘Irina? Why you don’t share with her? She won’t mind.’

  ‘She was spread out over the whole bloomin’ bed like a starfish. There wasn’t room for me.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. Irina is quite tall. Never mind.’ She reached out and hooked herself a slice of pizza and lifted it to her lips. ‘I make it up to you. You come dancing with us tonight, drink vodka, have good time! We help you forget you miss Alex.’

  I plastered on a smile as I sighed and shook my head, ignoring the wave of anger brought on by the mention of Alex’s name. He was the one to blame for my discomfort. Natalia meant well, and of course she couldn’t have known how important that bed for the night had been to me. But there was no way I was up for a second night of that. No way at all.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bedding down on the Garrison’s sofa later that night, I wished I’d gone out with the girls after all. Bart, their elderly Irish Wolfhound, had an aversion to clean water, an even bigger one to dog shampoo, and a bottom that could understudy for the wind section of any amateur orchestra, just so long as all the other musicians had no sense of smell. But this was all that had been available to me for tonight and, if Mrs Garrison’s sister and brother-in-law hadn’t been celebrating their ruby wedding anniversary with a big family party at a hotel in the Cotswolds, I wouldn’t even have had this option.

  I was beginning to wonder how long I could keep this up. I didn’t know much about the stages of grief, or whatever it was you were supposed to go through after a break-up. There had been tears, there had been disbelief and then I seemed to have reached the angry stage and stayed there. The adrenalin of anger had got me this far, but how long could I really keep doing this?

  Tomorrow I had to get off this sofa and do today all over again, only minus Wendell, thank goodness, but then what? Invite myself for another night out with the girls where I might or might not end up perched on a hard armchair again?

  This had been a stupid plan. I should have gone straight to London and told Mum what had happened. Why hadn’t I done that? Because I’d have had to see that ‘I’m not going to say it but I did tell you so’ look flash across her eyes before she could stop it? She’d bite her tongue, of course, and not actually say it to me. Mum wasn’t like that – she would always try and talk me out of making a mistake, but once I’d made it, she wasn’t one to sit about rehashing things. But I’d know it was at the back of her mind and that she’d be worried about me. I didn’t want that. So I’d kept her in the dark.

  But there are times when a girl could really do with her mum. I wondered what she was doing this weekend.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  My decision to spend the weekend at my mum’s had taken me by surprise. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made to head up to London after my last client on Friday night and come back early Monday morning in time, hopefully, for the first one. Three nights of comfortable bed, cooked breakfast, as much loud TV and all the hot water I could wish for. All I had to do was not let Mum realise the real reason I had stayed behind when Alex left for Dubai.

  Of course he still hadn’t called and, of course, when I had given into temptation and tried his old number, I’d had to listen to that The number you have dialled is not in service message. How did that message always manage to sound like it was saying ‘The person you have dialled does not want to speak to you’? I’d written and deleted a hundred and one emails to him, not being able to bring myself to press Send. His Facebook page still said Relationship Status – Married to Beth Dixon. And our honeymoon photo was still there. Nothing added, nothing changed, nothing taken away. I wondered again if he just couldn’t be bothered with it, or if he was so busy enjoying his new life that he didn’t have time for bothering with social media. Or was the coward in him worried what Mama Petropoulos would say when she found out?

  Anyway, I had to forget about that while I was at Mum’s or she’d know something was up. I hated lying to her as it was, but at least the little white lies I’d be telling her would be told with the intention of not worrying her.

  I’d left it too late to book a cheap advance train fare, and there was nowhere to park outside Mum’s, even if Davina let me borrow the car for the weekend and I could afford the petrol. So I booked a return ticket to Victoria on the coach from Southampton, as that was the only one that would get me back anywhere near in time on Monday morning, but I would be getting on at Winchester. Natalia did my last client of the day in return for my walking Wendell so Davina could drop me off by Kind Alfred’s statue in time to catch the ten to six.

  It was a long time since I’d travelled by coach, probably not since I was a student with a travel card. My chief memories were of grumpy drivers, cramped seats, and no heating or air conditioning. But a cheery driver got off this one, checked my ticket, and hoisted my bag of dirty laundry – sorry, Mum – into the luggage hold, and off we went. The coach was about a quarter full, and I got a double seat to myself. It was more comfortable than some of the places I’d been sleeping recently.

  The traffic when we got into London was Friday evening bad, and we arrived at Victoria at about twenty past eight instead of ten to. Glad I didn’t have to drive to North West London, I hauled my bag along to the tube station and joined the thankfully short queue to top up my old Oyster card. I was pretty sure there was no money left on it, but I was so glad I hadn’t thrown it out in the big clear-out while we were packing up for Dubai. If I was going to make a habit of coming here at the weekends it would save me a lot of money.

  This part of the journey didn’t take long at all, especially as the Londoner that still lurked somewhere deep inside me ran, at Euston, to squeeze through the closing doors of the Edgware train that was just about to leave instead of waiting three whole minutes for the next one.

  Coming out of Chalk Farm station still felt like coming home, except that home had moved itself about half a dozen buildings down the road from the house where it used to be and was now only part of a house, but still with the same postcode. Mum still lived just over the bridge from the station and, until I got to the house itself, I could pretend I was still going to my childhood home. But since Dad died, Mum had found it too big and had downsized to a two-bed, lower ground floor garden flat.

  I opened the black wrought iron
gate that wouldn’t keep out an arthritic cat and trotted down the steps – I could almost hear Mum’s bathtub calling me. She had warned me she’d be out, watching a play at the Kilburn Tricycle, so I let myself in, determined to have a cup of milky coffee and some cheese on toast, and watch something noisy on TV while the water ran for my bath. I was almost drooling, but whether for the cheese on toast or the bath, I couldn’t be sure.

  There was a note in Mum’s spidery handwriting propped against the microwave door. Might be late so don’t wait up, love Mum xx PS We have a visitor but don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get on famously!

  A visitor, eh? So after all this time, Mum had finally gone and got herself a boyfriend? Unless he’d been around a while and she was only introducing him to me because I’d decided to visit and that had forced her hand? Hmm. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I mean, it was good that Mum wasn’t lonely and had some male company, but how weird was it going to feel if he stayed over and slept with my mother while I was here? Eugh! Well, there was no point worrying now about watching my mother play footsie under the breakfast table with a man who wasn’t my dad.

  I shoved that image out of my head while I put a mug of milk in the microwave, and while that heated, sliced cheese, put the grill on, grabbed the TV remote and switched it on, before heading for the bathroom and getting that bath running.

  There was an episode of Only Fools and Horses on Gold or Dave or whatever it was, so I watched the rest of that while shovelling hot cheesy toast into my mouth in a way I probably wouldn’t be doing if Mum were home. I was probably going to give myself indigestion, lying down in the bath after eating that but at the moment, I didn’t care.

  A huge sigh escaped my lips as I sank down into the scented water. Mum had always been one for fancy bath products – stocked up on them whenever they were on three for two at Boots – there was never any Radox in our house. Mmm, Champneys’ Wild Rose – I didn’t think they even made that any more. It smelt like home. And the warmth of the water was so comforting. I hadn’t had a bath since the night before the movers took everything away and that had only been a quick dip – I’d have made the most of it if I’d known what was about to happen – only, of course, enjoying a bath would have been the last thing on my mind. This was bliss though. I could stay submerged for hours, until my skin went all wrinkly like a pink prune, or at least until the water started to get cold.

  I let my mind empty itself of my day and float, as I marinated my body in the old-fashioned fragrance and there I was, wafting through an English rose garden in a white dress and sunhat. There was a picnic laid out on a blanket next to an open wicker basket, a huge pork pie, finger sandwiches, Battenberg cake, scones and strawberry jam. A game of cricket was being played on the green on the other side of the hedge. Alex was lying in the grass, reading – no, not Alex, don’t spoil it. Who was my favourite actor at the moment? That cute guy who used to be in Spooks, only minus the tattoos – yes, he looked like he’d be at home with a poetry book, reading out loud to me while I settled myself down in a cosy sun chair and let my eyes close … and drift … and … What was that noise? Was someone trying to break in to the cricket pavilion?

  I shot upright, eyes open and trying to refocus in the steamy bathroom. Then I froze. Someone was trying to break into Mum’s flat.

  Something smashed. It sounded like it came from the kitchen. They were breaking in through the window. Or they were already in and they’d knocked something over. Why hadn’t I brought my phone in with me?

  My heartbeat hammered in my ears as I heaved myself out of the water as quietly as possible and stepped out of the tub, hardly breathing as I grabbed the nearest big towel and wrapped it around myself. What was in here that I could use as a weapon? Mum’s industrial size can of hairspray caught my eye. It was almost empty but the new one behind it was full. A burst of that in the face could incapacitate someone long enough for me to hit them with something, couldn’t it? But what? The can was probably the heaviest thing in here. And what if there was a whole gang of them? Maybe I should just lock the door and climb out of the window and get help.

  A small scuffling noise came from the hallway. In desperation, my shaking hand grabbed the tall, cream jug from the window ledge, yanked out the loofah and the couple of long-handled back scrubbing brush things Mum kept in it, and got ready to bash whoever was out there over the head with it.

  I tiptoed to the door, held my breath, and listened. Somebody moved quickly and quietly outside the door. Then the noise stopped and there was a scrabbling sound. Oh God! This was it. I had to take whoever it was by surprise.

  Putting the jug down where I hoped I could grab it quickly, hairspray open and at the ready in my right hand, I offered up a silent prayer.

  Then, on the count of three, finger firmly on the nozzle, I yanked open the door and sprayed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Adrenaline surging, I grabbed up the jug, ready to protect myself from thrashing arms. There were none. The swearing and yelling I’d expected turned into a little yelp and a snuffly sneeze at my feet, before something small and sand-coloured scampered back towards the kitchen, emitting a volley of little sneezes.

  Coughing and sneezing myself, I put my weapons down. I might be having an over-inhaling of hairspray based hallucination, but I was pretty sure the little sandy scampery thing I’d just seen was the Andrex puppy. What on earth …?

  I waved the bathroom door back and forth to try and disperse some of the chemicals, before tightening the towel around me and stepping into the hallway. Everything looked the same as I thought it did before. The snuffles and sneezes were getting fewer and further in between now, and I followed the sounds towards the utility room at the end of the kitchen.

  From behind a little mound of broken ceramic pot, earth and basil leaves, the spitting image of the cheeky, loo paper-pulling pup looked up at me. It gave another little sneeze, and tottered towards me as if I were its long lost best friend.

  ‘Hello there.’ I quickly picked him up – yes it was definitely a boy – before he hurt himself. He started to lick my chin. ‘Well, that’s a lovely greeting,’ I told him, snuggling him against my neck. ‘And how long have you been here, eh?’ I stepped over the distressed plant and looked around at the dog bed, the food and water bowls, the twelve kilo bag of Royal Canine Labrador Retriever Junior Kibble, the toys – my goodness, all those toys for one animal! This was one well shopped-for pup. ‘Long enough to have made yourself at home and started wrecking the place, I see.’ I tickled his ear. ‘I wonder why Mum didn’t tell me about you?’

  The little fella wagged his tail as if he was in on whatever my mother’s plan was, then started trying to nip the label sticking out from where I’d tucked my towel into itself.

  ‘Oh no, you don’t, mister. You’ve disrupted my bath time enough for one night.’ I rewrapped myself tighter. ‘You stay in here and play with your toys. I’m going to go and get dressed and then try to rescue what’s left of that basil.’

  He seemed to see that as an invitation to follow me, and gave out a disgruntled squeak when I gently nudged him back into the utility room with my foot before closing the door. Then he kept up a gentle whine while I pulled the bath plug out and my pyjamas on. I quickly rubbed some of Mum’s Wild Rose body lotion on my arms and lower legs – which I suddenly realised, were the hairiest they’d been since before I met Alex – and some of her Estee Lauder cream on my neglected face. It was probably the wrong cream for the wrong time of day – there were half a dozen different ones – I just used the most basic looking one. She could tell me off later, although she wouldn’t. Mum liked nice things but she wasn’t precious about them. I think since Dad’s death, she’d decided that possessions weren’t important, that they were there to be enjoyed and not worried about. She was always buying nice things and then giving them away to anyone who admired them.

  Once I’d swept up the mess in the kitchen I opened the door and in he tumbl
ed, as if he’d been leant up against it, eavesdropping. He did a little half roll, tottered into the hallway and made a beeline for my pile of dirty clothes on the bathroom floor. Still, I supposed they would have a hint of dog about them so I could see the attraction. I wondered if I was going to have to spend the whole weekend with this cute little bundle of fur following me around.

  He was curled up asleep on my lap when Mum got home from the theatre. The sound of her key in the lock lifted first his ear, then his head for a second or two, before looking sleepily at me and snuggling back down.

  ‘You’re still up! Hello, darling, how are you?’ Mum must have had her highlights done again recently, because her blonde and honey bob – cut that way after she’d decided she liked mine so much – looked sleek and well cared for. Just like the rest of her – I hoped I still had my figure when I got to her age. She unhooked one uncomfortable-looking shoe and hobbled over to the couch to give me a hug before taking off the other. ‘I see you’ve met our little guest.’

  ‘Yes, but not ’til I was in the bath …’

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ Mum exclaimed. ‘He didn’t manage to get in the bathroom and jump into the tub with you, did he?’

  ‘No,’ I laughed, ‘but you’d probably be half a can of hairspray better off if he had.’ I explained what had happened, while the subject of our conversation lay in my lap, pretending to be fast asleep until my mother laughed so loud he put his right paw over his face.

  Mum made us both hot chocolate and told me about the play she’d been to. It had been a comedy, but she said she’d been more entertained by the couple having an argument in the next row during the first act. They hadn’t come back after the interval and she was itching to know if they’d kissed and made up or if one of them was now floating face down in the Thames.