The Complete Primrose Terrace

Harper

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

The News Building

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain as four separate ebooks in 2015 by HarperCollinsPublishers

First published as one edition in 2015 by HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cressida McLaughlin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2015 ISBN: 9780008136024

Version 2015-10-06

To my family: Mum, Dad, Lucy and David.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Part 1: Wellies and Westies

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Part 2: Sunshine and Spaniels

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part 3: Raincoats and Retrievers

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Part 4: Tinsel and Terriers

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Christmas Day on Primrose Terrace

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading

Find Your Inner Doggess Quiz

A Q&A with Cressy

About the Author

About the Publisher

‘Now, just stay in the bag until I say so, OK? This could go one of two ways.’

Cat pushed the furry head back into her cavernous turquoise handbag and hoisted it up on her shoulder, pushing a strand of her pixie-cut chestnut hair out of her eyes. The sun was hesitant, the early March day too cold to be called balmy, but it was trying hard, and the thought that they were at last leaving winter behind gave Cat a spring in her step. She approached the main doors of Fairview Nursery, nodding and smiling at the clutches of parents, some with older children on their way to primary school, most with pushchairs, hoping that none of them would notice her bag’s unusual bulge. Alison was already in the office, printing off the day’s register and listening intently to messages on the answerphone; parents calling to say their child was ill and would be absent from nursery, someone wondering about the Easter opening hours.

Cat lifted her bag off her shoulder and placed it carefully on the chair next to the coat hooks. It wriggled, her keys jingling alarmingly, and Alison flashed her a questioning look, her neat, dark brows knitting together below her glossy fringe. Cat shrugged off her coat and scarf, hung them up and filled the kettle.

‘Good morning,’ Alison said when the messages had finished. ‘Did you have a nice weekend?’

‘Yes, thanks. A couple of nice long walks, a lie-in, a meal out with my friend.’

‘Polly?’

‘That’s right.’

‘The one you’re living with?’

‘Yes, and her brother.’ Cat stirred milk into her tea, and put a single sugar in Alison’s coffee. ‘I’ve known her for years, and when this job came up, they…’ she stuttered, ‘they had space so…’ Her words trailed away, and she wondered how her boss, a few years older than her and about three inches shorter, could make her feel as if she was always on trial for something. Or maybe it was just today, because looking at Alison, and listening to the muffled sounds coming from her handbag, Cat knew that she had made the worst decision since her move to Fairview.

She blew on her tea, attempting nonchalance. ‘How was your weekend?’

‘Good.’ Alison nodded once. ‘Can you come and help me get the children’s coats off? I’ll be letting them in shortly.’

Cat rolled her eyes. As ever, she was denied a glimpse into her boss’s personal life, any titbit of information that might help Cat understand why a woman in her early thirties could be completely devoid of warmth, and yet be in charge of a nursery. Cat prided herself on her ability to get to know people, but Alison was an impossible case.

She followed her into the classroom. Miniature chairs and tables were set out in front of a whiteboard, and there was a soft red carpet with scattered beanbags laid out for story time. The craft area, with a sink, bottles of squeezy paints and a jumble of brightly coloured aprons, was in the far corner.

‘We’ll take the register on the carpet, then move into the first activity, exploring different sounds.’

‘Sure.’ Cat knew all this. Alison planned out her lessons in minute detail, and gave Cat a briefing every Friday afternoon on the following week’s plans, ensuring there was no room for error or spontaneity. Cat longed to say something, but as the assistant, and only two months into the job, she had tried to stay in line. Until today, anyway.

In the playground a couple of children, Peter and Tom, were pressing their noses up against the glass. Cat waved, and they waved back, their hands fingerless in woolly mittens. Behind them, Emma, four years old and one of the most mature children, waited patiently, her long hair in plaits, while her mother pushed her baby brother’s pram backwards and forwards. Emma was holding onto Olaf’s lead, the cocker spaniel puppy smelling the shoes of everyone around him, his tail wagging constantly.

‘I’m letting them in now,’ Alison said.

Cat’s wave froze in midair and her stomach lurched. The small dog brought her thoughts back to her bag, and what was inside.

‘Won’t be a sec,’ Cat called as she hurried out of the room.

Alison sighed loudly and flung open the double doors.

Cat’s handbag was on the floor, halfway across the office, and making progress towards the door.

What if Alison had seen it first? Would she have called the police? Thrown it outside? Cat knew then that her plan hadn’t just been stupid, it had been mind-numbingly ridiculous. She scooped the bag up, undid the zip further, and a black button nose snuffled to the opening, followed by a fluff of grey fur and then two dark eyes, looking up at her. Her heart stopped pounding and started to melt, as it always did when she saw Disco, her neighbour Elsie’s miniature schnauzer puppy.

‘Shhhh, Disco,’ she whispered. ‘We’re going into the other room now, so you’re going to have to be really still and really quiet.’ Cat followed her instructions with a treat from her pocket, knowing how futile they were. You didn’t have to be a dog expert to know that being still and quiet were two things that did not come naturally to a puppy. She put her handbag over her shoulder and, as casually as she could, went back into the classroom.

Alison was removing coats and hats, assisted by parents who were reluctant to let their young children go, even for a few hours, and she gave Cat a meaningful backwards glance. Cat placed her handbag at the back of the craft area, as far away from the carpet as possible. The bag emitted a tiny yelp, and Cat stuck her hand in, ruffled Disco’s thick, warm fur and zipped it half closed.

‘Cat?’ Alison called, her voice high and tight. ‘Any chance of some help?’

Cat hurried to the door and welcomed the children in, taking their outer layers off and helping them to hang them on the multicoloured coat hooks. Emma bent down to say goodbye to Olaf, and Alison appeared next to her, her short frame still imposing for a four-year old.

‘Come on, Emma,’ she said, ‘leave the dog now. Time to go inside.’

Emma’s mother put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder. ‘He’s called Olaf.’

‘Right,’ Alison said. ‘Well, we can’t have dogs inside – some of the children are allergic.’

‘You mean you’re allergic to fun,’ Cat muttered under her breath. Behind her, Peter, three years old, let out a bubble of laughter, his blue eyes bright with mischief.

‘Shhh,’ she said, ‘don’t tell on me.’ She gave Peter a grin and sent him off to the carpet. Emma took off her coat and Cat could see she was blinking furiously, trying to force the tears back to where they’d come from. Cat resisted the urge to give her a hug – she knew Emma wouldn’t want that – and a stronger urge to let Disco out, delight all the children and send Alison into meltdown. She watched as the nursery owner let the last of her charges in, closed the door and ran slender hands over her hair and skirt, before turning to face the children and clapping her hands.

They assembled on the carpet, Alison at the front on one of the beanbags, Cat cross-legged in the middle with children clustered around her. She was wearing a red and white flower-print dress over leggings and boots, and had painted her nails the colours of Smarties, knowing that the children would love them. Sure enough they were soon pulling her hands towards them, running their fingers over the smooth, bright surfaces.

Alison took the register and explained that their activity was called ‘What’s that Sound?’ She started shaking a pair of pink plastic maracas. The children squealed and giggled and reached out towards the box of instruments.

‘No, children,’ Alison said, holding up a finger. ‘I’m going to give you a musical instrument each, but you have to help me say what sound it’s making first. Right.’ She shook the maraca again. ‘What’s this?’

‘Snakes!’ Andrew shouted.

‘It sounds a bit like a snake’s rattle, doesn’t it? Excellent.’

A few of the children mimicked the noise. ‘Wwwhhsssssshhhhh.’

‘Good.’ She handed out maracas to some of the children.

‘It sounds like sand,’ Emma said.

‘That’s excellent, Emma,’ Alison said. ‘Can you think what might be a bit bigger than sand?’

Emma thought for a moment. ‘Stones?’

Alison nodded. ‘Small stones or seeds.’ She handed Emma a maraca. ‘Well done. The maracas are filled with seeds, or sometimes tiny stones, so that when you shake them they make a rattling noise. Now, everyone, what’s this?’

There was a chorus of ‘Drum!’ as Alison took out a tiny bongo drum and started tapping it. ‘And what do you do to a drum?’

‘Bang it! Hit it!’

Cat thought she heard a small yelp from the other end of the room, but a quick glance told her that her handbag hadn’t wandered. She began to relax, joining in with the drumming and handing out instruments.

Alison pulled the next item out of her box, and Cat froze.

‘Does anyone know what this is?’ Alison asked. She held the small metal item out in front of her.

The children looked perplexed, then Emma let out a gasp, her hand shooting up, fingers trying to touch the ceiling.

‘Yes, Emma?’

‘A whistle?’

Alison smiled. ‘That’s right, it’s a whistle. And what sound does it make?’

Emma shaped her lips into a tight ‘O’, preparing to whistle, and Cat shot from the carpet, nimbly jumping between the children to get to her handbag.

‘Cat? Where are you going?’ Alison’s tone was pleasant, but Cat heard the steel in it.

‘I – I just need to…’ She edged towards her handbag.

‘Please come and sit down,’ Alison said sweetly. ‘We’re having so much fun.’

Cat looked despairingly at the bag, then returned to the carpet and sat down slowly, wondering if she could delay the inevitable by freezing time. She planted a grin on her face.

Alison continued. ‘What sound does the whistle make, Emma?’

Emma made the shape with her lips and blew as hard as she could. What came out was a soft, wet raspberry noise. Emma looked surprised. ‘My mummy can do it,’ she said.

Alison nodded. ‘It takes a bit of practice, but you’re very close. Now this –’ she held up the whistle ‘– does it for you.’ She pressed it to her lips and blew.

Children shrieked, a couple put their hands over their ears and Tom shouted: ‘Dog!’

Alison frowned and gestured her palms towards the floor. ‘Dog?’

Cat risked a glance at her handbag. It was in the same place.

‘Dog!’ Tom shouted again, his bottom bouncing up and down on the carpet. ‘Dog!’

‘Well, yes,’ Alison said slowly, ‘lots of people use these to train dogs, but—’ She was interrupted by a quiet but determined yelp.

‘Dog!’ Tom shrieked again, and other children joined in. ‘Dog, dog, dog!’

Cat got onto her knees. If she crawled quickly, maybe she could get there in time. Children were imaginative; it would be dismissed as overexcitement. But then the little black nose, the grey fur and next the whole fuzzy, inquisitive head pushed out of the handbag’s opening, forcing the zip, and Disco was out. The puppy ran on her tiny legs towards Cat, knocking over three bottles of paint, and into the middle of the children, who erupted into delighted squeals.

Disco leapt and bounced and yipped and snuffled, exploring the sounds and smells and warm bodies around her, her little paws clambering on knees, small hands reaching out to stroke and tug her. Cat tried to gather the puppy to her, but Disco and the children were having too much fun, and so instead she turned to see her boss’s reaction, wondering fleetingly if she’d be pleased that Cat had made the children so happy, and realized she was doomed. Alison was standing with her arms folded, staring at Cat with eyes that burned right into her conscience. She gestured towards the dog, words unnecessary.

Disco was standing with her front paws on Peter’s knee, and Cat watched in horror as the patch of carpet around her back legs turned a darker shade of red.

‘Wee!’ Peter squealed.

Cat picked the puppy up and held her wriggling body tightly. The children reached out towards her, and as Cat left the carpet she caught sight of Emma. The young girl was grinning with undisguised satisfaction.

‘Right, children,’ Alison said, her voice as sharp as ice, ‘that’s enough sounds for today. If you’d all like to go to your chairs, we can do some colouring-in until fruit time. Cat, go to the office and wait for me.’

‘Alison,’ Cat tried, ‘shouldn’t I clear up—’

‘I’ll be through as soon as I can.’ Alison turned back to the children. Peter was tugging on her skirt, his face bright and open. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘what is it, Peter?’

‘Allergic to fun,’ Peter said, pointing up at her. ‘Achoo!’

‘How could you do that to me, Catherine? After all we’ve talked about? All the rules we’ve gone through.’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’ Cat was leaning against the table in the office, Disco tied to a bench outside the back door, because Alison couldn’t stand to look at it for a moment longer; not after the havoc it had caused. Cat didn’t think that reminding her that Disco was a she, not an it, would add weight to her cause.

‘You never do, not about the safety of the nursery. You’re imaginative, full of bright ideas, but you never stop, for one moment, to think of the consequences.’ Alison was walking backwards and forwards in the small, windowless space, her long plait swinging, her limbs tight with anger. ‘What part of you thought bringing a dog into my nursery would benefit anyone? The children could have been injured, infected – anything!’

‘I was helping out a friend,’ Cat murmured. ‘But I know, now, that I shouldn’t have done it.’ She shuffled her feet and looked at the floor.

‘Do you?’ Alison shot. ‘Really? Because I think that given half the chance, you’d do it all over again. You’re not a completer-finisher, Cat, and that’s the kind of assistant I need. It’s not going to work out, but I think you already knew that.’

Cat’s stomach shrivelled. ‘If you could give me one more cha—’

‘No.’ Alison shook her head. ‘No more chances. I’m surprised you stayed in your last employment for as long as you did. You’re not reliable, you’re not supportive and, frankly, you’re downright disruptive. Your time at Fairview Nursery is over, and if I wasn’t so angry with you, I’d pity you. I can’t imagine you being successful anywhere else with this kind of attitude. Go out of the back door, and take that thing with you.’

‘Can I say goodbye—’

‘No. You’ll get a formal letter confirming my decision and a record of your final payment through the post.’

Cat stared at the floor, unable to respond as Alison left the room and slammed the door behind her. She pushed herself off the table and, swallowing down the sob hovering in her throat, collected her coat. Outside, Disco had managed to tie her lead round and round the leg of the bench, and was sitting with her nose pressed into the wood, as if she’d been told to sit in the naughty corner. It was exactly how Cat felt.

The sun had fully emerged by the time Cat left the nursery, the sharp frost melting into crystal drops under its rays. She wouldn’t be going back, unless Alison had a sense-of-humour transplant. She was no longer welcome, and therefore no longer employed.

‘Oh well,’ she said to the small puppy who, now free from her handbag cage, bounced along the pavement at Cat’s feet, sniffing the grass verges, straining at her short lead. ‘At least we escaped with our lives. At one point I wasn’t so sure, were you?’

Disco yipped in response and Cat changed course, walking along the edge of Fairview Park, running her hands along the black railings. She still couldn’t get over how idyllic her new home was. She had the beach, the park, and wide, quiet roads that demanded strolling rather than hurrying. Fairview wasn’t large – it perched on the sea edge of the south-coast town of Fairhaven – and Cat was already getting to know the area’s different charms. In Fairview Park she felt as if she could be anywhere. The wide expanse of verdant grass criss-crossed with paths, the oval pond and the Pavilion café were sheltered from the surrounding Georgian terraces and the sound of the sea, only two roads away, by tall evergreens.

At this time of the morning it was busy with dog walkers and couples strolling in the spring sunshine. Disco wasn’t old enough to walk for long periods yet, her short legs getting tired easily, even though the rest of her seemed to have endless energy. The puppy stopped, sniffing enthusiastically at the base of one of the railings, and Cat stopped to let her – there was nowhere she needed to be.

She had already begun to recognize a few of the park’s regular visitors, and she could see Mr Jasper bustling close to the trees, head down, as if he’d just put up one of his protest signs and didn’t want to be spotted by any of the dog owners he despised. Cat felt her shoulders tense; she’d had enough of dog haters for one day and, while Alison was within her rights to protest about dogs in her nursery, Cat couldn’t understand how Mr Jasper could ever think that getting rid of dogs from the park was a possibility.

A tennis ball landed heavily inside the railings, and Disco yapped loudly as a glossy Border collie raced up to find it. The larger dog stuck its shiny black nose through the bars to greet Disco. Cat crouched and stroked the dog’s muzzle, then looked up to see someone watching her. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a mass of dark brown, untamed hair. He had sharp, handsome features, and even from a distance Cat could feel the weight of his stare. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of a leather jacket, the collar turned up against the cold.

The man continued to look steadily at her, not the dog – which she presumed was his – and Cat realized she was holding her breath.

Then Disco barked, sank her teeth into the sleeve of Cat’s purple jacket, and pulled. ‘Sorry, Disco,’ she whispered. She carefully extracted the puppy’s jaw, and when she looked up the man was striding away from her. He whistled, and the collie picked up the tennis ball and raced after him. Cat watched him go. ‘Was that weird, puppy, or am I making something out of nothing?’ Disco wagged her tail. ‘That’s what I thought.’

She was still thinking about the strange near-encounter when they turned into her road.

Primrose Terrace was an elegant crescent moon of tall, stately town houses, some in better repair than others, but all with their own charm. Each of the houses was painted a different pastel colour, their large front doors raised up from the pavement, reached by three wide front steps. The grass verges were peppered with primroses in the spring, and old-style street lamps made Cat feel she was in a Dickens adaptation whenever there was a hint of fog.

She’d moved from nearby Brighton just after Christmas to be closer to her friend Polly, further from the well-meaning prying of her parents, and to start as assistant at the nursery. Well, that had been short and not at all sweet, and Cat was suddenly jobless, directionless and desperate not to have to ask Joe for an extension on her rent so soon after she’d moved in. She tried not to let panic rise up inside her like champagne bubbles after the cork has been popped. She lived with Polly and Joe at number nine, and Elsie Willows, Chalky and Disco were at number ten, the street numbers running concurrently rather than as odds and evens. Despite being smaller than many of the other houses, without the customary attic conversion, number ten Primrose Terrace was one of the prettiest. It was pale blue with gleaming white window frames emphasizing the large sash windows, the front door was pillar-box red and Elsie had placed pots of budding hydrangeas at the edges of the steps.

Cat let Disco prance up ahead of her, then rang the bell. It took a long time for the door to open, and when Elsie stood in the doorway, leaning on a crutch, her short white bob, cardigan and long skirt as neatly presented as her house, Cat felt her cheeks redden.

‘It didn’t go as well as you’d hoped, then?’ Elsie said, looking at Cat’s face before opening the door wide and ushering her in, then hobbling after her into the airy living room.

Cat let Disco off the lead, and the puppy bounded to the basket under the window, where Chalky, Elsie’s older miniature schnauzer, was having a mid-morning nap. Disco nuzzled Chalky’s face, yipped and picked up a heavily chewed cuddly pig, then stood expectantly in front of the older dog. Chalky lifted his head, looked balefully at the puppy from under tufty eyebrows, and closed his eyes. Cat laughed, but Elsie was watching her expectantly.

‘No,’ Cat sighed, her smile fading. ‘It was even more disastrous than my worst-case scenarios.’

‘I told you that Alison wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘I had hoped she would come round to my way of thinking.’

‘That, Catherine, is a triumph of optimism over common sense, and I’m being kind.’

Cat stroked Chalky and ruffled Disco’s fur. Elsie lowered herself slowly into an armchair.

‘I didn’t want Disco in the house while you went for your check-up,’ Cat said. ‘Puppies get lonely, and then they get disruptive.’ Just like me, she thought. ‘I was going to see what mood Alison was in and then, at break time, bring Disco out to meet the children.’

‘But you didn’t get that far?’

Cat shook her head.

‘You know what Alison’s like,’ Elsie said, ‘and you know that dogs are her pet hate – no pun intended. She’s probably more upset that you actively went against her wishes, rather than for any disruption you – and my dog – may have caused. But I am sorry, because you were doing a favour for me.’

‘How was the check-up? I’m surprised you’re back already.’

‘Oh, it was fine.’ Elsie waved her hand dismissively. ‘The knee’s healing, but slowly. I have to stay off it as much as I can for another few weeks. Nothing I didn’t know already. What’s the damage to you? Suspended? Cut in wages?’

‘Fired,’ Cat said. ‘No second chances, no room for manoeuvre. Do you want some tea?’

She left Elsie gawping in the living room and busied herself in the kitchen, making tea and finding chocolate biscuits. Her insides felt hollow with panic, but already, talking it through with Elsie, she was beginning to feel better. It had only taken four days for Cat to become friends with her neighbour once she’d moved to Primrose Terrace, and what Elsie didn’t know about Fairview wasn’t worth knowing. She’d gone into hospital for a long-awaited knee operation at the end of February, and Cat was helping out, taking Disco and Chalky for walks when she could, cooking for her sometimes, keeping her company.

‘I am so sorry, Cat,’ Elsie said when she returned with the tray. ‘I didn’t think she’d go that far.’

Disco was on the sofa, performing a thorough hunt for any treasure that might be hidden between the cushions. Cat poured the teapot and scooped the puppy onto her lap. Disco wriggled, licked Cat’s hand and settled down; a warm, breathing comfort blanket.

‘She was furious,’ Cat said. ‘It was a stupid idea, I know. But I just thought that once she’d met Disco she’d realize how wonderful dogs can be. I mean, how could anyone be annoyed at this little thing?’

‘Not everyone loves dogs, and some people actively dislike them. They can be smelly and messy and very badly behaved.’

‘Yes, but look.’ Disco was breathing softly, her small ears flopped over her eyes, her head resting on her front paws.

‘You don’t have to convince me,’ Elsie said softly, ‘but I don’t think you’ll be able to convince Alison. Stop worrying about her – what’s done is done. You have to focus on yourself and what you’re going to do now.’

Cat stared out of the window, watching as the man from a few doors down walked past, wetsuit on, a surfboard under his arm. Cat thought it must be pretty cold in the water today, despite the sun. She stirred her tea.

‘Cat?’ Elsie prompted.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘What are you going to do now that you have no job?’

Cat saw the challenge in the older woman’s eyes and knew that she wouldn’t get away with feeling sorry for herself. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. She stared at her hands and noticed that the varnish on one of her nails, the one that was orange like a tangerine, had started to peel.

‘What about your old nursery? Would they have you back?’ Elsie wouldn’t give up, that was one of the great things about her. Solutions must be found and agreed on, in this case before the sun set.

Cat thought of the tiny nursery on a sloping hill overlooking the Brighton seafront. It had been energetic and spontaneous, and her ex-boyfriend Daniel, a teacher, had recommended her to the owners because of her creativity. It had been all the things that Alison’s was not, and with its hippy attitude probably not a typical nursery. But Cat didn’t want to go backwards.

‘Yes, they would,’ she said. ‘But I moved here because I wanted to try a new view and new scenery and new people. I like Primrose Terrace, and I love living with Polly. I need to find something here.’

‘Right.’ Elsie stroked Disco’s fur. The puppy had transferred herself from Cat’s lap to Elsie’s and then conked out. ‘You’re very spirited,’ Elsie said. ‘You could set something up yourself, if that was a more appealing idea than shop work or waitressing in the short term.’

Cat ran a hand back through her short hair. ‘I don’t have the patience for waitressing. And I don’t have my mum’s artistic talent so I can’t do greeting cards, or knitting, or making hats.’

‘What can you do?’ Elsie waved her hand away when Cat gave her a sharp look. ‘I don’t mean it like that – I know you’ve got a drama degree and that you’re qualified as a nursery assistant, but what can you do? What do you enjoy? What about Fairhaven theatre? I’m sure they’re looking for volunteers, even if it’s just front of house.’

Cat laid her head against the sofa. ‘But I need to pay rent, and the problem with theatres is they never have any money. I could volunteer, but it would be years – maybe decades – before there was the possibility of paid work.’

‘So what else do you enjoy?’

‘Long baths, cooking – sometimes – fresh air, walking on the beach. I’m interested in people.’ She was beginning to run out of enthusiasm. The initial shock had worn off, and now all she wanted to do was to climb into one of those long baths and hide from her own stupidity.

‘That sounds like an online dating profile, and not a very original one.’

‘I can’t help it if I have the most boring CV,’ Cat said. ‘Fairly OK at most things, not exceptional at anything, good with pretending and children and animals – except that animals are Polly’s thing.’

‘Just because Polly’s training to be a veterinary nurse doesn’t mean you can’t. No misery, young lady. And it’s not a boring CV. You’ve had a blow – almost entirely of your own making – but a blow nonetheless. You’re bright and enthusiastic – you could do almost anything you put your mind to. What would you, Cat Palmer, like to do with your life? Take this as an opportunity.’

Elsie sat forward and poured more tea. At the movement Disco sat up, her eyes alert, then jumped to her feet and knocked Elsie’s arm, forcing her to pour tea over the remaining biscuits.

‘Rascal,’ Elsie chided gently.

‘But still adorable,’ Cat said. ‘More than anything, I’d like to spend time with Disco. I’d like to bury my head in her salt-and-pepper fur, take her for walks and watch TV with her on my lap. I could do that for the next few days at least, couldn’t I?’

‘You know you can borrow Disco any time you want. But I thought Joe wouldn’t let you have a dog in the house?’ Elsie frowned.

‘No,’ Cat said quietly, unexpelled emotion rising in her throat. ‘No, he won’t let me. He’s got a cat, so no dogs allowed, apparently. I’m sure if we found the right one they’d get along fine, but he’s adamant.’

‘He’s always seemed like a very pleasant young man to me, and I know people can be very sensitive about their pets – often rightly – but I’m surprised he won’t let you have a dog.’

‘Sometimes he’s nice, but most of the time he’s a grumpy sod. But I love living with Polly, and I love being here, on Primrose Terrace, and I want to stay.’

‘Oh, chin up, don’t get all teary.’

‘I’m not.’ Cat swallowed and blinked. ‘It just seems like when one thing goes wrong, it magnifies all the other little niggles into giant, immovable barriers.’ Her voice wavered at the end.

‘That’s why you need to be proactive. Keep moving forward, and have another biscuit.’

Cat looked at the plate, now swimming in tea. She shrugged and popped one into her mouth before it covered her hand in chocolate. ‘At least I can see Disco and Chalky, and I’ll still take them out twice a day while you’re getting back on your feet.’

‘That’s the spirit!’

‘Lots of spring sunshine and your two perfect pooches is exactly what I need while I’m working out a plan.’ Cat clicked her fingers and Disco bounced across the carpet and started licking her wrist. Cat laughed as the dog’s whiskers tickled her hand.

‘You might be right.’ Elsie drummed her fingers against her lips, her gaze fixed on the thick verge of grass outside the window, where the primroses were just starting to peek through. ‘I think, Cat, that you may have come up with your own perfect solution.’

‘Dog walking? As a job?’

‘Yes, Polly. Taking other people’s dogs for walks. It’s a growing market – people who work all day, busy families, people like Elsie who might be temporarily unable to take their pets out. I bet there are loads of dog-owners out there who don’t even know it’s an option. Now it will be, because of me.’

They were sitting on the over-squashy, faded blue sofas in the living room of number nine Primrose Terrace, sharing a bottle of wine. Polly had come back late from Fairview vet’s, where she was doing the work placement for her veterinary nursing degree, and had changed into blue cotton pyjamas, her bare feet up on the coffee table.

‘And you’re sure Alison won’t have you back at the nursery, even if you grovel?’

‘I wouldn’t go back, even if she grovelled. I don’t think it’s the right job for me, not in a conventional nursery, anyway. Elsie’s right, this is perfect. Between the beach and the park this must be a prime doggy neighbourhood, and I can’t think of anything I’d like more than spending time walking other people’s dogs.’

Polly scrutinized her, her wide blue eyes unblinking in a way that Cat had almost got used to, despite the effect, along with her long blonde hair, of being a bit Midwich Cuckoos. ‘I’m sure you can do it,’ she said slowly, ‘but there are lots of things to consider. Lots. How much you’ll charge, how many dogs you can walk at a time. Do the owners let their dogs have treats? If so, what kind and how often? Will you pick them all up from their houses? Will they get on with each other? And think of all the poo you’ll have to pick up. It won’t be a walk in the park.’

‘Ha ha.’

‘What, I – oh!’ Polly grinned. ‘It’s true, though. I know you’ll think things through, but you can be…’

‘Impulsive, spontaneous?’

‘Excitable, a bit like a dog.’

Cat threw a cushion at her. ‘I get that I need to think about it like a business, but I’m excited, Pol. As excited as I was about moving here, finally getting to live with you. I think I can do this, and at the very least I can test the water, see if anyone nearby would be interested in a dog walker – other than Elsie, of course.’

‘You won’t charge her, will you?’

‘I said I wouldn’t, but she insists on it. She’ll be my first client and I’ll give her a special OAP rate.’ Cat sipped her wine and beamed, feeling a swell of something like accomplishment, even though all they’d really done was come up with an idea and the hard work was ahead of her.

‘Well, I think it’s pretty inventive,’ Polly said. ‘Inspirational, almost.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. You may not have intended to leave your job today—’

‘Get booted out, you mean?’

‘But,’ Polly continued, holding up a finger, ‘this could be better. And you’ll have a nearly trained veterinary nurse on hand, should anything go hideously wrong.’

‘What’s going to go hideously wrong?’ Joe sloped into the room, sat next to Polly and poured himself a glass of red wine. He was in his usual work outfit of jeans and a hoody, the current one navy with an orange goldfish on the front, his short hair sticking up in unruly tufts as if his day had involved a lot of head scratching.

‘There’s a tsunami heading towards Fairview beach. Think of the carnage it’s going to cause.’

Joe sat up, almost spilling his wine. ‘What? Who said anything about a tsunami?’

‘Calm down,’ Polly said, pushing gently against his chest. ‘Cat was having you on. No tsunami.’

‘Right.’ Joe glared at Cat and she grinned. Joe and Polly could almost be twins. They were both blond-haired and blue-eyed, Polly’s frame almost as slender as a boy’s, but Joe’s blond was more strawberry than ash. Cat had never found him unnerving, only annoying. ‘So what’s going to go wrong?’ he asked.

‘Cat’s new business venture – except it’s not, but if it does, then I’ll be on hand.’

‘To offer moral support?’ Joe noticed Polly’s feet up on the coffee table, and gently nudged them onto the floor.

‘To provide medical assistance.’

‘Are we going back to the tsunami? Why would you need medical assistance? Do your techniques work on people as well as animals?’ Joe rubbed his forehead.

‘Not for the people, silly,’ Polly said, ‘for the dogs.’

‘Dogs?’ Joe sat up again, this time keeping careful control of his wine. ‘What dogs?’ There was an edge of panic in his voice that Cat might have found amusing, except that it was his aversion to dogs that was stopping her from having one of her own at Primrose Terrace.

‘All dogs.’ Cat threw her arms up. ‘I’m going to walk the dogs of Fairview. I’m going to look after them all, from chihuahuas to Great Danes, give them exercise and love and the freedom they deserve, and I’m going to get paid for it!’

Joe took a sip of wine, his movements slow and measured. Cat had, in the two months she’d been living there, discovered that this meant he was formulating an argument, considering his point carefully before he expressed it. Spontaneity was not Joe’s thing. Cat was expecting a carefully crafted attack on all things canine. It didn’t come.

‘So your time at the nursery,’ he said softly, ‘it’s…come to an end?’

‘How did you know?’

‘I didn’t. But…it seemed slightly inevitable.’

‘Why?’

Joe gave a quick smile. ‘Because every time I asked about your day, you gave me an elaborate description of all the things you wished you’d been doing with the children – some of which would have got you sued, by the way – because the real answer was too boring to talk about. I guessed that you weren’t that happy there. Sorry if I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

‘Stick,’ Polly said. ‘Ha ha!’

‘What?’

‘Y’know, dog walking, stick…we’re collecting dog puns.’

‘Not intentionally,’ Cat said. ‘But you’re right, I didn’t last at the nursery.’

Since she’d been living there, it had become an evening ritual. Cat would tell Joe all the things she wished they’d been doing at the nursery, and Joe, a freelance illustrator, would go on about how wonderfully cooperative his clients were to begin with, and how it would take him half a day to lovingly create a drawing of a single person, only to be told by the client that they looked too angry, or too insipid, or too posh. Joe was currently working on websites, marketing and branding for small companies and, at the moment, a local magazine that was probably the cause of the hair pulling.

‘Whose decision?’ Joe asked.

‘What?’

‘Did you jump, or were you pushed?’

The room fell into silence, thoughts drifting up towards the high ceiling as Cat tried to conjure up the best way of explaining what had happened. She didn’t need to.

‘Cat took Disco to the nursery in her handbag, and she escaped during music time. It gave the children more excitement than Miss Knickers-too-tight could handle.’ Polly poured more wine, put her feet back on the table and took them off again at Joe’s instant glare.

‘You took a puppy into a nursery in a handbag?’ He narrowed his eyes.

Cat nodded.

‘And expected chaos not to rain down upon you?’

‘I was hopeful.’

‘You were deluded. No wonder she fired you.’

Cat pressed her lips together and gave a small nod. ‘Maybe. But look where it’s led me.’

‘What, to a bottle of wine and some pie-in-the-sky idea about becoming the local Dr Dolittle?’

‘Hey!’

‘Joe,’ Polly chided, ‘that’s not fair. If Cat sets her mind to it, then I think she can do it.’

‘Well, I’m looking forward to seeing how it turns out.’ He raised his glass, and Polly and Cat did the same, though Cat could see amusement glimmering behind Joe’s serious expression. His rather large ginger cat, Shed, took the opportunity to stalk into the room, shaking out his back feet in turn as if discarding distasteful footwear, and positioning himself on the coffee table. He nudged the bottle of wine close to the edge with his tail.

‘How come Shed’s allowed on the table and not my feet?’ Polly asked. This was not a new argument, and Shed gave her a look that said just that: I’m allowed, you’re not. Get over it.

Joe shrugged. ‘It’s harder to get him to behave than you.’

‘So your battles are based on the effort it takes to achieve the required results? That’s a hopeless way to live your life, Joey.’

‘Yeah, well. I’m older than you are.’

‘But not wiser.’

‘It’s my lease, so I get to make the decisions.’

‘I’m paying the same amount of rent.’

‘Do you always have to be so argumentative?’

‘Only when I’m standing up for my rights.’ Polly crossed her arms.

‘Your rights to have your feet on the table?’

‘I had a shower when I got in, so they’re perfectly clean. Cleaner than Shed’s, I bet. And he’s got his bum on the table.’

Joe looked sideways at his sister. ‘Fair point. Come on, Shed.’

He prodded Shed’s back, and the cat glared at him and stepped onto his knee, kneading his paws into Joe’s jeans.

‘Ahhh – aaaaaaaaaah, not there, Shed!’ Joe tried to move the cat but he refused to budge, and Cat hid her laughter behind her glass. She made the mistake of catching Polly’s eye, and they both shook silently while Joe tried to rescue his private parts. Small portions of near-harmless revenge were very satisfying, even when they came from an unlikely source.

The bottle of wine was empty, Cat’s eyes were blinking sleepily and Joe had long since disappeared to do more work or fume, silently, behind his office door. Polly switched off the television and drummed her fingers on the table.

Cat sat up. ‘What?’

‘He’s not always been like that, you know.’

‘Who, Shed?’ Shed was asleep in Joe’s place on the sofa, a big orange fuzz, his face buried under his tail. Cat imagined he was secretly plotting ways to get her into trouble, playing the perfect pet against her role of irritating new housemate.

‘Joe,’ Polly said. ‘You’ve got the worst of him at the moment, that’s all.’

‘The two-month bad patch?’ Cat raised an eyebrow and grinned at her friend’s exasperation. ‘Sorry, I know things weren’t that great for him before I moved in, but I – I mean, I don’t know the whole story.’ She spoke gently, thinking of all the times she’d tried to get the truth out of Polly, knowing that it wasn’t fair to level her curiosity at her new landlord, but unable to help it.

‘It’s probably time to tell you. He was really stung by Rosalin. No, not stung, that’s not fair. Sometimes it’s easy to think of Joe as a grumbling, emotionless lump, but he’s not like that. He’s broken-hearted.’

‘She left him?’

Polly nodded, hesitated for a second, and then sighed. ‘For his business partner,’ she added. Her tone suggested she still couldn’t believe it, and Cat could understand the incredulity.

‘Alex did the first break-up. They’d been running Magic Mouse Illustrations for nearly five years, and he told Joe he’d been headhunted by a company in London, some global corporation with a fat salary and all the extras, and he was going to take it. That was hard, not only because Alex was leaving, but because Joe thought he wouldn’t be able to do it without him. Alex was always better at the graphic design – Joe’s skills are mostly straight illustration, which he’s worried is a dying art. It’s crushed his confidence to think Alex got poached, even though I’m pretty sure Alex wasn’t telling Joe the whole truth.’

‘What do you mean?’ The temperature had dropped, and Cat put a cushion over her feet, too wedged into the sofa to go and get warmer clothes.

‘I think Alex was exaggerating. I think he wanted out – he was about to steal Joe’s girlfriend – so he applied for the job and got it. I’m sure there was no headhunting. Anyway, a few days after that Rosalin told Joe she was leaving him, that she was moving to London with Alex Duhamel, smooth and French and, from that moment on, no longer Joe’s friend. It’s put him off French things for ever – Brie, Paris – and women, and…some other things.’

‘That’s horrible.’ Cat felt instantly guilty, felt the usual sweep of shame at her curiosity.

‘He lost everything in a few days,’ Polly continued. ‘He’s kept Magic Mouse going, he’s got his head down, but he’s not coping as well as he’d like us to believe. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I don’t like introducing him as “my heartbroken brother”. People shouldn’t be judged on their back story, so I didn’t fill in the blanks.’ Polly sat forward, elbows on her knees. ‘Also, I didn’t want to worry you. It used to be me, Joe and Rosalin here. Joe was fine about you moving in – or he claimed he was – but you’ve still replaced Rosalin in this house, so you might be getting a harder time of it than you should.’

‘He’s not being actively mean to me.’

‘But he’s miserable, sarcastic, pessimistic. I thought it was about time I explained. I don’t want you thinking I’ve mis-sold you the Primrose Terrace experience.’

Cat laughed. ‘You haven’t, and I’m really happy here, I promise. If I wasn’t then I’d be in Brighton trying to get my old job back. But I’m really going to give dog walking a go. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before – it’s perfect for me! And your brother may be down in the dumps, but he sometimes makes an effort to be nice to me, and he’s definitely got his uses.’

‘Like what? Scooping up unfinished wine? Being gullible about natural disasters?’

‘Those too,’ Cat said. Her mind was whirring – it hadn’t stopped since Elsie had suggested that she could strike out on her own and do something she really believed in. ‘But I’ve also heard he does quite a good job of prettying up websites.’

‘Ah.’ Polly’s thin, pearly lips lifted at the corners. ‘Yes, he does have that going for him, whatever his insecurities are. And he is throwing himself into work to take his mind off things.’

‘So his heartbreak could play to my advantage?’

‘It could, but I wouldn’t start your negotiation with that. “Hi, Joe, seeing as you no longer have a girlfriend to spend time with, could you just…” Maybe focus on his skills as a designer, his great visionary mind, his intellect in general.’

‘Good plan.’ Cat leaned forward and fist-bumped Polly. ‘The two of us could really make a go of this dog-walking thing!’

‘Two of us?’

‘Of course. If you want to be a part of it?’

Cat and Polly had lived together at university in York ten years earlier, and discovering that they had grown up only a few miles apart had made their friendship stronger. After graduating, life had inevitably got in the way, but they’d remained firm friends, meeting up regularly. Cat had jumped at the opportunity to move the short distance from Brighton to Fairview and move in with Polly, and including her in her business idea was the logical next step. Polly was calm, measured and organized. Cat thought they would be a perfect match.

Polly chewed her lip. ‘I – I’d love to, but at the moment I have so little time. Studying, the work placement. I’m so close to graduating now, I can’t mess it up.’

‘Just get involved when you can. And it’s not all about the walking. There’ll be admin, marketing, accounts. There’s loads of things to consider – it’s not going to be a walk in the park. Now,’ Cat raised her eyes to the ceiling, ‘which clever person told me that?’

‘All right,’ Polly laughed, ‘you’re on. I’d love to be involved. And first, the most important decision for any new business.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A name. What, Cat, is your dog-walking business going to be called?’

‘“@PoochPromenade. For all your dog-walking needs in the Fairview area of Fairhaven. No dogs too small (or big).” What do you think?’

‘Sorry?’ Joe turned over a page of the newspaper, his head bent towards it as if trying to block out the rest of the world. He was sitting at the dining table which, along with the sofas, was in the house’s one giant living space. Cat thought it must have been two rooms that had been knocked through by some previous owners, or maybe the landlord Joe rented the house from.

‘For my bio, for Pooch Promenade. I’m setting up Facebook and Twitter accounts.’

Joe took a moment – Cat thought he was probably counting to three – before looking up at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, her laptop balanced on her knees. ‘Read it again,’ he said.

She did. ‘So, what do you think?’

He nodded, lips pressed together. ‘I’m impressed. Hardly any flippancy at all, a bit of humour, striking the right balance between friendly and businesslike.’

Cat grinned. ‘Thank you.’

‘Apart from the name, of course, which could still do with some work.’

‘But your suggestions were worse than ours!’ Cat said. ‘This one feels right.’

It had been a week since Pooch Promenade had been born, though it had taken a further four days to come up with the name. Polly had texted her suggestions from work: Doggy Daycare, Wonderful Walkies, Puppy Perks. They had interrupted favourite television shows, and Cat had woken in the middle of the night when an idea pushed its way to the surface. Joe had even got in on the act, though Cat wasn’t sure the Post-it note he’d left for her to find when he’d gone out for a run had been a serious suggestion. It said Bitchin’ Walks, next to a brilliant cartoon of a dog, lead in mouth, looking pleased. Cat had stuck it on the wall above her dressing table.

Polly had come up with Pooch Promenade while they were watching a period drama, the main characters strolling in the grounds of a grand stately home, parasols shielding them from the sun.

‘Does Magic Mouse have a Twitter account?’ Cat asked Joe.

‘Yup.’

‘So you’ve got lots of local followers?’

‘Yup.’ His head was back down, his fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. Cat made a face at him and started searching for it online.

‘I saw that,’ Joe said.

‘Good,’ Cat murmured, her attention drawn to the 2,500 followers Joe had managed to accumulate. ‘Wow.’ She began scrolling through them, clicking ‘follow’ on any that were obviously local to Fairview or Fairhaven. She recognized a couple of names, businesses mostly: Spatz Restaurant, the local library, Capello’s Ice Cream Parlour – Not Just for Sundaes. She found the nursery, hovered over the ‘follow’ button and then clicked on it. Alison could find out how proactive she was being.

She scrolled down through photo avatars and the occasional cartoon picture. Magic Mouse Illustrations was represented by a simple cartoon of a mouse – half computer, half cheese-eating. It made Cat smile every time she saw it, and she wondered if she could convince Joe to draw something for Pooch Promenade. Her company would be so much more recognizable if she had a cute cartoon dog as the logo.

‘You can’t just follow people,’ Joe said, ‘you need to say something useful.’

‘I will. But there’s no point saying it if nobody’s listening.’

‘Very philosophical.’

Cat was trying to come up with a witty reply when her eyes snagged on a familiar name. Jessica Heybourne. Why did she know that name? She clicked onto her page, where there was a photo of a glamorous blonde, probably a few years older than Cat, smiling warmly at the lens with a confidence reserved for the frequently photographed. She had pale skin, heavily lined eyes and fair hair piled and teased like a cloud of candyfloss around her face. She had 22,000 followers, and her bio read: Bestselling cookery writer, total foodie, love my Westies and living by the sea. THE HEART OF FOOD out now.

That was it! Westies.

Elsie had told Cat that Jessica Heybourne should be at the top of her list of potential clients. She was a well-known author, popular in the community as well as further afield, and had three West Highland terriers and the potential to provide Cat with more word-of-mouth custom than the Fairhaven Press. And, as Elsie had told her gleefully, she lived at number one Primrose Terrace.

Cat had walked past it often, her eyes lingering over the elegant primrose paint, the large porch and the gleaming glass extension that was just visible from the side of the house. Cat sat back and sipped her tea, wondering how she should approach her. Jessica would never notice a general tweet – she probably didn’t have much time to read Twitter, though she used it to promote her books and hook her adoring public. She’d have to send her a direct tweet. She could always follow it up with a personal visit.

Abandoning her laptop, Cat walked to the window. The rain was falling in a solid sheet, the terrace barely visible beyond the raindrops slaloming down the glass. It was a typical March day, and Cat didn’t mind it – she would have to embrace all weathers if she was going to be a successful dog walker – but she wouldn’t give a good impression if she knocked on Jessica’s door looking like a bedraggled Great Dane.

She returned to her computer, followed Jessica and began composing her tweet. Half an hour and two bitten nails later she clicked the ‘tweet’ button, sat back and waited.

‘What are you looking so nervous about?’ Joe picked up her empty mug.

Cat shrugged. ‘Nothing. Just…looking for some clients.’

‘Inside your computer?’

‘That’s where it’s at these days,’ Cat said breezily, just as she remembered Joe’s insecurities about traditional illustration being sidelined by digital design. He disappeared into the kitchen and Cat heard the mugs hitting the sink with excessive force. ‘Shit,’ she whispered, then called out, ‘but how do you do it? You’ve got so many followers.’

Joe appeared and leaned against the door frame. He shrugged, his blue eyes fixing on Cat. ‘I put stuff out there – what I’m working on, links to clients’ websites and work I’ve done for them, chat to people when they ask a question. Just be open, friendly and professional, funny sometimes. And always talk about key things – mention Fairview a lot, and dog walking. Gradually people will pick it up, find out about you through searches or retweets.’

‘Oh,’ Cat said, surprised by Joe’s openness and lack of sarcasm. ‘Thanks, that’s really helpful. Funny?’

‘Funny’s good. Funny will get noticed much more than a straight tweet. And I know you can be funny.’

‘But…funny to you, maybe. Not intentionally.’

‘I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. Try it, see what happens. I’ve got to get to work.’

Cat listened to him pad gently up the stairs. His office was at the front of the house, above the living room, as it had the biggest windows, the most natural light for him to work with.

Once he’d gone, Cat felt the silence like a weight. She wasn’t used to being at home during the morning. And Joe thought she was funny? She rubbed her forehead, reached out for her mug that was no longer there, and hit the ‘load new tweets’ button.

Jessica Heybourne had followed her – and replied! Cat bit her lip. @PoochPromenade: A dog walker in Fairview? Are you new? I need to know more! Message me. Cat’s triumphant squeal filled the room, echoing off the high ceiling, and she thought she heard Joe’s office door open, wait a beat, then click shut.

Twenty minutes later, against a darker sky and even heavier rain, the doorbell rang. It was a high, optimistic trill and Cat rushed to answer it. In a series of direct messages, Jessica’s enthusiasm for Cat’s new business had almost surpassed her own, and the celebrity author had insisted on visiting her personally, right away. Cat had changed out of her dressing gown into a cream ruffle-collared shirt and smart jeans, run a brush through her short hair and framed her large dark eyes with mascara.

She opened the door to see Jessica – even more attractive than her photo – smiling up at her from beneath the hood of a wide-belted navy trench-coat, a cloud of white, soggy fur at her feet.

Cat glanced behind her, listened for a second and then welcomed them in a little way. ‘Hi, Jessica, thank you so much for coming. I’m Cat.’

‘Lovely to meet you.’ Jessica slipped off her hood, and her blonde hair cascaded down her back. ‘And this is Valentino, Coco and Dior.’ She gestured to the Westies in turn as they snuffled at Cat’s bare feet, their wet noses tickling her skin, and explored the new space with enthusiasm. One of them took hold of Joe’s running shoe, and Cat gently prised it from the dog’s mouth, checked it for tooth marks and put it on the stairs. She prayed that Shed wouldn’t appear, that Joe wouldn’t decide he needed a top-up of coffee. If he realized she’d let three dogs into the house…she pushed the thought away and stroked each of the dogs in turn. They responded without a hint of shyness, all keen to lap up the extra attention.

They were wearing different-coloured velvet collars dotted with sparkling stones, which Cat thought probably weren’t made out of glass. One of the dogs – was it Coco? – had his right ear bent over, as if affecting a slight vulnerability. Cat stroked the ear; the fur was unbelievably silky. They were friendly, pure white bundles of love, and Cat could feel her heart giving way.

‘They’re beautiful. How often do you walk them?’ Cat stood so she was back at eye level with Jessica.

‘Well, at least once a day, and it’s easy having Primrose Park so close by, but I do sometimes run out of time, and I’m sure they’d like more.’ Jessica’s voice was low and breathy, even though she’d only walked a few hundred yards, and Cat wondered if it was deliberate, along with her ditziness – she’d lived in the area long enough to know what the park was called – as part of a persona. ‘I’m on my own, you see,’ Jessica added, ‘and it’s hard sometimes.’

Cat nodded. ‘I know what that’s like. Is it…recent?’ She held her breath, wondering if she’d pushed it too far.

Jessica studied her dogs for a moment. ‘Quite recent. I…I’ve had a bit of a time of it, but I’m coming out the other side, emerging, slowly, from my chrysalis. Things are looking more positive, exciting almost. But I couldn’t have done it without my designer dogs. They’ve kept me sane, and they deserve the best.’

‘Well, I can definitely help with that,’ Cat said softly. ‘I’ll treat them as if they were my own. I – I’m sorry I can’t invite you in. My housemate’s working.’ She gestured towards the living room.

‘Oh, no, of course. I can’t stay long anyway, but I did want to meet you. And I wanted you to meet my boys.’ She gave an exaggerated flourish, but her smile was warm, her pale eyes meeting Cat’s easily.

‘They’re lovely. Really, really lovely. I’d be very happy to walk them as frequently as you needed – on a trial basis, and then more permanently if everything works out. I can’t see why it wouldn’t, but the trial is just so we’re all happy – you, me and your Westies.’

‘What other dogs do you have?’

‘Two mini schnauzers at the moment, but I’ve only been going…’ She stopped, thinking about Joe’s insistence that she be professional. ‘We’re a very new business, so we’re still building our client list.’

‘Sounds perfect! I love mini schnauzers.’

‘They belong to Elsie, next door.’

‘Oh, I think I’ve seen them – one’s still a puppy.’

‘That’s Disco,’ Cat said. ‘She’s a handful, but worth every bit of trouble.’

‘They all are.’ Jessica’s beautiful face broke into a grin, and Cat felt herself warming to her. ‘So, how about tomorrow?’

‘Tomorrow?’

‘I have to go to London, and these poor poppets will be left alone. Your tweet has come at the perfect time! Could you collect them about eleven? I’ve got a spare key.’ She pulled it out of her pocket and dangled it on an elegant finger.

‘Of course.’ Cat took the key, surprised that Jessica was so instantly trusting. ‘And they’re OK with treats?’

‘They’re smothered in treats,’ Jessica confirmed. ‘They’ll be very put out if you don’t give them any. Won’t you, darlings?’

Valentino looked up at his owner, waggled his hind legs and let out a short, loud yip.

‘Fantastic!’ Cat squealed, glancing behind her, and Jessica took a step backwards. ‘That’s brilliant. Thanks so much for coming, Jessica. I’ll pick up Valentino, Coco and Dior tomorrow.’ She grinned, hoping her words would have the desired effect. ‘We can sort out payment and a proper schedule after that.’

‘Perfect,’ Jessica said softly. ‘Lovely to meet you, Cat.’

‘And to meet all of you.’ She bent, ruffled each of the Westies behind the ears, then felt her shoulders relax as Jessica put her hood back up and opened the door. The dogs trotted happily out into the rain and Jessica turned, planted a highly perfumed kiss on Cat’s stunned cheek, and stepped into the shallow porch leaving a trail of Coco Mademoiselle behind her. She made her way carefully down the front steps, and Cat saw that she was wearing boots with four-inch heels. Cat gave the author a final wave, closed the door gently behind her, leaned against it and shut her eyes. She exhaled loudly, and felt her breath catch as the landing floorboard creaked.

She opened her eyes.

‘Joe.’

He had his arms folded, his blond brows lowered. ‘Was that dogs? In here?’

‘Joe, I’m so—’

‘You know how I feel about them, Cat. And what do you think would have happened if Shed had come in? For God’s sake, don’t you ever think? How many were there? More than one from all the snuffling and the – the smell.’ He came slowly down the stairs, and Cat could almost feel his fury growing.

‘Three,’ she said. ‘They belong to Jessica Heybourne and she – she wants me to walk them. I’m sorry they had to come in, but it was raining, and it was only for a few minutes. She’s my first proper client.’

He was one step above her, looking down, and Cat could see more than just anger in his expression. She felt her excitement shrivel, Joe’s disappointment crushing her more than she had thought it could. He nodded, and for a second Cat thought he was going to back down, to agree that yes, it had been justified, and hooray for her new client.

‘Don’t bring dogs in here,’ he said instead. ‘I don’t ask too much – I think I’m pretty reasonable – but please, please don’t bring dogs into this house. If you think that’s going to be hard because of Pooch Promenade, well then…’ He glanced away, looked back at her and then slid past her into the living room, his shoulder grazing hers.

Cat stayed where she was, feeling hurt and wronged and indignant, and pretty sure that she understood what Joe’s unfinished sentence meant: work out a way to run Pooch Promenade without bringing dogs here, or find somewhere else to live.

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